#its gonna go so badly (said with utter glee)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i call this one: Deconstructed Franklydear

[master-sass-blast]

Myshka: Take Two

HOLY SHIT THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE.

It’s exactly what the title says --”Myshka,” but from Piotr’s perspective.

Prepare yourself for fluff.

Rating: M for language, description of injuries, and mentions of abuse.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

This first time it happened, it was an accident.

Which isn’t to say he didn’t mean it. He just... hadn’t planned on confessing any time soon.

Piotr grits his teeth as he brings the X-Jet in for a landing. He can already hear the distinct cracks of gunfire --along with Wade’s maniacal cackling--through the earpieces issued to the team, which is a surefire indicator that Wade, contrary to the instruction he’d been given and common sense, had decided to engage the enemy already.

Or maybe not. Wade cackled over a lot of things, most of which no normal person would. It was probably that. Hopefully.

Unfortunately, your barrage of angry swearing and death threats proved his initial suspicion right a mere seconds later. “ Wade! I swear to Cthulhu, if I die from your dumbass choices, I will personally come back just to kill you.”

“What’s going on?” he asks as he tears the back gate off its hinges.

“The fuckstick decided to set off the shooters and charge them. It’s a mess over here.”

Of course. Blyad. “Language, Y/N.  Deadpool, we talked about this. The plan was to wait for rest of team before--”

Wade starts shrieking about snipers, and he can’t resist a small smile while you jeer at the merc about getting shot in the ass.

He forces himself to focus on the present --some of the traffickers have notice that they’re about to be ambushed, and they’ve opened fire on him and the rest of the X-Force. He picks up the rusted, useless chassis of a truck and chucks it at the shooters, taking out a row of men.

It’s quick work, thanks to having the rest of the team help him. He’s just about to rip off the door to the warehouse when you utter a sentence that nearly makes his heart stop.

“I’m going to blast those dipshits.”

Okay, there’s something to be said for your determination and chutzpah, but a plan isn’t a good plan if it involves putting yourself in a direct danger and running towards gunfire. Running. Towards. Gunfire.

Has he mentioned the running towards gunfire bit?

“Y/N, no. Wait for us.” We’re almost there, please, just wait; don’t hurt yourself, I can’t bear it when you hurt yourself--

“I can’t risk the traffickers taking away another group of mutants.”

Now is not the time to be stubborn! “No, it is too dangerous.”

“I thought that was the point of these missions.”

“Is she fuckin’ serious?” Cable grunts as he shoots two traffickers barreling towards them.

“I am afraid so,” he says, gut twisting with worry. “We need to get to front of warehouse. Now.”

Easier said than done. The inside of the warehouse is crawling with enemies. That, combined with the utter lack of cover, slows their progress significantly.

“Shit! I miscalculated!”

The sound of glass shattering and you shrieking in pain makes his heart seize. He grits his teeth as he throws a man trying to stab him with a knife against the nearest wall. Please be okay. Please be okay. Bozhe moi, if something happens to her--

Your voice comes across the com line in a pained groan. “Fuck. I hurt myself.”

The relief he feels is immediate. She’s alive. “Where are you?”

“On the third level. Follow the wake of destruction and the sounds of pissed off swearing. You won’t miss me. Shit, I rolled through glass. Oh, fuck, that hurts.”

He has to clench his teeth together to keep from lecturing you on safety because that’s the exact last thing you need right now. He flinches when another trafficker unleashes a spray of gunfire at him --solely from being surprised, he was distracted worrying about you and didn’t see the smaller man sneaking up on him--and stomps after him. He whips the villain across the warehouse with basically zero effort and tries to catch his breath while the man screams.

He needs to calm down; he’s angry and panicky from knowing you’ve hurt yourself, and working with Wade requires keeping a level head at all times.

“Oh, definitely not. Shit, I fucked up my leg. I think my knee’s dislocated.” 

Right, because Cable asked you if you could move while he was tossing around traffickers --and he should’ve done that in the first place, because he’s supposed to be the responsible one, and he really cares about you, and--

Calm. She needs you to be calm, Piotr. “You shouldn’t have gone after snipers,” he growls as he charges after another group of shooters.

You grumble something back about deserving gratitude, and it almost makes him smile.

That is, until he hears you panic.

“Holy shit.” 

“What?” Was there someone else up there with you? Another threat they hadn’t accounted for? Were you in danger?

“Is that... Oh shit. That’s a body. I think I decapitated a guy when I went through the window.”

He goes numb while you, Wade, and Cable exchange remarks.

You decapitated a body.

If you had been going fast enough to decapitate a body on impact alone... what had you done to yourself?

“Hey, kid, are you still with us?”

Cable’s voice brings him back to the present; he realizes that your words are slurry --you must’ve hit your head. Hard. “Y/N, you need to stay awake. Falling asleep now would be dangerous.”

“I’ve got something that’ll keep her awake,” Cable says as he studies a readout from his techno-organic arm. “There’s a group of guys on their way up to you. They’re in the stairwell, T minus two minutes.”

Blyad. He tries to focus on taking out the few remaining traffickers, but it’s hard when he can hear your gasps of pain and effort right in his ear. He grits his teeth and pushes through, telling himself that you’ll be okay.

And there’s a part of him that genuinely believes it. You’re incredibly tough, and you always surprise him with just how much you have in you, how much punishment you can take without giving in.

He flinches when he hears more gunfire in his ear. Please, let that be her firing and not the men. He waits for you to speak, to confirm that you’re alright.

Silence.

Come on, mysh --Y/N. Say something.

More silence.

He can’t stop himself from checking in.  “Y/N?”

Your sigh, wet and ragged. “Got ‘em. Stupid chickenshits. How’re we doing down there?”

“Only a few fuckers left!” Wade shouts as he hops from spot to spot, slicing through enemies with his usual irreverent glee. “Then it’s down to finding the victims and releasing them!”

“I’m gonna need someone to come get me. I doubt I could even fly myself out of here.”

He thanks every deity he can think off that you at least have more common sense than Wade. “Stay where you are. We will have someone up to get you in few minutes. In meantime, stay awake.”

Disposing of the stragglers, fortunately, is quick work. There are a handful of men left now, and most of them have decided to book it instead of trying to fight a couple of super assassins, an eight foot tall man made out of steel, and two super powered teenage girls.

Once the shooters are dealt with, Ellie waves him off. “Go find your girl. We can handle this.”

Normally, he’d protest having you referred to as ‘his girl’ --not that he’d mind that, he wouldn’t mind it at all, but if Wade remembered it he was never going to let it go--but right now he had more important things to do --namely, finding you.

He charges up the stairs, grateful that they can accommodate him in defense mode so he doesn’t have to take the time to shift down. The third floor door crumples like tissue paper when he bursts through it, and he pauses to get his bearings.

The hall is in utter chaos. Broken glass is strewn everywhere, along with chunks of drywall. The bodies of the five men are on the floor, lifeless. Their blood splatters the floor, the walls, the chaos--

And there you are, tucked under a table in a room just off the hall. Your head’s resting against the floor, and you look awful.

Well, you look beautiful --you always do to him--but you also look like someone who’s been put through hell.

He picks up the table and tosses it aside, kneeling next to you so you don’t try to get up. “Bozhe moi. What did you do to yourself?”

“Nothing any self-respecting mutant with poor math skills and even worse impulse control wouldn’t do.”

You roll onto your back before he can stop you --your yelp of pain makes him flinch--and the pained smile you give him tears at his heart.

“How do I look?”

“Like shit,” Cable’s looming above the two of you now, hissing through his teeth as he takes it all in. “The fuck did you do to your leg?”

Piotr looks down and realizes with a stab of sympathetic pain that your leg is badly dislocated at the knee. Der’mo. It will be hard to move her.

“Do you want me to try to pop it back in?” 

He blinks as Cable’s words register, then panics when he realizes what the older man is suggesting. “No, I don’t think that is good idea--”

“Do it. I’d rather that happen than have it dangling around while I’m carried around.”

No, no, no. This is a bad idea. Insanely bad. Up there with some of Wade’s. It should be handled by a medic, a trained professional, with painkillers and proper equipment. “Y/N--”

“Do it! Just give me something to bite on.” 

Piotr watches in abject horror as Cable hands you a bandanna. Before he can say anything else, you’ve steeled yourself and nod. He looks away, grimacing at the sound of the joint popping into place and the anguished scream you let loose.

You jerk onto your side --again, before he can stop you, he’s too caught up in hurting for you to react fast enough--and vomit.

He scoops you into his arms before you can fall face first into your own puke; guilt surges through his chest when you scream again. I hurt her. I should’ve let her recover more. “I’m so sorry.” He adjusts his grip on you as carefully as he can and starts carrying towards the stair case.

“It’s okay,” You croon in his ear, completely out of breath. “It’s okay, big guy, it was going to hurt anyway. It’s okay.”

There’s a part of him that’s touched by the fact that, even when you’re in unimaginable pain, you still want to comfort him.

“That’s my tough myshka.” He cringes at the word choice for a moment; it sounds so possessive, and he really hopes Wade wasn’t paying attention --and that you don’t mind.

You don’t seem to notice. Instead, you press your head against his shoulder --a gesture that has his heart pounding from the unexpected intimacy of it.  “Yeah. Diving headfirst into trouble and hurting herself in the process.”

He’s distracted for a moment by Ellie and Nathan, who are talking about the trafficking victims and you. They’ve found everyone, which means they can load up the jet and get back to the mansion --and get you some much needed medical attention.

He doesn’t realize that you’re falling asleep until you nestle against him, trying to get comfortable.  “Stay awake, myshka. You need to stay with us.”

“Myshka...”

His eyes widen as his mistake registers. This definitely was not how he was planning on confessing his feelings for you --especially since you weren’t likely to remember any of it, given that you probably had a concussion. Should I apologize? I mean, I shouldn’t have said--

“What does that mean? Does it mean idiot? ‘cause I feel like that’s a fair accusation for you to make right now.” 

He chuckles in spite of himself and his embarrassment. “Not quite.”

“I like it. It sounds pretty.” 

His heart’s pounding from exhilaration now --not that there’s any point to it, considering that you have no idea what the word means.

“Colossus?”

He does it again. He can’t help himself. “Da, myshka?”

“I think I hurt my everything.”

He laughs again, but less because he find your statement funny and more because it’s the reaction you’re looking for.  “Hang in there. We will get you fixed up soon.”

It’s Ellie who busts him later.

He’s sitting in the garden while the medics work on you; he’d wanted to stay, but feared being too overbearing or in the way.

His trainee strolls up to him, hands jammed in her jean pockets, with one eyebrow raised. “So. ‘Myshka.’”

He ducks his head, cheeks burning without his armor to protect him. “You know about that.”

“We were wearing earpieces, Colossus.” When he grimaces, she pats his shoulder. “Don’t worry. Wade was too busy regenerating parts of his head to notice.”

He lets out a breath. “Small blessings.”

“So. Are you gonna tell her?”

“When she’s better,” he decides. “I don’t want to force it on her now.”

“Christ, you’re making it sound like she doesn’t have a fucking choice. Look--” Ellie waves her hand dismissively before he can argue “--it’s sweet that you want to wait until she’s better. Do whatever you think is right. Just don’t chicken out, okay? She’s been basically drooling for you over the past year. There’s no way you’ll fuck this up --unless you don’t tell her.”

He shoots her a look for her language, but smiles anyway. “Thank you, Ellie.”

The second time it happens, it’s still an accident. The word slips out before he can stop himself.

It’s his turn to babysit you. You’ve been couched by Hank’s orders, and your pain meds make you loopy enough that you really shouldn’t be unsupervised.

Case in point, he finds you hanging half off the couch, no pillow or ice pack for your injured knee, trying to pick up the remote from halfway across the room with an air current.

You let out a curse as the remote flops further away from you.

The scene makes his heart ache with fondness. It’s so unbelievably you, so unbelievably adorable. “Myshka.”

The grin you give him is beautiful. “Hey, big guy. ‘Sup?”

Focus. Get her to sit properly. “I do not think you should be laying like that. Is bad for your back, to say nothing of your knee.”

“Well, I didn’t start like this. I was trying to get the remote, but Wade left it all the way over there when he switched channels. Is this really considered the pinnacle of modern entertainment?”

For Wade? Da. He scans the instruction card written by Hank while you keep trying to grab the remote. “Your next dose is due. You need to eat something.”

“Would that I could, but --alas--I am confined to this couch for the time being.”

“I can make you something, myshka. You only need ask.”

Your responding smile makes his heart race --again. “Thanks. I’m up for pretty much anything.”

He retrieves the remote for you so you’ll sit properly, then heads to the kitchen to start pulling together lunch for the two of you. He realizes, once he’s not stooping to reach into the fridge, that you’re just flipping through the channels without actually watching what’s on the screen.

He can’t help but smile. “You know, you might find something easier if you watch more than five seconds at a time.”

You look up at him as he sets the plates of food down and stick at your tongue. “Very funny, big guy.”

Next step, taking care of leg. “I thought you were supposed to have your leg elevated.” When you explain your predicament, an idea occurs to him.

Namely, you could settle your legs in his lap. That, combined with a pillow, should be enough elevation to help with the swelling. “Wait here. I have idea.” You fire some line after him --something about flying to Las Vegas and cheating at the games--and he laughs again as he walks back to the couch, ice pack in hand. “Cheating is against the rules, myshka.”

“Well, duh. How else am I going to win? I’m not that good at Poker. So, what’s this idea of yours?”

He ducks his head, nerves getting the better of him.

I... can’t do this. It’s not polite, not when she doesn’t know how I feel. He manages to make up some sort of explanation about him helping the pillows stay in place, and the relief that runs through him when you buy it nearly leaves him boneless.

Fortunately, lunch goes much smoother than his attempts at hiding his massive crush on you. You take your meds, express your delight over him including Cheetos on your plate, and he manages to get the TV switched from Wade’s garbage choice to something a little more palatable. He settles in to eat his own lunch, and tries to not obsess over how close you are to him.

Your painkillers kick in about halfway through the episode Mythbusters he’d picked. You’re a wriggling, giggling mess next to him, flailing around while you ride out the initial high from the pills.

He places his hand gently on your non-injured leg, trying to calm you. “Easy, myshka. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m not going to hurt myself!” You smack your hand against the coffee table and cradle it against your chest with a pout. “Ow.”

He resettles you on the couch, cradling your head with one of his hands to keep you from lolling around too much. “You were saying?”

“Okay, fine. I hurt myself. Happy now?”

“I will be happier when you settle enough to stop hurting yourself, myshka.”

“Myshka.”

He almost cringes. Bodi roga, I need to stop.

“Why do you call me that? Not that I’m complaining --it sounds pretty cute.”

Joy swells in his chest --not that it has any right to. Control yourself, Piotr; she doesn’t even know what you’re saying. “It is nickname in Russian.”

“Well, I gathered that much. Don’t tell me what it means; I want to guess!”

He acquiesces, even though he’d love nothing more than to tell you. “Very well.”

“It means ‘idiot,’ doesn’t it?”

Alarm shoots through him. Is that... is that what she thinks of herself? Does she think I view her as such? “Why would I call you that?”

“I mean, I did toss myself through a wall and dislocate my leg in the process. I think it’s kind of warranted.”

He shakes his head --he would never. “That would be unkind --and unwarranted.”

“Okay. Fool?”

“No.”

“Lovable fool?”

“Also no.”

“Klutz?”

“It is not an insult,” he says, laughing slightly.

“Ah.” Your grin would have him blushing if he wasn’t in defense mode. “Well, that’s nice --but I’ll have to completely rethink my strategy now. This might take longer than I thought.”

“I could just tell you.”

“No! No spoiling my fun!”

He acquiesces again --and if Ellie was here, she’d say you were playing right into his hand.

Eventually. He’ll tell you the truth eventually. You were high out of your mind right now; he wanted you lucid when he confessed his feelings.

He settles again --and tenses when you shuffle around, drop the pillow propping up your leg on his lap, and set your legs across his thighs.

“This okay, big guy?”

Beyond okay. Too okay.

God, he’s weak for you.

He manages a nod.  “Da, myshka. This is fine.”

Finishing his time with you is a combination of heaven and sheer torture. Heaven, because he’s been daydreaming about spending time with you like this; torture, because he knows it’s just because you’re high out of your mind, not because you like him.

When Ellie rescues him half an hour later --with a pointed look at your borderline snuggling--he beats a quick retreat to his art studio. He closes the door behind it, locks it, then shifts out of defense mode and slumps against the wall. Bozhe moi. I am in over my head.

He monitors himself better after that, keeps himself from saying anything inappropriate.

Still, he can’t always help himself around you. I look at you and see my whole future.

Now, if only he could tell you that.

Or maybe not. That’d probably too much to start with.

You sidle up next to him while everyone waits for Wade to finish setting up the fireworks for New Years --a gesture that he tries to not over analyze but elates him nonetheless.

You make some sort of quip about his fire extinguisher, and he regards it with a grimace. “Wade set up the display this year.”

“Oh, god, is the house even going to survive?”

“Hey, have a little faith in me,” Wade whines as he skips past you to finish the final touches on the display. “I can have self control. When I want to.”

“Yeah, the question is does he ever want to?”

Piotr’s got a lot of personal, first hand experience with handling Wade, and the answer to that is a definite ‘no.’ I’ve been grabbed on ass too many times for it to be anything else.

“Ladies, gentlemen, noble gentry of non-conforming gender identity, and Yukio!” Wade crows from his position several yards down the drive. “Tonight is a date that technically doesn’t matter since time is a social construct, but we’re going to use it to celebrate surviving another year! That’s right, tell Death to go fu--”

“Language, Wade.” Seriously, there are children present, does he always have to--

“Okay, okay. Take it easy, Long John Silver. Anyway, since the resident party poopers here at Casa de la Mutant have kiboshed getting drunk off our ass--”

“Wade.”

“Okay! Fine! Long story made short: fireworks! Lots of them! Cover your ears if you don’t want to wear hearing aids by the time you’re thirty! Russell! My man! Let it burn!”

The initial round of fireworks, though loud, is surprisingly tasteful. He feels a surge of pride as Wade starts setting up the finale with Russell. Good job, Wade. He sees you shift next to him and realizes that you’re hugging yourself, shivering.

And it’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself.  “Myshka? Are you alright?”

“Yupp. A-okay.”

He states the obvious. “You’re cold.”

“Are you kidding? In this weather? We’re in a heat wave right now, big guy. How could I be cold?”

He laughs, then unzips the jacket he’s wearing. “Here. Use my jacket. We can’t have you freezing.” He smiles softly as he watches you relax and nestle into the warmth of his jacket, and--

Oh, god, seeing you in his clothes does something for him. To him. One of those. Both of those.

Fortunately, Wade picks that moment to light off the finale, sufficiently distracting him from the runaway thought train he’d been having about you wearing his clothes.

Once the people clear away he starts clearing up the trash from Wade and Russell’s fun. You join him, which starts another round of don’t overthink it, Piotr, she’s just being nice.

He watches, mesmerized, as you send the remaining smoke away with little more than a flick of your wrist. He’s spent several years training with some of the most powerful mutants on the face of the planet, and the way you use yours with such effortless elegance is--

Focus, Piotr. Don’t stare at her. He tries to keep his focus on cleaning up the trash, but he’s soon distracted again because, well...

His jacket’s far too big for you, and it’s adorable to watch you struggle as the sleeves slid over your hands time and time again. He can’t help but chuckle when your face contorts in a caricature of rage, and he hands you the trash bag as you swear under your breath. “Here, myshka. You hold this. I can finish the rest.”

“Why do you need a jacket anyway? Aren’t you protected from the cold?”

“I am. The jacket is not so much for my benefit as it is for others. I may not suffer from the cold, but I still get cold. Complaints arise, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“That, and Wade won’t try to lick your arm to see if he’ll stick if you wear the jacket.”

Bozhe moi, I’m so glad Wade didn’t hear that. “Please, do not tell him about that. I would rather he didn’t try.”

“Secret’s safe with me, big guy.”

He stands --and says his name out of sheer impulse.“Piotr.”

“Gesundheit.”

He laughs --actually laughs, full-bodied and joyous, which seems to be a reaction that only you can pull out of him--and shakes his head. “My name. It’s Piotr. I thought you should know.”

“Nice to meet ya, Piotr. I’m Y/N.”

He laughs again --almost swooning from your endearing goofiness--and shakes your hand with the utmost gentleness. “Very funny, myshka.” Before he can say anything else, though, a loud explosion, a towering fireball, and a scream that sounds suspiciously like Wade emanates from behind the mansion. Der’mo. “We should go check on that.”

After that, he really tries to watch himself around you.

No, really, he does! He wants to respect your space, to not infringe too much on something he can’t claim. And he manages well. 

Well, almost ‘well.’ The entire X-Force --and the rest of the mansion, it seems--is wise to his crush on you now. That results in no small amount of teasing, but no one tells you at his request --and Ellie’s threat to incinerate anyone who does.

He has caught on to the fact that you like being called ‘myshka’ though, which doesn’t make his efforts to keep from doing that any easier.

So, the fourth time it happens, you hit him a weak spot.

He’s drawn to the back yard --much like everyone else, he suspects--by the sounds of enraged and panicked screaming. He can’t help but laugh slightly at the sight of you chasing Scott across the back lawn.

He doesn’t like or dislike Scott --well, he doesn’t like the way Scott treats you--but he can admit that the smaller man does go on power trips far too often. A small part of him is amused by watching you hand Scott’s ass to him --because, contrary to Wade’s belief, he can enjoy the odd round of inappropriate or ill-timed humor. Just not in ‘Wade’ quantities.

A larger part of him, though, stiffens with concern when you pick up the bat and lunge after Scott. It’s not a plastic one, it’s metal, and you could do some serious damage to Scott or yourself. Or someone else.

He steps forward --since no one else seems to be inclined to step in the path of an enraged woman with a metal bat for Scott of all people--and latches onto the barrel of the bat. It smacks against his armor with a loud clang, making you lurch to a stop. “No, myshka,” he says when you look up at him --he throws in the ‘myshka’ to try and appeal to you, shamefully enough. “This is not appropriate.”

“Not appropriate? On the contrary! This is completely fucking appropriate! Give me my bat! I’m going to beat his head in!”

“Uh, no!” Wade interjects. “No erasing Cable from the timeline!”

“Fine! I’ll maim Scott instead! Give me the bat!”

“No, myshka.” He’s frowning now. Normally, you at least settle a little whenever he calls you ‘myshka.’ What did Scott say to work her up this badly? “Whatever he said, there is better way to handle this.”

“Oh, but there isn’t!”

“Myshka--”

“Do you know what he said to me? He called me a ‘fucking piece of work’ and said that it was no wonder my parents kept me locked in my room because I’m a nightmare!”

His heart aches at the sight of the tears in your eyes, and his teeth click together as anger rages inside him. He scowls at Scott. “Is this true?”

Scott has the decency to look sheepish. “I misspoke.”

“No, misspeaking is calling someone an asshole, or a cunt, or a dipshit! It’s not saying their parents were right for abusing them!”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Professor Xavier emerges from the crowd of watchers, a calm respite in the face of chaos. “Mr. Summers, if I could speak to you for a moment. Mr. Rasputin, I trust you can help Ms. Y/L/N calm down.”

He holds onto your shoulder until the back door closes, leaving the two of you with some privacy.

You scrub at your cheeks with your sleeve. “Well. That was a train wreck.”

“It did not go well,” he agrees. “You need to try to react better, myshka. Don’t let him get under your skin as bad.”

“Don’t let him bug me?” He tries not to flinch under the force of your glare. “He said my parents were right for locking me in my room! How am I supposed to not let that piss me off?”

“Myshka, please, try to calm down. Let me try to get the words right,” he says, holding his hands up in a calming gesture. “I am not saying Scott was right. He was very wrong, and he should’ve never said any of those things. I am just trying to say that beating him up all the time is not right response. You could get hurt, or someone else could get hurt in process. I think it would be better for you to get someone --the Professor or myself, maybe--when these things happen so you and Scott can work out your differences instead of fighting all the time.”

You sniff as you consider his suggestion, then pout up at him. “Aw, but my way is more fun!”

He can’t help but favor you with a soft smile; he knows your humor well enough by now to know that this is your way of indirectly conceding to him. “Perhaps, but more dangerous too.”

“Well, yeah, that’s why it’s fun.”

His forehead creases with his frown when you go silent. You look so small, like a shell of your usual self. He has to stop himself from reaching out and touching you, from trying to reassure you with touch. I need to tell her... but not now. Now is not right time. I just want to... hold her...

“Fucking asshole. Where the fuck does he get off?”

With Scott? Who knows these days. “People say unkind, unwise things when angry. Scott is one of those people, unfortunately.”

“I just... the fuck did I do to deserve that? What did I do as a kid that warranted locking me away?”

His heart wrenches in his chest. Bozhe moi, she’s crying. He kneels in front of you and puts his hands on your shoulders. “Myshka, look at me. Please. You could never do anything to deserve the way your parents treated you. You are wonderful, and smart, and kind; they were fools not to realize your worth.”

“Thanks, Pete. You really know how to make a girl feel special.” 

You have no idea how much I want to make you feel special, Y/N. No idea. I would hope so. You are...” He chickens out. Not now. Later. Now is not right time. “You are my best friend, Y/N. I hope you know that.”

“You’re really special to me, too. I’d use the term ‘best friend,’ but I’m afraid Wade would hear, and he’d throw an absolute shit fit if he finds out he has competition for that category.”

Piotr laughs. He gets it. Wade is Wade. 

You visibly hesitate, then ask, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but... can I have a hug? I’m feeling really shitty right now.”

Bozhe moi. He hopes his voice sounds even remotely normal, because he’s pretty sure his brain just shut off. “Of course, myshka. You don’t have to ask.” He wraps his arms around you as you lay his head against his shoulder. It’s almost reminiscent of the time he carried you out of the warehouse after you slammed yourself through a window, except better because you haven’t hurt yourself.

Except it’s worse, because you’re crying on his shoulder.

God, he really needs to expand his library of affectionate interactions with you if that’s all he can compare this moment to.

He rubs his hand up and down your back, as gentle and careful as ever. “It’ll be okay, myshka. You’re going to be alright.” He smiles softly when you pull back, trying to hide the sense of loss he’s feeling over not having you in his arms.

“Thanks. I really needed that.”

“No problem, myshka.”

“You use ‘myshka’ more than you use my real name. What’s up with that?”

Blyad. I didn’t think I was using word that much. “Sorry, I--”

“No, big guy, I like it. I was teasing you.”

He smiles and shakes his head, firmly ignoring the way his heart leaps at hearing that you like his nickname for you. “You are nothing but trouble.”

“And yet you keep hanging out with me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you liked it.” 

You have no idea.

“I still haven’t figured out what it means though. I’m starting to think that you just made it up and are messing with me.”

“It is real word. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know that, Pete. I’m just yanking your chain. So, it’s supposed to be something nice. Is it ‘idiot’ in the sense that I call Wade an idiot? Like, in a loving sense?”

He rolls his eyes. Why does she keep coming back to ‘idiot?’ “Nyet. I would not call you ‘idiot’ because it’s unkind. Besides, you are not idiot.”

“Okay, okay. Just thought I’d check. Is it a term for ‘friend?’”

“No.” It’s a term of endearment for couples, and I would tell you that if I was brave enough.

“Does it mean ‘genius?’”

He laughs. “No, but I would venture to say you are one.”

“Careful. I will absolutely use you as a reference when I apply for my official certification. What about... ‘super awesome badass?’”

He chuckles again, happy to see that you’re recovering from Scott’s damaging jabs. “No.”

“Does it mean ‘sexy?’”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue. He ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck, and laughs nervously. “Ah... no.” But you definitely are that. “That would be something Wade would say, but not me.”

“Fair enough.”

“You know, I could just tell you--” Please, just let me tell you, I can’t take you not knowing anymore--

“Uh-uh. I’m having fun with this. Don’t spoil it for me.”

He concedes to you, stuffing the desire to confess his feelings for you once more. He has a feeling he’s going to be doing a lot of that.

After that, he stops trying to regulate how much he calls you ‘myshka.’ Everyone else already knows, and he can’t resist seeing the happy glow in your eyes whenever the term of endearment leaves his lips.

Ellie’s almost constantly side-eyeing him now. She knows he’s in deep based on how often he’s calling you ‘myshka,’ and whenever they’re in a one-on-one training session she makes a point of telling him to ‘grow the fuck up and stop being a coward --just tell her already!’

To which he admonishes her for her language, but ultimately doesn’t argue.

She’s right. He is a coward.

There’s multiple times where he almost does tell you. The softness in your eyes when you look at him, that smile that seems to be reserved for him and him alone, the way your cheeks flush whenever you talk to him... He’s not imagining things. He hopes he’s not.

But then Wade or Russell or Scott walk in, and the moment’s ruined. You might not have Wade’s poor impulse control, but the two of you do share the same propensity for getting distracted easily.

And, well, he’d be lying if he said he felt brave enough to confess his feelings to you in front of an audience.

Blyad.

Life never does get easier, does it?

And it certainly doesn’t like handing him ideal opportunities to tell you how he feels, either.

Take today, for example. He --and the rest of the X-Force--are currently surrounded by fifty hyper, bouncing, shrieking mutants. It’s the school’s annual meeting for the teachers to work on problem solving as Xavier’s kept expanding and expanding. He’d volunteered to help the X-Force with the gaggle of young elementary students, which wasn’t a choice he was regretting--

Except he is, just a little now, because you’ve got one of the kids in your arms and you’re smiling at them as they laugh, and oh god seeing you work with kids is doing something to him, just like seeing you in his jacket on New Years--

He has to viciously derail the train of thought to avoid an embarrassing moment in front of the students... and Wade.

Then, Neena suggests hide and seek, you volunteer to count, and the kids scatter to go find their hiding spots.

He tromps upstairs, trying to force his mind into order; a difficult task, considering that his thoughts are a nonstop loop of you, you with kids, you with kids playing hide and seek, and oh god--

Focus, he tells himself. Find hiding place.

Also a difficult task, considering he weighs over five hundred pounds in his armor and stands at nearly eight feet tall. Even if he could find a spot that would accommodate his height, his heavy footsteps would be a dead giveaway.

Unless...

His eyes widen as a thought occurs to him, then he slips out of defense mode --which gets a considerable gawk from Wade, but Nathan drags him off before merc can say anything too unsuitable for young ears. Piotr ducks into his room, changes into a t-shirt and jeans, and grabs his sketchbook and pencil before stepping into the hall again.

He can hear your voice echoing from the kitchen; he’s almost out of time, as he suspected he would be, and he creeps to the library as quickly as he can.

You’ve never seen him in his ‘human’ form, and he’s willing to bet that the change will be stark enough that you won’t recognize him. Once you’ve scampered off to find the others, he’ll be able to find a spot that’ll fit him much easier.

Or maybe he won’t. Granted, his switch won’t work against the others --especially since both Nathan and Wade saw him change--but it might be worth it to see the adorable way your nose wrinkles when you’ve been had.

He settles at one of the tables, sketchbook open and pencil in hand, just as you declare that you’re done counting. He tries to focus on working on one of his drawings, tries to tamp down the giddy anticipation as he hears your footsteps ascend the stairs.

You pop into the library, smiling, and--

It works.

“Oh --uh--sorry. Uh, you wouldn’t have happened to see a metal guy walk by, would you? About the size of your average giraffe, made out of steel, probably muttering something about safety or rules.”

He can’t help but smile at your description of him and points to the right.

“Thanks.”

His heart tugs slightly as you head back out into the hall, and he’s left to wonder if he should’ve revealed his identity to you instead. It would’ve been a shock, yeah, but it also might’ve prompted some conversation --and let him reveal his feelings for you.

He doesn’t have long to mull it over, though. He looks up when you poke your head back into the library and can’t help but smile at your confused expression.

He keeps smiling as study him, gears clearly turning behind your eyes.

“Piotr?”

He laughs and sets down his drawing pad. “Da. Honestly, I thought this would work better. I guess I can’t get anything past you, myshka.”

“Holy shit... I... I didn’t expect this.”

The way you’re looking him up and down right now makes his chest fill with warmth. It’s nice to be genuinely admired, every once and a while. And it’s nice when your crush is doing it.

“Oh my gosh! I didn’t realize you had a human form! I just thought you were metal all the time! Looking babe-ly, my man.” 

He can’t help his nervous chuckle; being complimented by you, even if it’s a slightly goofy one, is elating. “Thank you. I prefer to be in my armor. Especially with Wade around.” Because, as he’s learned, Wade necessitates being ready for anything.

“Yeah, he does that. Whoa! You did that?”

He can feel his face heat up as you gawk at his sketch pad; being complimented by you is enough of a head rush, but having you admire his art has his brain short circuiting with glee. “Da. It’s not finished yet.”

“Your ‘not finished’ looks like my ‘only in my dreams.’ Can you teach me how to draw? I’d love to get better.”

Oh god, this is an actual dream come true. Stay calm. Don’t make fool of yourself, Piotr.  “I would love to. Would you like to see others?”

“Hell yeah.”

Having you fawn over his art is satisfying in ways he’d never imagined possible; you lavish equal amounts of sincere attention over each picture he shows you, which makes him indescribably happy.

The softness on your face --the amazement in your eyes--when he shows a full color picture of a sunset nearly makes him melt.

“Piotr, it’s beautiful.”

It’s not one of his favorites --he’d been experimenting with a new color palette, and it hadn’t panned out like he’d hoped--but your praise leaves him blushing anyway. “Thank you. This is not one of my better ones.”

“It’s wonderful. Don’t sell yourself short.”

“You can have it, if you want.”

“Really?” You sound elated. “I don’t want to take it from you.”

“Really, myshka.” He loves the idea of you having one of his pictures, probably more than he should. “If you like it, you can have it.”

“Piotr, that’s so sweet of you. I’d love to have it, if you’ll let me. Though, we should probably keep it in the sketchbook until the day’s done. I wouldn’t want it to get accidentally destroyed.”

He moves to close the sketchbook at the same time you do, and the sensation of your hands brushing against each other is wonderful.

“Oh my gosh. I’ve never felt you without your armor before!” 

The unwitting innuendo isn’t lost on him --he’s an adult, he understands adult humor, he just doesn’t like using it all the time, Wade--but any nerve he might’ve had worked up to tell you his feelings evaporates when you start touching his hand.

It feels wonderful. Heavenly. Your touch is warm and soft on his skin, and--

And it stops all too soon when you retract your hand with a sheepish expression. “Sorry. That was weird of me.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says before he can stop himself. “It feels... good.” He watches you as smooth your fingers over his hand, wrist, and forearm, mind racing with thoughts. I love you. I love you so much.

He needs to figure out how to tell you, because the small touches you’re showering him with are opening a gateway to a part of his brain that he’s worked so hard to rein in. He wants to hold you in his arms, wants to kiss you, wants to call you ‘myshka’ and have it be real.

He wants to touch you.

He brushes his fingers against your forearm before he can overthink it. “May I?” When you nod, he lets his hand run over your arm and up to your shoulder, following his fingers with his eyes. Your skin is just as soft as he’s imagined --on the rare occasions that he’s indulged the daydream side of his brain--and touching you the way you touched him is send little sparks of electricity through his whole body.

He’s not really thinking at this point --his brain has shut off from all the endorphins running through it--and he lifts his hand to caress the side of your face without second guessing himself.

Before he can mentally shake some sense into himself and retract his hand, you close your eyes, lean into his touch, and let out a soft sigh.

Bozhe moi.

There’s no way he’s imagining this. The way you’re leaning into his hand, the happy smile on your face--

It’s mutual. You like him, too.

His mind races as he rubs the pad of his thumb over the swell of your cheek; should he say something --or should he kiss you instead?

Because, as ungentlemanly as it sounds, he really wants to kiss you. Bozhe moi, I want nothing more.

Before he can decide, you make the choice for both of you.

He inhales sharply when you press your lips against his and presses his hands against your back to pull you into his lap. Your lips feel utterly perfect against his, and he has to remind himself to breathe. More than once. He grins at you when the kiss ends. “Bozhe moi. I have wanted to do that for... for a while.”

Your returning grin looks blissful. “Yeah. Me too... We should probably go find the kids. It’s been thirty minutes.”

He stands --as much as he doesn’t want to; he’d rather stay here and kiss you some more--and tucks his sketchbook under his arm. “Da. Lead the way.” He does hold your hand as the two of you walk out of the library to track down the other hiders, which has him smiling long after you let go.

The rest of the day is a mix of bliss and torture. Bliss because he knows you like him now, because he can reach out and share fleeting touches that leave both of you exhilarated and a little flushed; torture because all he really wants to do is kiss you again, and he can’t do that because there are fifty plus witnesses and he doesn’t want to let everyone see that just yet.

Ellie puts it together though -admittedly, the two of you aren’t exactly subtle--and mutters “About time” low enough so only he hears it when she passes. She’s smiling though, and he appreciates her support all the same.

Eventually, the day does wind to a close, and the crowd of mutant kids and X-Force members disappear with surprising quickness...

Thanks to Wade, apparently; at least, it’s thanks to him if the blow job gesture he’s shooting you is anything to go by.

Piotr rolls his eyes and focuses on picking up the trash from dinner.

The door shuts with a thud, and you rejoin him, favoring him with that soft smile he loves so much. “Hey.”

He smiles back, keenly aware that, though you two are alone, you’re still in view of the mansion; he wouldn’t put it past Wade to spy on the two of you, because the merc with no concept of privacy would absolutely do it. “Hi.”

“What were you and the twins talking about?”

“Mostly about what they think of America. They think weather is too hot.”

“Yeah, it must be a big transition for them. Not gonna lie, it was really cute to watch you interact with them.”

He grins and raises his eyebrows. That... wasn’t what he was expecting you to say, but it thrills him away. “Da?”

“Yeah. You’re really good with them.”

He ducks his head, trying to contain his earnest fervor. “I liked watching you work with girl who can fly. I think you made her day when you showed your abilities.”

“She was a sweetheart.”

He goes quiet, mostly because that’s... not what he meant by that.

Another conversation for another day. He settles for kissing you on the cheek. “She’s not only one.” He quickly ties off the bag of trash and chucks it in the nearest barrel. “Shall we go for walk?” When you nod, he takes your hand and leads you to a part of the garden that he knows is out of sight from the mansion windows. He manages to hold a conversation about the day and the kids with you while you walk, but it’s hard to focus when he can hear his heart pounding in his ears and all he can think about is kissing you again.

Which he does. As soon as you’re sitting next to him again, tucked safely from view on a bench behind a tree, he presses his lips against yours feverishly. It feels so overwhelmingly good for such a simple gesture of intimacy, and it pains him to break the kiss.  “Sorry. I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”

A rush of delight runs through him when you kiss him.  “Don’t apologize. I was hoping you’d do that.”

He smiles softly as you nestle against his side, and he can’t resist kissing the top of your head when you lay your head on his shoulder. She’s so precious.

“So, do you want to know what my last guess for what ‘myshka’ means is?”

He does, actually. He’s curious to know if you’ve guessed it by now --or looked it up. “Sure.”

“Does it mean ‘beautiful?’”

“Nyet, though you are very beautiful.”

“Well, then, I give up. I have no idea what it means.”

“Does that mean I can tell you now?”

“Go for it. I’m dying to know.”

This is it. This is the moment he’s been waiting for since your first kiss in the library. “It means ‘little mouse.’”

“Really? ‘Little mouse?’ I know I’m short, but I didn’t think I was that small.”

He laughs quietly. “It is not about height.” Here goes everything. “In Russia, it is term of endearment... that boyfriends use for girlfriends.” He feels you still against him as you process the information, and he forces himself to be patient and let you take your time.

“Does... does that mean you liked me all this time?”

Here it is. Tell her how you feel, how you’ve felt, he tells himself. “Da. You are kind, and smart, and unbelievably fierce, and achingly beautiful. You swept me off my feet the moment I met you with your humor and spirit, and I have been in love with you ever since.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve kissed you months ago!”

“You told me not to say anything! What was I supposed to do?” And he was scared to admit his feelings, but that’s a confession that can wait until later.

“Man, the one time my stubborn streak really doesn’t pay off.”

He chuckles and wraps his arm around your shoulders --which feels amazing, and he thinks he’s going to love being affectionate with you more than he anticipated. “I think it all worked out in end.”

“Oh, there’s no way I’m disagreeing with that. So, Mr. Rasputin, is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend?”

His heart’s pounding, and his mouth is dry, but he manages a nod. “Da.” He lets his eyes flutter shut when you lean up to kiss him again. “May I take that as ‘yes?’” he asks when you break the kiss, slightly breathless from his elation.

“Da.”

Hearing you say is wonderful, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

He smiles, and leans in to kiss you again.

[migleefulmoments]

“you can all celebrate him willingly walking to his execution and I promise that after I make a few final goodbye” Dear lord. HIS EXECUTION?! I’m gonna need them all to take like a zillion massive steps backward. They’re really saying Darren marrying Mia is equivalent to his death. I can’t. What the hell? They can’t honestly think this sounds sane, can they?

In all fairness they have spent the last 4 or 5 years with ajw as their Chairman of the Board. She is a ruthless leader who had no trouble spinning a fantasy that was predicated on anti-Mia hate and bullying. As the self-appointed leader, she took a position of claiming most of her fabricated theories were the truth and she often claimed she knew WHAT Chris or Darren were thinking about a given situation.  I could go on and on and on but her statement yesterday is a great summation of how her thinking is jaded by her fantasies.

The thing is nonnie, it isn’t just career.  This isn’t just choosing straight. It is choosing straight AND:

A woman he literally despises and that has egregiously hurt him repeatedly

RR, the most inept manager of all time, who works for his beard

The bar that has complete personality disorder and that requires him to promote it more than anything in his career and to be physically present frequently

All of the enablers who need to be promoted constantly and this includes her friends and many of his friends

Likely giving up C for good because to me, the situation looks much different when it becomes willing. A marriage is willing, I just don’t see C being ok with this.

Being paired to a woman that acts badly. She rolls joints in cars and posts in SM, has not work ethic, parties continuously, etc etc

To me IF he wanted to choose straight, he would choose a classy beard that actually was ambitious and would bolster his image not hinder it.

This is about so much more than choosing straight. If marries M, I don’t think he ever breaks free. And M comes with too much baggage.  I honestly don’t see him surviving it long-term.

And for the record, I don’t think D is choosing straight, but i just want to emphasize M is much much more than just choosing his career over his truth.  I literally think he would need a personality transplant to make this choice.

This entire manifesto of HER beliefs about Darren getting married are nothing more than HER theories based on HER fantasy and HER HER HERHERHERHE. 

Choosing straight? Darren has constantly and constantly said he is straight since 2010. At NO time did he suggest, hint, or hem & haw that he was anything but straight. The “Darren is queer” trope is entirely fabricated and perpetuated within the CC fandom. They truly believe he is queer and then proceeds to out him on a daily basis. That is fucked up. 

A woman he literally despises and that has egregiously hurt him repeatedly? Darren has never so much as suggested he was angry at Mia let along “despises” her. We have never seen them break up or take a break. They worked together on Glee and they own a bar together. They spend a lot of time with one another. In fact, the CCers have spent many hours arguing that “it isn’t normal” that they spent so much time with the one they love. The few times that  Darren has talked about Mia over the years have constant - he loves, he loves her a lot. She has accompanied him to events for many years and in the last 4 yeas she has been to most of his events. The only ones who “despise:” Mia are the jealous CCers. 

Egregiously hurt him? Once again, there is not one story that is rooted in reality. Most couples hurt one another at some point but there is nothing that we, as fans, are privy too and nothing that reaches the level of “egregiously”. If there was then it would up to Darren’s family and friends to intervene and his family and friends like her. Darren’s family interact with her in a way one would expect of their soon-to-be DIL. Fans have seen them together at shows. There is nothing to suggest they don’t like her.  And there are no stories of Mia hurting Darren that weren’t manufactured by the CC fandom.

RR, the most inept manager of all time, who works for his beard? I know you won’t be surprised to know that stories of RR ineptness are also made up. How would any fan know what Ricky is doing for Darren? We don’t.  We do know that Darren calls Ricky his good friend and that he followed Ricky when he started his own business. I know that he hired a music PR company and told them that he only needed promotions services because he had his own manager he wants to stick with( I randomly met the music PR company CEO on an airplane). Darren’s career is flying, he is busy AF with lots of projects and the two men have worked out relationship that works well for them both. Managers aren’t allowed to control their actors lives as CCers have suggest. He must work on behalf of Darren, in Darren’s best interest at all times or Darren could end the contract. Ricky isn’t working for Mia…where would Mia get the money to pay him? Why would he hurt someone that so many people in Hollywood love- he would ruin his career when that got out. Nobody who is in Darren’s world sees anything amiss but we are supposed to believe CCers? OKAYYYY  This is another trope that AJW fabricated that isn’t based on a shred of reality but it helps her explain why Darren is not out of the closest and why he doesn’t talk to Chris and why Mia is still around.  

The bar that has complete personality disorder and that requires him to promote it more than anything in his career and to be physically present frequently The bar doesn’t have a personality disorder. It is an over-21 bar with theme nights that are well advertised. It is so easy to find a rationale explanation for why Darren promotes the bar more than anything in his career: Because IT IS HIS BAR and he LIKES it.

All of the enablers who need to be promoted constantly and this includes her friends and many of his friends This is disgusting. These are his friends…. friends he has cared about for many years. The ccProblem is that they like Mia and that can’t be so they are labeled ccEnablers. Darren’s important relationships are belittled and denigrated so that CCers can ignore the obvious - that Darren’s friends love Mia. They aren’t enablers: they are supporting a real relationship between two people they all love very much.

Likely giving up C: He was never with Chris. That was all made up in the cc fandom’s head. Chris is living his live unbothered by what is happening in Darren’s life right now because they have nothing to do with one another. 

Being paired to a woman that acts badly. She rolls joints in cars and posts in SM, has not work ethic, parties continuously, etc etc Let’s be clear, there are no examples of her acting badly that are based in reality. The CCers spend a lot of time and energy creating and publicizing Mia Acting Badly but it is all ccNonsense. Pot: She and her friends rolled 1 joint, in 1 car, 1 time. Most Americans are smoking pot today and it is legal in CA so it is ridiculous to keep bring this up. She has no work ethic: She OWNS a bar. We have no idea what else she does. She could be doing projects that we don’t see- things that aren’t made-for-social-media moments. She is on Ryan Murphy’s charity and she has done freelance work so there may be stuff we don’t know of, idk. It doesn’t matter if she is doing a lot or nothing more than owning her bar and supporting Darren’s career because that is the choice that they made as a couple in a relationship as couples do. It isn’t any of our business. 

Parties continuously: Also a CC trope that has no evidence to back it up….they just keep throwing it out hoping it sticks. It hasn’t. This trope is based on CCers deep desire to slander Mia and they caught her standing near glasses of unknown substances, belonging to unknown person at TSG so yaknow, she’s drunk amirght? Most of the time, Mia is with Darren so idk where they get the idea she is a partier unless Darren is a partier and we know that they cannot EVER, Ever, ever entertain the idea that Darren is or was ever a drunk, frat-bro. The other day they dug up a blind from 2014 that claimed Mia was doing cocaine and acting like an asshole but there was nobody thought to grab their phone and start recording. SHOCKING. Also utter BS. 

etc etc etc: All of their examples  of Mia “acting badly” are fake. I have vetted them all. There are a lot of stories of Mia treating fans badly and yet there is not ONE video; not one photo of these moments? Amazing that fans are video taping Darren’s show and the stage door moments but they never catch Mia being a raving bitch to Darren’s fans.  It’s almost like they aren’t real. 

To me IF: yes to me to me to me to me me me me me memememememe its all about her. 

M comes with too much baggage: Louis Vuitton? I’m super jealous. Darren has loved Mia for almost 9 years. He knows her baggage well. The CCers on the other hand, have no clue what is real and have fabricated a lot of fantasy luggage they will be left standing with as Darren and Mia walk down the aisle toward one another and their new life.

I honestly don’t see him surviving it long-term.This always makes me chuckle. What exactly do you imagine will happen? What actually happens to people who “don’t survive long term?” That makes for a great fiction story, the plot of many movies but what happens in real life? She imagines what about Darren?  

According to CC trope, Darren is living a life of hell right now- lying to everyone, having to keep a billion balls in the air and all the lies and stories straight. He has to lie to everyone and keep track of those lies- lies to friends, fans, family, interviewers, team members, Mia’s family, Mia’s friends,TSG patrons, and people he works with on set. He has to pretend and ACT like he likes Mia at Hollywood events, TSG, weekends with Starkid, in front of fans and with their families. He has to spend all day with Mia and run home to Chris for 2 hours of snuggling and spooning. He has to engage his parents in participating in stunts to keep the ruse going. He has to get everyone who knows to lie for him. 

If he breaks it off with Chris and marries Mia, he stays in the closet and just lives his life. Yes, he is denying his sexuality-but many men in Hollywood have done so for many years. and according to ajw, staying in the closet and having a beard is the norm right now. Let’s be real, he is doing all of this- hiding in the closet, marrying Mia, and forsaking Chris in order to keep his fame. There is no other reason to keep his sexuality hidden except for fame because literally nobody but Ryan Murphy, Fox Studio, Ricky Rollins and Mia Swier CARE what Darren’s sexuality is. He could be a lawyer in NYC and nobody would care if he was queer…or an actor in San Francisco or run a theatre in Michigan. He is literally Ariel, trading his sexuality and sexual freedom to Ursula in exchange for his career. 

Staying hidden deep in the closet and forsaking his love would be a horrible price to pay for sure but to me it seems far less horrible than the story spun by the CrissColfers that describe a life of deception, fear, and a lack of integrity.  In this scenario, marrying Mia means he lies to himself about his sexuality but in exchange he gets to stop lying to EVERYONE else. 

The truth is that all of the CC theories are based on 2 things: 

the CCer’s baseless hatred of a woman they don’t know

they are concocted to explain why Darren’s behavior and words do not support the most basic CC trope: that Darren is queer and that he and Chris are in a long-term committed relationship.

Every single CC trope and theory was fabricated in direct response to something Darren did or said that did not reflect that is queer and/or in love with Chris Colfer. The tropes are fabricated as explanations for behavior that does not uphold CrissColfer and this has led to an enormous number of unrelated and complicated tropes. As we get farther away from Glee and it became readily apparent to everyone except the CC fandom that Chris and Darren do not have a public relationship, the tropes rely more and more on an endless number of “contracts” that seem to serve no purpose other than to “promote” Mia and/or ruin Darren’s life. It is all utter rubbish. 

The most logical, most simple, easier explanation as to why Darren said or did something that doesn’t uphold CrissColfer is that 

Darren Criss Loves Mia Swier

That one simple sentence solves all of the mysteries about Darren’s behavior over the last 10 years.  

[septic-heart-and-mind]

“Free” | “Imprisoned” (JSE Ego Fic) Pt. 10

It’s a long one but hopefully good - the new chapter is here! I love how the name of this part and the whole story are like opposites xD Prepare yourself for the feels in this one!!

If you haven’t read @thesepticactress‘s ego fic you should, it inspired me to write this story! :)

tw: abuse/torture

Chase’s POV

I decided to start working on my own plan to save myself and Mum, knowing that I couldn’t stay where I was for much longer. I wasn’t safe, and I feared what Dad might do to me one day if I angered him enough - especially as I was now aware that he possessed a gun. I needed to prove what he was doing to me without him finding out; I planned to record him, but then I remembered his threat about getting the police involved. I ended up feeling too afraid to do it, and so I had to try and come up with an alternative. After a lot of thought, I did eventually reach a conclusion that I thought might work. The next time he came into my room, I would call one of my friends and leave it in my pocket, so that they would hear that I was in trouble without Dad knowing that they knew; then, while he was unaware, they could do something to stop him. Not only that but, if the call was recorded by them, it could then be used as proof later. I told them that’s what I had planned, so that they knew to stay on the line even if I didn’t say a word. I went to bed that night having not seen him for a while, and wondering if maybe I was safe until the morning; as I lay in bed, I thought about my plan and whether it would even work. I was willing to try anything to get myself out of this situation, so I wanted to do it even if there was a good chance it would fail. I just had to do something, I couldn’t go on like this anymore and I didn’t know how much longer I would even survive. Getting beaten every day has to take a toll on your body, not to mention my mental health - especially with all the verbal abuse he gave me as well, and both that and the physical were worse now that Mum was gone. There was no-one to step in, and no-one to take care of me afterwards. This had to end. But in the middle of the night, I heard him advancing up the stairs. I reached over to my phone and I called Jackie; I quietly whispered our code word when he picked up, and he waited as he understood what was happening. My door slowly creaked open. Footsteps approached my bed and I sat up swiftly, startled as I feared him. I saw an evil face looking at me in the dark, smirking with twisted glee.

“I’ve got something to show you,” Dad announced, something in his voice telling me it was sinister, “Something I’ve been working on for a while.” I was apprehensive, scared of what it might be, so he had to drag me to make me get out of bed and walk. With his hands clamped on me, he took me down into the basement (somewhere I never really went) and I saw that he had set up what looked like a torture chamber. Implements, somewhere to lie and chain down a victim, rope and tape… What else could it be? I knew I had to run - but he blocked me with his arm and pushed me to the cold floor. “You’re going nowhere,” he said darkly. He kicked me in the stomach to ensure I stayed down while he locked the door, sealing my doom. I feared that my friends wouldn’t get to me in time, and I was terrified of what he planned to do to me here. Even if my friends did get here, how would they save me now that I was locked in? I was losing all hope of ever being free. While I was down on the floor, he tied up my hands and my feet so that I couldn’t escape, before dragging me onto what I can only describe as a torture bed. It was like a metal frame that he laid me on and he tied me to it, and this is where he would torture me. It even looked like an old bed frame without the mattress on it, rusty and worn down yet somehow strong enough to take my weight. He then started to beat me, before whipping me with his belt repeatedly, and I screamed out in pain and fear. When he had finished these methods of hurting me, I sensed that there was more he had planned; he wouldn’t have brought me down here if that was all he was going to do, and I could see in his eyes that he had only just started. Looking evilly pleased with the pain he had caused me so far, he then retrieved his next weapon of choice; he grabbed a hammer and, despite my desperate pleas, he whacked my hand - and I was convinced he broke something as I screamed in agony. He then did the same to my other hand and, again, I felt something break. I writhed in pain as much as I could whilst being tied up.

“Please…” I begged, pained and frightened, “L-Let - let me go…”

“We’re not finished yet,” he smirked.

“What are you gonna do to me?” I stammered fearfully. He paused, a smirk forming on his face.

“I don’t suppose you remember what happened to your pathetic little doll, do ya?” he quizzed. I thought long and hard, and then it came to me. I remembered when I was little, flashing back to it.

Chase’s Flashback

“What the fuck are you doing?” Dad questioned with disgust as he entered and saw me. I was too scared to utter an answer. “I asked you a question, you pathetic little pansy, what the fuck are you doing? Who d’ya think you are, a little girl?” he teased. I just shook my head, my little lips wobbling as tears began to form in my eyes. “No son of mine plays with stupid girls’ toys,” he stated coldly before snatching the doll out of my arms. I reached out for the doll with distress and I toddled after him when he stormed off with it. Mum followed after us, and Dad charged all the way outside with my doll; he went into the shed, got out a saw, and started decapitating the toy baby. I started crying my eyes out, and Dad laughed evilly at him. He then set alight its body, burning the remains of the doll. As Mum watched him torment me, I think she realised that this was the most evil thing she’d ever seen him do - but it only increased her fear of him. She would’ve walked away that day, saving herself and myself, but how could she when she saw that he was capable of this sick, twisted behaviour? “Looks like you won’t be needing its clothes and shit anymore,” Dad smirked, “Go and get them.” I just stood there, shaking with tears pouring down my face. Dad went very close to my face, glaring at me. “Now,” he threatened. Intimidated, I ran inside the house despite the wobbling of my legs. I tried to carry all its accessories outside by myself, but my shaking hands kept dropping things and getting more upset, so Mum helped me - even though Mum knew it would all be destroyed, which wasn’t what she wanted at all. By the time we got outside, we saw that Dad had set up the little incinerator, and this is where he gleefully put all the things we had brought out. As they slowly burned, I just stood and watched with tears streaming down my little cheeks. I desperately wanted to make it stop, so I tried to put my hands in it and ended up burning myself.

“Mummy!” I cried, running into Mum’s arms.

“Stupid boy!” Dad laughed at me.

“Shhh, it’s alright, sweetheart,” Mum comforted me, “Come on, let’s get some cold water on it.”

Chase’s POV (present)

He saw in my eyes that I remembered what he did, as the fear in them became much more intense, and his twisted excitement grew. “You remember now, don’t ya?” he taunted me, picking up a saw, “Now… I’m gonna do the same to you.”

“No, no! Mum!” I shrieked loudly with the greatest terror I’d ever felt as he advanced towards me, an evil grin on his face as he glared at me. I screamed as I imagined the excruciating agony of him slowly cutting through me and making me bleed to death. I cried out for Mum.

“Your mummy will be here soon, little boy,” he grinned, lifting the saw ready to cut me, “And she will find your cold, dead corpse in a pool of blood. Headless. And then… she’ll join you in death.” He laughed maniacally as he saw how terrorised I was, closing my eyes and screaming again as I expected to feel pain like I’d never felt before. The door crashed down. BANG! He collapsed immediately, the saw falling from his hand as he lost consciousness. There stood Anti with my friends crowded behind him, his hands shaking violently as he still pointed the gun outwards, before his trembling grip loosened and it fell to the ground. I’d been holding my breath but now I sobbed with relief.

“Oh - Oh shit…” Anti stuttered in a whisper, tears in his panicked eyes.

“It’s okay, Anti,” Robbie reassured him softly, “You saved Chase, it’s okay.” Stacy ran to me and she untied my hands and legs, before hugging me tightly.

“I-Is he - is he dead?” Anti stammered. Henrik went to his side and checked for a pulse.

“He’s dead,” Henrik confirmed. I actually sobbed with relief that he was gone.

“Sh-Shit… I-I’ve - I’ve killed him…” Anti trembled.

“You were the only one brave enough to use it, to stop him,” Robbie praised him gently, “And you did it.”

“I-I’m a - a murderer…” Anti cried.

“No, Anti,” Jackie replied in reassurance, “You’re a hero.”

“Did he hurt you badly?” Stacy asked me caringly. Still too scared to speak, I shakily nodded with tears streaming down my face. “Henrik, should we get him to hospital?” she checked.

“Let me see,” Henrik answered, coming over to me to examine my injuries.

“It’s alright now, Chase,” Stacy comforted me, “He can’t hurt you anymore.” Anti then approached me, looking more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him as he shook all over. I tried to say ‘thank you’, but I was still so scared that no sound left my mouth. He just smiled gently at me with tears still in his eyes, before going back over to Robbie. Seán kindly looked after JJ and Marvin, who were both in shock, while Jackie and Robbie tried to calm Anti down.

“Someone needs to get Chase’s mum,” Stacy suggested.

“Well, I think he should go to hospital,” Henrik explained, “I’ll call her and tell her to meet us.”

“You’ll be alright, Chase,” Stacy reassured me, her hand gently on my cheek, “And we’ll be here.” She placed a kiss on my forehead, and I felt slightly comforted. Anti was still in a complete state, unable to believe that he had actually shot someone dead. He was sat on the cold floor, rocking back and forth while Jackie and Robbie talked gently to him. He was too shaken to possibly hide how scared he was, despite his usual tough-guy exterior.

“I-I can’t live with this,” Anti cried shakily, reaching for the gun and aiming it at his own head.

“No, Anti! No,” Robbie responded desperately. “Anti, you did a good thing. You shot someone who deserved it. And you saved Chase and his mum. You have nothing to be guilty about, nothing.” Anti’s hand shook as it remained at his head. “Put the gun down, Anti,” Robbie gently encouraged him, “Please.” His hands still quivering, he dropped the gun back onto the floor, and then Robbie hugged him. I continued to gasp and cry, my body still shaking as I still hadn’t calmed down from coming so close to a brutal death at the hands of my own father.

“I-I want - I want M-Mum,” I spluttered.

“She’ll be with you soon,” Stacy reassured me, but this just reminded me too much of what my father had said just before he nearly tried to end my life - so I started to hyperventilate much worse. “Shhh, deep breaths, Chase, deep breaths,” Stacy spoke softly, “Everything’s gonna be alright, I promise.” When the ambulance eventually arrived, Seán decided to take on the responsibility of explaining what had happened. Anti confessed to shooting, but Seán reassured them that he only did it to save me and that, actually, what he did was rather heroic. Anti knew he would have to explain everything to the police, but he was assured that it was unlikely he would be in any trouble at all. All the way to the hospital, and even once we were there, I just kept crying for Mum. I needed her, I needed to see that she was okay even though I rationally knew that she hadn’t been hurt. I was completely worked up and I just couldn’t calm myself down without her, even with my friends reassuring me brilliantly. Marvin understood so well, because there were some days where he would cry for her and no-one else could soothe him because she was the only one he wanted. A suffocating weight lifted from my chest when I saw my mother enter the room.

“My beautiful boy!” she cried out, rushing over to me, “Oh, my darling, come here!” She cuddled me close and I clung to her tightly. “It’s alright now, my baby, it’s alright,” she comforted me, stroking my head slowly and gently, “I’m here now, sweetheart, I’ve got you. Shhh.”

“I-I thought - I thought I was gonna - gonna die,” I cried.

“Shhh, I know, baby, I know,” Mum soothed me. “He’s gone now, darling, he can’t hurt us anymore. It’s over now, sweetheart. It’s all over.” Mum continued to look after me until she eventually relaxed me, and I was able to sleep for a short while.

When I woke up, Mum was still sat lovingly by my side and she smiled as she saw my eyes open. I felt her hand holding mine, and I squeezed it gently as I started to alert - forgetting that it would hurt to do it after the hammering it took, so I winced a little. She reassured me that everything was okay, and I soon felt safe. Not long after I woke up, Anti entered the room, just peeking his head round.

“Can I come in?” Anti asked, rather quiet for him.

“Sure,” I replied, smiling a little.

“I’m the one who fired the gun,” Anti announced to my mum, on the brink of tears, “I’m the murderer.”

“You killed him?” Mum checked. Anti nodded. “You saved my boy’s life… You saved him… How will I ever thank you enough?” Mum reacted with vast gratitude.

“You don’t need to thank me at all,” Anti responded modestly, “I did what I had to do.”

“You saved his life,” Mum reiterated. “Thank you…” Anti just smiled slightly, humble.

“You saved my mum, too,” I added a little sleepily, “You put an end to the abuse… At last…”

“Like I said, I did what had to be done,” Anti answered, still not really realising just how much he’d done for me and Mum. “I just had to tell you,” Anti continued to Mum, before looking at me, “And see you.”

“I’ll live,” I replied, “Thanks to you.” Anti came over to me, hesitated for a moment, and then we hugged - albeit only for a a few moments, but it was still comforting and it made me realise that we really were good friends. It was then that he left, and Mum and I were alone again for a while. That was until I heard the others muttering outside about who was going to see me next; the rule was only two people at a time, and Mum was already with me, so my friends had to take turns to see me one by one. It was lovely that they had all come to visit me, they didn’t have to do that but they took the time to do it anyway. I got to introduce Mum to each of my friends, and she seemed so happy that I had such a good group of them. After a visit from almost everyone, Stacy was the last to enter. My eyes brightened as I saw her, getting a warm fuzzy feeling inside like I did every time we were around each other; Mum saw that, and she could tell that I liked her. I didn’t have to hide anything anymore, either, now that Dad was gone. “Mum,” I began, “Remember Stacy?” I paused briefly. “She’s my girlfriend.” Stacy’s eyes lit up more than they already had, seeming to love hearing me announce it out loud.

“Aww, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend!” Mum responded happily.

“Couldn’t be open about it until now because of… him,” I explained. “And it’s not been for long, anyway.”

“Aww, Chase, I’m so happy for you, sweetie,” she replied joyfully. “Nice to see you again, Stacy,” she added, welcoming her.

“You too, Mrs. Brody,” Stacy echoed politely, smiling back. “Are you alright, Chase?” she asked me.

“I’ll be fine,” I reassured her, “Don’t you worry about me.”

“Can’t help it after what happened today,” Stacy confessed. “You nearly died.” Remembering what happened to me, I felt my eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Chase, I’m sorry,” Stacy told me guiltily, “I didn’t mean to make you think about it again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” I replied understandingly, fighting not to cry. “Come here.” I put my arms out and she came over to me, and I held her close. That seemed to calm her down very quickly, and she was smiling at me gently again by the time I let her go. We then very gently kissed.

“Aww, you too are so cute together,” Mum chirped. “You deserve to be happy.”

“He certainly does after everything he’s been through,” Stacy concurred, “You too, Mrs. Brody. You’ve both been through hell because of you know who.”

“Well, he can’t do anything more to us,” Mum stated victoriously in relief, caressing my hand delicately as she reassured me, “We’re free.”

“So is he really going to be alright?” Stacy asked Mum, clearly still concerned, “Or is he just saying that to make me feel better?”

“No, he really will be okay,” Mum reassured her, “You’ll just have to be careful when you hold hands.”

“What did he do to them?” Stacy worried.

“Probably broke them, considering he used a - h-hammer,” I stuttered as I remembered it, and I shuddered at the terrifying memory. “How will I do well at school now?” I fretted as I tried to think about anything other than him and what he did to me. “I can’t even write…”

“I’ll write for you,” Stacy offered, “I’m in all your lessons anyway. I’ll help do your homework, too.”

“You got a good one here, Chase,” Mum told me happily.

“I know,” I smiled, gazing into Stacy’s eyes as she did the same back to me. Despite my injuries, it really did feel like I was free at last. No more fear in my own home, no more abuse, no more being ordered around and controlled. I had my life back, as did Mum, although I had a lot of recovering to do. Not just physically, but mentally from all of the violence and verbal abuse. He had brought my self-esteem down through the floor, making me feel completely worthless, and I know I would have been far worse if it wasn’t for my mother reminding me that I was loved and I mattered for all those years. Of course, I now had Stacy and my friends to do the same, but the damage was already done. He’d broken me. In that sense, I wasn’t completely free just yet; I knew that I wouldn’t get over the torture overnight, nor would I just forget everything he’d done to me throughout my life. There was a long road ahead to get over all that, and maybe I never fully would - but I had to do what I could, because I was free now and I couldn’t let him control my life any longer. It was then that the police came to talk to me, and I have to give a statement about what happened. It was horrible as I had to relive it all, and I got rather upset and shaky as I told them everything. I really did tell them everything, because I revealed about all the abuse we had endured for years. I told them about how he used to hurt me and Mum, and that he shot her twice not so long ago. They were able to check the medical records and see that she had indeed been in hospital with two gunshot wounds - which added up with my dad being the culprit as, after this night’s events, it was clear that there was a gun in our house. I also went over the stabbing, telling them that I lied when I said that I was confused when I told them two stories - and that Dad had been the perpetrator all along, but I had to cover for him out of fear. I then went on to tell them how he took me to the basement and tortured me, and that he would’ve killed me if it wasn’t for Anti stepping in and putting a stop to it all. I let them know that I saw Anti as a hero, and that I only thanked him for what he did - hoping that they would see that he acted in defence and wouldn’t punish him.

Anti’s POV

I had to go to the police station to explain what had happened that night, and I was terrified that they wouldn’t believe me and would lock me up for murder. I only did what I did because I had no choice, Chase would have been the dead one otherwise - and I just desperately hoped that they would realise that, because I wasn’t a cold-blooded killer. I made jokes about knives sometimes, but that wasn’t because I was evil; it was just my way of coping with the fact that I cut myself, I used humour to deal with it. I did say something about stabbing his dad to death before, but that I was just because I was angry and protective - not because I actually would’ve done it. I was surprised that I even managed to fire the gun, it happened so quickly and out of instinct to save Chase - and I couldn’t get out of my head what I’d done. I was still shaken by it when I went to the station, and I didn’t know how I was going to relive it all already when it still freaked me out so much. They asked me what happened that night, and my stomach knotted as I knew I had no choice but to go over the frightful events again.

“Me and my friends, we - we went to Chase’s house,” I stammered anxiously, “We knew he was in danger… He called us a-and - and we could hear - everything that was happening…”

“And what did happen?” they questioned me.

“Chase’s dad had him in the basement…” I shakily continued to explain, “I could hear him hurting him… And… I just - I just had to save him…”

“So what happened next?” they prompted me.

“W-We - we broke into the house,” I replied worriedly, scared I would be in trouble for it. “And… I knew I had to stop him somehow… I… I found his gun… and…”

“Go on, you’re doing well,” they encouraged me, seeming to be on my side.

“And I heard Chase scream so - so loudly… H-He was so - scared… I’ve never - heard anything l-like that…” I could feel myself struggling to breathe more and more as I continued to tell the story, my chest tightening with panic as I imagined that terrorised scream. “I-I broke the door - down…” I gasped, “And - and I - I shot him…” My breathing accelerated. “I-I didn’t - I didn’t mean to kill him, I-I - I swear!” I cried.

“It’s alright,” they reassured me.

“I-I’m not lying, I promise!” I fretted tearfully, “Chase is - is in hospital - right now, you - you can check if - if you don’t believe me!” I was terribly hyperventilating now, shaking violently.

“We know Chase is in hospital,” they stated calmly, “And we know his wounds show that it was done deliberately by someone.”

“I didn’t do it, I-I didn’t!” I trembled in tears, in a panic, “I just protected him! I didn’t hurt him!”

“I believe you,” they told me gently. “Chase’s statement matches with yours and we know everything that he did. Sounds like you were quite the hero.”

“My statement isn’t enough,” I choked, “You need proof…”

“Chase’s injuries are proof enough. And I’m sure that we will find that basement when we investigate, and that will tell us everything,” they replied.

“So… I-I’m not - going to prison?” I stammered.

“No,” they answered, “We’re letting you go. And it’ll stay that way if we don’t find anything incriminating against you, which I don’t think we will.”

“You really believe me?” I asked tearfully, feeling hopeful.

“Yes,” they nodded. I sobbed with relief. “You’re free to go.” I thanked them, before rushing out of the room; Robbie was there waiting for me, and we hugged tightly for a while. I continued to cry, relieved while still shaken, and Robbie rubbed my back gently to soothe me. Soon, I started to feel a little better and Robbie smiled at me.

“Come on, bro, let’s get you out of here,” Robbie said with his arm around me. We only had the care home to go back to, but it was still better than here; I feared, though, that the other kids were gonna pick on me when they realised how vulnerable I was. I knew I’d be shaken by what happened for some time, and my tough exterior would probably slip a lot, and I didn’t want them to tease me for it. Robbie reassured me that he would stand up for me, and that it might not even come to that because maybe they would actually be understanding about it. I just wished that we weren’t in that home anymore and that we had a loving family, because then we really would be free.

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Reunion and Realization

 Takumi wondered if he had gone blind from that terribly bright light.  Eyes still squeezed shut, he slowly lowered his arms. Fujin Yumi still tight in his grasp, he prince exhaled through his mouth and shook his head lightly from the incoming headache.  “Welcome, Takumi.”  Immediately he snapped his eyes open at the voice.

 And once he did, shock registered quickly into him to see a person cloaked in a robe of gold and white.  The person flashed a smile, her left hand waving in his direction while her right holding some sort of weapon. Caution popped swiftly into his mind, Takumi tightened his hold on Fujin Yumi and almost positioned himself to attack.  Kiran was faster to take notice.  “Eh, eh!” Panic blooming in the summoner, she quickly raised both hands and levelled them near her head. “I’m not here to attack!” Dark brown eyes witnessed his gaze that fell to the Breidablik. “This won’t hurt anyone!” Shivers ran down her spine to spot a doubtful glare towards her. “I don’t even know how to fight!”  God, if this kept on any longer, Kiran swore she was going to spout pathetic nonsense about herself.  Thankfully, the last statement somewhat eased him from raising his Fujin Yumi any further.  As humiliating as it was that that convinced him, Kiran was utterly relieved as well.  “A-Anyways,” Coughing once into her left fist, she looked at the silently confused prince. “I’m Kiran, the summoner of this kingdom. And you’ve been summoned as a fellow Hero to help the people of Askr.” Though her face resonated serenity, Kiran was beyond thrilled and proud to have uttered the statements smoothly and clearly; obviously, saying those words in front of a mirror nearly every day was paying off.  Silent still held the prince’s lips. But upon hearing her explanation, he slowly began to nod his head. “I…see.” Hazel eyes observed her from head to toe. Clearly she wasn’t a threat. Her smile was still genuine, gleaming even with cheeks dusted a slight red. Heat warming into his face as well at the former doubt, Takumi finally cocked a sincere smile of his own.  “In that case,” Fuyin Yumi moved to his left hand, Takumi placed his right palm onto his heart, “let me introduce myself. I’m Takumi, a prince of Hoshido and wielder of the divine Fujin Yumi.” He lifted the weapon slightly. “Which…makes me pretty useful, I’d say.”  The statement wasn’t meant to sound pitiful, but Kiran quickly bit back the frown that almost formed her pretty pink lips. “Thank you, Takumi.” She gave a single bow, then stood up properly with her smile still beaming like the sun. “You’re gonna be really helpful here. I just know it!”  After their little introduction, the summoner then raised her right hand and popped her lips open to tell him about the castle and other facilities.  “Kiran, where are you?”  However, silence struck her next once that voice rang from outside the summoning chamber.  Now, Kiran’s silence wasn’t because of her voice. Oh no, no. After almost a year, hearing her voice didn’t surprise her in the least. Hell, even if the princess roared violently into the sky, Kiran would just take it as casual noise.  No. What brought her to silence was the complete bafflement that splashed Takumi’s face.  “Kiran?” Without waiting for a response, Kamui entered the chamber. “Oh, there you are!” A smile curling at the corners to see the summoner, the princess happily approached her. “Ready to go to the market? I’ve been dying to see the little markets in Askr!” Slender hands casually held more delicate ones. “I heard from Sharena that they even have a stall that sells the most delicious pastries! I want to go try!” Kamui swore, any more excited than she was, a tail would surely pop out and wag ecstatically at the idea.  That joy, however, dimmed to confusion when she saw Kiran’s lack of enthusiasm. “Kiran, what’s wrong?” Head tilted slightly, Kamui carefully waved one hand across the summoner’s face.  “Kamui.”  Confusion froze into pure shock once that voice – that lovely, lovely voice she’d missed so much – slipped into her ears.  Crimson eyes as wide as they could be, Kamui quickly turned around.  And when she did, by Gods, she had gasped so loud, both hands swiftly slapped to her gaping mouth.  He’s here.  He’s here, he’s here, he was finally here.  Silence hanged heavily inside the chamber. One stared in complete disbelief and bafflement. One stared with breathing choppy and heartbeat manic inside a chest. While one stood from a few feet away, her steps slowly sliding backwards in order to give them a moment.   But man, Kiran wanted so badly to watch this scene unfold without making it awkward for both of them.  He still didn’t say a word. She still stood still as a statue.  Suddenly, as silence still sang its hollow song, footsteps shattered the heavy air.  Tap, tap, Takumi walked forward, hazel eyes focused on no one but the stunned dragon princess.  Kamui.  Her name chanted endlessly in his mind.  Kamui, Kamui, Kamui, Kamui, Kamui, Kamui.  Her name became a hypnotic mantra that haunted his thoughts.  Tap.  Clang!  “Kamui…”  Without a moment’s hesitance, Takumi pulled the baffled princess into a tight hug.  Fujin Yumi unwarily dropped to the side, the prince nuzzled and nestled and kissed the left side of her head, her soft hair, her twitching ear. “Oh Gods, Kamui…” Eyes warmed with tears, Takumi squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his embrace.  A short gasp escaped weakly through shaking lips once he felt her hands on his back.  “Welcome home, Takumi…”  Though a single tear trickled down flushed cheeks, he couldn’t help the laughter that had bubbled out of him. “I’m h-home…” Teeth chattered then clenched tightly, Takumi pressed a long, lingering kiss to the side of her head again. “I…I finally found you, dear.”  Gods, how badly he missed her sweet, sweet laugh.  “I’m sorry for being gone for so long, darling.” Head tipped comfortably on his left shoulder, Kamui slightly turned her head so that her lips pecked his ear. “But you found me!”  Gods, how horribly he missed her adorably endearing personality.  Again, shaky laughter popped out of his mouth. “Don’t e-ever—” He took a deep breath and slid his arms around her waist. “—leave me again.” And with that, Takumi easily lifted her up and twirled her around.  Surprised by the sudden lift, Kamui then laughed louder and louder as she placed her hands on his shoulders.  Tears and dignity be damned, Takumi took a deep breath before breaking out another shaky sob. Still, his smile stayed in place, never wavered, never gone now that she was finally in his arms. ---  Kiran only watched the scene behind the other end of the door. Her jaw had gone a bit numb from all the smiling, but she couldn’t give a damn. It always brought her absolute joy to see couples being reunited. After all, it was partially her fault that these Heroes appeared without warning. The least she could do was hope for the best and summon their friends, families, or loved ones.  “Kiran?”  Speaking of loved ones.  Quickly she turned around, her heart skipped a beat to see the Askarian prince. “Alfonse!” Eyes unblinking at the sudden visitor, Kiran quickly but carefully pressed the door closed behind her. “I—what’s up?”  Oh dear Gods, she almost burst out a cackle to see him subconsciously looking up.  Upon realizing that he was fooled by one of her metaphorical sentence – again – Alfonse closed his eyes and pursed his lips in pure shame. “I should’ve known better.” Masking his embarrassment with a single cough, the prince bit the insides of his lower lip and looked at the summoner.  Gods, his teeth nipped harder to see that radiant smile.  Unaware of the little emotional whirlwind he had caused her, Kiran gently tapped her chin. Laughter still rang inside the chamber. And as much as she wanted to show this moment of bliss to the prince, Kiran was pretty sure the two preferred some privacy after months of being separated from each other. Plus, she really didn’t want to know what it was like to piss off a powerful prince and a terrifying dragon.  And with that, an idea beamed on top of her head.  “Hey, Alfonse.” Slowly she approached him, her heart picking up its pace at every step. “Are you free today?”  A single eyebrow was seen being raised and by Gods, he’s too cute!  “I am.” Just by the sight of her smile alone, Alfonse could feel his lips curl so naturally at her presence. “Why?”  She swore, her heart was about to burst out of her chest. “Do you want to accompany me to the market today?”  She didn’t know what made her more nervous: the question or his shocked reaction.  “I-I mean—!” Quickly she waved her hands, though voice still evened so that she wouldn’t startle the royal couple on the other side of the door. “I—Sharena said there’s this stall that has the best pastries and I’m really stoked to see the stuff they have!” Clap, her hands pressed together. “So, if you’re free today, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me for a bit—”  “Of course.”  Her mouth gaped to a stupor. “What?”  Both hands lingered near her pressed lips to see his charming smile and dusted cheeks.  “I—yes.” Again he answered, voice clear as day. “I would love y—to go with you!” His mouth was quicker, but Gods, his heart was now a violent tornado of hoping – terribly, badly, madly hoping – that she didn’t pick that up.  To see the excited gleam in her eyes, Alfonse was beyond relieved.  “Yay!” Unable to contain her thrill, Kiran clapped again and even bounced right in front of him. “Great! I’ll go get my tiny stash of coins in my bedroom and we’ll be ready to go!” Without waiting for a reaction, she dashed away and even hummed in glee at the moment of fun they were going to have.  While she beamed in anticipation for the day, Alfonse only watched her in silence.  In seconds, her figure disappeared from his line of sight.  But by Gods, even if she wasn’t physically there, her image would always, always haunt his mind, day and night.  His heart thumped just as madly when he remembered his humiliating mistake.  “Gods…” Heat now burned to the ears, Alfonse cupped his face with both hands and even slowly, agonizingly stooped down to the ground.  He had done it. He had done the one thing he swore himself to never do.  Fingers parted away to see his right eye, Alfonse sighed bitterly as he gazed at the ground.  He could still vividly see her smile.  You’ve fallen in love with her… END