#what IS mean is “venting your frustrations” against REAL people on this app

[crescenthistory]

is this a safe space to vent our frustrations about other writers on this app? because you truly outdo all of them

no ❤️

[swordofguts]

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Trauma

Wake up, eat, work, watch tv, go to bed, rehash for a year. When that becomes your life you end up with a lot of time to reflect. Maybe living life fast enough makes you miss opportunities and waste the ones given to you. Maybe a relationship founded on antagonism can’t ever last. The phrase, ‘words hurt’, ends up meaning more when you get used to hitting someone where the callouses have built up, but what happens when you miss and hit a nerve.

You make up and promise to start over again until the next nerve gets hit. Your goals for success are drifting apart and are now reaching a point of irreconcilability. The breakup comes over text. Your unspoken fear is that they’re afraid of you. They say they can’t put in the effort anymore and hope you understand. They want to stay friends, really.

You both know that's a lie. There’s been too many secrets shared that have created too much baggage for this to go back to being a friendship again.

You discover from one of the few people you’re still in contact with that she got on a dating app a week after your breakup. That year-long relationship didn’t mean more than a pile of Clydesdale horse shit.

Friends reach out. They say they always knew she was bad news. That they never liked her anyway. That you're better off. You tell yourself you believe it. That’s the second lie you know is a lie as you're saying it. Your friend group feels increasingly untenable since your now former lover is a mutual friend with them.

As a worker in the film industry you try to focus on your career but then a pair of strikes happen and your livelihood gets shut down. Your life is now on pause with one thing dominating your thoughts. You pick up a delivery app job to pay the bills in the meantime, but that leaves you with more unfilled silence that you inevitably fill with what-could-have-beens and what-I-could-have-done-differently.

You’ve always kept most people at a six foot distance. Growing up you got too used to being the butt of most jokes so you cope by putting up a giant black veil over your personal life. You reason that what people don’t know can’t be used against you.

You had that barrier, but what the hell, aren’t you supposed to confide everything in your partner? So you share everything. Your hopes and fears, even the ugly things you’ve never shown anyone else. That kid from when you were 12 that put his hands where you didn’t want them. The ways in which the impact has made you feel uncomfortable in the bedroom.

It doesn’t take long after the breakup for you to discover that she’s given this information out to people outside of the relationship. Apparently she was frustrated in bed and decided to vent to strangers about it.

You let the barrier down, but it turns out it was just a trojan horse.

Growing up you had a father who wanted the best for you, but that best ended up being up feeling always out of reach. He had a temper that always seemed to get aimed at you. So you grow up with the vow that you’ll never have a temper like an H bomb.

She tells you you have blue eyes that look like hurricane formations or calm oceans on a dime. You wonder whether or not those were words of adoration or caution now. You didn’t outgrow the man with a temper, you just lived long enough to become him.

But there is hope (as I���m writing this with three months left in the year) in this life. Tonight I reconnected with an old friend from back when I had a real life. We go to a concert for the music from Spider-Man Into The Spider Verse together. We talk about our lives lived with hopes and fears, regrets and successes. You realize that all those relationships that you thought had been tainted were really still always there. You just had to take that leap of faith.

You don’t know where this road you’re on is going to take you or whether you’ll enjoy every bump or snag. You don’t know where you stand in this industry and your place in it has never felt more uncertain. You are, however, sure of one thing. You will always possess the power to put one foot in front of the other, to carry on in the face of all that insists you turn back. For that is the capacity allows us all to live the lives we deserve. Someone else will come along that you’ll be able to share your burdens with. You will live in the light of tomorrow instead of the twilight of yesterday. You will live and you will love.

[mcheang]

I'm back and with an idea i just had to share with you a fic with Alya knowing Lila was lying but wanted to knock Marinette down because he felt jealous and inferior to Marinette who had talent and headstart to her carreer and celebrity connections (she was still friends with her cuz Mari had a lot of perks )so she has an excuse to lash out her frustration and Mari calls her out saying Mari has been nothing but a good friend and she's been nothing but a bad person bcuz of her insecurites

Jealousy doesn’t become a hero

I very much prefer writing Lila and/or Bustier salt. But I hope this draft satisfies you.

When Volpina had been defeated, Marinette went to check the Ladyblog and was relieved to have found the interview deleted. Adrien must have informed Alya.

Imagine her surprise when Lila kept lying about her time with Achu. Despite her evidence, Alya dismissed it as jealousy.

Um...maybe Lila decided posing as her BFF was a bad idea and asked Alya to take the video down?

When Chameleon came about and was given the most embarrassing defeat of all time, Marinette sat watching Lila give her class a full-detail tall tale about how she rescued (defeated) her.

Then, struck by inspiration, Marinette went back to class, a triumphant air about her, her smirk barely repressed.

Adrien saw but shrugged it off. He figured Marinette realized Lila would get caught sooner or later. He joined her at the back later and soon their old seating arrangement was back.

That night, Alya was surprised when she heard a voice in her bedroom window.

“While I am glad that you don’t run after every akuma now, I hope you still check your sources, Alya.”

Alya turned and beamed. “Ladybug! What’s up? Do you need me for another Mission?”

Ladybug leaned against the wall. “No. I’m here regarding Lila. I’ve been hearing rumors that you posted an interview of her claiming to be my BFF- without checking with me.”

Alya blinked. “Oh. You think I’ve been suckered. Don’t worry, Ladybug, I know Lila’s nothing but a liar.”

Ladybug blinked. “But your interviews?”

Alya nodded and went to open a page on her laptop. She figured one of her classmates must have spread the rumor until it reached Ladybug’s ear (she doesn’t know why Lila was akumatized into Volpina). “I did post her interviews. But do you know how you can control who sees what you post? I made sure those interviews could only be seen by our class. And I have to approve what comments appear on every post. The comments you see are made by our classmates solely, but Lila doesn’t know all that because of their usernames. Like I’m going to ruin my journalistic career for a tabloid post!”

Ladybug blinked again, confused. “But why indulge Lila? Why let her lie to your friends?”

Alya shrugged. “It’s a weird way to make friends, sure. But maybe once Lila realizes how cool we are, she’ll learn she can trust us with the truth.”

Ladybug narrowed her eyes. Manipulating their classmates to serve her food is not a way to make friends. (And dismissing her was not very friendly of Alya either!) “You are lying to me, Alya Césaire.”

Alya started backward, and started to get nervous. Ladybug was the reason her blog was so popular, and her only chance to become a hero. She was the smartest girl in Paris and could see through lies like glass.

Alya had 2 choices. Lie again and be exposed (and never be a hero again or granted interviews), or tell the truth and never be a hero again (but at least Ladybug is more likely to forgive her)

“Fine. I indulge Lila because it’s nice to see someone else in class get the spotlight.”

Ladybug tilted her head. “I’m sure Chloe has been improving.”

Alya shook her head. “No, not her. I mean Marinette.”

Ladybug was shocked. “The bakers’ Daughter?”

Alya wasn’t surprised Ladybug knew Marinette, not when she was the one who arranged her first official interview with Ladybug.

LB: How is she in the spotlight?

Alya sighed. “She’s the most popular girl in class. She gets confessed to on a regular basis. Even my own Boyfriend was interested in her before me. She knows Jagged Stone, which is probably how she knows Lila is lying. Marinette even got her designs praised by Gabriel Agreste and Audrey Bourgeois. Her parents are owners of the most popular bakery in Paris. Clara Nightingale and Adrien Agreste both think she is star material, and worthy of being called Ladybug.”

Alya kept going on, noting that Ladybug’s surprised face wasn’t exactly discouraging her. In fact Marinette was still too stunned to react.

“I just wanted someone else to be in the limelight. And if it couldn’t be me. I’d rather it be anybody else, even a liar.”

Ladybug gathered her thoughts. “So you’re just jealous? That Marinette is popular? But you’re popular too.”

Alya gave a bleak laugh. “Hardly. In class, I’m dismissed as the obsessive and nosy reporter. I don’t know any celebrities and they certainly don’t follow the Ladyblog. More people download apps for akuma alerts and hero sightings than subscribe to my blog. I’ve been dismissed for proposing crazy theories, which in hindsight is reasonable.”

LB: I’m assuming you didn’t tell Marinette you know Lila is lying because of that.

AC: Obviously. Because then I’d have to back her up and she would be the hero again. I used the excuse that she was jealous, and she was. But I knew Marinette is above jealousy. It’s annoyingly. She was ready to give Adrien up to an ice queen.

LB wrinkled her eyebrows, drawing on her professionalism and burying her own hurt for later. “If you are upset by Marinette’s success and annoyed by her attitude, why befriend her?”

AS: Because of her connections! Thanks to her, I got to star in Clara’s music video. She somehow got you to agree to do an interview with me. I persuaded her to take over as class president so I didn’t have to do the real work and Chloe wouldn’t be in charge anymore. She gives me free custom designed clothing. And no offence to my mum, but Marinette’s pastries are the best breakfast in the world.

Ladybug finally stood up tall. Alya had been so lost in the relief and satisfaction of finally venting out her jealousy and frustration that she had momentarily forgotten that her listener in the shadows was a very influential idol whom she wanted to make a good impression on.

Ladybug said coldly, “From what you are saying, it sounds like Marinette has been a better Friend that you have ever been. You are as bad as Lila Rossi. You lie for your own gain. And if there’s one thing I despise above all else, Miss Césaire, it’s liars.”

As Ladybug launched her Yoyo out, Alya rushed to make her plea. “Wait! Please wait! I’m sorry!”

LB: No, you’re only sorry you got caught.

ALya cried out, “what can I do to make it up to you?”

Ladybug gave her one last impassive look. “For starters, I’d say tell the truth. To everyone.”

Ladybug left Alya in horrified and torn silence.

As Ladybug returned home, she detransformed and wept on her balcony, amid the perfume of flowers. She could finally face the betrayal and sadness she had kept away in front of Alya.

Tikki sadly cozied up to Marinette’s neck, trying to offer comfort.

Hawkmoth was alerted by a teenager’s despair, agony and betrayal.

Hawkmoth: Hooray, I get to akumatize Marinette after all!

He doesn’t. Adrien saw Ladybug outside and went out to join her. As he searched for Ladybug, he saw the akuma heading for a weeping Marinette.

“Marinette, move!”

Marinette looked up in surprise (Tikki quickly hid among the flowers) “Chat?”

“Cataclysm!” He destroyed the butterfly in front of her face.

Marinette gasped.

Chat quickly steadied himself on the balcony. “Marinette, are you alright? What’s wrong?”

Because she was definitely not alright. Those were tear tracks on her face. Chat felt sad that his princess was sad, and wanted to rip out the face of whoever made her cry.

Marinette shook her head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Chat was doubtful. An akuma appeared. Clearly she couldn’t handle it. “Are you sure? I’m here for you, you know.”

Marinette finally burst into sobs. She leaped into Chat’s arms. Chat held her close as she confessed the source of her troubles.

“I just learned that Alya wasn’t really my Friend at all. She was just using me.”

Chat was confused. What was she talking about?

Marinette saw his confusion and explained. “I was the one who told Ladybug about Lila first. She got mad and went to confront Lila, i assume that got her akumatized. When Lila got akumatized again today, Ladybug went to visit Alya to make sure she knew Lila was a liar.”

Ok...Chat guessed that explained Marinette’s attitude just before lunch ended.

“And it turns out Alya knew Lila was a liar all along. She never really posted her interviews to the public. She’s just been indulging Lila because she wanted to knock me down.”

Chat was shocked. “And Ladybug told you all this?”

Marinette let out a bark of laughter. “She didn’t have to. I heard Alya myself. I was near her bedroom door when I heard voices saying my name. Once I heard what Alya had to say about me, I didn’t bother knocking or to announce myself. I doubt Nora would bother mentioning me since she was preoccupied with the twins and her parents weren’t home.”

Chat guessed Marinette had new evidence that Lila was a liar and wanted to show it to Alya. But instead she happened to hear a conversation that revealed Alya’s true colours.

Marinette wiped her cheeks bitterly. “She did everything today willingly. She left me to sit in the back alone, without consulting me. She dismissed me and accused me of being jealous. All along, she was the jealous one, and I actually thought she was my Friend!”

Marinette buried her face in her hands.

Chat rubbed Marinette’s back consolingly. “Cheer up princess. You still have the rest of your friends, and me.”

Marinette sniffled. This was not comforting to her. Her friends weren’t much better. And she didn’t see Chat regularly.

Chat sensed he was failing at comforting her and tried again. “So what are you going to do tomorrow. Will you confront Alya?”

“I don’t know. I sit next to her and she is the first person I talk to every morning at school. But I can’t see her face without wanting to shout Liar now. And if I do, she’ll just turn the whole thing against me, like Lila did. (Lila did what now?) I don’t know what to do.”

Chat’s heart broke at how lost Marinette sounded. He tiled her chin up so she would look at him.

“Tell you what, princess. Tomorrow, you are going to walk with your back straight and head proud into that classroom. You are going to give Alya Césaire a polite greeting and ignore her. Talk to your other classmates. Listen to music. Write in your notebooks. Revise old lessons. Do whatever. But don’t give Alya the time of day until you are ready to face her.”

The next day, Adrien was prepared. He ignored Lila and gave a confused and sad Alya the cold shoulder.

When Marinette arrived, Adrien was all sunshine and immediately invited her to a conversation.

Marinette gratefully accepted. And though she stumbled, she kept Chat’s advice and ignored Alya’s nudges and comments.

They kept talking until class started. The girls were thrilled to see progress.

Throughout the first half of the school day, Alya kept trying to talk to Marinette or slip her notes. Marinette ignored her.

Alya guessed what had happened and braced herself. She had to tell the truth. She didn’t want to know what Ladybug would do otherwise if she didn’t.

When Lunch came and Adrien invited him to join her; Alya firmly grabbed Marinette’s hand and said in a low voice. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Marinette reluctantly followed. Unbeknownst to her, Adrien and Lila decided to eavesdrop, for different reasons. Adrien wanted to be there for Marinette and Lila wanted dirt.

In a deserted classroom, Alya finally said the words. “Ladybug told you about last night, didn’t she?”

Marinette’s answer was vague. “She didn’t have to. But she did give me a brief warning this morning. I connected the dots on my own.”

Alya laughed bitterly. “Of course, even Ladybug chooses you over me.”

Marinette stayed silent, waiting for Alya to continue.

“Let me be clear, Marinette. I’m only being honest because of Ladybug. I’ve only been your Friend because of what you do for me.”

Even though Marinette was expected it, it still hurt. Thankfully, her only controlled response was an audible exhale.

Adrien: How could you Alya?

Lila: oh snap!

“I know Lila’s lying but I indulged her because I wanted someone else to take the stage instead of you.”

Lila: she knows?

Marinette raised a brow. “Even at the risk of your blog’s reputation?”

“The interview is only seen by our class. The public can’t access it.”

Lila fumed. She had been played. Alya had used her instead of the other way around. Silently, Lila brought out her phone to record the conversation. Despite Adrien shaking his head, Lila glared at him, daring him to lecture her now.

Lila got the whole juicy bit. Alya admitted what she was jealous about, her betrayal to Marinette. And at the end of it, Marinette was still composed. Adrien had to admire her for it, standing strong in the face of such betrayal.

Marinette: you did all of that just to hurt me? Out of petty jealousy? That you accused me of envy- you resented me that much? and you only used me for free stuff and have been my friend when it's convenient? (This was part of the request) you know, I actually felt hurt that you were just taking advantage of me Alya. But now I just feel sorry for you. Some people like Chloe and Adrien are lucky, they are born with opportunities we can only dream of. But the rest of us, like Nathaniel, like Kitty Section, like myself. We work hard. Sure we have help from our friends, but we never take advantage of them. We have struggled and yes, we do face setbacks, but throughout it all, we have stayed true to ourselves. But you, the moment you see someone thriving, you don’t focus on improving yourself, you just try to leech off that person, like you did to Lila, and like you did to me. You can’t think of safer methods to record akuma fights. You never listen to anyone’s reasoning and criticism of your theories. You are stuck in your own entitled world, that you can’t see the bigger picture. You’re a parasite, Alya Césaire. So...I won’t expose you, because I have no doubt you’ll turn everyone against me. But I won’t be your Friend anymore.”

Alya wasn’t bothered. “Fine. So we agree to never speak to each other again unless necessary?”

“Yes.” Marinette walked out first. Adrien and Lila scattered before she could open the door.

Adrien immediately went to grab Marinette for lunch and did all he could to distract her from her recent ordeal.

Meanwhile, Lila edited the video to avoid incriminating herself and sent it to the class group chat.

She hates Marinette sure, but no one plays Lila for a fool and gets away with it.

The class is shocked and angry at Alya, who tries to claim that Lila is lying. She runs away from the mob and returns as Lady Wifi to punish Lila.

Ladybug defeats her but Alya demands a question if Ladybug is friends with Lila. Feeling sorry for Alya, Ladybug announces that her only Best Friend is Chat Noir. She does not befriend civilians.

Alya is sentenced to switch seats with Nathaniel. Adrien takes her place as Deputy. Nino dumps Alya. Lila and her new desk mate keep sabotaging each other.

[redgillan]

Missed Chances -  Part 8

Steve Rogers x Reader ♀️ [// Bucky Barnes x Reader for now]

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 3,225

Warnings: Angst, Reader has a small panic attack

A/N: sO I wasn’t sure I wanted to end this chapter like that but no one replied to my post so I guess we’re doing this. Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter it’s a fluffy one for our boy Steve. Also here’s the song if you’ve never heard of it ;)

7:36 p.m.

Trying to calm yourself down, you took a deep breath. You could feel your anger bubbling up inside you. You had been waiting on your kitchen stool for over thirty minutes, and your patience was running thin.

You picked up your phone and sent a quick message to your father-in-law, telling him you were going to be late. He replied with a thumbs up emoji.

It didn’t surprise you that Bucky was late to his own engagement dinner, but you still wished he had made an effort.

You locked your phone when you heard him coming up the stairs. You watched as he dropped his bag near the coat rack and threw his keys on the kitchen table. They landed close to your phone.

“Sorry, I know I’m late,” Bucky said.

He grabbed the hem of his Henley and yanked it over his head, throwing it on the floor. You stayed quiet and kept your eyes trained on your phone. It annoyed you that this was all he had to say. A simple pathetic apology.

“You remember Sitwell, one of the head chefs? They fired him today, and now they’re looking for a new head chef. Doll, I think I have a real chance here. I mean, your magazine is basically promoting my restaurant for free. My bosses love that!” He toed off his shoes and quickly unbuttoned his jeans. “I’m gonna take a shower. You can order an Uber, I won’t be long.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the shower. You opened the app and ordered the car, fighting back tears. You were tired of coming second.

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes late. Bucky’s parents and sister were already seated, a pitcher of margaritas and some appetizers sat on the table. You apologized for being late and took a seat next to Bucky’s mother.

“I thought your parents were joining us,” Winnie said, sipping her drink.

“They’re on holidays,” you replied, shrugging off your jacket.

“Good for them!” she cheered as her husband filled up your empty glass.

You traded your full glass for Bucky’s empty one. “No alcohol for me,” you said, pouring water into your glass. Bucky’s younger sister looked at you with a funny expression. You mentally rolled your eyes. “I’m not pregnant, I just don’t want to drink.”

You were in a sour mood, which unfortunately happened quite frequently these days. Between work, planning the wedding –without Bucky because he always had too much work- and trying not to strangle Natasha who was your unofficial wedding planner, you really needed a goddamn break.

Bucky must have sensed something was wrong because he was suddenly a lot more attentive. He tried to reach across the table to touch you, but you quickly moved your hand away.

You weren’t looking at him, though you could feel his sad puppy dog eyes on you. You purposely focused on what his father was saying. Bucky’s eyes were your weakness, but you weren’t ready to forgive him. He had to realise he had hurt you.

Bucky cleared his throat. “So, um I’m sorry we’re late. It’s my fault.”

“Something happen at work?” Georges asked with furrowed brows.

“No, nothing important,” Bucky quickly replied, trying to meet your eyes. You relented and glanced at him. “Nothing important,” he repeated, his voice soft.

He extended his hand across the table and you barely hesitated before giving him your own. He smiled at you, mouthing the words ‘I love you’.

“How’s the wedding coming along?” Winnie asked with a bright smile. “You know, I read all the articles in your magazine. I really like them, it’s basically a how to plan your own wedding series. I wish it had been a thing when we got engaged.”

“It would have saved us a lot of headaches,” George agreed.

You and Bucky stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. They didn’t seem to notice the growing tension, and you didn’t want to be the one complaining that planning a wedding was hard work no matter who was there to help you.

Millions of people were waiting for your wedding. It was completely nerve-wracking.

Rebecca leaned across the table and grabbed a mozzarella stick. “I love awkward silences,” she said with a cocky smile.

You all laughed, diffusing the tension. “It’s coming along fine,” you answered Winnie’s question. “We’re not allowed to say much, we signed a confidentiality agreement.”

“But we’re the groom’s parents,” Winnie complained, “and the ceremony is happening in our backyard.” George threw her a glance, silently telling her to drop the subject. “Okay fine,” she mouthed, “but that’s not fair.”

Despite the lingering tension, dinner went rather smoothly. No one asked you any prying questions. You told Winnie and Rebecca that you had an appointment to try on the muslin dress Steve had made for you. Rebecca also had to try on her bridesmaid dress. They were both excited to share this moment with you.

You and Bucky were quiet on the drive home. When you finally got home, you undressed quietly and prepared for bed. You felt Bucky’s arms wrap around you from behind. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and breathed in deeply. You let yourself melt against his chest.

“Am I in trouble?” he mumbled against your neck, his lips finding the tender spot behind your ear.

You sighed. “It depends. I’m busting my ass planning this wedding, but it seems like you’re already married to your job.” You turned in his arms to face him. “Who is it going to be? Me or your job?”

“I want what’s best for you,” he said, holding you tight. “I need money to give yo-”

“Answer the question,” you pressed. “Me or your job?”

He looked at you with a pained expression. You wondered what was going on through his mind. Bucky was hard to read sometimes.

“It’s you,” he finally said, “always you.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, the tension slowly draining from your body. Arching against him, you kissed him hard on the lips. “Then prove it,” you whispered against his mouth, “come with me to the party next week. Take a day off.”

Bucky craned his neck toward the ceiling and sighed. He stayed quiet, pondering your words.

If he wanted to be the new head chef, he had to keep working hard. But ironically, the only reason he had been working so hard was so he could give you a better life. It didn’t make sense to keep working himself to death if you weren’t with him anymore.

Unfortunately, Saturdays were the most hectic days at the restaurant.

“I’m not allowed to take my Saturday off,” he told you, smiling sadly when your face fell. “But I’ll ask someone to trade shifts with me. I’ll be there before eleven.” He looked you in the eye, making sure you knew this was not an empty promise. “We’ll dance and laugh and drink. All night long.”

Your face broke into a shy smile. This wasn’t perfect, but it was a fair compromise. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

“It’s going to be the best party ever,” you said.

*

“This party sucks.”

Scott turned and leaned his back against the bar, surveying the deserted dance floor. He hummed in agreement as you blew out a frustrated breath.

People had started gathering at around eight but the music was garbage, and even the open bar wasn’t enough to make the guests stay. It was a Saturday night in New York, they still had time to find another party.

“It's 11 o’clock and I'm at a party.” Steve appeared out of nowhere. “It's so cool.”

“It’s 11 o’clock and people are leaving,” Scott said, cocking a brow. Steve’s enthusiasm was a little odd. He was celebrity after all, this shouldn’t faze him. “It’s a disaster.”

You spotted Nick and Natasha walking across the dance floor with scowls on their faces.

“Here comes trouble,” you mumbled to your friends as your bosses approached your corner.

“Where’s Barnes?” Natasha asked.

“He shouldn’t be long,” you replied after checking your phone. “He had to work tonight.”

Nick looked around the room and slowly shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter anymore. Most of the guests are gone.” He waved the bartender over and ordered a shot. “Is it me? Do I smell? Do I have bad breath?”

You, Scott and Natasha didn’t say anything. You all knew he wasn’t expecting an answer, he just needed to vent. The party must have been incredibly expensive and it was a complete disaster.

To your horror, Steve started leaning toward Nick, sniffing the air around him. Natasha looked at him as if he were crazy.

“No, you smell nice,” Steve said.

“Really,” Nick continued, his jaw ticking, “because people seem to be running for the exit like someone set off a stink bomb.”

“I don’t smell anything.” Steve looked at him with a confused puppy look on his face.

Scott bit back a laugh. “I think he means the party is a stinker. A dud. A flop. A zero on a scale of one to ten.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Natasha said, crossing her arms.

“Maybe if somebody played something else,” Steve said, nodding toward the DJ. “Something with a melody.”

Nick cut him off. “Play whatever you want. All I know is if those people don't start dancing really, really soon...” He promptly raised his shot glass. “Here's to early retirement.”

Nick grimaced as the amber liquid rolled down his throat. Steve cocked his head to one side as he observed the man digging in the record bin behind the turntables. An idea formed in his mind and, with a lopsided grin, he started making his way toward the dance floor.

“Steve,” you called after him. You remembered that smile too well. He was about to do something stupid.

The four of you watched as Steve neared the DJ. They spoke for a brief moment, though you were too far away to hear what they were saying. Then Steve turned around and, as he reached the middle of the dance floor, an upbeat music filled the room.

You frowned. The song was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

Steve addressed the small crowd with a shy wave, but all he got in return were blank stares. He took a deep, calming breath and started moving to the beat.

This is something new, the Casper slide part two Featuring the platinum band, and this time... We’re gonna get funky

Oh, no

Your eyes widened in horror as you recognized the song. The Cha Cha Slide. You hadn’t heard that song in years. It reminded you of your childhood, of the times in middle school when you had been going to slumber parties.

The dance in itself was really simple, you just had to follow the lyrics.

People were snickering as they watched Steve dance. He felt incredibly stupid, alone on the dance floor. He met your eyes and silently pleaded with you to join him.

You shook your head. “No, absolutely not!” you said in a loud whisper.

“Please,” Steve mouthed back.

Turn it out, to the left Take it back now y'all One hop this time

Steve took the lyrics as his cue to hop toward you like a bunny. You tried to hide behind Scott, but that idiot pushed you forward. Steve grabbed your hands and tried to pull you towards him.

“C’mon, please,” he begged.

“I haven't done this in over ten years.”

“It’s the Cha Cha Slide, he literally tells you what to do,” Steve shouted over the music.

He led you to the dance floor, and you found yourself paralysed. Everyone was staring at you. You tried to follow Steve’s lead, but you just felt too ridiculous. He encouraged you to keep dancing and you did your best not to bolt out of the room.

Slide to the left, slide to the right Crisscross, crisscross

In a synchronized movement, you both jumped and crossed your right foot over your left, then did it again. You looked at each other and laughed.

“All right, here we go!” you shouted, smiling brightly.

Despite your embarrassment, you were starting to really enjoy this. More people joined in. You saw Scott take Natasha’s hand and lead her to the dance floor. Natasha playfully rolled her eyes as she begrudgingly agreed to follow him.

The song ended too fast for your liking. You were feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Another song came on, a popular song from the 80s’, and everyone cheered.

“You’re a genius,” you shouted over the music, taking Steve’s hand and letting him twirl you into his arms. “That was so much fun! You have some great moves, Rogers! I didn’t know you could still do the limbo. That was impressive!”

Steve blushed and took a step away from you, running his hand through his hair with a sheepish grin. He looked at something over your shoulder, and grinned. The cheers of the crowd caught your attention.

You turned around and saw Nick doing the moonwalk. You were never going to be able to look him in the eye again.

It was after midnight when you finally stopped dancing and took a break. You ordered a drink and checked the time on your phone.

00:20 a.m.

No new messages.

You frowned, and looked around for Bucky. He should have been here by now. The room was absolutely crowded, and you thought that perhaps he was still looking for you.

You took your drink and moved to a quiet spot near the restroom where you called Bucky. He didn’t pick up. You left him a message, saying that you were at the bar waiting for him. You also sent him a text with the same information.

You waited another thirty minutes, frequently checking your phone, but Bucky hadn’t tried to contact you.

It was now 1 a.m. and you were getting a little worried. You tried not to panic, after all Bucky was always late so it was probably nothing.

You went outside and called the restaurant, thinking that maybe he was still working. The call went straight to voicemail, and you knew it was because the restaurant was closed and the team had left the building.

You remembered that Shuri was working with Bucky tonight, she had even agreed to trade shifts with him. You called her, but all she could tell you was that he had left just before eleven o’clock.

“There you are!” Steve’s voice made you jump. His smile dropped as he met your frightened eyes. “Something wrong?”

“I can’t find Bucky,” you said. “He’s not answering his phone. I don’t know what to do.”

Steve’s expression changed. He looked around, as if doing so would make Bucky appear out of nowhere. The lump in his throat dropped into his stomach like a lead ball.

Steve’s silence made you even more nervous.

“I don’t know where he is,” you cried. “What if something happened to him on the way here?”

Your legs buckled and Steve was at your side in an instant, holding you upright. You were panting, your eyes unfocused. He had had enough panic attacks to recognize the symptoms.

He held your gaze, and drew in a deep breath through his nose before releasing it slowly through his mouth. Calming breaths, you recognised the technique. You breathed in tandem until your heartbeat returned to normal.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, mustering up a half smile. “I’m going to drop you off at home. You’ll stay there in case Bucky comes home, and meanwhile I’ll look for him. Okay?”

You nodded, letting yourself smile a little.

*

You tried calling Bucky one last time while you climbed the stairs to your apartment. He didn’t answer and you left yet another voicemail. You begged him to call you back as soon he got your messages.

You fumbled with the lock, your nerves made your hands shake, and finally got it open. You leaned one hand against the wall for support as you bent down to remove your high heels.

“Did you have fun?”

Bucky’s deep voice startled you. You hurriedly searched for the nearby switch to turn on the lights. He was sitting at the kitchen counter with a half empty bottle of whiskey in front of him.

“You’re home,” you said, releasing a relieved breath. “I tried to call you like ten times.” You noticed that his phone was next to the bottle. “Why didn’t you answer? I was worried.”

Scoffing under his breath, Bucky reached for the bottle of whiskey. “You were worried? When? When Steve was twirling you around or when you were giggling against his chest?”

You frowned at him. Bucky had seen you dance with Steve, he’d seen the two of you laugh and have fun. It could only mean one thing.

“You came to the party,” you concluded out loud.

“Yeah, nice solve, Sherlock.”

“You’re drunk,” you chastised.

“And you’re cheating on me,” Bucky shouted, slamming the bottle on the counter.

You held his accusatory stare for as long as you could stand it, then bent your head and swallowed the lump in your throat. That was a low blow and completely unjustified. Sometimes his insecurities got the best of him. Especially when he was drunk.

It was pointless to argue with him right now. You swallowed your frustration and anger as best you could before you raised your head.

“You’re drunk, I’m not having this conversation tonight,” you said as you crossed the room. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

At least he didn’t protest.

You grabbed the handle of the Murphy bed that leaned against the wall, and pulled it down. You took your phone and typed a quick text to Steve.

I found Bucky. He’s at home, drunk, but safe. Thank you for what you did tonight. You’re a good man.

His answer came a few seconds later. I’m relieved. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. Goodnight!

You were getting ready for bed, but your brain was rehearsing the upcoming argument you would soon have with Bucky.

You got even more upset because you couldn’t calm down. Bucky was still sitting at the counter, staring off into space. You didn’t want to be in the same room with him.

Your apartment was a tiny studio, you couldn’t isolate yourself. And even though you hated his guts, you didn’t want to throw Bucky out of the house. He wasn’t sober enough to take a cab or even walk. Besides, Sam would be upset if Bucky showed up drunk at his door in the middle of the night.

You stared at your trainers closely, calculating your next move. You felt as though you were suffocating, stuck between two men and a wedding, and unable to move forward because you wanted to please everyone.

You had to get out of the apartment.

You quickly slipped your feet into her trainers and headed for the front door. Bucky’s tired eyes were focused on you as you took your jacket and keys.

“Where you goin?” he slurred.

“Out,” you said before you closed the door behind you.

[master-sass-blast]

You Can Always Go Back Home.

THIS FIC IS 22K WORDS LONG. 61 PAGES IN WORD. THREE WEEKS OF WRITING!!!

VALIDATE MY PARKING P L E A S E !!!!

Summary: You wake up alone in a cell with no windows. The following days are nothing short of Hell on Earth.

Rating: M for physical abuse, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, manipulation, injury, blood, vomiting, mental health stuff, panic attacks, kidnapping, and H E A V Y  A N G S T.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, Frank Castle x Karen Page, and Alexandra Rasputin x Nikolai Rasputin.

Set after “The Literal Crack Fic.”

Taglist: @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @super-darkcloudstudent, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @nebulous-leo

You wake up alone.

Okay, not necessarily disturbing.

You’re in an unfamiliar room with no windows, no conceivable exits, and no memory of how you got here.

Definitely disturbing, and also worrisome, troubling, anxiety-inducing, alarming, perplexing, and… other adjectives…

You push yourself off a small cot. You’re dressed in a baggy white shirt and baggier white pants, someone’s taken your engagement ring, and upon inspection you realize that someone’s put a mutation repression collar on your neck. Okay. Might be time to panic.

There’s a door on the wall opposite where the cot sits. It goes practically flush to the floor and ceiling, has no handle on the inside, and has a small hatch at the base that is currently closed, as your luck would have it.

There’s a couple of vents pumping out cool air along the line where the walls meet the ceilings; they’re far too small to try and escape through –though, without your powers, it’s not like you could get the covers off anyway.

At the far end of the room –not that you have to go far to get to it—is a bathroom. Upon inspection, it only holds a toilet, a small wastebasket, and a sink; checking the drawer attached to the base reveals a small hairbrush, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste. The cabinet underneath has a couple packages of toilet paper and some menstrual products.

This is a holding cell, that much is obvious. You’re meant to be here a long time, judging by the amount of toilet paper and toiletries.

You frown.

Kidnappings aren’t all that uncommon with the X-Men –an unfortunate hazard of the job, one might say. It would seem that you’ve been snatched up –but by who? Are the rest of the X-Men here with you, in different cells? Was someone targeting the X-Force specifically? Did some of your uncle’s enemies figure out where you were and grab you to get to him?

You try to walk back through your memories, but nothing fruitful comes of it. The last thing you can remember is waking up next to Piotr –but was that a few hours ago, or a few days ago?

You suppose it doesn’t matter, in the long run. You’re trapped for now, but someone will look for you eventually and come rescue you. All you have to do, for the time being, is wait.

You head back to the cot with a sigh and plop down as you prepare yourself for the mind-numbing boredom that awaits you.

 ***

 The first hint comes when a meal –lunch or dinner, presumably, judging by the contents—is shoved through the hatch at the bottom of the door on a small tray.

There’s no anxiety medication.

Either whoever’s holding you doesn’t know you’re on antidepressants, or they intend for you to suffer.

You sigh heavily as you crack open a little mini bottle of water and sip from it –then grimace; it tastes like room-temperature plastic bottle.

Judging by the lack of any recording equipment whatsoever –cameras, microphones, speakers, nothing—these people are amateurs. They’re not particularly concerned about you breaking out –which even with your powers gone, if they knew anything about you, they should be. You’ve built a career out of getting out of tough situations.

So, whoever these chumps are, they haven’t done their homework on how to keep you stable –or done any real homework on your past “is a mutant,” it would seem.

Admittedly, that would stack things in your favor, except you’ll be facing withdrawals before too awful long. Hopefully, you can figure out how to get the mutation collar off and escape before you get too deep into those.

You bite into what is arguably the blandest turkey sandwich of your life and lean back against a pristinely painted white wall. Karma, don’t fuck me over now.

***

 There’s no mirror in the bathroom.

You notice after your meal, when you try to head in and twist the collar around so you can see what make and model you’re working with –a short lived plan, to say the least; without a mirror, there’s not much you can do to figure out what you’re working with.

Still, you can at least get a sense of the locking mechanism –keypad, key, fingerprint scanner—from touch.

You smooth your hands around the collar, then grimace when you only find a solid plastic node on the back of it. Shit.

These types of collars, as your uncle had taught you, are lockdown collars. They’re meant to go on and stay on, to permanently render a mutant incapable of accessing their powers. No keypad to hack, no lock to pick, no fingerprint scanner to override. The only way to get the damn thing off is short circuit it or cut it off.

Just your luck, there aren’t any scissors in your little cell.

 ***

 The boredom kicks in fast. There’s only so many times you can analyze your surroundings or make escape strategies before you start to lose your mind from the repetition.

There’s not too much to be said for pacing your tiny quarters, either. The room is three strides wide and four strides long –borderline claustrophobic, only big enough for you, the cot, and… that’s about it, really.

Confined spaces can be used to torture people; even if they aren’t particularly claustrophobic, the inability to move around and do things can drive even the most grounded individuals a little batty.

You wind up laying on your cot and staring at the ceiling. You spend time thinking about how to handle your anxiety once your most recent dose of medication runs out, about your upcoming wedding, about what you want your future home with Piotr to look like…

About Piotr. You think a lot about Piotr. You’re not sure how long you’ve been separated from him, but you already miss him dearly.

You sigh, and roll over onto your stomach. Come find me, baby. I’ll be waiting for you.

 ***

 Dinner –well, your second meal, and you’re starting to realize that without windows you have no way of knowing what time of day it is—is delivered what feels like a few hours later; it’s another little bottle of water, a plain turkey sandwich, an apple, and some canned corn that’s been put in a bowl.

Along with it comes a little bottle of shampoo, a little bottle of conditioner, a little bar of soap, and a washcloth.

You’re stumped at first. There’s no shower down here, how could they possibly expect…

The sink.

You let out a shocked laugh when you realize that your captors mean for you to wash yourself via using the sink. No way! No fucking way!

But… you don’t have any other options –unless you want to use water from the toilet, but ew, gross.

You sigh, shocked and more than a little frustrated, and dig into the sandwich.

***

 The lights turn out halfway through your venture with attempting to wash up using the sink.

You yelp, drop the bottle of shampoo, and topple against the wall behind you; you wince as you rub your shoulder. With a rush of annoyance, you realize that there aren’t any light switches in the main room or the bathroom. You have absolutely no control over when the lights are on and when they’re off.

You scowl in the direction of the ceiling. “Really!”

 ***

 The lights switch on again while you’re sleeping. You’re not sure how long it’s been, but it doesn’t feel like it’s been a whole eight hours.

Then again, that could just be the cot. It’s thinly padded, and no matter how you sleep you can feel the metal frame holding it up.

You’re also starting to feel the effects of withdrawal. Your brain feels foggy, your anxiety has spiked (well, more than the situation’s already spiked it), and you have pins and needles feeling all over your body.

You shiver as you wrap your thin blanket tighter around you and curl into a little ball. Baby, please come find me.

***

 Your first meal of the day –or is it the third? How long have you been asleep, even?—comes what feels like a couple hours later.

Objectively, you know you should eat. You need to keep up your strength, but as you look at the tray of a plain turkey sandwich, a little bottle of water, an apple, and some canned corn –and no meds, which further confirms that your captors aren’t giving you any—you can’t even work up the shadow of an appetite.

You manage to choke down a few bites of the turkey sandwich before your stomach churns, take the water bottle and the apple, then chuck the rest of your meal in the trash before setting the tray with the others.

***

 You try to focus on exercising. Easier said than done, considering you barely ate anything, but you push yourself through to try and keep your endorphins up. You do rounds of push-ups, squats, crunches, planks, and lunges until your limbs are shaking from exertion, then chug water from the sink faucet until you almost puke it all back up.

You whimper as splay out on the floor in an effort to cool down faster. Okay. I need to pace myself better, and I need to eat regardless of what’s given to me. They’re clearly trying to break me by keeping my schedule off. Slow and steady is key.

You take a deep breath, then focus on your breathing and the points where your body is making contact with the floor in an effort to meditate.

You manage to keep that up for a bit until a panic attack hits –and normally you’d use an app on your phone to help yourself work through it, or meditate, or call Piotr, or Nate, or Wade, or Ellie, or Yukio, or Russell, or Neena…

It’s so much worse without the meds. You can’t catch your breath, you can’t stop the overwhelming rush of anxiety, you can’t get your mind to stop racing—

Bed. Get to the bed.

You crawl across the concrete floor and barely manage to get into the cot before you curl into a fetal position and sob.

 ***

 It’s hard to be alone.

You’ve gotten used to having your friends and family right at hand over the past few years –come to depend on it, even; they’ve always been there to help you through rough patches. You’ve come to love having so many companions around you during your time at Xavier’s. It’s a direct one-eighty from growing up, when you only had yourself and your parents for company most of the time –and your parents weren’t exactly what you’d call “company.”

Aside from exercise (which you can’t do too much of without risking hurting yourself), there’s only sleeping, yoga (also limited for safety reasons), meditating, masturbating (which you don’t feel like doing, given your current withdrawal situation), or listening to the gentle hiss of the air vent.

You can’t remember how you got through being so alone as a child –though, technically, you suppose you didn’t; it fucked you up. Badly.

That, and you’d barely been able to handle being at Xavier’s when you’d first arrived. It’d been like a shock to your system. You couldn’t fathom so many people being around each other all the time –and wanting to spend that time with you, no less.

Objectively, you know that isolation is a basic destabilization tactic –but that doesn’t make it any easier to go through.

You roll over so you’re on your other side –your ribs are hurting from the metal support frame for the cot—and close your eyes. Piotr’s gonna come for me. He’s gonna come for me. He won’t leave me here.

***

 You have to resist the urge to scream when your next meal is slid through the hatch at the bottom of the door.

Plain turkey sandwich. Canned corn in a bowl. Apple. Room temperature mini-bottle of water.

Sadists.

You’d kill for a bag of Cheetos right now. Or some of Piotr’s pancakes.

You take the tray back to your cot –your ass can’t handle any more of sitting on a concrete floor, and your back can’t handle leaning up against the concrete walls—and try to focus on recalling any sort of memory that might tell you how you wound up here while you choke down your meal.

Waking up next to Piotr. Him smiling at you. And… everything goes black after that.

A blackout might mean head trauma. Or a traumatic event. Or drug use –someone might’ve knocked you out.

A quick check of your head doesn’t reveal any sore spots or cuts –but you probably would’ve felt that when you woke up for the first time. You can’t do a full body check for injection sites without a mirror –not to mention it’s possible the drugs were fed to you—but you can’t find anything on the parts of your body you can see. As for trauma-induced memory repression, well, it’s possible, but you have no way of knowing if that’s it.

You take another bite of sandwich –and it immediately hits your tongue wrong, making you gag.

You spill your corn all over the floor when you dash to the bathroom.

 ***

 You have to get out of here. You have to, you have to, you have to, you have to youhavetoyouhavetoyouhaveto—

“Information first,” you can remember Nathan telling you during one of your earliest training sessions with you. “Get as much information as you can, then act. Patience never hurt anyone.”

You measure the hatch at the bottom of the door first. It’s big enough for you to slip through, even with the collar around your neck. After some careful debating, you decide it’d be best to slide through on your stomach; your back will be facing up, meaning your face and organs will be more protected from blows, technically.

You’ll have to wait before you can declare your “recon” done, though. You have no idea how long the hatch stays open for, or if you’ll be able to hear any footsteps through the walls that’ll alert you to when the hatch is going to open.

You squat down by the door and get as comfortable as you can.

You waited nearly two decades to get out of your first cage. You can wait another day to escape this one.

***

 Waiting nearly kills you.

It isn’t the patience –as contrary as you like to play with Piotr about the topic, you are capable of being patient.

No, it’s the exhaustion. The medication withdrawals are doing a number on you; you can’t remember another time in your life you’ve been this tired. Even the accidental coke withdrawals from that one mission where you fell into a vat of the stuff weren’t this bad, because at least you had your family, your friends, and your fiancé to help you.

You chuckle a little to yourself at the memory of the incident. You’ve definitely lead an… interesting life.

You groan as another wave of withdrawal-induced pins and needles pain sweeps through your body, then perk up –well, as much as you can perk up right now—when you hear a series of dull thumps approaching the door to your cell.

Footsteps.

You hardly breathe as the hatch unlatches and slides open –and it retracts into the door, which is another factor in your favor—and count off the seconds as a tray of food slides in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine—

The hatch slides back shut and latches once more.

Nine seconds.

It’ll have to be enough.

 ***

 You’re wide awake well before the lights come on again.

Your entire body feels like a live wire. Your chest is tight, your palms are clammy, your mouth is dry, your muscles are tense, it feels like something’s constantly crawling up the back of your neck, and despite the fact that you’re utterly exhausted, you can’t sleep.

You stagger to the bathroom on shaky legs and all but collapse onto the toilet. You have no idea how long you’ve been down here, but you know you can’t afford to stay any longer. You need your meds, you need your family –fuck, you need some understanding of how time’s passing; you feel like you’re on the verge of losing your mind with the way things currently are.

You shiver as you stare down at your bare feet, jaw and fists clenched tightly. I’m getting the fuck out of here.

***

 The waiting game for the footsteps to sound outside the door is a long one. You pace in short circuits near the door, careful not to wander too far so you don’t miss the sound of them approaching and lose your earliest window of opportunity. You switch to doing what exercises and stretches that you can when the pacing starts to drive you batty, then wind up just crouching next to the door, staring down the hatch with laser-like focus, as though you can make it open with sheer will alone.

And –finally—after what feels like an eternity, you hear the footsteps approach.

Adrenaline surges through your system as your entire body tenses in anticipation. You get down into a borderline army-crawl position as you hear the latch for the hatch release, ready to whip the tray out of the way and dive through the hatch opening before your meal-deliverer can react.

Sure enough, the hatch door slides away, and a tray starts skidding across the threshold—

You rip it out of your captor’s hand and shove yourself halfway through the hatch, eliciting a scream from whoever’s delivering your meal this morning—

You know that voice.

You look up in time to see your mother collapse back onto a flight of wooden stairs, looking half scared to death at your sudden appearance.

Shock hits your system first, both at seeing her face for after so long and the realization of just who is holding you and all the implications that bears.

Anger –rage, white hot fury snarling in your chest like a caged lion—hits next, prompting you to bare your teeth at her in a vicious scowl. “You fucking bitch! Let me out of here!”

Your mother screams again when you grab her by the ankle in an effort to yank yourself out of your cell, then rears back and kicks you in the face repeatedly. “Demon child! Get off me, you whore!”

You shout when the toe of her shoe makes direct contact with your brow, then duck your head when you feel blood start spurting down your face.

You need to retreat. You’re not in a good enough position to fend off her blows like this, and at this rate you’re liable to get seriously hurt before you can get out and get to your feet.

You duck back into your cell and hunch over, pressing a hand to your brow in an effort to stem the flow of blood.

The hatch slams back shut, and your mother’s frantic footsteps retreat back up the stairs and out of hearing range.

You stumble to the bathroom and unravel nearly half a roll of toilet paper before pressing it to your brow. You’re shaking like a leaf as a mixture of adrenaline and fear course through your system. That was my mom.

Your mother, in flesh and blood. Not a withdrawal induced hallucination. The real-life woman who gave birth to you, then made your life hell on earth when your mutation presented.

What the fuck?

***

 You have to be at your parents’ house. That’s the only logical explanation. Even though there are other scenarios that might bring your parents into the picture –you’re being held in community bunker back where you grew up, and your mom just happened to be delivering your meal when you tried to break out, for instance—the least complicated answer is usually the most accurate one. Combine that with the knowledge that your parents have tried, inexplicably, to have you kidnapped and brought back home before, and there’s no other explanation that does justice to your current predicament.

Again, what the fuck?

Why the fuck can’t they just leave you alone? They never wanted you –at least, not after your mutation presented—and you don’t want to be around them, they literally don’t even have to think about you since you left, so why do they keep trying to bring you back?

Although…

What if you never left to begin with?

Once the thought pops into your brain, it takes root so deep you can’t stop it –because what if you really haven’t left? What if you’ve been here the whole time, and your precious memories of Xavier’s and your friends and family there are just delusions your mind came up with to help you cope with the abuse you’ve suffered over the years? Your escape, your time spent at the Institute, Nate, Wade, Ellie, Yukio, Russell, Neena, Piotr…

Piotr.

A desperate whimper rips through you as the realization that Piotr might not be real sinks into your brain. No! you think desperately as tears start mixing with the blood on your face. No, he’s real! He’s my fiancé, we’re going to get married—

But you don’t have your ring. Your parents took it from you before locking you in here –or maybe whoever abducted you to begin with chucked it or sold it or—

Or maybe it was never real to begin with.

You sob brokenly, chucking the bloodstained wad of toilet paper away and ripping more off the roll to try and clean up your face as best you can. Without the ring, you don’t have proof that any of what you’ve experienced in the past few years is actually real. Any of the new scars on your body could be explained by abuse or other unsuccessful escape attempts, your muscles could be explained by working out in your cell…

It’s real, you tell yourself desperately as you gasp and choke on sobs. It’s real, it’s real, Piotr’s out there, he’s going to find me, please just let him be real.

You toss your latest wad of toilet paper away –then double take when you see your left hand.

There’s a tan line in the shape of a ring band on your ring finger.

A mixture of hope and relief courses through you, even though you barely dare to let yourself feel it—

And then the lights turn out, plunging you into darkness once more.

You pant frantically as you try to get a grip on your spiraling anxiety, then scream.

 ***

 You manage to crawl back to the cot and fall asleep at some point. Your face hurts –your entire body hurts, really—and there’s no good way to lay without irritating your new cut in some way, shape, or form, but you do eventually pass out for a bit.

The lights come back on sometime later, waking you up with a jolt. You groan, both from exhaustion and the bolt of pain from the cut on your brow –and then all the hair on the back of your neck stands up when the door –not the hatch, the door—to your cell opens.

It’s him.

A slew of memories, some that you’d forgotten, rush into your mind’s eye. Growing up, there’d been a pattern to the abuse you’d suffered from your parents. You’d do something to upset your mother –either legitimate or some made up slight she’d create so she had an excuse to punish you—and then she’d verbally and emotionally abuse you –sometimes physically, too—before locking you in your room for hours on end.

And then she’d lament to your father about how poorly behaved and undisciplined you’d been when he got home from work, and he’d “correct” you with whatever he had at hand –usually his belt.

Get up. Get up, get up, get up getupgetupgetupgetup—

You manage to roll out of the way of his first strike. You tumble to the floor as his folded-up belt smacks against the cot, making the frame vibrate from the force of the strike. Before you can get off the ground, though, he kicks you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.

“You ungrateful brat!” he snarls as he brings down his belt against your body over and over, often hitting you with the metal buckle. “How dare you disrespect your mother like that! In my home!”

You scream and try to shield yourself from his blows as best you can. “Stop it! Stop hitting me!”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” he growls before yanking you off the floor by your hair.

You move on instinct, muscle memory. You knee him in the crotch before breaking his grip, block a weak attempt at a punch the way Nate taught you to, then snatch his belt off the floor and get behind him before he can try anything else. You wrap the length of leather around his neck and pull it tight as hard as you can.

Your father chokes and struggles, attempting –and failing—to get his fingers between the belt and his neck before trying to reach back and pull you off him.

You snarl as you stumble with his movements, trying to keep control over him and his belt. Unfortunately, given your withdrawals, you’re nowhere near as steady as you need to be. You trip over the cot and lose your grip, tumbling to the floor in a heap.

Your father hacks and gasps as he gets his own belt off his neck, then staggers towards the open cell door.

You charge after him, narrowly avoiding slamming your face into the metal surface when he gets it closed before you can reach him. You pound your fists against the door as his hurried, stumbling footsteps retreat up the stairs and bellow at the top of your lungs, “I’ll fucking kill you! You bastard! I’m going to kill you!”

The lights turn off again, leaving you stranded in the dark once more.

You seethe as you step back from the door, then let out a wrathful shriek.

 ***

 Your stomach is killing you.

You hadn’t been able to eat the meal your mother delivered earlier due to the adrenaline dump over the realization that you might’ve never truly escaped from your parents’ home. Even if you could find any of the food in the dark, the meat in the sandwich has definitely gone bad by now, and you’re pretty certain everything else got smashed beyond edibility during your struggle with your father.

You do manage to find the mini-bottle of water. You drain it without thinking, then head to the bathroom to guzzle some water out of the sink when you’re still thirsty.

Except the tap’s been shut off from upstairs. And, when you get desperate enough to check, the water reservoir for the toilet –along with the bowl—has been drained, too.

You laugh until you cry, then cry until you laugh, then follow that cycle until you throw up.

Worse still, you’re unbearably hot. The flow of air was shut off shortly after your confrontation with your father. You’re pretty certain that you’re still getting some air, but without the air conditioning on your tiny cell is downright stifling.

Maybe it would be better if they’d sealed you in here to asphyxiate. At this point, you’d take passing out and dying shortly thereafter over suffering like this.

Your head swims as you wipe a layer of sweat off the back of your neck. You have no idea how much time has passed since your fight with your father. You’ve been lapsing in and out of consciousness, meaning that it could’ve been anywhere from a few hours to maybe over a day.

Are you going to die down here? Is this how you’re going to go out? To malicious negligence?

You weep softly as you curl up on your side. You’d hoped, ever since escaping, that you’d die in comfort, surrounded by those you love –or, if not that, in a blaze of glory that leaves everyone awestruck.

Though, considering you may have never escaped at all, perhaps those aspirations were never meant to be within reach for you.

Your body tenses when you hear footsteps outside your door. This is it. This is the end.

You force yourself into a standing position. You’re not going down without a fight, even if the fight you have left in you is bordering on pathetic at this point. You brace yourself against the nearest wall as the door swings open, letting light from the stairwell into your cell—

Nathan steps in, dressed in all black and with a gun strapped to his back. “Kid!”

You stare at him, shocked. “Dad?”

Neena follows in after him, beaming when she sees you. “We’ve got her,” she says into an earpiece. “She looks a little rough, but she’s conscious.”

Nathan doesn’t bother to talk to whoever Neena’s talking to. He closes the distance between the two of you faster than you can blink, yanking you into his arms and almost crushing you with a hug and—

It’s him. It’s really him. Down to every single last detail –the way his techno-organic arm whirs when it moves, the smell of the soap and deodorant he uses, the slight rasp of stubble on his chin and cheeks that he can never seem to get rid of no matter how often he shaves, the fuckboi haircut Wade never stops ripping on him for.

Dad.

You sob, borderline scream, with relief and collapse against him. You cling to him for all you’re worth, ignoring the various pains in your body that the effort causes.

Nathan holds you tight to him, smoothing your hair and kissing the top of your head in a paternal manner. “It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. I’ve got you, you’re okay.” To Neena, he says, “Let’s get her upstairs.”

You make it to the first step of the stairs outside your cell before you have to stop. “I’m too dizzy,” you whine as your legs give out. “I haven’t had my meds, I’m too dizzy—”

“Okay, okay.” Nate sits down with you. “We can wait here until you feel better.”

You grip his shirt like your life depends on it and cry against his human shoulder. “Please don’t leave me, I don’t want you to leave me—”

“No way in hell I’m leaving you,” he reassures you, wrapping both arms around your shaking form. “I’m staying right here with you, I promise.”

“They took my ring, dad,” you ramble, almost manically. “They took it, they took my ring, they took the ring Piotr gave me, I don’t have it anymore, I thought none of you were real—”

“Go find the ring,” Nathan commands to Neena. “And let Pete know where she is.”

“It’s gone,” you protest. “They took it, it’s gone, I don’t have it—”

“Hey.” Neena kneels in front of you and clasps your shoulder gently. “Look at me, Y/N. This is me we’re talking about. I’m going to find your ring and that’s the end of it. Okay?”

You sniff loudly and nod. “Okay.”

She smiles reassuringly at you. “Good. First, though, I’m going to get your guy and send him down here.”

You stare after her as she jogs up the stairs, then look over at Nathan when she disappears from view. “Piotr’s here?”

“He is. He was very worried about you. We all were.” His face creases into a frown as he takes in your full appearance. “Oh, kiddo…”

“My dad hit me,” you choke out as you start crying again. “And my mom—”

Nathan hugs you again, rubbing his human hand up and down your arm as you sob. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. We’re going to get you out of here, I promise.”

Then there’s the sound of frantic, extremely heavy footsteps at whatever’s at the top of the stairs—

Piotr.

He stops at the top of the stairway leading down to your cell when he sees you –and then you’re surprised he doesn’t trip over his own two feet with how fast he gets down to where you and Nate are, but then he’s pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around and kissing you—

You cry until your throat goes raw. You cling to him until your hands hurt. You kiss him until your lungs burn, until you’re on the verge of passing out, but it’s all worth it because he’s real, and he loves you, and you’re going to be okay.

“Easy, easy,” Nate says after a minute. “Let her breathe. She needs to breathe.”

Piotr pulls back, which is when you realize that he’s crying, too. “I love you so much, myshka. Bozhe moi, I thought I would never see you again—”

You mash yourself against his chest as hard as you can, given your injuries –and even then, you’re still not really giving them the consideration that you ought to. “I missed you so much, baby. It’s been so horrible. They didn’t give me any meds, and I couldn’t keep my food down—”

Almost like magic, Piotr reaches into one of the pockets on his cargo pants and produces a protein bar. “Here. Eat this.”

You giggle, wet and a little hysterical, as you accept the snack. “Always protein bars with you, huh.”

He manages a smile for you. “Good for bones.” His face quickly creases back into a teary frown, and he cups the back of your head while he kisses your forehead –scrupulously avoiding the cut by your eyebrow—and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand.

“Turn around for a minute, kid,” Nathan says, tugging on the power cell for the repression collar when you do. “Let’s get this thing off you.”

You hold still as best you can while he works on the collar, then let out a sigh of relief that sends a gust of wind up the stairs when he finally gets the thing off.

“There we go,” Piotr says with a smile as he rubs your back soothingly. “Much better.”

“Have you had anything to drink today?” Nathan asks, looking you over and gauging your overall physical state.

You manage to shake your head limply. “No. They shut off the water supply to my room after my fight with my father.”

Nate’s mouth tightens into a deep grimace, then he stands with a grunt. “We need to get her upstairs and start hydrating her.”

You whimper when Piotr tries to lift you up. “No, no, no, no! I want to walk, let me walk—”

Both men quickly soothe you, and Piotr sets you down so you can walk on your own. It’s slow going, given how unsteady you are, but eventually you reach the top step.

You’re in the basement of your childhood home. Everything’s where you remember it being; there’s a washer-dryer set next to a laundry sink, a folding table with a small pile of clothes on it, a few cardboard boxes set on some storage racks, and a desk that your father used for various “tinkering” projects.

“Come on,” Nathan encourages you after a moment. “You’re almost there. Just one more flight of stairs.”

You lean heavily against Piotr as you stumble up the last flight of stairs. Your head is swimming, and you feel nauseous even though your stomach is empty, but you don’t want to stop. You want to get out of here, you want to go back home, and you never want to see your parents again for as long as you live.

“Holy shit.”

You look up as you step into the kitchen of the house where you grow up –and almost do a double take, but that is most definitely Frank Castle standing in the dining room, dressed in all black, a tactical vest, and carrying a gun that’s almost as big as Nate’s.

(There’s a euphemism there, but you’re too tired to think about it enough to find it.)

He also looks genuinely shocked and concerned as he takes your appearance in –and you know Frank’s not the sadist the media makes him out to be, but you’re starting to think that you might look worse for wear than you originally suspected.

You manage to flash a weak smile at him. “Hey.”

He nods back. “You okay?”

You let out a thready laugh. “Been better.”

“She needs water, ASAP,” Nate says as he emerges from the basement behind you.

Frank reaches into his jacket and pulls out an unopened bottle of water, which he then tosses over to Nate.

Nathan cracks it open and hands it over to you with the stern instructions to “Sip slowly. Don’t guzzle it; you’ll make yourself throw up if you do.”

“Oh thank fuck, you found her!”

Piotr takes the water bottle from your hand a split second before Wade crashes into you, wrapping you in a hug so tight and borderline full-body that he must’ve found a way to incorporate octopus DNA into his regular gene sequence to give himself extra arms.

Which… he might’ve actually done. Because he’s Wade.

You still cling to him just as tight anyway, crying like you did when Nate found you, and then again with Piotr, because you’re just so damn happy to see him.

“You’re okay! I’m so glad you’re okay!” He pulls back, and he winces –he’s forgone his usual suit in favor of wearing black tactical gear like everyone else, though he is sporting his mask. “Or I spoke too soon. Ow.”

“Did I grow second nose or something?” you ask, laughing nervously as you reach up to feel your face. “Everyone keeps looking at me like something’s wrong.”

“No! Nothing’s wrong!” Wade says, forcing a bright tone. “You definitely don’t look like your face lost a fight with a blender.”

“You look like you got hurt,” Nate clarifies when your expression changes to worry. “It’ll all heal just fine.”

“You found her?”

Your jaw drops when you see Alex poke her head into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you,” she says as she gives you a thorough once over before pulling a cellphone out of her pocket. “I will call him quick.” She lifts the phone to her ear and disappears, though you can hear her say something in Russian to someone else—

And then Mikhail appears in the kitchen, wearing the same get up as everyone else: black tactical gear and strapped within an inch of his life. He claps a hand over his mouth when he sees you, recoiling for a second before approaching you tentatively. “Bozhe moi, you are okay? We were so worried! Is hugs okay?”

“Hugs are fine,” you confirm with a shaky laugh, tearing up again as he gently wraps his arms around you.

Piotr hands you the water bottle when Mikhail releases you. “Little sips,” he reminds you as he gently rubs his hand up and down your back.

You lift the bottle to your lips, and while you work on not sucking it all down in one go, you finally look around and get your bearings.

The sky outside the kitchen windows is stained a golden color that fades into slowly darkening hues of blue–the light’s coming from the west, if you’re remembering the orientation of the house correctly, meaning that it’ll be night soon.

You glance over at the stove clock.

The digital display shows it’s a little after seven.

“It’s nighttime, right?” you ask quietly.

“Evening,” Nathan confirms.

You nod as you process the information and continue scanning the kitchen. It’s as conspicuously clean as you remember –save for a half-eaten piece of toast left on a plate, a mostly empty glass of orange juice, and a partially read newspaper next to it.

A quick inspection of the floor reveals some smudged, barely-there red stains that, if you squint, might be patterned like the tread of someone’s shoe.

You don’t have to guess how those got there.

“How long was I gone?” you ask, still quiet, as you start in on Piotr’s protein bar. Your stomach gurgles greedily when the smell of chocolate hits your nose, and the past few days of barely eating hit you all at once. “And when can I get something to eat?”

“Four days,” Nate answers again. “And we’ll get you something more filling once we’ve cleared the town.”

Alex comes back around the corner at that moment, arguing with someone on the phone. “Yes, yes –she’s fine, I already told you she’s fine… do not take this out of context, you know what I meant.” She hands the phone off to Wade abruptly. “Keep him occupied for two minutes.”

Wade takes the phone and lifts it to his ear. “According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way the bee should be able to fly—”

She turns and faces you, cupping your face in her hands as she looks you over with motherly concern. She frowns sadly, and gently rubs your cheeks with her thumbs. “Malen'kaya ptitsa…” She lifts her hand to gently brush her fingers against the cut above your eyebrow. “How did you get this?”

Any steadiness you might’ve gained crumples as your eyes start watering again. “I tried to escape… my mom kicked me in the face…”

Alex visibly tears up at that and pulls you into a tight hug.

You shake in her arms, partially from the past few days and partially from the overwhelming feeling of having a maternal figure that loves you.

You have a feeling you’re going to wind up dedicating a few therapy sessions to both.

Frank pipes up from somewhere in the living room –probably keeping an eye on things, given his background and your dad’s general ability with constructing a mission plan. “Still no sign of anyone. Not even across the street. Entire town’s dead.”

“They’re probably at the church,” you pipe up as you step back from Alex and lean against your fiancé, wiping your face dry with your shirt. “Deciding what to do with me.”

Mikhail frowns. “They already took you. What else is there?”

“Whether or not they need to kill me,” you say, voice flat –and even though you’re exhausted and more than a little out of it, you can feel the snap of tension that runs through everyone else within earshot.

“We need to get her out of here,” Nate says, voice low and thrumming with barely controlled anger. He taps Wade on the shoulder, who is in the middle of rambling in Spanish to whoever’s on the phone. “Cars. Now.”

Wade gives Nate a little salute –without stopping his monologue—and heads towards the front door.

“Wait!” You panic a little when Nate and Piotr start moving you towards the door as well. “My ring –I still don’t have my ring, I need my ring!”

“It is okay, myshka,” Piotr reassures you. “I can get you new one—”

“I don’t want another one!” you sob as you dig in your heels to keep from being moved further. “I want the one you already gave me –it’s mine, they took it from me, it’s supposed to be mine—”

“I found the ring!” Neena shouts from upstairs. There’s a series of quick footsteps above you, then a thud that makes you think she jumped the entire flight of stairs in one go, and then she’s jogging into the kitchen with your engagement ring in hand. “I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

You almost collapse with relief when you see it. Your hands are shaking so bad that you can barely hold onto your bottle of water, much less a delicate engagement ring.

Fortunately, Piotr’s there to help you. He takes the ring from Neena with a murmured ‘thank you,’ then carefully slides it back into place on your left ring finger.

“There we go,” Alex says with a note of approval in her voice.

Nathan nudges you forward –albeit not unkindly—as Frank, Neena, and Mikhail head out the front door. “Come on. Time to get out of here.”

You walk through the dining room and entryway on shaky legs, then across the small porch and down the little flight of steps. It’s cool outside, and Piotr shucks off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders when you shiver.

There’s two sleek, modern, massive black SUVs that look entirely out of place on your parents’ gravel driveway. Neena’s behind the wheel of one, Frank’s behind the other—

And Wade is standing between the two cars, holding the cellphone six inches away from his ear as some rages at him from the other end of the line—

You recognize the voice; it’s your uncle.

Wade shoots Alexandra a slightly shell-shocked look. “I think he’s pissed.”

You hold out your hand to him. “He’ll settle down when I start talking to him.”

Your uncle’s still going as you clamber into the back of the SUV that Frank’s driving. “—Wilson, I swear to all things holy and not, if you don’t put my niece on the phone right now—”

“Hey,” you say quickly before he can start listing off various death threats. “It’s me. I’m okay.”

Your uncle lets out a rush of air that almost makes you think he’s been punched in the gut “Punk.”

Piotr climbs in next to you –which gets an eyebrow raise from you, to which he merely kisses your forehead—and buckles you into your seat before buckling himself in and closing the door next to him.

“Hey,” you say again, voice wobbly and hoarse from all the crying you’ve been doing. “It’s okay, I’m okay—”

Your uncle lets out a broken sob. “Punk –Y/N—I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, equally as teary. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, it’s alright.”

Nate closes the front passenger door of the car with a thud and quickly buckles himself in. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

“We’re leaving now,” you say as Frank pulls out of the driveway. “I’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll be here,” your uncle promises. “I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It’s okay,” you say for the umpteenth time. “I know you would have if it was an option.”

“Damn right.” He sniffs wetly, then groans. “There’s some other people here that want to check in on you. I need to… yeah.”

You let out a tired laugh –you don’t have to ask what he means. “That’s okay. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Alright, I’m gonna put you on speaker before I get mobbed.”

There’s a brief moment of shuffling on the other end of the line, and then—

Chaos.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie –and possibly Kitty as well, if your ears aren’t deceiving you—all try to talk at once, asking how you are, what happened, when you’re coming back, what’s going to happen to your parents… It all comes out as a jumbled, cacophonic mess, and even though you have to hold the speaker of the phone away from your ear a little, it makes you smile.

“Okay, okay.” Nikolai’s voice breaks through the din, warm and fond but undoubtedly authoritative. “One at time. Do not want to overwhelm here.”

And that devolves into, from the sounds of things, a ‘rock-paper-scissors’ match for who gets to talk first—

Until Illyana takes the phone. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you answer while trying not to giggle at the grumbling you can hear in the background. “I’ve been better, but I’m okay. I’m on my way home now.”

“What’s going to happen with your parents?” Russell blurts –which gets a few hisses of ‘don’t ask that’ from the girls, but you can understand why he’d want to know.

When you come from backgrounds like yours and his, it’s natural to want to know if the people like your abusers are being held accountable.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “But, if I have it my way, I’m never seeing them again.”

“We missed you a lot,” Yukio pipes up. “We were all really worried about what happened to you.”

“I missed you guys, too,” you say, choking up with emotion again. “I’ll be home soon, I promise.”

“Did Wade kill anyone?” Kitty asks, which prompts a snort from Illyana.

“As far as I know, he behaved himself.”

“Told you,” Russell grumbles at someone –Ellie, most likely, she’s usually the first person to doubt Wade’s self-control (not that she doesn’t have good reason or plenty of evidence to support her suspicions). “Karen’s here, too.”

You blink, surprised. “Karen? As in… Karen Page?”

(You swear you see Frank perk up in the driver’s seat, just a little.)

“Yeah,” Karen says, speaking for the first time. “I was brought here for… supervision.”

Which is another way of saying ‘safekeeping,’ but either way it isn’t hard to miss the distaste in her voice over being babysat.

“Well, uh, thanks for loaning your friend out,” you say for lack of something better to comment on. “I appreciate it.”

Karen snorts. “Now that’s a business idea. But we both wanted to make sure you came back in one piece.” She clears her throat. “How are you doing?”

“Been better,” you admit wearily. “Been a lot better.”

“I can imagine.”

“I’m sure, considering you’re New York’s ‘most kidnapped reporter.’”

Frank snorts.

“Did he laugh at that?”

You smirk. “Yeah.”

Karen grumbles something under her breath before saying, “Well, I’ll have you know that claim is unsubstantiated at best.”

“I’m sure,” you yawn, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion.

“We’ll let you go,” Karen says decisively. “You should rest.”

“Probably,” you mutter, too tired for functional human conversation. You make your good-byes with the group –Nikolai promises to say good-bye to your uncle for you—then hang up.

The car’s already at the fringes of the town where you grew up. The populated area is quickly giving way to fields of crops and forest; if it weren’t for all the sins you know lie close to the surface of the place, it’d look beautiful.

You watch the sun continue to set before you turn away from the window and let exhaustion claim you.

 ***

 The cars pull over to the side of the road about twenty minutes later –far enough outside of town that you’ve got a head start, but still too close for comfort in your opinion.

You blink sleepily as Nate hops out of his seat and walks over to the door next to you. “What’s going on? Why did we stop?”

“We need to get you cleaned up and make sure you don’t have any serious injuries that require immediate attention,” he explains as Alex and Mikhail hop out of the other car and walk towards him.

You frown. “And if I do?”

Nathan nods to Mikhail. “He’ll teleport back to the Institute with you so you can get immediate treatment, and the rest of us will finish the drive back.” He pauses to take a large medical kit from Alex. “You got a preference for which one of us looks you over?”

“Dad,” you decide, voice quiet, after a moment of thought. “I want dad to do it.”

The three of them nod, and Alex and Mikhail walk a respectful distance away while Nathan puts on a pair of medical gloves.

“Alright,” he says as he turns on a mini flashlight. “Look straight ahead for me.”

Piotr unbuckles his seat belt and shifts so he’s sitting behind you. He kisses the top of your head when you interlock your fingers with his. “Does anywhere hurt?”

“Everything hurts,” you grumble as you follow Nathan’s light with your eyes.

Nate clicks the flashlight off. “No signs of concussion. Can you run me through how you got injured?”

You swallow hard and grip Piotr’s hand tighter. “I tried to escape… earlier today, I think. I caught my mother off guard… and she—” you tap where you’d gotten the split in your skin on your forehead “—kicked me. Couple times.”

Piotr lets out a shaky breath and scoots closer to you, lips pressing against your temple.

“Later, my father…” You chin trembles as your voice trails off, and you find yourself blinking back tears.

“It’s okay,” Nathan reassures you. “You don’t have to tell me how it went. I just need to know where you got hurt.”

“Ribs. Stomach. Neck,” you rattle off. “Legs too, probably.”

“Okay. Can you lift your shirt up for me so I can see your ribcage?”

You do –and for the first time, you realize there’s blood crusted on a good portion of your shirt. Some of it dripped down onto your pants as well. “Oh. That’s why everyone was looking at me weird. I look like Carrie.”

“All you’re missing is the bucket,” Nathan deadpans. He helps you roll up your shirt to the bottom of your bra when you wince, then grimaces. “Aw, kid…”

Your ribs are a mottled myriad of purples and reds, shiny and just a touch swollen. “Huh. I was wondering why that hurt.”

“That would do it,” Nathan agrees, jaw clenching as he inhales and exhales slowly. “Alright, I’m gonna feel your sides to make sure your ribs aren’t broken. This’ll probably hurt a little.”

It hurts a lot, but it’s nothing compared to the past few days.

You squeeze your eyes shut and breathe through the stabs of pain that Nathan’s poking creates. “I used the fighting techniques you taught me with my father. Almost choked him out.”

He presses a fatherly kiss against your forehead. “Atta girl. Good job. Alright, your ribs don’t seem to be broken, but you’re going to be sore until you can see one of the healers. We can always have Mikhail take you back if you’re uncomfortable.”

You shake your head automatically. “No. I want to stay with Piotr.”

Piotr hugs you gently, careful to avoid your bruises, and kisses your cheek. “Myshka, be reasonable.”

“I thought I was never going to see you again!” you whimper as you press yourself against him. “I thought you weren’t even real! I’m not leaving you!”

“We have painkillers,” Nate says when Piotr hesitates. “We can keep her physically comfortable, and her physical well-being isn’t in question. The next immediate step is her emotional well-being. She’ll be calmer if she stays with you.”

Piotr nods after a moment. “If you are certain she will be fine.”

“If I wasn’t, I’d be sending her home with your brother.” Nate nods when Piotr nods again, then pulls a pack of baby wipes out of the medical kit. “Okay, kiddo. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Pictures,” Frank pipes up from the driver’s seat. “This is an abuse case. You need to take pictures.”

“I’m not taking my parents to court,” you sigh. “I probably wouldn’t win, since I’m mutant. All I ever care about is not seeing them again.”

Frank meets your eyes in the rearview mirror. “All due respect, ma’am, but they went to the trouble of kidnapping you and dragging you back to their house. Even if you’re done with them, they clearly aren’t done with you. You need a paper trail.”

“He’s right,” Nathan says when you pull a frustrated face. “The more documentation we have, the better things go if the courts ever do get involved.”

You sigh, exhausted and frustrated. “Fine. Let’s just make it fast. I want to get all this blood off me.”

Nathan calls Alex over to help with the picture taking process. Using Nate’s phone, they start off by taking several pictures of your face and the cut and bruising there, before documenting the state of your clothes and all the blood over it. The snap a few shots of your neck –chafing from the mutation repression collar, apparently—then move on to taking pictures of your ribs and back.

Piotr kisses your forehead soothingly when you whimper from your ribs hurting. “Almost done. You are doing so well.”

They finish off by getting photos of the bruises on your legs from your encounter with your father, then Nate hands the package of baby wipes to Alex. “Start getting her cleaned up. I’m going to save these.”

Frank rolls down his window and holds his phone out to Nathan. “Send them to Karen’s number, too. She works with a law firm; they’ll be able to help.”

“I thought she was a journalist,” you say as Nate copies Karen’s number into his phone.

“She moonlights as a private investigator and paralegal for a law firm, too,” Frank explains.

You nod, impressed. “Pays to be connected.”

“It certainly does,” Alex agrees as she clasps your chin with her hand. “Alright, malen'kaya ptitsa, let’s get you cleaned up.”

With the practiced gentleness of a loving mother, she wipes your face clean with methodic, circular strokes. She goes through several wipes before she moves on to your neck, gently scrubbing the dried blood off your skin.

Your hold on Piotr’s hand tightens further as waves of emotion threaten to overwhelm you.

This should’ve been your mother. The societal laws of the universe dictate that it’s your mother, the one who gave birth to you, who should be loving on you and caring for you like this.

Instead, she helped lock you in a cell and kicked you in the face when you tried to escape.

“There we go,” Alex says softly, fondly. “All clean.” She throws the baby wipes in a plastic bag, then nods at the medical kit –which is really just a black duffel bag with more medical emergency supplies in it than you would’ve thought possible—as she ties the plastic bag off. “There’s clean clothes for her in there. Help her get changed.”

Piotr kisses the back of your head before sliding back across the back bench of the SUV and exiting on his side of the car. He circles back around to you and withdraws a pair of pajama pants, some fresh underwear, and a shirt of his that’s large enough your won’t have to wear a bra. “Alright, myshka. Let’s get you into proper clothing.” He stands so he’s blocking you from view of everyone else –even the driver’s side mirror of the car, not that you’d ever take Frank Castle as the ‘sneak peek’ type.

Still, you appreciate the gesture.

You shuck off your white, baggy clothes with Piotr’s help, then let out a sigh of relief when you pull on the fresh underwear and pajama pants.

“I bet that feels better,” Piotr says as he helps you get the clean shirt on.

“Yeah, it does,” you admit.

Piotr puts your bloody clothes in another plastic grocery bag, then ties it off and tucks it in the medical kit. He zips the duffel bag shut, hands it back to his mother, then nods at Nathan. “We’re ready.”

“Good. We can’t afford to stand still any longer.”

Your stomach growls angrily as everyone gets back in their respective car seats. “Dad, I really need to eat something.”

“I know, kiddo. I promise, as soon as we’re a good distance away, we’ll get you fed,” Nathan says as he buckles himself in. “Think about what you want in the meantime. We’ll get whatever sounds good to you.”

Piotr kisses your cheek as he buckles you back into your seat. “Hang in there, myshka. Just little bit longer.”

“I want burgers,” you whine tiredly –you’ve earned a good whine, though. “Plural. As in lots of them.”

“We can get you burgers,” Piotr promises, buckling himself in as Frank steers back onto the road.

“And fries. I want fries.”

“You can have fries, also.”

“I want your fries, too.”

Piotr chuckles, then nods. “You can have my fries as well.”

You lean against his shoulder, worn out. “Can I get a milkshake, too?”

“Whatever you want, dorogoy,” Piotr says as he carefully wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. “You can get whatever you want.”

***

 Forty minutes later, you finally hit a strip with a bunch of stores –and, even better, fast food joints. The two cars order enough food for twenty people, then drive over to an abandoned movie theater with a parking lot that’s more grass than asphalt and park there so everyone can eat.

You manage to slurp down half your chocolate shake before Piotr takes it from you and hands you one of the burgers you’d asked for. “Protein first, please,” he says as he sets your shake in your cupholder. “I do not want for you to get sick.”

After four days of withdrawals and plain turkey sandwiches, the burger tastes like heaven.

You moan obscenely as you take your first bite, then gulp it down before going back in for more.

“The hell are you doing to her?” Mikhail asks, grinning lasciviously as he opens his door and swing his legs so he’s sitting sideways in his seat, facing the car you’re in. “I could hear that through my window!”

Piotr just rolls his eyes, takes a bite of his burger, and hands his fries over to you, the sweetheart.

“What’s the plan for the parents’ house when we get Y/N back home?” Wade asks as he horks down his burger almost as fast as you’re eating yours. “I’m feeling something arson-y. Frankenfurter, you down?”

You can almost hear Frank’s eyes roll at the nickname, but he shows restraint by only flipping Wade off for it instead of cursing him out. “You’re buying the gas.”

“Ooh, I do love good burning!” Mikhail says with slightly manic brightness. “If I come, you will not even need matches!”

“Send a good message,” Nathan reasons, techno-organic eye flaring as he considers the idea. “Warn all the other shitheads not to go after mutants.”

Behind you, Piotr makes a noise of disapproval. “X-Men do not kill.”

“We’re not X-Men!” Wade reasons. “It’ll be fine!”

“I don’t know,” Neena says softly as she watches you closely. “I’m not getting a good feeling about this idea.”

You’re not sure when you started crying, but her sudden attention makes you realize that you’re shaking and that tears are trickling down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Wade crouches in front of you, smiling brightly even though panic is easy to see in his eyes. “It’s okay. We wouldn’t leave you out of it.”

Piotr sighs heavily. “Wade—”

“Hey, a little vengeance towards childhood abusers is very cleansing for the soul!”

“No,” you snap, scrubbing at your face –and then wince when you press against the cut by your eyebrow too hard. “No one’s doing anything. No arson, no killing, no threats, nothing!”

“What the shit? Are you listening to yourself right now?” Wade exclaims. “These are your parents, the people who beat you growing up and again within the past twenty-four hours, and you just want to –what—let them get away with it? The fuck kinda bullshit is that!”

“You can’t,” you sob, almost on the verge of hyperventilating. “You can’t –Wade, you can’t, you have to promise me—”

“Hey, hey.” Nate clasps your hand while shushing softly. “Deep breaths. No one’s going to do anything if you’re not okay with it.”

“Speak for yourself!”

Neena kicks Wade in the shin –albeit not too hard. “We’re trying to calm her down right now.”

“What do you think the arson is for?”

Piotr lets out a harsh exhale behind you. “Wade—”

“Everyone be quiet,” Alex interjects in a tone that brokers no arguing. She fixes Wade with a steely glare when he opens his mouth to argue anyway. “I said quiet. There is more going on here than you realize.”

Wade gives you a skeptical look. “What else could there possibly be? Your family situation is already entirely fucked.”

You sniff wetly and blow your nose into a Kleenex provided by Piotr, then give everyone watching you –which is the entire group at this point—a desperate, pleading look. “What I’m about to tell you cannot ever go any further, okay? Someone else’s life is at stake. I’m putting them at risk –and the rest of you, too—just by telling you all this.”

Everyone nods seriously –even Wade—and then it all comes tumbling out.

About your uncle. About the life he was forced into. About how he got out and has to stay under every radar conceivable to avoid being forced back into “government service.”

“If anything happens to my parents –or their property—that isn’t natural causes, the government drops a massive manhunt on his head,” you explain, voice thick with emotion. “It’s an agreement they made to keep him from taking me when I was a kid and to keep him from lashing out at them from all their bullshit.”

“Why haven’t they just dropped the bomb on him anyway?” Neena asks. “Your parents don’t exactly seem like the most rational, deal-honoring people anyway.”

“He warned them that if they did pull something like that, his first stop would be to come get me and ‘wipe all evidence of them from existence,’” you say. “I think they valued their own lives enough to keep from doing that.”

“Why not just take you and run anyway?” Mikhail pipes up, forehead creased with confusion and concern.

You purse your lips. “For all about him that’s great… he’s flawed. I don’t think he ever thought he’d be in a good position to take care of a kid –and, in all honesty, he wasn’t.”

“But he could have saved you,” Mikhail argues. “He could have gotten you out.”

“My uncle was just as abused as I am, if not more,” you say flatly. “He’s had his own demons to deal with –still deal with. And, at any rate, this isn’t about what he has or hasn’t done; this is about his present safety, and believe me when I say there is a very real threat staring him down.”

“We believe you,” Nate reassures you. “And we’re not going to do anything that’s going to put your uncle at risk.”

Wade holds up his hands defensively when you give him a pointed look. “I’ll behave! I promise!”

You heave a sigh of relief and lean back against Piotr. “Thanks, everyone.”

 …

 While you all finish eating, Nate, Alex, Neena, Piotr, and Frank work out how the rest of the travelling is going to go.

There’s no stopping for a hotel –or anything other than food, gas, and bathroom breaks, really. Even though you’re safely out of your parents’ clutches, the possibility of them chasing after you –along with who knows who else—still looms ominously like a black thunder cloud.

“We left the collar at the house,” Nate says while looking over some maps with Frank and Neena. “With any luck, they’ll think she got it off and escaped into the woods.”

“By unlocking the door from inside the room,” Frank says, voice heavy with doubt.

“I can unlock handcuffs with my powers,” you retort between massive bites of burger and fries. “And I used to take my bedroom door off its hinges to escape from my room. It’s not that much of a leap.”

Frank shrugs, looking equal parts impressed and irritated –though the latter, you’re certain, is directed at your parents. “If you say so.”

“If they come after us,” Nate says, stressing the first word for your sake. “You’re—” he points to Mikhail “—going to get her and get back to the Institute. We’ll be able to handle whatever they throw at us.”

You frown when Mikhail nods and look to your fiancé. “What about you?”

Piotr kisses your forehead. “I will be fine. My armor mutation will keep me safe.”

“Yeah, honey, but you’re official X-Men. You can’t be associated with a shoot-out in case something hits the news.”

“Grab both of them,” Nate tells Mikhail.

“Do I have to?” Mikhail mock-whines. “Mladshiy brat too heavy.”

Piotr rolls his eyes and says something in Russian, which Mikhail pulls a face at and replies in a short, irritated tone, and then the two of them tangent off into some sort of rapid-fire argument that leads to the two of them talking over each other—

“Stop it, both of you,” Alex admonishes them crisply. “This situation is serious. Act like it.”

“One of us is,” Piotr mutters under his breath.

“Trakhni tebya!”

“Enough.” Alex levels a serious, mildly annoyed look at Piotr. “Quit antagonizing.”

Mikhail laughs.

“That goes for you, too, Koroleva dramy.”

You squeeze Piotr’s hand when you catch him barely suppressing an annoyed grimace. “Be nice.”

Frank noisily balls up the wrapper his burger had come in, effectively distracting everyone away from the argument. “We should get moving again. Do we have a route picked out?”

Neena tosses him a map with a series of roads and highways highlighted. “I’m feeling good about this one.”

“Still lazy writing,” Wade grumbles under his breath.

Nate pats Wade on the shoulder before heading back to his seat. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Once you’re buckled in, Piotr hands you a small container with some pills and a bottle of water. “Medication,” he explains when you give him a perplexed look. “Dr. McCoy wanted you to have meal before you took it.”

You quickly –gratefully—down one of the pills and follow it with a swig of water. “Thanks, babe.”

He produces another bottle with a few smaller looking pills in it. “Xanax. He instructed me to have you take one as well to help you sleep.”

You take one of the Xanax, chase it down with some water, and flop back in your seat with a sigh as Frank drives the car towards the nearest highway. “How long until we’re home?”

“About two days, give or take four hours,” Nate answers from the shotgun seat of the car.

You adjust yourself so you’re leaning against Piotr and close your eyes.

You may as well get some sleep in that time.

***

 You wake up to the sun blasting your eyes –and ow, no, I didn’t need my retinas to be functional, just go right ahead and scorch them, you fucker. You blink hard, trying to get the little spots from accidentally staring at the bright, early morning light to fade from your field of vision, and stretch your back and sit up.

For a moment, you panic when you realize Piotr isn’t next to you –but Nathan is, napping, and if he’s still here then you’re still safe…

You let out a little sigh of relief when you see that Piotr’s in the driver’s seat, steering the car around a bend in the road. You lean forward –mashing your face against the back of his seat in the process—and gently squeeze his shoulders. “Hi.”

He lifts one hand off the wheel when he gets to another length of straight, open road and lovingly squeezes one of your hands. “Dobroye utro, myshka.”

You yawn and latch onto his shirt when he lets go of you so he has both hands on the steering wheel once more. “How long have you been awake?”

“Couple of hours. I switched off with Frank around four.”

Sure enough, Frank’s in the front passenger seat, completely dead to the world and snoring slightly.

“How much longer until we’re home?”

“I think we will reach halfway point later today, provided everything goes well.”

You grunt a little and turn your head so only your cheek’s pressing the back of his seat. “Can we get breakfast soon? I’m hungry.”

Piotr chuckles a little and pats your hand. “Da, dorogoy. We can get you breakfast soon.”

***

 Breakfast comes in the form of a Panera Bread. You can only imagine how big the cashier’s eyes must’ve been when Neena and Piotr had gone in to place the order, judging by the three massive bags of food and multiple drink carriers they bring out, but fortunately the place is pretty dead since it’s still early in the morning.

You all eat in the parking lot, car doors open to let in fresh air and facilitate easy conversation.

“We should refuel soon,” Frank says, voice still gravelly –well, more than usual—from sleep. “And stock up on some supplies and coffee.”

“You ordered three large black coffees for breakfast,” Neena remarks, disbelieving. “What are you going to need more coffee for?”

“He doesn’t just punish criminals and jackasses,” Wade quips. “He also likes to punish his cardiovascular system by scouring it with mass amounts of caffeine.”

Frank just rolls his eyes and flips Wade off.

Alex groans as she works a brush through her hair. “I will be glad to not sleep in car soon. I am too old for this.”

“I can take you back,” Mikhail offers, a worried frown tugging at his lips.

Alex merely shakes her head, though. “I would rather be present in case something goes wrong.”

“We’ve made some good progress,” Nate says as he works on polishing off a breakfast sandwich. “If we were going to see them, it would’ve been last night, either at the house or when we stopped to treat her injuries.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not following behind us,” Frank adds darkly. “Best to stop as little as we have to.”

***

 The two SUVs stop at a gas station fifteen minutes later.

Nate eyes the meter critically as the beast of a car continues guzzling down fuel. “And people say climate change is a myth.”

The eight of you head into the gas station two at a time to freshen up in the bathroom and get whatever snacks and drinks you might want, while everyone else keeps an eye on the road for any signs of trouble.

Mikhail comes out with two bags full of Monster and Red Bull.

“Nyet,” Piotr says before you can even muster up so much as a hopeful look. He points at the bags his brother’s carrying. “Keep those in other car.”

“Do you mind if I ride in the front while he drives?” you ask Frank when he comes out from his trip to the gas station, nodding at Piotr while you speak.

Frank shrugs. “Sure. I can sleep in the back.”

“You should rest, myshka,” Piotr says as he kisses the top of your head.

“Yeah, but I want to rest next to you,” you explain. “And hold your hand.”

He chuckles and hugs you gently before ushering you towards the front passenger seat. “I suppose that is reasonable.”

 ***

 For the first time in your life, you don’t mind the monotony of car travel.

You can keep track of how much time is passing, you’re close to Piotr the entire time, you have access to water and good tasting food, and you’re able to talk to the people you love most (other than Piotr) basically whenever you want.

The only real downside is that Frank listens to Bruce Springsteen on repeat whenever he’s driving –during the day that is, he’s not enough of an asshole to play it at night—but even that’s tolerable compared to your past few days in hell on earth.

Piotr sticks close to you throughout it all. If he’s driving, you’re in the front passenger seat next to him. If you’re in the back, he’s sitting in the seat next to yours. If you head into a gas station to use the restroom, he’s the one that heads in with you. Wherever you eat –usually in the car, but sometimes leaning against the side or the hood so you can stretch your legs—he’s right next to you.

You’re both equally clingy to each other, really. On some level, you know the considerate thing to do would be dial it back so you don’t annoy everyone else –but, on the other hand, you spent four days being held and tormented by your parents and thought that everyone you’d ever met outside of your childhood community might’ve never existed to begin with. If anything, you’ve earned a little PDA.

(Besides, it’s not like anyone’s complaining or pulling faces.)

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you murmur quietly one night, while Nate’s driving and Frank’s co-piloting for him. You’re in the back with Piotr, nestled against his chest and snuggled up in his jacket. “I thought I’d made you up –that I’d made everything up.”

Piotr holds you tight, cradling you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “I will always find you, myshka,” he promises in an equally quiet voice. “You will never have to wake up alone again.”

 ***

 The two SUVs finally reach the X-Mansion around three in the afternoon, a little over two days after your rescue.

Your uncle’s waiting in the garage for you, pacing nervously and generally looking like a wreck.

“And I thought I was the one that was kidnapped and held prisoner,” you remark as you watch him stare down the cars, like he can make them park and turn off faster if he keeps his eyes on them through the whole process.

“He was pretty cut up when you went missing,” Nate says from the backseat. “Flew here in twelve hours when Xavier contacted him with the news.”

“Holy shit,” you mutter under your breath as Piotr finishes parking the car and turns the engine off. You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the SUV as quickly as you can—

Your uncle’s still quicker. He practically lifts you out of your seat and into a crushing hug, sobbing brokenly as he holds you.

Which makes you start crying. You’re surprised your tear ducts have anything left to offer after all the crying you’ve done over the past couple days.

“I’m so sorry!” he gasps between sobs as he clutches you tighter and tighter. “I’m so sorry, punk; I’m so, so sorry!”

You hold onto him just as fiercely. “It’s okay; it’s not your fault, it was never your fault…”

The two of you collapse to the cement floor of the garage in a discombobulated heap, weeping and clinging to each other like it’s all that either of you can do.

And, given the depth of everything that’s happened, it just might be.

Piotr, Alex, and Nate help the two of you stand, steadying you both until you’re each calm enough to stay upright on your own power.

Your uncle cups your face his hands, jaw trembling with rage as he looks you over. “What did they do to you? What did they do –I’m gonna fucking murder them!”

Alex shushes your uncle, quickly stepping between the two of you as he starts shaking again. “Deep breaths.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘deep breaths’ me!”

“She needs you calm,” Alex fires back, pointing at you.

Which you don’t think is the whole truth; of the two of you, you’re miles calmer than your uncle (that would be the Xanax, thank you modern pharmaceutics).

But he needs to calm down. And if thinking he’s helping you is the bridge that gets him there, so be it.

You offer your uncle a watery smile when he looks at you. “Honestly, all I really want is to go inside, take a shower, and nap in a real bed.”

That ekes a ghost of a snort out of your uncle. He takes a deep breath, then nods. “Yeah. Probably a good idea. Easier to bathe in water than in deodorant.”

You snicker. “You’re telling me.”

You’re ushered into the house by your uncle and your rescue group. Piotr stays by your side the whole way, holding your hand reassuringly as you step through the back door and into the kitchen—

And there’s Russell, Yukio, Ellie, Illyana, Kitty, Nikolai, and Karen, all waiting for you with varying looks of worry and anticipation.

Russell, Yukio, and Ellie all swarm you at once. It takes a bit of work figuring out how to hug all three of them at once, and it makes your ribs sting like a bitch, but you don’t care. You’re overjoyed to see them; you’ve missed their energy and company fiercely during all of this.

Illyana and Kitty go next –though they have a little more self-control and opt to go one at a time, sparing your ribs from an extra squeezing.

Illyana holds onto you for a surprisingly long amount of time. When she lets go, her eyes are watery enough that her usually impeccable eyeliner has started running.

“Was very worried about you,” she manages, voice wobbly with emotion when you ask her what’s wrong. “And for medvezhonok. Very distraught while you disappear.” She smiles at you, genuine and bright despite the tears in her eyes. “I am glad you are home.”

You have to hug her again after that.

Nikolai’s hug almost makes you cry (again). It’s so gentle and nurturing, and in direct comparison to the past few days –save for being rescued—it’s an outright shock to your system. “We are all glad you come home, malen'kaya ptitsa,” he says before placing a gentle, fatherly kiss against the top of your head.

If you sniffle a little when you step back and wipe a few tears from your eyes, no one mentions it. “I’m glad to be back.” You turn—

And then it’s just Karen left.

She grimaces when she sees you. “You look rougher than you did that one time when Frank brought you by my apartment.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t bleed on your couch this time.” You mentally flounder for a moment, then shrug at her. “You want a hug, too?”

Karen chuckles –along with everyone else—and shrugs back. “Why not? Hugs are good.” Your hug with her is briefer than your hugs with everyone else, but she does clasp your shoulder when it ends. “Your dad sent me the pictures he took of your injuries and a basic rundown of how they found you. I showed them to the law firm I moonlight for –they’re willing to represent you, if you’re interested.”

Granted, you’d rather not have anything to do with your parents ever again, but knowing what your legal options are wouldn’t be a half bad idea.

First things first, though.

“Can I, like, at least take a shower and a nap first?” you ask.

Karen smiles and nods. “Yeah, definitely do those first. I’ll let them know you’re interested in working with us?”

You nod after a moment of thought. “Yeah. I’m interested.”

***

 Before either a shower or a nap, though, comes a thorough medical examination and healing session. Vitals, x-rays, bloodwork, the whole nine yards and a few extra for good measure.

Hank takes some higher quality pictures of your injuries and documents your medical status for your meeting with your new lawyers, then sends you off to one of the healers so you don’t have to treat yourself like the most delicate, frail china doll until everything heals.

“Alyssa and Professor Xavier want to do a session with you,” he informs you before sending you to one of the healers. “To make sure no irreversible damage has been done from going off your meds and being held captive.”

“Define ‘irreversible,’” you sigh as you rub your neck.

Hank flashes you a pained smile. “I know. But better to take all the steps than cut corners. Especially with situations like this.” He waves you along when you go quiet. “Go on. Go get healed up. That should help you feel better.”

***

 The healing session does help –but honestly, all you want now is a shower and a proper bed.

Which is exactly what you get for yourself. Once the session is done, you head straight for the room you share with Piotr, beeline for the bathroom, and make yourself a nice, steaming shower.

Ah, just mildly scalding, you think as you step under the cascade of water. Perfect.

The warm water feels like heaven. You can feel your muscles relaxing under the soothing spray, and you waste no time washing your hair and scrubbing yourself down.

The first shower after a healing session is always a little weird. You know you were injured –you can still feel dull pain in your ribs and the stress your body went through from coping with the injuries—but seeing completely smooth, unmarred skin in contrast to all of that always makes you feel like you’re having a bit of an out-of-body experience.

Your fingers automatically lift to your brow. There’s not so much as a fine line scar left from where your mother kicked you, let alone the scabby, crusty mess that had been there only fifteen minutes ago.

You’re not sure whether it’s a blessing or a curse to have everything erased like this. On one hand, you definitely don’t want to bear the proof of your parents’ hatred towards you for the rest of your life. On the other hand, if you don’t have any proof at all, does that mean you didn’t even suffer? It could’ve all just been a nightmare, or a horrid hallucination your psychosis cooked up—

You groan and scrub your face with your hands. I need to sleep.

Piotr joins you halfway through your shower. It takes him considerably less time to scrub down than it does for you, so he spends most of his time caressing your body and planting kisses along your jawline and neck.

By the time the shower’s over, you’re wound up in an entirely different way.

The two of you dry each other off –which really means that you spend more time kissing and groping each other than you do actually drying each other off.

You moan softly as Piotr runs his tongue over the spot where your neck and jaw meet. “Take me to bed, baby.” You sigh happily when he complies, looping your arms around his neck as he picks you up and carries you out of the bathroom.

You’re home.

***

 “How are you doing?”

You let out a harsh bark of laughter. “How the fuck doing you think I’m doing?”

The corner of Alyssa’s mouth turns up in a smile. “Probably like shit.”

You snort, then nod. “That’s not far off the mark.” You sigh heavily. “I’m happy to be home.”

“But?”

You shrink back into the couch in your therapist’s office, picking at the hem of your shirt. “I’m scared.”

“That it’s not real,” Alyssa supplies when you don’t volunteer any other information. “Your dad mentioned that you said something about thinking none of this was real when he rescued you.”

Your jaw clenches as the moment you saw your mother’s face for the first time in over two years flashes through your mind’s eye over and over again. “I just… I saw her face, and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.”

“That’s not an uncommon reaction. Interacting with abusers puts our systems through a great deal of stress.”

You swallow hard, staring out the window as everything that followed that moment flashes through your head at dizzying speed. “It was like… everything I thought I knew uprooted in that moment. And I thought… ‘what if I made everything up? What if I’m a delusional maniac?’”

“What makes you think you’re delusional?” Alyssa asks, clasping her hands in her lap as she studies you.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Just… I’m afraid that none of this is real, and that I’ve been with my parents this whole time.” You look over at her. “I could be delusional. It’s possible.”

“Delusional people don't question whether or not they're delusional,” Alyssa says calmly. “They hold their beliefs with total conviction, regardless of whatever evidence is presented. The fact that you're questioning your experience is symptomatic of your anxiety and depression, not because of a delusion.”

“But it is possible!” you insist, gesturing with your hands in short, agitated motions as your anxiety spikes. “It technically is! People cope with abuse in all sorts of ways! Delusions can be one of those ways!”

“Yes, they do, and yes, it is, but that’s not the case with you,” Alyssa fires back. “In order to construct an alternate reality, you would have to be severely schizophrenic. Delusions can be a subset of schizophrenia, but they're about beliefs and obsessions, not constructing locations, people that have never been met, seen, or heard of, or interactions with those people. The latter would fall into the category of hallucinations. What you’re describing to me isn’t within the limitations of a delusion.”

“Then maybe I’m schizophrenic!” you exclaim.

“You’re not,” Alyssa says evenly. “You don’t exhibit any of the symptoms of schizophrenia. And, if you were, your interactions with your alternate reality would not be as linear as anything you’re experiencing now.” She cocks her head to the side as she looks at you. “Why do you keep looking for reasons why this might not be real?”

“I have to. I have to make sure that everything’s real.”

“Why? What’s the worst thing that happens if none of this is real?”

You draw in a shaky breath as you rip at your shirt’s hemline. “Because if none of this is real, that means I was always with my parents, and no one ever loved me.” You freeze, full body, as what you just say registers, then slump over against the arm of the couch and start crying.

“There it is,” Alyssa says softly as she pulls a couple tissues out of the box on the table next to her chair and hands them to you. “Not delusional. Just scared of not being loved.”

“But what if it is?” you whimper. “What if no one really loves me?”

“It’s not a delusion, honey, I promise. Your questioning reality was a side effect of heightened anxiety due to withdrawals, that’s all. This is all real, and you’re really loved.” She hands you a few more tissues. “Your parents were working very hard to destabilize you, even if they didn't know you were on medication. They took away your ability to track time, any personal effects, had almost complete control over your schedule. When you got back to being in control of yourself and back on your medication, you stabilized. People with delusions don't stabilize when interacting with the delusion. You've stabilized due to being out of a stressful environment and getting back onto medication.”

You grit your teeth as you wipe your cheeks dry with a balled-up tissue. “I hate them. I hate them so much.”

“I know, honey. And they’ve definitely earned it. Just make sure you don’t stay there,” Alyssa encourages you, smiling softly as she looks you in the eye. “Because you don’t deserve having to give them all that energy and effort when they never did that for you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure how fast the whole ‘moving on’ thing is gonna go,” you grumble as you start shredding your wadded up, damp tissue.

“Fast doesn’t matter,” Alyssa reassures you. “Just as long as you’re moving.”

 ***

 Franklin “Foggy” Nelson and Matthew Murdock are nothing like what you expect.

Though that may largely have to do with the cheery “Hiya, Red!” Wade tosses Matt’s way as soon as the man walks through the front door to the Institute, which makes Matt pull a face like he’s about to shit his pants so hard he’s gonna rip the seams.

Granted, things aren’t necessarily much improved by Frank following them through the door –presumably to make sure Karen stays safe in case things blow back with your parents somehow—

Except Matt turns towards him and growls, “You didn’t say Wilson was going to be here.”

Which leads the grand revelation that one of your lawyers is actually Daredevil, one of Hell’s Kitchen’s leading vigilantes and a staunch rival of sorts with both Frank and Wade.

…Honestly, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you.

 ***

 “I’ll be honest, Miss L/N,” Foggy says once the whole “Matt is Daredevil” kerfuffle is settled and the five of you –Matt, Foggy, Karen, you, and Piotr, who agreed to sit in when you asked him to—finally have a chance to sit down. “Given the severity of your abuse case, I’m a little surprised you haven’t already taken steps to issue a restraining order against your parents. You have more than enough grounds for it. Heck, you have enough grounds to take them to criminal court –and win.”

“I’m not interested in having a day in court,” you say quietly. “I just never want to see them again.”

“Understandable, given the tragic circumstances of your upbringing,” Matt says, tone perfectly sympathetic; he’s clearly had a great deal of practice with this. “A restraining order, however, would go a long way towards making sure that could happen.”

“We’d work with the authorities and whatever legal support your parents might have,” Karen adds, notepad settled on her lap and pen poised to start taking notes at any moment. “And, given the severity of the abuse you’ve suffered, we could represent your interests along with someone that you give power of attorney. You could be as removed from the situation as you want.”

Piotr’s hand closes around yours when you don’t say anything, thumb tracing delicate circles against your skin. “It may be worth considering.”

Matt tilts his head for a moment, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Is there a specific reason why you never issued a restraining order against your parents, Miss L/N?”

Right, you think dejectedly. He’s Daredevil. He can hear my heartbeat. “You think I’m lying.”

“No—”

“You think I’m hiding something, then.”

Matt’s mouth hangs open for a moment, then slowly closes shut.

You swallow hard and look away as tears threaten to spill. “It’s a complicated situation.”

“We work with complicated situations all the time,” Foggy reassures you. “The more open and honest you are with us, the better we can help you.”

“This isn’t just for you,” Matt tacks on. “Restraining orders can also be used to protect whatever children you may choose to have in the future. Even if you don’t want it for you, it may be worth the peace of mind for your future self, to know that your parents can’t get anywhere near your offspring.”

And that does make the whole idea a lot more tempting. Matt’s right that you really don’t care about yourself in all this, but you wouldn’t wish your parents upon your future kids in a thousand years.

You also know you can’t rain hellfire down on someone’s life without even consulting them first.

“Would you mind if I took a few minutes?” you ask, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s, uh, someone I need to talk to.”

Matt nods. “Take all the time you need.”

You’re not sure if he’s being nice, or if he doesn’t mind because he’s paid by the hour and you’re still technically using his time.

“We’ll be here when you come back,” Karen says with a reassuring smile. “In the meantime, Mr. Rasputin, perhaps we can get started on asking you some questions about your relationship with Y/N, how much you know about her history, that sort of thing?”

Piotr nods when you nod, squeezing your hand before letting it go. “Of course. Whatever I can help with.”

You quickly step out of the classroom the five of you had settled in, then all but run down the hall and towards the residential side of the mansion.

You need to find your uncle.

 ***

 He lets out a low whistle. “Restraining order. That’s some serious shit.”

The two of you are seated in the gazebo towards the back of Xavier’s property. The skies have decided to cast a relentless downpour on the world beneath them, drenching everything within their reach and making mini-swamps out of various patches of the lawns that encircle the mansion.

The space under the gazebo is dry, though, and the rain is loud enough that you don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing you, and the spot is far enough removed from the house that the telepaths that could pick up what you’re talking about will be able to infer by the distance that the conversation you’re having is deliberately private.

“It’d be good for my future kids,” you comment as you watch little streams of water drip off the edges of the gazebo’s roof. “Honestly, it’d probably be good to do more than just a restraining order, make sure that my parents are completely locked out of everything.”

“Damn right it would,” your uncle agrees with a nod. He glances over at you. “So what’s stopping you?”

You sigh heavily. “They’d probably rat you out to try and get me to stop the proceedings. Or just rat you out to spite me.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” you uncle says immediately. “The second you do anything to actually shut them out, your mom’s going to throw an absolute shitfit. I know for a fact that the only reason they didn’t turn on me sooner is because, legally, the government couldn’t do anything to force you to go back home to them.”

You frown. “Wait, how can you know that?”

Your uncle flashes you a pained smile. “Who do you think supplied them with the repression serum? Or the collar? Or built the holding cell you were in? Sure as shit wasn’t me, punk.”

Your blood runs cold. “Why?”

“Probably wanted another agent,” your uncle says, entirely too blasé about the whole thing for your comfort. “They knew I was around, they just didn’t know where to find me.”

“Then why not get rid of me?”

“Because getting rid of you would make your mom a ‘bad mother.’”

You scoff, fists clenching against your thighs. “And kicking me in the face doesn’t?”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child. No, I figure once you turned eighteen, they would’ve shipped you off and claimed you were at college or working or what have you.” He grimaces, eyes going flat and dark. “You are lucky you chose to run when you did.”

You swallow hard, trying to stay calm despite the rage bubbling up inside you. “Then why keep kidnapping me? What’s the fucking point of it? They don’t want me, I’m out of their hair, what do they get by dragging me back to a place I never wanted to be from the get go?”

Your uncle shrugs. “Could be the government ordered them to track you down so they’d have better tabs on their ‘potential asset.’ Could be that they just wanted to keep control over you. Honestly, I’m not sure –and I don’t really care to know, either. I stopped trying to figure out your parents’ fucked up cognitions a long time ago. But we’re not talking about them. We’re talking about you getting your parents out of your life.”

“I mean…” You scrub your face with your hands and let out a frustrated groan. “I’m not sure what I can really do. If they’ve got government backing—”

“You let me and the other people in your life worry about that,” your uncle says firmly. “You’ve got more than enough mercenaries and vigilantes in your pocket. If someone tries to fuck any of this up, they’ll get their ass handed to them in short order.”

“But what about you?” you fire back, finally pointing out the elephant in the room. “If I go through with all this, your former handlers are going to start a manhunt for you.”

Your uncle considers that for a moment before shrugging. “Not my first time I’ve had to run. I can always do it again.”

“No! That’s not fair to you!”

“You’re right, it isn’t, but that’s not your fault. I was dealt this hand a long time before you ever showed up,” your uncle says, eyes shining as he smiles at you. “Don’t put your life on hold for me, punk. You deserve to live it without having to deal with your parents. I’ll be fine.”

You hug him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you start crying. “What about your house?”

“I’ll clear it out and burn it. Give them a good ol’ ‘fuck you’ before I duck under.”

You frown. “But… you won’t have anywhere to go once everything settles.”

“Eh, I’ve been thinking about relocating for a while now,” he comments casually as he stares out at the rain. “Maybe… somewhere closer to New York.”

You look up at him, disbelieving. “Really?”

He grins and hugs you closer. “Yeah, really. I miss you when you’re gone, punk. And…” He sighs. “I’m tired of being on my own so much.”

You gasp, feigning shock. “Are you… admitting you feel emotions?”

Your uncle snorts. “Don’t get used to it.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, listening to the rain fall and watching it wash away the sins of the earth.

“I might need you to answer some questions for my lawyers,” you finally say. “Just so they know what’s all going on.”

Your uncle pats your shoulder. “Whatever you need, punk. Whatever you need.”

 ***

 Matt, Foggy, and Karen take your uncle’s status in remarkable stride –which, considering that Matt is Daredevil, Karen unearths some sort of mob or government conspiracy every other week, and Foggy is constantly looped into the two’s insatiable drive to get into as much shit as possible, isn’t all that surprising, actually.

Your uncle does help confirm everything you’ve said –and everyone else, for that matter—about your parents. Even if he can’t testify, he can tell the three of them where to look for various details to confirm your version of events.

“Given your medical and therapy records, we have what basically constitutes an ‘open and shut’ case,” Foggy says during one of your sessions with them. You’d opted to meet at their office, which is attached to a deli and butcher’s shop run by Foggy’s family. “Even this doesn’t get taken this to criminal court, getting a restraining order should be easy. I can’t imagine there’d be a judge in New York that’d deny it.”

“Well, maybe one or two, but they’re in prison now,” Matt adds with a small smile.

Piotr squeezes your hand gently when you don’t react to either lawyer’s statements. “Are you alright, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Just… it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”

“Why not start with an ex parte order?” Karen suggests. “That’ll make sure you’re immediately protected, and then we can work with the judge to get a long-term order in place. Once that’s done, we can look at your file and work on anything else you might want to get set up to safeguard yourself against your parents.”

You nod sluggishly. “Yeah, just… can I have a night to sleep on it? I’m still trying to recover from everything.”

“Absolutely,” Matt says immediately. “You’ve been through a great deal of trauma, Miss L/N. It’s understandable that you’d want to take time to think about everything.”

You know he means to sound sympathetic and understanding, but right now it just sounds coddling. All you want to do is go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a thousand years.

Piotr makes good-byes for both of you as you head out of the office and towards Piotr’s car. He catches up with you quickly, gently lifting you up from where you’d slumped against the car door so he can open it for you. “Are you well, myshka?”

“Yeah,” you murmur as you plop into your seat. “Just really tired. Can we go home?”

Piotr bends down, ducking under the roof of the car so he can kiss your temple. “Da.”

“And can we snuggle?”

He stops mid-way in closing the car door to give you a loving smile. “Konechno. Whatever you would like.”

 ***

 Once the two of you get back home, Piotr lifts you out of the car and carries you all the way upstairs to the room the two of you share. He gently tucks you in bed before slipping his shoes off and climbing in on his side.

You wriggle over to him, nestling against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. “I’m so tired.”

“I know,” he murmurs as he kisses the top of your head. “It is okay. You are allowed to be tired.”

You trace your fingers over the planes of his chest in swirling, nonsensical shapes. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it. The restraining order.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. I guess… it feels like I’m not allowed to do it.”

“Because of your uncle?”

“That, but also… I spent my childhood trying to figure out how to be a good daughter. I feel like if I lock my parents out, they’re never going to love me.”

Piotr stays quiet for a moment, before hugging you tighter and trailing kisses from the top of your forehead to your lips. “Perhaps you are right. But, I would say you have so many people here that love you. People who you do not have to prove yourself to. And I think it would be worth peace of mind to not have your parents looming over your shoulder so much. Especially when we start having children.”

And that’s the kicker of it, in the end.

Besides, Piotr’s right. You do have a wonderful family and life here at Xavier’s; everything’s improved for the better since leaving your parents and hometown community. No sense in fucking that up by leaving things to chance –especially once kids come into the picture.

“Okay,” you decide, pressing your forehead against your fiancé’s chest. “I’ll do the restraining order.”

 ***

 You’re still extremely fatigued and weak the next morning, and Piotr deems you too unwell to travel (not that you’re complaining, because hello pajama day). He calls in to the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page and lets them know –and as luck would have it, they’re in a position to make a house call since all you’re doing today is signing paperwork.

Frank also shows up. Whether it’s of his own reasons or he’s tagging along with your legal team, you neither know or care. He pretty much pairs off with Nathan and Wade as soon as he steps over the threshold into the house, talking with the two fellow assassins in hushed tones about who knows what –the latest style of bullets, maybe, or the most efficient ways to clean a gun.

(What do assassins talk about over lunch, anyway?)

You set up shop in the dining room with Piotr and your lawyers. Piotr’s family and your uncle are a few feet away in the kitchen, and further back are Nate, Wade, and Frank, still enraptured in whatever conversation they’re having.

“Alright,” Foggy says as he pulls a sheaf of paperwork out of his briefcase. “This is going to look like a lot, but it’s really just a bunch of reading and signing. Some of these are just waivers giving us permission to act in certain capacities –to use your medical records and therapy records as evidence in the courts, to act on your behalf without you being there in our capacity as your attorneys, stuff like that—some of these are forms that basically just say you understand, to your best ability, that you’re telling the truth, and some of these are also your permissive relief requests.”

You stare down at the papers like they’re liable to catch fire at any given moment. “And then?”

“Then, an emergency protective order goes into effect,” Karen says. “The emergency protective order only lasts a few days, but in that time we’ll request the ex-parte order to extend the time while we work through the litigation. Once we get through the process of establishing the long-term restraining order, it’ll be issued.”

You take a deep breath and nod slowly. “And then?”

“Given the severity of your case, we’re going to push for the longest term possible,” Matt explains with a small smile, “which is about five years. You’ll have to renew it at those intervals, but given the amount of evidence that supports your side of the story, it shouldn’t be difficult.”

Piotr puts an arm around your shoulders when you start shaking. “Are you okay?”

“Just… feel like the world’s going to explode,” you murmur as you try to breathe evenly. “Or… that they’re never really going to love me again.” You hide your face against his shoulder as tears start leaking out.

Karen produces some tissues from her purse and hands them over to Piotr. “I know this isn’t easy…”

Normally, you’d snap at anyone who dared to issue that phrase while you’re dealing with family shit, but something about the sincerity in Karen’s voice makes you believe that, somewhere along the way, she’s gone through the same kind of shit that you have.

You lift your head and meet her gaze.

Her eyes are just as watery as yours. “Letting go of people who were supposed to love you but don’t is never an easy thing to do. It hurts, and it sucks, and it forces you to go through so much grieving that life just doesn’t prepare us for. But you deserve to have peace of mind in your day to day life. You deserve to never go through again what you went through two weeks ago.”

You sniff, inhale deeply, then nod. “Okay. Just… uh… do we have to go in any order?”

“Nope,” Foggy says with a kind smile. “Just so long as everything gets signed.”

“Okay.” You take another deep breath, then nod to yourself. “Okay. Let’s do this shit.”

 ***

 It’s so much paper. The top of the dining room table has disappeared under all the papers you have to sign. At least twenty forests must’ve died for all this paper to be here.

Also, you’ve officially hit the point where you’re questioning whether or not you know your own signature or not. Just looking at the black scrawl of ink makes you go a little cross-eyed.

“Alright, almost done,” Foggy says as he preps the next form for you to sign while Karen organizes everything and gets them tucked back in his briefcase. “We just have your permissive protections request left and the form that lets us act in your capacity as attorneys.”

“Thank fuck,” you mutter as you reach for the permissive protections request. “Is it possible to get carpal tunnel syndrome in less than a day?”

“I did it once!” Wade calls from the kitchen.

“I don’t even want to know how you managed that,” you fire back as you sign and initial the various spots on the form and hand it over to Karen. “Alright, last one.”

Matt stiffens in his seat before Foggy can hand it over to you, though. “Someone’s coming to the door. Several someones.”

Everyone freezes –and, sure enough, a couple seconds later there’s a series of raps on the front door.

You can hear Russell get up from the rec room and head towards the door, and then the door swinging open—

And past that, you can’t necessarily hear the conversation, but Matt’s hackles basically go up, which makes you tense further—

“Wade!” There’s a brief sound of struggle, and the Russell books it towards the kitchen. “Wade, Y/N’s parents are here with a bunch of other guys!”

Your blood runs cold, then white hot. If they hurt him, if they fucking hurt him…

Piotr tries to grab you when you jump up from your chair. “Myshka, stop—”

Your uncle reacts at the same time, immediately lunging in the direction of the front door. “Fucking assholes—”

Alex and Nikolai catch him, and Frank wraps his arms around his waist and hauls him back and out of sight for good measure.

You manage to slip past everyone in the chaos caused by your uncle’s attempt, charging down the hall towards Russell’s panicked voice. You can hear Piotr behind you, along with Wade, but you can’t think about either of them right now. All you can think about is Russell, and making sure no one hurts him, and if they hurt him, I’m going to kill every last one of them with my bare hands.

You nearly collide with the younger teen, but push him behind you and snarl directly in the face of your town’s pastor. “Get the fuck out!”

He –along with your parents and several of the men from your community—recoil in the face of your rage and the gust of wind that blasts through the hall.

Hit a dog long enough…

Your mother recovers first, scowling at you as she advances on you. “You disobedient, disrespectful—”

Piotr bursts into the hall, physically putting himself between you and everyone else before anyone can do anything. He glares down at your mother, drawing himself up to his full, massive height and balling his fists at his side. “Do not dare touch my fiancée.”

You mother blinks, shocked. “You actually proposed to her?”

“You took my fucking ring off me!” you snap, pointing at the hand in question.

“I thought it was fake!”

Of course she did. The whole time she told you –and everyone else told you—that no one would ever love you, and they actually believed it themselves.

Fuckers.

“Everyone, please,” your town’s pastor says above the chaos and all the shouting. “We don’t want to cause a scene or a problem.”

“Oh, I think you’ve already fucking done that,” Wade says, voice deadly, as he steps up to stand next to Piotr.

“You’ve been doing that for years,” Nate adds, gun clearly visible on his belt, as he steps between you, Russell, and everyone else.

“We’re not here because we have a problem with any of you,” your town’s pastor continues. “We’re just here to take Y/N back home, where she belongs.”

You stare at him like he’s the one growing a second head. “What?”

“We’re concerned about your spiritual well-being,” he says, like that’s applicable to the situation in any way, shape, or form.

You sputter at him, outraged. “What the –fuck your religion!”

“You mind your mouth!” your mother snarls. “And you’re coming back home with us!”

“The fuck I’m not!” you shout back. “I’m an adult! You can’t make me go anywhere if I don’t want to!”

“The daughter’s place is under her father’s headship until she is married,” your pastor says, desperately trying to keep some semblance of control over the situation. “It would be most appropriate for you to return home until you’re married to ensure your sexual and spiritual purity.”

“Now, we don’t have time to unpack all that,” Wade mutters under his breath as he flashes a none-too-subtle ‘cuckoo’ gesture at you.

You just stare at the pastor, agape and eyes wide. “What the… what?”

“I know this may seem shocking—”

“They beat me!” you shriek, pointing at your parents. “They locked me in my room for days on end! They told me they hated me, that no one would ever love me, that I was an abomination!” You narrow your eyes when your pastor blanches, the chill of realization settling hard in your stomach. “You knew. You knew all of it was wrong. Just like you know that this is wrong! You let it all happen!”

He grimaces, but ultimately says nothing.

“Doesn’t matter,” your father growls flatly. “You’re not shaming my name by dallying about like some whore. You’re coming home. Today.”

You can’t even wrap your head around it. You’re staring in the face of people who know what they did to you, on some level, was wrong, but all they care about is taking you back to the environment where it all happened and will keep happening. Like they don’t care about your well-being, or what makes you happy, or about how much progress you’ve made since coming to Xavier’s—

I can’t make them care.

The penny drops right as you’re on the verge of tears. You can’t make them care about you. You can’t make them love you. Every single person you’re facing down –your parents included—decided a long time ago that you weren’t worth loving or respecting. No amount of arguing, pleading, or proof to the contrary is going to make them change their minds because there’s so much guilt on their shoulders –emotional or legal, though it should be both—that if they ever pulled their heads out of their asses, their necks would snap from the weight of it all.

And, amid all the pain the revelation causes, a single thought rises above all the emotional chaos: I can’t keep giving them my energy.

As much as it hurts to admit, it’s a useless fight. And as much as you want them to love you, they’re, at their cores, not people that are healthy to be loved by. You’d have to change every single thing about you –including things that can’t be changed—for them to ever love you.

And they don’t deserve that, least of all from you.

You look over your shoulder and see Foggy, Karen, and Matt all looking at you –well, Matt isn’t, but you know he’s focused on you and the fight unfolding in front of you.

Karen raises her eyebrows at you and holds up the form that lets them act as your attorneys without your presence and a pen.

An offer. A ladder out of the hell you were born to and raised in. A way to close the door once and for all.

It’s about time you take it.

“You know what?” you say, almost laughing from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “I’m done with all of you.”

“And just what does that mean?” your mother says with a roll of her eyes.

You look back to Foggy, Matt, and Karen one more time before glancing over to your mother. “It means you’re dealing with my attorneys from here on out.” You turn and walk towards the trio, ignoring the squawks of protest the group from your hometown lets out.

As soon as you sign the form, they step past you and between Piotr, Wade, Nate, and everyone that’d joined your parents. “We represent the law firm of Nelson, Murdock, and Page,” Foggy says brightly. “And we’re here to inform you that you are currently violating an order of protection that was issued for our client’s safety against you.”

“The local authorities have been contacted and are on their way to arrest you for violating the order, in addition to charges of domestic abuse and conspiracy to commit abduction,” Matt adds.

“You fucking bitch!” your mother screams, lunging forward at you only to be stopped by Matt and Foggy. “You can’t do this!”

“Miss L/N,” Matt says, turning towards you. “For the sake of your emotional well-being, I would advise you to leave the room. Mr. Rasputin, perhaps you could accompany her for her comfort?”

“He needs to be here to represent the Institute,” you say, suddenly drained from the whole ordeal.

“I’ll go with her,” Wade offers, stepping back to clasp your shoulder. “Come on, sis.”

You put an arm around Russell’s shoulders. “Let’s go, bud. We’re done with them.”

Back in the kitchen –and out of sight of your parents and everyone else—Alex, Nikolai, and Frank are still holding your uncle back.

He relaxes once you cross the threshold and step out of sight of the hall. “Are you okay? What happened?”

You sigh, then shrug. “I decided to let my attorneys handle the situation.”

Your uncle stares at you, then smiles as tears well up in his eyes. “Good. Good job, punk.”

You try to smile back, but ultimately start crying.

He reaches over and pulls you into a massive hug.

The two of you stay like that for a while, holding each other while tears flow down each of your faces.

 ***

 The whole process of your parents –and everyone else that decided to show up with them—being arrested is exhausting.

There’s a lot of screaming. A lot of arguing. A lot of insults –those are mostly directed at you, even though you aren’t in the room.

Frank and your uncle have to duck into the basement to avoid being seen by any of the officers –which Wade makes a “alternative seven minutes in heaven” comment about that makes you smile briefly, but you’re honestly too tired to really do anything except stare at a wall right now.

Piotr has to talk to the officers as a representative of the Institute, which means that you can’t just drape yourself over him like you want to and soak in his affection and love for you.

The only upside is that Matt, Foggy, and Karen can speak to the police on your behalf. Right now, you’re not sure you could handle dealing with all the questions you’re bound to be asked.

Eventually, Alex walks up to your seat and squeezes your shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go for walk.”

You frown up at her. “Don’t we need to be here in case the police have questions for us?”

“Your attorneys are already representing you,” she says. “Besides, if they really need something, Illyana will let us know and we can come back in.” She squeezes your shoulder again, then nods towards the back door. “Come. You could use some fresh air and quiet.” She puts an arm around you as you stand and gently ushers you to the back door and outside.

It’s far calmer outside. A cool, easy breeze ruffles your hair, and the grass is soothingly soft beneath your feet.

Alex nudges you forward, though not unkindly. “Come on. Medvezhonok keeps saying I should see the gardens.”

You walk alongside her through the various gardens that dot Xavier’s property. In the wake of the adrenaline and stress abruptly leaving your body, you’re feeling numb, almost detached. It’s almost like your body can’t fully process the shock and stress of having your parents show up.

Well, come to think of it, that’s probably exactly what’s going on.

Alex is markedly quiet as she examines the garden, expression placid and body language lax as she ambles along the pathways between various clusters of flowers and flora.

“You seem calm,” you remark, voice barely more than a mumble as you stare down at a few bright, cheery yellow lilies.

“Age brings serenity,” she says as she crouches down to better look at a butterfly feeding off some hummingbird mint. “And there is not much to be afraid of when you can outmatch nearly every opponent facing you. That, and they are not my nightmare.” She looks up at you, a ghost of a sympathetic smile on her lips. “They were –are—yours. It’s always harder when it’s personal.”

You let out a huff of air. “Ain’t that the truth.” You sit down on a nearby bench, staring blankly at nothing. “What happens next?”

“I am not the person to ask that question,” Alex admits, brushing her jeans off as she stands back up. “I would wager, though, that your lawyers will know how to handle things.”

You nod slowly, numbly. “Yeah, probably.”

Alex watches you closely for a moment before sitting down next to you. “How are you, malen'kaya ptitsa? How are you feeling?”

What you mean to say is something along the lines of “overwhelmed,” or “numb,” or “exhausted,” or maybe even “angry to the point where I can’t feel it anymore.”

What comes out, though, is: “I don’t think my parents ever loved me.”

You feel a slight pulse of shock hit your system once your words register in your own brain, then the slow, sinking dread and resignation as the truth of it sets in. You’ve been on the precipice of realizing the truth for a while, but you’ve never really admitted it at all, much less out loud to someone else.

Alex grimaces and nods. “I would wager you are right. No parent who loves their child treats them how you were treated.”

You nod along, lips tugging into a frown and chin trembling. “Yeah. I kind of just… realized I can’t make them love me or respect me. That’s why I just decided to let Matt ‘n Foggy ‘n Karen handle everything, you know? I was just done with all of it.”

“You’re right,” Alex reassures you. “On all counts. You cannot change their stance, but you do not have to hold onto people who refuse to treat you with decency.”

Your eyes sting and water as a lump rises in your throat. “I just… I don’t understand why I couldn’t be worth it to them. I mean, I get that they never wanted a mutant child, but I was just a kid. What about being a mutant made it worth beating me, terrifying me, demeaning me, abusing me, making my life a miserable hell every single day I lived in their home—”

Alexandra wraps her arms around you as you start crying and presses a motherly kiss to the top of your head when you press yourself against her. “Some people are just horrible, malen'kaya ptitsa. Sometimes they are so lost in their own misery that the only way they can make themselves feel better is to make others hurt, sometimes they only care about themselves to the point that they stop caring when they hurt others, and sometimes they just enjoy making others hurt because it brings them pleasure. Either way, the end result for their victims is still the same: pain and abuse they should have never suffered.”

You whimper and weep against her shoulder as she slowly rocks you back and forth. “I don’t understand –I tried so hard to be good—”

“It was never about you being ‘good,’” Alex murmurs against your hair. “You have always been ‘good.’ It was about their hatred and inability to love unconditionally. Unfortunately, you got stuck with short end of stick, and I am so sorry that you did, dorogoy rebenok.”

You sniff and swipe at your face as you sit up and look her in the eye. “Did you go through this kind of stuff with your parents? Did they care that you were a mutant?”

Alex’s face goes completely blank as she stares at you. “My par… Piotr never told you.”

“Told me what?”

Alex’s lips purse into a thin line; she slides off the bench to kneel on the ground in front of you and clasps your hands in hers. “Malen'kaya ptitsa… I was taken from my family when I was four to train as government asset. I never saw them again, and when the KGB disbanded in the nineties, I found out that they had been executed to prevent any leaks of information from spreading. The only family I have ever had is Nikolai and my children –and now you as well.”

Guilt drops in your stomach like a lead brick. “Oh God.” You double over and start crying again. “I’m sorry –I’m so sorry! I’ve just been complaining like a brat—”

“Nyet. Nyet, nyet, nyet -- malen'kaya ptitsa, look at me.” Alex cups your face in her hands, forcing you to lift your head and meet her gaze. “Never apologize for hurting after what you have endured. Understand?”

“But what you went through was so much worse!” you protest. “I at least had a family, I had a home—”

“You had neither of those things until you came here,” Alex insists sharply. “You may have had biological parents, but they were not family or home. ‘Family’ and ‘home’ means safety and love, and they certainly provided neither. And, yes, my time as asset was horrible, but I never had to second guess whether or not I was loved. I never had to deal with mind games as to whether I was wanted or respected or what have you. I always knew where I stood with my handlers and what was expected of me.” She rubs your cheeks with her thumbs, wiping the tears away. “People who try and rank pains as ‘worse’ than each other are people who cannot handle their own emotions and need to put them in boxes to cope –and, more often than not, they are the type of people who contributed to our pain in first place.” She swallows hard, tears welling up in her eyes, and when she speaks again her voice is shaky with emotion. “So please, do not stop yourself from grieving. Because I am most certainly grieving for you.”

You sob and collapse against her, body shaking as grief wells up and pours out of you –grief for the childhood you lost, for the pain you had to endure, for the love you should’ve had but never received…

And, through it all, Alex holds you tight with strong arms as she cries along with you. “It’s okay, malen'kaya ptitsa. It’s okay.”

***

 Once the authorities leave –and take your parents, pastor, and the others that’d joined them along—Piotr comes out to the back with Nikolai to collect you and Alexandra.

The two of you are significantly calmer, having had time to cry and catch your breath, but it’s still apparent that you both have been crying.

Piotr lifts you into his arms and carries you towards the house, while Nikolai sits down next to his wife on the bench.

“Can we just go to bed?” you croak, voice hoarse and throat dry from crying. “I’m just really tired. I just want to go to bed.”

Piotr kisses your forehead as he adjusts his hold on you so he can open the back door. “Da. We can go to bed.” He carries you all the way up to your shared room and gently tucks you into bed before going back to close the door, then joins you in bed. “How are you?”

“Tired,” you mumble. “Angry. Sad. It’s just—” you point at your head, twirling your finger around like you’re stirring a pot of soup “—a lot in here right now.”

“I bet,” Piotr murmurs as he wraps his arms around you. “But you can rest for now. You have earned good rest.”

“You’re telling me.” You sling an arm over his waist, then sigh when he starts tracing swirling designs on your arm and shoulder. You slow your breathing, counting your inhales and exhales until you feel less like you’re about to completely crumble apart.

And then you say, “I want to get a tattoo.”

You can practically hear the slow, shocked blink Piotr does. “Uh… khorosho.”

You tip your head back so you can see his face –and he definitely looks surprised. “Is that really okay with you?”

“It is your body,” he says, smoothing your hair away from your face. “I was just more… surprised by lack of context, I suppose.”

“I mean, I kind of wrote it off when my uncle told me that the ink wouldn’t take as well, but… I want something permanent on me. Something that can’t be taken away. When my parents took my ring, and I thought you weren’t real…”

Piotr holds you closer as your voice trails off. “It is alright, myshka. And if you want tattoo, we can find way for you to get one.”

“You don’t think it’s irresponsible to get a tattoo because of the trauma I went through?”

He sighs as he contemplates your question. “In this case, I think not. I know you will get one done safely. And, honestly, I do not think it is very drastic change to yourself considering what happened. Besides, people who lose loved ones or self-harm or feel suicidal get tattoos to help them stay grounded. I do not see why you cannot do same.”

You snuggle closer to him, soothed by his support. “You don’t care if we have kids and I have a tattoo?”

He snorts. “Nyet. What you want to do to your body is your choice. My mother and Mikhail have tattoos, so our kids will see them anyway. Plus… I was thinking of getting some of my own.”

“Really?” You tilt your head back so you can see his face. “What were you thinking of getting?”

“Maybe DNA strand on my wrist, for mutantism,” he says, tapping his right wrist. “And possibly some work on my shoulder and back that looks like northern lights night sky scene. And… I know I want to get our children’s fetal heartbeats. On my forearm.”

You smile softly. “I like the sound of all of that. Especially the heartbeats one.”

He smiles back at you and leans down to kiss you. “So do I.”

You nestle closer to Piotr as he kisses you, hands softly gripping the material of his shirt as his arms hold you tighter against his body.

Your journey to recovery is far from over. If you had to wager, it’ll probably never be over, not entirely.

But you climbed an important mountain today. And with Piotr by your side –along with Wade, Nathan, Neena, Russell, Yukio, Ellie, and the rest of Piotr’s family—you’ll be able to keep climbing whatever mountains happen to find you.

One foot in front of the other.

You’ve got this.

Sources about how delusions work:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delusional_disorder https://www.buting.com/blog/2015/02/false-memories-lies-and-the-limitations-of-the-human-brain.shtml https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/delusion/ https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3016695/

[dcbbw]

Timing--Part 2 (The Road to Ramsford--Riley)

This is Part 2 of my second fanfic and it’s my version of events once the gang travels to LA to find Tariq. In my version, he refuses to come forward and Riley makes a painful decision.  It was supposed to be a one-off, but the story just keeps growing. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please excuse any typos and/or grammatical errors. PS—my Liam is Asian Liam, and my Riley is tall, like me.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Song Inspiration: Sea as it Glides, Julie Byrne https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18JY5EF3YsM

Word Count: 2477

Tags: @speedyoperarascalparty @sirbeepsalot @lauradowning29 @liamxs-world

Liam X MC, Liam X Riley

 Riley fell into the backseat of the limo with an audible whoomph. She held the vase of roses in her lap. As she settled more comfortably into her seat, she thought to herself, Well, that could have gone better. Her head hurt from all the crying she had done and processing Liam’s complete emotional breakdown. It’s official…I am the worst person in the universe right now. She did not want to leave Liam, she wanted to stay with him. Not just at the Palace, but in Cordonia as well. But she had her pride and self-respect, both which she had compromised far too much.  She wanted to make things right between them, yet with neither having a solution, that would only lead to an argument given the tension between them now. Best to just give them both some space, at least overnight.

What the hell happened that she was in a foreign country, in love with a King and evil forces conspiring against them? It sounded like a clichéd novel. When did her life become a Harlequin romance book?  She was supposed to have served the bachelor party that night, collected her tips, and gone home. She still remembered her plans for after work that night….her best friends were coming over after bar crawling, and they were going to download dating apps to get Riley back out on the dating scene. They were bringing Chinese food and their best drunk girl tag lines. Instead, Liam offered her a one night escape from reality…for both of them. Next thing she knew, she was throwing caution to the wind and following total strangers to Europe to participate in an untelevised version of The Bachelor. For him. For her. To see if what they felt was real.

Social season had not been easy for Riley. She was a stranger in a strange land, a fish out of water. The ladies of the court never failed to remind her she was an outsider with no real chance. The bullying, the back-handed compliments. Some days it took all she had to not go complete HAM on some of the ladies, and show them how Brooklyn put in work.  She was literally chasing after and throwing herself at a man who had at least a dozen other women to choose from. Not something today’s modern woman would do. She was one of many, and did not have the history or connection with the Prince the others did.  

It did not help that her sponsor, The Brothers Beaumont, were broke. She was using her savings to sponsor herself. In a way, they were as unprepared for the social season as she was. Maxwell was forgetful as hell. She was not sure if he was oblivious, preoccupied, or kept assuming she knew the schedule of events via telepathy. Telling her about events, protocols, and expecting her to come up with runway couture an hour before an event….the lack of preparation kept her on edge, but she never showed it.

Riley had to purchase her own clothing, which meant a lot of recycled outfits at event after event. She had had to work crew on the yacht during the Regatta, and crew was a long stretch of the imagination. It was her, Drake, and Maxwell. She had to help Bertrand, Maxwell, and Drake clean the estate and prepare the food for the final celebratory ball of the social season. Between trying to keep up and courtly training, she had no chance to fully focus on the politics of Court as the others did.

Thank God she had her friends to both learn from and vent to. Maxwell had quickly become her big brother despite her frustration with him, Bertrand the stern uncle, and Hana….Hana was the best friend she never knew she needed. The woman knew everything about Court, and the social season’s associated events and did not mind sharing her knowledge. From waltzing to horseback riding, to piano playing to foreign languages…Riley had Hana to thank.  Drake…Drake was special. He had begrudgingly become her unofficial personal protector at Liam’s request, but the friendship he offered her was all his. American commoners were rare in Cordonia, and based upon that bond alone, Riley and Drake found themselves able to speak freely and share things Maxwell, Hana, and Liam would never understand.

If Liam kept her safe, Drake kept her sane. Drake was the one who was there when Liam kissed Olivia in Lythikos, calming her down and once again explaining how social season brought out the worst in the ladies, and how she had to thicken her skin in a more polite way no matter how much she may hate it. Smile and ignore was his strategy. Drake was the one who saved her from Tariq that night in Applewood. She thought back to that night: Tariq entering her room, claiming it was his. Insistent that Riley felt the same. Approaching her while she was basically naked. Her voice going from calm and rational to just screaming at Tariq to get off her. Drake bursting in, his face twisting with rage as he took in the scene. The fight. Drake seeing her basically naked. Helping Drake remove his shirt as she iced his bruises. The strange tension between her and Drake which they both chose to ignore.

Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to be with Drake. To have that handsome face with those dark brown eyes looking into hers. To feel those strong hands on her body, and to feel his muscular body over top of hers. Especially now that Liam was with Madeleine, and Tariq would not come forward. She was essentially a single woman, but she and Drake both knew she wasn’t. Riley was too deep in love with Liam, and to start anything with anyone, especially Liam’s best friend, would only be a huge disaster for them all. Besides, sex changed everything, so she and Drake contented themselves with a friendship where they could tell each other all the things they could not share with anyone else.  

The Engagement Tour…..if it weren’t for her circle of friends, she would never had made it through. The first few weeks with no contact from anyone save Bertrand and Maxwell had nearly driven her crazy. Hana…she was supposed to return home. Had she? Was she okay? And where the hell was Drake? All she wanted to do was drink whiskey and ridicule nobles. Instead, she was learning fork placement and quick steps to once again prove her worthiness to the Court. Fuck the Court. The Court put her in this mess. She did not even wonder why she did not hear from Liam…she was too angry and hurt to even let her thoughts wander to him. Then she was on the tour, and having to see them together every single day, enduring Madeleine’s triumphantly gloating looks. Her snide, derisive comments.  Listening to him say he would not want anyone else by his side. Watching her kiss him, feed him, and walk hand in hand with him. She had to go pick up Madeleine’s wedding ring, for fuck’s sake. And it would only get worse once Madeleine was made Queen. Her friends kept her sane, and wiped her tears through it all.

Leaving Liam would mean leaving her friends behind as well. Fresh pain wrenched her heart and she began crying again. They were so much more than friends….they were her family now. She had already left behind one life; could she re-invent herself again? She recalled Liam’s words: I will make you Duchess of Valtoria. You can rebuild your life here in Cordonia. Could that be an option? She could run the duchy with Hana and Drake’s help, with oversight from the Brothers Beaumont and Liam. She would be far enough away from the Court to avoid the press and gossip. Liam would split his time between the Palace and Valtoria. Everyone knew she and Liam were still an item, so his extended stays would not be questioned. And it would give her a chance to stay with her friends, and to be with the man she had grown to love. How did that happen, that she would fall so deeply in love that she would actually view being the other woman as a viable option. But she would be second to duty, honor, and country. Not Madeleine.

Thinking back, Riley tried to pinpoint when she actually fell in love with Liam.  For sure, she knew that night in Lythikos during the social season solidified her feelings, but more than likely it was probably the night they met. She had never been one for love at first sight, but the immediate attraction, the easy flow of conversation, and the sexual chemistry was a heady combo she had never felt with any man before, be it the first time or the fifteenth time meeting them. No one had made her feel this way before.  Happy, giddy, all the positive stuff people felt when in love….Liam brought out all of that and then some. She felt protected with him. Liam was her home and she wanted only to stay with him. But for his duty to Cordonia. But for his impending marriage to Madeleine. But. Fresh tears were falling and Riley angrily brushed them away. Damnit, Timing…you’re worse than Karma. Eventually, she felt her tears subside, and she lowered her face into the flowers, drinking in their scent, and trying to imagine a life without Liam.

When she reached House Beaumont, it was evident Maxwell had been watching for her, as he almost immediately flung open the front door and ran down the drive to meet her. He looked like an excited puppy as he called out to her.  

“Riley, you’re back”!

Riley laughed despite herself. ”Yes, I am”.

Maxwell pulled her close in a hug. “I know things did not go well with Liam”.

Once the hug was over, Riley sighed. “I just did not want to hurt him, but if I stay I am hurting myself”.

Maxwell nodded understandingly. “Fate is a funny thing, Little Blossom, but let’s keep the faith. You never know what tomorrow brings”. He turned to look at her and told her she looked lovely. Riley smacked his shoulder playfully.

“You always say that”!

Maxwell grinned. “It’s true”.

Stepping into the entrance hall, the first person Riley saw was Hana. Her friend enveloped her in a tight hug.

“Riley! I am so glad you’re here”.

“I’m glad you’re here too, Hana”. Hana gave her a huge smile.

Riley looked around. “Are you here alone”?

“Oh no! Drake, Savannah, and Olivia went to pick up pizzas and beer for dinner. Bertrand is in his study…he had a phone call about House Beaumont business”. Hana made air quotes while rolling her eyes. “Maxwell and I have been trying to put together a dance party playlist. You are free to add songs if you want”.

“Wait….Hana, what is going on”?

“Just a little dance party to cheer you up. We all know today was not easy for you or Liam”.

Maxwell lifted his head from his phone, where he was selecting songs for the party playlist. “It is all my idea, so yell at me if you want. “

Riley shook her head incredulously, while a small grin crossed her lips. “You guys”, she groaned as she felt tears prick her eyes yet again. “Guess I will go change…3 inch heels do not belong at an impromptu dance party”.

“I’ll go with you”, Hana offered. Hana followed Riley upstairs to her room and sat gracefully in the wing backed armchair.

“Riley, how are you feeling”? Hana’s voice was soft and solicitous.

Riley flopped back on her bed as she let out a half yell, half groan. “Oh Hana….I am so in love with him. No idea how I will ever be able to board a plane to America without him. How I will even pick up the pieces of my old life. And I feel like a horrible person….he just…just broke, Hana. I did that to him”. Riley felt what was left of her heart empty out as she remembered Liam’s rage and pain. His words echoed in her head: what about my happily ever after?

Hana came over to the bed and put her hand on top of Riley’s. “He’s hurting, just like you are. He just needs time to process this. None of us want to see you leave, but as much as this hurts you now, if he married Madeleine”….Hana’s voice trailed off.

“Exactly”, Riley agreed. “Although, he did offer to make me a Duchess. A part of me…a huge part is considering it. I am not particularly interested in the title, but it grants me entrance into Court, and buys us some time. “

Hana looked at Riley. “But unless something gives with Tariq, he will still marry Madeleine. We both know that will break the pieces of your heart. Could you really deal with them being a married couple?”

“He keeps saying he will not…. cannot go through with it. He keeps talking of abdicating.”

Hana looked startled. “Really?”

“Really.”

Hana‘s voice was low and heavy with thought. “Sounds like you both have a heavy decision to make. Maybe you could stay at least another week to properly talk this out. Weigh your options. “  Hana’s voice brightened. “But on to happier news! Liam called Bertrand. He is coming to the potluck tomorrow, and Bertrand invited him to the party tonight. He’s coming! And will be spending the night!  I heard Bertrand speak of readying a room for him”.

Riley smiled softly as she stared into space, processing what Hana told her. He was coming! And spending the night! They would have the next two days Madeleine and Court free, and that was something.

Snapping her mind away from her thoughts, Riley spoke. “Well, guess I need to get showered and changed”.

Hana stood to leave. “Okay, see you downstairs. And Riley, we will all do what we can to make tonight as fun as possible. For all of us. “

Riley smiled fondly at her friend. “See you guys soon!”

[f-l-writes]

Lies

Warnings: Swearing, cheating accusations

Probably some typos, I rarely proofread and tend to just re-read once the story is posted to fix it. 

Word Count: 1.8K

Genre: Angst and Fluff

Requested: @taeyoapple / @sxngminhx

Hope you enjoy and feel free to request!

You let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. Looking up, you were faced with the sad, dark eyes of the beautiful man who sat across from you at the cafe table.

“Dong Min,” you began, your eyes scanning his with a hint of hurt betrayal buried deep inside of them. “I didn’t cheat on you. Much less with your groupmate. You’ve known me for years, so why would you make that assumption?”

Dong Min, at the strike of noon, had texted you, calling you to the cafe that was near Fantagio. When you arrived, he was already sat down, his eyes focused intensely on his phone and a vein in his neck popping out.

He’s angry about something… You had thought to yourself upon seeing the vein. You had then taken care to approach, your mind reeling over a thousand and one things he could have been angry about. One thing that never crossed your mind, however, was cheating. After all, why would it? You hadn’t cheated on him, so it wasn’t a concern. When he brought it up, though, you were shocked.

“What do you mean cheating?” you had questioned him, narrowing your eyes at him as angry began to boil in your stomach.

“I said what I meant,” he replied. “Are you or are you not cheating on me?” his voice was quiet, but furious. It was an anger that scared you to the core.

You had seen him angry before but it was never this quiet anger. It was always a burst of frustration and it was never at you. It was always at someone else and he was just venting to you. Now, with you in the spotlight of his anger, you felt afraid. Not afraid that he would hurt you, especially not in a public setting, but scared he would leave you.

Dong Min had been everything you ever wanted in a man and more. He was the epitome of perfect in your eyes and you would do everything you could to keep him as yours. You couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to live without him, he had been such a large part of your life.

Now, however, your were faced with the crumbling reality of he could leave me right now for something I didn’t do.

“Of course not, Dong Min! Why the hell would I ever do that? Especially to you? You know I love you!”

That’s when he brought out the messages. Messages you never sent yet were there clear as day.

“Explain these then.”

Your eyes scanned the messages that were supposedly from you to Bin. None of them were sexual, but they were flirty. Much of it was you supposedly calling Bin “babe” and “sweetheart” and things along those lines. It was plans for dates and how you couldn’t see him because you were going on a date with Dong Min that day.

As you read the messages, the anger in your gut grew. “You really think I would send this to Bin? I hardly talk to him! I’ve never even properly had a conversation with him, Dong Min! You are my boyfriend, not him! I love you, not him!” you knew you were causing a scene, but you couldn’t help it. He was accusing you of something you would never, in a million years, do to him.

“Then what the fuck do you expect me to believe? That these are fake? That he just used an app to create these?”

“Exactly, Lee Dong Min! Cause I never wrote those things to him! You know I would never write those things to him, Dong Min,” suddenly your voice dropped and you were biting back on frustrated and angry tears. “I can’t believe you would accuse me of cheating on you. Do you really think I’m that horrible of a person that I would go behind your back?” You didn’t understand. It didn’t click and you were getting increasingly infuriated and disappointed at the same time.

“I don’t know, Y/N! I don’t know because even when we were just friends, you would always keep secrets from me! You never told me things that you should have! You avoided telling me important things! So, no, I don’t know if you’re telling me the truth after all the shit you pulled years ago!”

“That was years ago, Dong Min! I haven’t lied to you in years! And the only reason I lied to you then was because I knew you would get angry like this! I knew it and I wanted to avoid it!” You raised your voice again, anger taking over despite the tears that were now streaming down your face.

“I can’t do this anymore.” those five words sent a shock through your entire being. “I just can’t. I’m done. I’m done with you. I’m done with this relationship. I don’t want you around the dorm and I don’t want you around my friends. I want you gone.” his voice was quiet, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

“You can’t stop me from meeting up with the boys, Dong Min. No matter what, they’re still my friends. You don't control who they meet up with or who I meet up with.” your tone was cold, bitter. You were fighting back the sadness that threatened to close your throat and suffocate you. Inside, your heart was breaking I'm a thousand different places and it felt like your chest was being shredded with the claws of monster. You hated it. But what were you to do? If this was his final decision, then you had no reason to fight him anymore.

Just as you moved to stand, the door to the café slammed open and in stormed Jin Woo, pulling Bin by the arm over to where you and Dong Min sat. You'd never seen Him Woo truly angry. Usually it was just playful and teasing or extremely contained, but this was pure and unbridled anger. He was furious.

“You tell them what the fuck you did now or so help me God I will beat the shit out of you when we get back to the dorms, Moon Bin.” Jin Woo's voice was low as to not pull any further attention to the table (despite having most of the cafe's attention as is).

Bin scoffed at the shorter black-haired man, his dark brown eyes focusing on the ceiling for a moment before he looked back to Dong Min, a devilish grin growing on his face. “I didn't really think you would fall for it, Dong Min,” he chuckled. “Seriously, I hardly talk to them. I won't say I wouldn't mind-” Jin Woo delivered a slap to the back of the male's head, causing him to swear quietly before putting his focus back in the two at the table.

“Fine, if it's such a big deal, I'm sorry. I didn't think you would think they were real. I figured your logic would win over your feelings and you would know we don't talk much. I just wanted to see how you would react.”

Dong Min stood, his eyes burning darkly with an anger you hoped was never focused on you. “I just broke up with them because of your little “prank” Moon Bin! What the fuck were you thinking when you made these, huh? Are you that thick that you couldn't see possible consequences?” he snapped.

“Not my fault you don't trust them more. If you're going to let little fake chats get in the way of things, then you need to evaluate just how much you actually trust them. Cause to me, it doesn't seem like you trust them a lot, Dong Min.” with that, the dark haired boy stormed out of the cafe, deciding to leave before any more problems could arise.

Jin Woo stayed behind, his eyes softening from a rage to a concern as he saw your tear-stained face. He pulled you into a hug, rubbing your back softly as he spoke to Dong Min.

“Please reconsider breaking up with them, Dong Min. They didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t their fault.”

You couldn’t see it, but Dong Min was slumped down in his chair, hands tugging lightly at his hair. His forehead was creased in frustration and stress and his eyes were red with unshed tears. You could hear him murmuring something to himself but you couldn’t hear what. When you were finally released from Jin Woo’s grasp and saw the wrecked state of Dong Min, you could have sworn you felt your heart crumble more than it already had. Carefully, you wandered over to him, kneeling beside the man. Now, you could hear what was being said and, if it was possible, your heart shattered even more.

“I’m so fucking stupid. Why would I ever believe him over her. What is wrong with me?”

Tentatively, you wrapped your arms around the man, holding him tighter than you ever had before. Your head rested comfortably against his abdomen and you wanted nothing more than to take away his negative feelings and replace them with happiness.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Dong Min. We were both stupid,” you commented, your voice muffled slightly by your cheek being pressed in by his abdomen.

While you would have moved to speak more clearly, he was holding you in a vice grip. You couldn’t say you were against it. Of course you couldn’t. This is what you wanted. To make up and carry on with your relationship. Your heart still ached at the thought of his words from earlier, but you knew he said it out of spite. Out of frustration. You knew he didn’t mean it, especially now that he knew the truth.

“I’m so sorry for believing him over you,” he stated quietly, his slender fingers now running through your hair carefully. “I should have guessed there was something wrong and I should have been more willing to hear what you had to say.”

“It’s fine, Dong Min. Just please… If you’re unsure about something, please just be civil and I’ll tell you the truth. And next time, let’s not bring it to the cafe. Now all these people know our business,” you were half-joking, glad that the whole ordeal was done and over with.

Hearing Jin Woo excuse himself from behind the two of you, you only gave a noise of acknowledgement before pulling away from Dong Min. “Why don’t we head out and go to a park? We could use the air.”

He nodded, his eyes now clear of the irritated red that had resided there only moments before and, despite the mussed hair his hands had caused, he looked calm again. He looked happier.

“Let’s get a move on, then, Y/N,” he stated, showing you the beautiful smile that you had loved since the moment you met him.

You smiled back, standing up and, once you had paid and apologized to everyone for disrupting their morning, the two of your were on your way.

[fureniku]

The return of my blog or something idk

Looks like in my last blog I said I’d not post my semi-private stuff here, only to a private blog.

Honestly, I can’t remember the name of the private blog; let alone the login/password. I think I only made one post there, to zero followers, and kind of lost the point of doing it. So fuck it, lets just go back to being here.

Days since last post: 614 Todays date: 30th September 2019 Start time: 20:39

Well, I guess we have some catching up to do.

I don’t know how many people on here were following me before. So, I guess I’ll start with a sum-up. My previous blog was just me ranting about anxiety/depression related things. It was a good platform for me to vent my thoughts without real life friends knowing; I had a few RL friends who followed it which was great as they could give me some support, but most of them didn’t know about the blog, which was also great as they then didn’t know a side of me I’d generally prefer to keep private. That blog was deleted in early January 2018, when the drummer from my then-band found it. I had made some comments about my frustrations in the band which were true, and I stand by them - but naturally it caused drama. I deleted the account, and instantly regretted it - I only had maybe 50 followers, but now I have two, so yeah.  Life since then has been... chaotic. Not specifically in a bad way, just a lot of things happened. When the blog ended I was; - Single - Playing guitar in a band - Working a dead-end job in a Warehouse - Had no ambition/drive to progress life

Three of those things have since changed; I’m still single (not for lack of trying but whatevs). I guess I’ll cover a timeline? Jan 2018: I deleted my old blog, and made this one, and a second one with a more secretive/anon name. I made a couple of posts on each, then abandoned it. Instead, I started relying mostly on just one friend to help me. May 2018: I got a new job, working for a games developer. It literally changed my life. Anxiety/depression started to clear up a lot, things just generally improved. June/July-ish 2018: I left my band. There was an argument about the fact another band was using our space for free, after we had offered it to them at a split rate and they declined. I instigated the argument, other members didn’t see eye to eye with me, so I quit. It was a final nail in the coffin kind of thing, but it was certainly the healthy thing to do. The whole situation had been kind of toxic for a little while, but I now get on just fine with all of them - I think if I had stayed much longer, that might not be the case. Our vocalist left very shortly after me as well - I don’t know the reasons why, but it seems the terms were... less happy.

September 2018: I started taking Japanese classes. Met a girl, had a crush on her for a bit, it didn’t go anywhere as usual. No biggie.

December 2018: Depression came back a bit, as it always does around then. Not much I can do about it so I just power through.

February 2019: I got made redundant from work. I was cool with it, I could see it coming for a while and there was like 12 other people too, my boss had fought hard to keep me but the game wasn’t doing so well, so I totally get it. I got a nice redundancy pay (which they by no means had to give me, so I’m super grateful). I applied for a job with another studio; quite a big one called Jagex. They were far from me so it would’ve involved moving and stuff, so quite scary. I made it to the final stages, but didn’t get it.

I now had a fair lump of cash (I had been saving for a house anyway), but not quite sure what to do with it. Followers of my previous blog can probably guess what I decided to spend it on...

April 2019: I went back to Japan! My mental-health-reset trip mark 2. I spent about two and a half weeks there (despite fucking up and accidentally buying a ticket to return mid-may... whoops). I got detained in China on my way home too but that’s a whole other story (it was all sorted and fine in the end).

While in Japan, I had time to clear my head and think. I decided I wanted to go back to university, so started thinking about how that would work. Here in the UK, we get a student loan to pay for university. It’s a bit complicated, but the way it works is you get your course length plus one year of funding. The day you set foot on campus, you use one year of funding. Now, I had already been to university previously - I studied music production. Totally dead industry, I dropped out about three weeks into my second year. That meant, I only had course length minus one year’s funding left available. So I have to pay the first year of university myself. At a cool £9,250.

My dad agreed to pay one term, so one third of that. I managed to save up another terms worth by working over the summer. I’m sat in my uni dorm right now, still not quite sure how I’ll pay for the third term... but I’ve got 6 months to figure that one out.

May 2019: I returned to my original job, back in the warehouse. Picking and packing sacks of bird food, so much fun. My mental health naturally slipped again, although everyone was really friendly to me while before it was kinda like I didn’t exist, so that was nice.

Around this time, I also joined an Overwatch team. It was a pretty big team with maybe 14-15 members, it was cool to make some new friends. Except one guy, was a dick. This OW stuff is like a whole side story from hereon... Anyway, I said to my squad leader (We’ll call her SN) that this guy is a dick. She said ok and she’d go talk to him. She said do you agree you’re being a dick, he said no. She said do you acknowledge one of the squad members thinks you’re being a dick? He said no again. Some other stuff I don’t know happened, and he got kicked off the team. He turned a load of people against her, caused loads of drama, and everyone blamed her when it was 100% my fault. So that was fun. The only reason I didn’t leave the team right then is because if I had, the entire drama would’ve been for nothing.

June 2019: My old boss who didn’t work there appeared at the end of may. I have a job for you. Ominous... but ok. Turns out, there was a new system being implemented on another contract. As I had experience with QA, and had done some IT stuff for them before, they wanted me to help with the testing and implementation. It was a job that would test my brain, while requiring little physical work - it was perfect for me. I really enjoyed it. It was supposed to be a four week thing, but we found lots of niggly little problems in the system... as far as I know, it’s actually only just gone live - but may have been delayed further.

While working up there, obviously there was downtime while waiting for fixes to be implemented. “What, you want this label a different size? oof, that’s gonna take about three weeks”. However, I got to stay in the office, doing odd jobs and stuff. One of the “odd jobs” ended up being a full on Android app, that my boss and me developed together. It was super fun to work on and really rewarding. That was worked on on-and-off between June and August.

July 2019: an interesting month. There was a major incident at work where a shelf holding very heavy metal shit stirrers collapsed. (The contract was a water treatment etc company, who provide all the clean water and water recycling for my local area. The things on the shelf literally stirred shit.) No one was hurt but it was a lot of drama, which was kind of entertaining to me as I was totally bunking off for the whole week where it happened. Not just the occasionally check Facebook on your phone at work kind of bunking off; I literally just messed about on Discord and worked on Minecraft mods for about two weeks straight. They had given me quite a big project to do, I automated the process... gg ez.

Around this time, the game I had been a part of before was to be officially cancelled. My old work invited me down to the studio to be a part of the formal funeral for the game, which was a big honour. I even got to fly the sky-whale which was awesome. It was bittersweet though, as the game meant a lot to me and had literally changed my life.

August 2019: haaaaaa august was a meme. I’d gotten kinda close with a girl (we’ll call her AP) in my Overwatch team. Like, we’d arranged to meet up at the end of August anyway but yeah, she was the first crush in a long time who actually knew I liked her. And she had certainly implied she felt the same way... like she’d been sending lots of hearts and stuff and talking to me 24/7, tagging me in “X has to take you on a date to Y place” memes and so on.  Anyways, so SN had apparently picked up on the fact I liked her, and started getting super pissy with me. I was pretty good friends with SN and we got on well, but in August she suddenly started getting crazy angry with me over tiny things. It all came to a head when I let AP kill me in a game (long story). Turns out, SN was like in love with me... despite breaking up with her boyfriend of over a year like 2 days before this conversation. So yeah, she told me to fuck off and that was that, she left the team etc, which thanks to chain of command meant that I was then in charge. fun. 

Anyways, get to the end of August, and I was due to meet AP. We met up, it was pretty cool. We hung out at a gaming festival, then suddenly like half way through she was like “lets split up for a bit” and I was like ........ok thats weird but alright. We didn’t meet up again until literally when she had like 2 mins to go, but it seems like she had a lot more fun without me being there. Clearly I’d done some major fuckup, which I still don’t actually know what it was. I had an anxiety attack before I even reached my car... and not a little one either. It’s quite possibly the biggest anxiety attack I’ve ever had, I barely made it to my car before having a total meltdown. It was the first one I’d had for about a year and it hit hard. It took me about 30 mins to calm down, then I headed home. 

I messaged her that night and asked her what happened, and she replied with “oh I never said I liked you”. It hurt a lot, like I’d been totally lead on. But hey whatever, that’s my life in a nutshell right? “Oh you want this happiness? this happiness right infront of you? HA nah”.  She said in the same message that I “seemed cool” and she’d like to hang out again sometime. But literally within a week she was clearly interested in another guy, so yeah whatever. We’re still friends and play games from time to time but I know she likes this other guy, so yeah. I still like her but whatever, not much I can do about it.

Work was a meme as well. I got taken off the fun and interesting projects to do paperwork. Literally, my job was to scan 35,000 documents because they couldn’t find a couple of bits of information. I suggested much better and more efficient ways, but the boss of the contract was like “no thats bad do it this old fashioned way we don’t want any fancy apps or anything” (I had suggested a spreadsheet or database). It took me about 3 weeks of just standing by a scanner which would jam up every 15-20 sheets in. It was mental health hell, especially in the last week after all the AP stuff had happened.

September 2019: I had one week left at work. I finished the hellish scanning project on Monday afternoon. “Oh as a thanks for your massive hard work we’ll make sure to find you things to do for the rest of the week” No it’s fine, I’m happy to just finish a few days early so I have more time to prep for uni. “No no no, we’ll find you stuff to do” They did not find stuff for me to do. I literally sat there, with nothing to do bar a few odd jobs “hey can you fix this printer”, for four days. It was incredibly mind-numbingly dull. The only thing ticking me over was “hey, maybe they wanna give me a card on my last day or something to say good luck and bye and thanks for doing this literal £20/hr job for half that because you’re agency staff”. But nah, a few people said cya later, but a lot forgot I was leaving entirely. So that was a fun way to finish what had mostly been a decent job...

I then had two weeks of freedom, before moving to university on the 21st. I was nervous; who wouldn’t be? but it was cool. I finally moved out of my house, and had a place where I could make a lot of new friends (LOL). On the day I moved in, I met up with someone I’d spoken to online a few times who was living in the same building as me, we’ll call her S. She was nice, we got on well, and it was kinda cool to have a friend who was a girl that for once I didn’t have a crush on (coz I’m still totally hung up on AP). We ended up going to a club in the evening which I’ve literally never done in my life, and she brought me out of my comfort zone a lot. She was great for my anxiety and really helpful. We’ve hung out a few times since, but I kind of feel like I was just a “filler friend” until she made new friends. She actually totally blanked me when I walked past her today, so that was fun. She has my Switch atm too coz I let her borrow it, I’ll probably just get it back later this week and then be done, its like I put in all the effort to be a friend and she couldn’t care less.

Anyways, so as I said I moved in on Saturday. I met one of my four flatmates on Saturday and another on Sunday, but hadn’t seen the other two at all. It gets to Thursday and I’m tidying the kitchen a bit, my mum’s about to pick me up so I can move in my last few things, and one of the mystery people appeared - she hadn’t actually moved in yet and was just unloading her stuff. She had loads of kitchen stuff, seems she’s really into her cooking.

Anyway, mum picks me up, we go to get my stuff, then we’re driving back, and my phone starts blowing up. S: Are you in? Me: No, why? S: Your building’s on fire. Me: lol nice joke S: no really *picture of everyone evacuated with fire engines outside* S: It’s your floor too, idk which flat. I wasn’t far out, so found her outside when I arrived. I’ve seen people going in, not being funny but one of them looked like [one of my flatmates]. Shit.  A few mins later, the girl who had just moved in came over. You know it’s our flat right? Shit. Turns out the extractor fan on the cooker malfunctioned. I won’t share the video itself coz one of my flatmates is in it, but yeah it just started spraying molten something all over the hob and surfaces. (They said it looked like molten metal, and they were there - but I don’t see how it would’ve gotten hot enough to melt any metal. My best guess is fat that hadn’t been cleaned from last years tenants)

So yeah, we got moved into another flat. The open cupboard right there was my one - I rescued my custom cup from it that the games studio had given me. It’s no good to drink from now, but it still looks ok so I’m glad I can keep it for decorative purposes at least. The rest of the food is waste, and I have to wait for the plates etc to get cleaned. I’m currently eating ready meals out of their cook-in containers, because I don’t have any plates, and only one fork and spoon. I bought some paper plates today though so I’ll use those from tomorrow, but I still don’t have any saucepans or anything.

I wasn’t around when they sorted out the replacement accommodation. Because of that, the other four from my flat went to the same new flat together, with one new person. I was put into a different flat which also had one other person in, my building manager assured me they’re “really nice”. I asked if they knew I was coming, BM said “they’ll know when we get up there :)”. That was Thursday, today is Monday. The only food in the kitchen is mine, I’ve not seen anyone. I’m 100% positive I’m alone in this flat.

And so yeah, that’s my uni experience so far. I had my first lectures today, it was cool because I already knew all the stuff so I got to feel smart (I’m doing computer games programming, and it was mostly about design docs which I read through extensively while working at the studio, so I knew exactly how they worked etc). But, I didn’t really make any friends. I kind of joined in with a couple of other people in each lecture, but it seems like they weren’t really interested, so whatever. I had an anime society taster this evening as well, and it was when I was on my way to that that S blanked me and I just got hit my like a wave of loneliness. I didn’t make any friends at the anime society, so I kinda just gave up and came back to my flat, and started writing this. As I was getting the fire picture from above though someone asked me if I wanted to hang out, so guess I’ll see how that goes. Not holding out much hope tbh and I’m at the point of becoming a full on hermit... I mean hey, at least I’d get a perfect score on my degree if I just focus on that and eliminate any social aspect right?

Finish time: 21:38 Length:  3,302 words/16,759 characters

[eyez-ff-blog]

○○ eyez | forty-eight

“Give me another one.”

“You got it, man.”

The bar was dim and aside from the stench of cigar and cigarette smoke and the occasional waft of spilled beer, the area seemed to hold an odd sense of warmth. Sports played on the various televisions and the buzzing of the neon signs that hung on the walls. Jermaine’s left hand was so tightly clutched to the bottle of Budweiser beer that it almost threatened to break right in his large palm. Even with the occasional chatter and clicking of pool cues against balls couldn’t deafen the continuous rain that poured outside. It had been raining for the last couple of days, which wasn’t unusual for this time of year. Even the sound of Prince’s melodic yet tortured voice that played on the nearby jukebox couldn’t seem to shut out the storm outside.

“This is your last one, J. Make it count,” Allen sat next to Jermaine as they sat at the bar, and the dreaded man only nodded in silence as he downed the last frothy gulp of the current liquor in his hand before he sat it on top of the bar top. “Are you actually gonna tell me what’s got you drowning in beer?”

“Nope,” He mumbled before he watched the bartender sit not only what would be his last beer for the evening, but the card he used to start his tab. He nodded thankfully towards the bartender and he took a swig of the cold alcohol. He probably wouldn’t even finish it all, but he liked the way it felt going down.

“Well at least promise you won’t drive home. It’s a mess out there and you aren’t sober,” Allen frowned.

“Took an Uber here so I ain’t got a car,” J shrugged before he ran a hand over his head. “I’ll be alright,” He insisted.

“Okay,” Allen seemed to be relieved with Jermaine’s answer, and the two were quiet as The Beautiful Ones bled into Journey’s Who’s Crying Now. J squinted as he focused on the game that played on the nearby television, and he licked over his lips, already feeling the drying in his mouth as his thoughts once again consumed him.

“Do you fight with your wife?” His question came suddenly, and Allen’s stunned expression was a clear sign of the surprise that most likely came with the seemingly random inquiry. “Not like, physically. I mean argue...”

“All couples argue, J,” Allen chuckled a little bit. “Is that what’s bothering you? What happened with you and Beija?” He asked curiously.

“You know, I’ve got the number one album in the country...several,” J slurred, and he frowned. “I’ve been on Billboard for like...a month now? Or some shit...real close to a month.  Everyone’s talking about my shit might be Grammy worthy. I haven’t seen this much attention on my music since I started this shit, and I can’t even be happy about it. I feel so fucking guilty—I put everything out there and you know how I went about telling Beija? I didn’t. And now she just co-exists with me. We haven’t talked in a week. She won’t let me even touch her,” He quietly rambled.

“Wow,” Allen didn’t seem to be prepared to hear Jermaine’s thoughts, and he tilted his head as he ran a hand over the top of his Caesar fade. “Well...maybe you should talk to Beija about it,” He suggested. “Not saying you can’t vent to me because I told you I’m available for you to do that. But she should be hearing this,” He said.

“She won’t even talk to me, though. So what do I do?” He asked.

“Make her listen. Just sit her down and just talk to her like you just did to me,” Allen answered simply.

“Okay? Then what? She’ll just take what I say as something else and we’ll end up fighting again. I don’t wanna fight,” J groaned softly before he pressed his hand against his knee, slightly slouching in his posture.

“That’s the beauty of having a wife, champ—you don’t know how she’ll react. But in the end she will always appreciate the truth,” Allen said, and J bit into his lip before he nodded slowly.

“I guess you’re right. I’m going home.”

“Good! Go,” Allen chuckled as Jermaine pulled out his phone, turning it on before a slew of texts rushed into his notifications along with a couple missed calls—all from Beija.

“Where are you? Please call me back. What the fuck, J? Don’t just ignore me,” The texts continued to go in such a manner, and he groaned deeply as he began to text back. “Coming home soon,” He sent, and he closed out of the iMessage app to access his Uber app next. He was out of the bar and heading home in the course of 10 minutes. J tried to keep a subtle farce of sobriety as the Uber driver talked his head off about Sinner Reborn and how much she loved it—he smiled when he felt it was time to, and answered whatever question she had with as little words as possible. He hoped she’d get him home soon because all his energy was being expelled into this conversation. He’d have none for Beija when he got home and he just knew for sure that she had some choice words for him.

When the car pulled up to the home, he decided to tip the girl and give her some extra money, and he exited the car before he trudged towards the house. The only form of ‘protective’ clothing he had was his leather jacket, and by the time he waked inside of his home he was soaking wet. He walked through the home once he slipped off his Timberlands and Jacket and left them by the door, leaving a wet trail from the front door towards the master suite. As soon as he slipped into the room and saw the look on Beija’s face, his stomach turned in anticipation as he quickly disrobed and tossed the soaked shirt and jeans into the hamper, soon doing the same with his boxers.

“Where have you been?”

Jermaine was quiet as he opened his designated drawer in the dresser, grabbing a pair of clean boxers before slipping them over his nude frame, finding a pair of basketball shorts to accompany them soon after. He grabbed a t-shirt and slipped it on, and he heard the soft creaking of the bed, assuming Beijs had exited it to approach him.

“Jermaine, I’m talking to you,” Her tone was full of warning. His mind couldn’t catch up, but he knew he had to say something.

“I was at the bar with Allen,” He mumbled before he turned to face her. “I told you I was going...” He was pretty sure he told her that was where he was headed for a little while.

“Okay, but who told you to turn your phone off? Huh? You were there for hours—you fucking reek with beer,” Beija’s perfectly maintained eyebrows were knitted with an ugly sense of frustration, and he could see the stressed expression all over her face. “I’m not even...I’m not about to even do this shit with you right now. You’re acting like a fucking idiot,” She turned away from him.

“You might as well start tonight, because this may be the only time I get to speak to you,” A part of Jermaine wanted nothing more than to go to sleep and not argue with this woman, but another part of him felt a sense of frustration as well. At this point, he was tired of bottling it in. “So tell me how I’m the idiot. Please enlighten me, B.”

“Do you realize who you are? Like, ever? What are you doing at a bar for hours, drinking? Do you really think people are just going to overlook that? You’ll be all over TMZ by the morning and that’s on your team to deal with that. That’s on me to deal with, Jermaine. You’ve been gone every night for a week doing God knows what and you come home like shit’s sweet? What is the problem?” She asked before she shook her head. “This is what the fuck I be talking about, Lamarr. You just out here being destructive with no rhyme, no reason, and no care. You don’t get that what you do fucking effects your family!” her voice had pretty much boomed throughout the room at this point and Jermaine felt as if he was within an echo chamber—the sound of her disappointment and anger rung through his ears in frequencies that threatened his whole sanity.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jermaine groaned. “God, woman—every other night I was either at Tim’s or Allen’s house. This has been the only night I’ve gone out to drink in public. I’m aware of who I am and how things work, Beija. I’m not dumb,” He was starting to get pissed off with the way she was pandering to him.

“Then act like you’re not and stop treating me like I am! You may not have been at a bar every night but you’ve drank every single night. I know it because I smelled it on you,” A clap of thunder resounded outside and she ran a hand over her shortened hair. “Something is bothering you and you still won’t talk to me. After everything we talked about you won’t—...”

“You can stop right there. Stop right there because if I recall it’s been you giving me the cold shoulder. Even if I wanted to speak with you about what we argued about—and I did—you would have been short with me. So all this shit you’re talking about, I don’t wanna hear it,” J snapped. “That’s your problem. Every time I tell you something you don’t like, you just cut me off. Sometimes you actually gotta let me fucking talk to you, Imani. Like stop acting like you got a whole right to even speak to me the way you are. You pissing me the fuck off with this shit.”

“Why the fuck would I wanna talk to you when you walked away from me? Why would I, when you really sat there and told me that you almost didn’t marry me?” She asked.

“Are you fucking for real?! Beija! Was that what I said? I said that, for real?” He yelled. “I said if I didn’t think you could handle the truth, I wouldn’t have married you. Stop putting words in my fucking mouth, yo. I’m so serious,” He warned.

“Oh, so your backward ass married me but you treat me like I can’t handle the truth. That’s real fucking rich,” She shook her head and he sighed loudly as he ran his hands through his head.

“Look, B. For real, I’m sorry for not telling you about what I put on the album, alright? There’s so many ways I could’ve went about it and I didn’t. But I didn’t want this to happen. How was I supposed to tell you anything about what was put on wax, baby? For real. How was I supposed to just come out and tell you those things? Did you really want to hear that for a brief moment, I really did feel contempt for you because of what you did to yourself? That you let me down?” He had finally let the words come out of him without the accompaniment of music and beats, and the truth stung so hard that it shook him out of inebriation almost instantly. “You wanted me to tell you how I felt like I didn’t deserve you, that I didn’t feel like I was good enough for a second chance? You wanted me to tell you about the nights I thought about taking my life too?”

“Yes,” Beija’s voice was filled with tears. “Because I already knew, Jermaine. I knew you hated me, even if it was for a moment and it wasn’t about Janiya. I knew you did...and I asked you even after we started going to therapy again. I tell you about every session I have, and you never tell me yours. I try to pull myself together long enough to let you in just a little...and you give me very little to work with. Our lives are not perfect,” She sobbed. “But you won’t let me in, Jermaine. You let the whole world in before you let me in, and I still don’t understand why. That fucking hurts me. I’m hurt,” Her quivering voice only made J want to hold her and never let go. He felt so hurt by his own actions and he was disappointed for allowing things to get this out of hand. He was just so afraid of his own feelings that consumed him. Depression made Beija a different person when she was going through her episodes and mood swings, and he often pushed his feelings away to be her support. But at times he had to wonder who would support him. He ultimately felt alone despite Beija’s constant pleas to open up to her. He didn’t want it to come to this, but he had no choice but to finally voice the truth within him.

J stayed silent for a moment more as he heard her sniffs, unable to look her in the eyes now. The moment he did, he wouldn’t be anymore of a help to this conversation. “I know you deal with your depression, B. And I’m not trying to blame you for anything but God...” He trailed off before he rubbed his trembling hand down his face. “You were about to leave me. With Niya, by myself. You were so far gone that you asked me why didn’t I let you die. You felt hatred for me in that moment...I felt selfish in saving you back then and I still feel selfish in everything I do for this family. I live to protect you and our daughter because you two are literally the greatest of my life. Fuck the music, fuck everything—you two are the most important people I have. You’re a fucking part of me, B. You’re in my soul and I almost lost it that day. And to my horror, the first thing you tell me when I save your life is that I shouldn’t have,” He was shaking now as he shok his head as he turned away from her. His eyes welled with tears as he blinked them away. “I don’t know if you’ll ever realize how much that fucked me up. You’ll never understand the feeling of failure that consumed me after that. To this day I overcompensate for the fact that I know that you might choose your demons over me and Niya again. And maybe next time I might not be able to save you. Or if I do you’ll ask me that again,” He could hear the deafening silence and he allowed his shoulders to slump as he sniffed. He rose his arm to wipe away the tears that fell from his eyes. “So yeah...that’s why I lie to you. Because I know at the end of the day when we lay down together in that bed, your depression is lying next to us like a fucking mistress, lying in wait for the day that you decide that this world is far too much for you. I told you once, a thousand times...I do not want to lose you. I would force myself to be alone if I ever lost you. You are my last love, Beija—there can be nothing after you. So I will do what I can to keep you in good spirits...even if it means I have to keep things to myself. It’s not about what I think you can or can’t handle. It’s about this third party in our marriage that wants you all to herself. I have to be at my best because one slip up could cost us everything. I don’t wanna be the reason you ever do anything to hurt yourself...baby, I’m sorry I kept this all from you...I’m sorry,” He mumbled, feeling the droplets of his own tears hitting the top of his feet.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom and for a brief moment, Jermaine’s eyes fixed upon the platinum wedding band placed upon his finger. His mind flashed back to the day he had finally made Beija his wife and the memories were sweet and things he clung to even as he lived in the present. He went through every day leading up to that one knowing that nothing would always be perfect. There would be days like this one, and maybe even worse. There were so many things that they’d endure, but he knew that no matter what, he’d love this woman forever. She was his standard and blended with him in a way no one else ever could, and he didn’t want it to be cut prematurely by anyone’s hand, especially not her own. He didn’t know what she was thinking, but the fact that he heard no footsteps or even any heavy breathing let him know that she was glued into her stance.

He heard the creaking of foot to ground, and then the warmth of her body enveloped his. He dropped his head as he placed his hands over her dainty ones, and he could feel the wetness in his back. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I was just so deep within my demons,” She whispered.

“I know,” He mumbled, and he turned to face her before he shook his head. “I had already forgiven you within my mind. I know this disease is not easy to handle...and it’s hard for me too. And maybe I should show that more. I just don’t want you to feel like I didn’t care about your needs,” He said, and his heart sank as he finally noticed the tears in her eyes. He was tired of seeing her cry tears of pain, and it made him feel even worse that he had caused these tears.

“You being honest shows that you care, J. I want you to know that,” She sniffed as she wiped her face, sighing deeply. “Let’s do more sessions together...I want to work on this. I want you to sort these feelings out, so we can move forward. I...I love you so much,” For years now Beija had been telling him that she was in love with him, and each one felt like the first. Every admittance of ultimate affection warmed his core, but now it sounded so heartbreaking in truth. Even now, as they stood in the ugly truths of their faults she still loved him. In the end, she chose him. “I can’t control where my mind goes, or how it works. But I can control how I deal with it. We both can. We have so much more power over this than you would believe...” She reached up and touched his face and his head tilted towards her hand. Her warmth made his heart race, the tender gesture only making him want to be closer to her. “I’ll always fight for us...my depression isn’t stronger than me. I won’t allow it to tear us apart, if I can help it,” He heard her sniff, and he reached down to wipe the stray tears that rolled down her face.

“I swear I don’t deserve you,” He mumbled as his hand lowered from her face down to her hip. “I’m sorry for all of this...will you forgive me? I’m willing to work for it,” He pulled her closer, and he felt her tremble in his arms.

“I forgive you...just promise to let me in. I’m not your enemy,” She said, and he nodded as he ran his hands up her back, leaning down and slowly kissing her lips. “I love you,” She whispered against his mouth, and he held her tighter in his grip.

His face hid within her hair and even with the lack of wild curls, it still smelled the same and was just as soft. He could feel her clinging onto his shirt and he didn’t move out of her needy embrace. It was an earned moment—the two of them could be so bullheaded, but the love was there. It was up to them both to never allow it to die or falter. He slowly picked her up off the ground and he carried her towards the bed before laying her down within it. He laid next to her as she turned off the lamp, and he pulled her on top of him before he watched her wiggle to get comfortable against his body. He watched her fall asleep almost instantly, and he just allowed himself to look at her silhouette as it gently rose and fell in deep breathing. He bit into his bottom lip before he slowly ran his hand up and down her hip for his own comfort. He had been truly blessed. He had to cherish her and all that came with it, but he also had to take care of himself. There was no way he could allow himself to ruin what he worked and suffered for. His gaze moved to the ceiling and he gave a silent prayer that he could continue to give this woman what she needed from him. He felt a bit more at peace once he closed his eyes.

“Take a pin—you can’t say baby or cross your legs. Arms are okay. Whoever has the most pins wins a prize,” Jermaine had memorized the lines in his head and at this point he probably sounded like an uninterested robot. He was far from the feeling of disinterest, however. He just was ready for all of the guests to arrive so they could get on with the shower.

Nicole was a little over seven months pregnant now, and it was now time for the homestretch of her experience. The baby shower was probably one of those events that was only stressful for the planner and the team that accompanied them. Beija had not only been given the task of planning, but it seemed that Melissa was a part of the planning as well. Initially, Jermaine had a feeling that after this long, the two would hopefully be able to get along, but he didn’t hope to be working so hard for the last three days. From wrapping guest gifts to helping with decorating, to helping with food and overall errands, he was not at all prepared for the force of authority between the two of them. With Nicole as their third Musketeer of sorts, he and Ib were worked to the bone.

“You could smile a bit, you know,” He glanced up to see Melissa passing out pins, and he managed a strained grin. “Stop. You look like an ax murderer,” She chuckled.

“Let me frown then,” He countered before he laughed a small bit. “I’m just ready to start this up. I wanna see y’all work in action,” He said before he ran a hand over his head. “All them gifts I had to wrap; they better appreciate it.”

“I’m sure they will, grumpy,” Mel chuckled to herself before she glanced down towards the guest list. “I think that’s the last guest that said they’d be arriving. Let me go find Colby and see if he’s ready to eat,” She said, and he nodded before he followed her into the living room, past the adult guests and to the play area for the kids that were there. “Hey, do you wanna eat?”

The kid in question turned his head as he sat with his Nintendo handheld game in his hand, nodding quickly before he got up and walked over to her. “What’s to eat?” He asked softly, and Mel chuckled as she grabbed his hand.

“Chicken wings. I know you like those, right?” She asked, and Jermaine watched the two of them go towards the kitchen.

Melissa had been quite busy since the last time Jermaine actually saw her—the two spoke often over the phone but he had yet to really see how much her life had changed with his own eyes. When she last told him that she adopted a child, he expected a small baby or even a toddler that was closer to Janiya’s age. A five-year-old was nowhere near his imagination. Colby was one of Melissa’s students that she taught up in Jersey. He came from a chaotic background and Mel had become so invested in his life that when his biological mother passed, she instantly requested to adopt him. Around the same time she had become close to one of her co-workers, whom J had heard about often. Isaiah was one of the school counselors, and the two couldn’t seem to stay away from each other. The two only started dating recently because he ended up moving to another school, but they seemed like everything Melissa wanted all along. She was happy—she seemed genuinely happy, and Jermaine felt the same for her. It was just nice to know that she was doing okay and that the two of them could continue to be friends.

“Dada,” He looked down before he grabbed Niya and pulled her up into his arms. She pointed at her mouth, and he raised his eyebrows slowly.

“You wanna eat?” He was trying to get her to use her words more as opposed to just gestures.

“Eat,” She agreed, but paused when she noticed the expectant glance of her father. “Peas,” She grinned.

“Good. Make sure to always say ‘please,’” Jermaine poked her stomach before he walked over to the food, managing to make a plate with one hand while holding her in his other arm. “You’re getting big, mama. Daddy can’t be picking you up for much longer,” He said before he walked to the nearest table and sat down. He watched Niya climb into his lap, and she leaned back against him before peeking up at him, giving him a greedy smile. He chuckled before he picked off a piece of chicken and handed it to her. He stopped between bites of his food to make sure she was eating properly.

“She even eats like you,” He glanced over as Mel sat across from him with her plate of food, and Colby moved to sit next to her before he pressed his hans together and bowed his head. “How old is she now?” She asked.

“One and...a half? She’ll be two next April,” He said as he watched her reach for the chicken wing again, signifying that she wanted some more. He broke her off another chewable piece and handed it to her. “Already ruling my entire life and my plate,” He chuckled.

“I doubt it. She just a little one still,” Mel smiled at Niya before shaking her head at him. “And you don’t need all that food no way,” She laughed softly before she bit ino the fruit salad on her plate. “Beija did a really good job with the food,” She complimented.

“Yeah, she gets down,” He agreed. “She even got me doing a little cooking these days.”

“What? Jermaine Cole...cooking? Mr. Ramen For Life is out here making food?” Mel let out a laugh as he playfully sucked his teeth. “But that’s good, though! It’s about time you stop burning things in the kitchen,” She shook her head.

“Y’all gonna stop playing me. I make some good eggs at least, right Niya?” He poked her stomach as the girl gently wiggled in his lap.

“Egg?” She glanced up at him.

“No, I don’t have any eggs,” Her look of sheer distaste with his ‘trick’ on her only made Mel laugh louder.

“Now why is your face all screwed up, huh?” Beija’s voice made Janiya shift her attention, and she sat down next to J before she sat her plate and drink in front of her.

“Bad,” Her tone was almost in the way of telling on Jermaine, and Niya pointed in his direction.

“Daddy’s being bad? I knew it. He don’t know how to act,” Beija chuckled softly before she took a sip of her punch.

“...And his legs are crossed!” Colby pointed, and Jermaine glanced down to see that his ankles were indeed crossed. It wasn’t as if he could help it, either.

“That’s not my whole leg, just my ankle,” He tried to bargain with the boy, but the look on Colby’s face sent the two women into a fit of laughter.

“He’s got you, J. Hand over the pin,” Mel shook her head, and J’s expression of fake annoyance nearly mirrored the scowl Niya sent him earlier. He handed over his pin to Colby, chuckling lowly as Mel began to fasten it on him.

“Did I win yet, mama?” He asked, and Mel shook her head with a chuckle.

“You need a few more,” She said, and he glanced around carefully as he began to chew his food.

After everyone got through their period of enjoying the food and drinks, they got into a couple games that surrounded Nicole and the impending twins, from name games to measuring Nic’s stomach with toilet paper. People were winning gifts throughout the day, from small gift baskets to practical gifts that would help them remember the day. Once the cake was cut and the gifts were opened, the party was pretty much over but it was a pretty good time for everyone. Jermaine seemed to gain a sense of remembrance as he thought back to the baby shower for Janiya. Thankfully, Ib had already been married so he wasn’t nearly as tense as J was at the time, but the feeling of togetherness and enjoying the people that surrounded him made him feel nostalgic. He was always thinking about the past and it only made him more appreciative of what he had in front of him. He was ultimately elated for his best friend—soon, he’d feel the joy of a child twice over.

Once Beija and Jermaine helped with cleaning up, they escaped to the guest room of Ib and Nic’s home as they always did when they came to New York. As Jermaine finally slipped off his sneakers, he could hear small hands knocking on the door. The door soon opened and he saw Niya wrapped in a bath towel, small droplets of water dripping from her wet curls. “Did mama wash your hair?” He asked, and she nodded quickly.

“All clean,” She announced.

“Yes you are! Now daddy gotta get clean up,” He chuckled before he stood up, watching Beija come into the room as she adjusted the satin wrap around her short hair. He still had to get a bit used to the lack of large curls on her head, but the haircut framed her face and showed more of it. He didn’t mind that at all. “You good?” He noted the tired look on her face.

“My feet hurt,” She mumbled, and he chuckled as he patted her shoulder.

“I’ll get to you when I get out the shower,” He grabbed his bag before exiting the room and heading for the guest bathroom across the hall.

Once he showered, he put on lotion and deodorant before sliding on a t-shirt and some boxers. He slid on some sweats over his boxers before he brushed his teeth, then he returned to the bedroom with his bag. He pulled out what he’d be wearing to the airport the next day, then sat at the end of the bed, glancing at Beija as she read through a novel she had picked up during their trip. Niya was near her body, sleeping peacefully. He grabbed B’s feet and gently pulled them into his lap, rubbing them slowly. “Hey, I was thinking about the fact that we gotta come back in like two weeks,” He began.

“Mhm?” Beija turned the page in her book as she kept her eyes on the page. “I’m listening, baby.”

“How about we just stay for a while until after the charity event? I can find us a suite or I can get a penthouse for the time we’re here...” He suggested, and she glanced up at him before she twisted her lips to the side. The thoughtful look on her face showing that she was considering what he was saying. “Besides, it’s been so long since we last came to the city. Plus, we can show Janiya around while we’re here. And since I know Ib and Nic aren’t going because she’s been instructed to keep a slow pace, we can have her stay with them the night of the event,” He explained.

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. And I do kind of miss hanging out here,” B said softly before she bit into her bottom lip. “But that means you’re going to have to cancel the flight tickets for tomorrow,” She explained.

“I got it. But how about we go to the Bronx Zoo tomorrow? I’m sure babygirl would like to see the animals and stuff. Plus, once you get to the point where you gotta get into full planner mode, I know you’ll be busy,” He continued to rub her feet until he could see the discomfort leave her face, then he moved to her calves to massage those as well.

“Yeah, that’ll work. Then I wanna take her to the Nintendo store too,” She said, and J chuckled lowly before he nodded.

“Alright, baby. Whatever you want,” He smiled before he moved closer to her, leaning down to kiss the side of her face. “You love me?” He mumbled.

“Mhm,” She chuckled before she tugged at one of his dreads. He hadn’t even realized how much they had grown back to where they were before. “Now, come get in this bed. I’m sure you’re tired.”

He moved to get on the other side of the bed, making sure not to disturb Niya’s slumber. Once he got into a comfortable spot, he turned off the lamp once he saw Beija properly settle into bed as well. Sliding a hand behind his head, he grabbed his phone with the other, going through one of his mobile travel apps to attend to the accommodations they’d need for the coming weeks. He actually was happy that he’d be able to get a chance to be in the city he once called home for a little while, and he actually was even more excited about showing Niya the city. He could only hope that his daughter would somehow be able to understand and catch the magic of NYC as he had so many years ago.

The next morning was spent packing bags and moving from Ibrahim’s house to a rental apartment located on the Upper East Side; Jermaine had found it the night before after some after hours searching, and thankfully the place was available for the time being. They took a quick grocery trip to fill up their fridge and a stop at some clothing stores to stock up on necessities before officially settling in, then as they agreed, they got dressed to head out to the zoo. The ride there was uneventful for the most part, but once they got there it seemed that they had come at the right time—the facility was celebrating the ‘spooky’ Halloween season with a kid friendly themed event that spanned throughout the area. Once the tickets for entry were paid for, Beija got a hold of the map and they were off into the crowded sea of tourists and a couple city regulars.

“They have some face painting and some candy walks...we should get her face painted!” Beija exclaimed before she looked down at Niya, who was sitting in her stroller. “What’s your favorite animal, Niy? You like bears?”

“No,” Niya furrowed her eyebrows.

“Well...what about tigers?”

“No.”

“Lions?”

“Lion!” She squealed, and Jermaine laughed a bit before he nodded in approval. She imitated a Lion’s growl, and it only made him laugh harder.

“Somebody has been showing you The Lion King too many times,” Beija raised an eyebrow slowly as she glanced over at J, and he simply smiled as he shrugged.

“It’s a classic! You know it is, too—I don’t complain when you sit and watch Oliver and Company to her every other day,” He playfully argued.

“Well...you’re right. But still. It’s too funny to me,” She chuckled as they continued to walk through the crowd. As they neared the Big Cat exhibit, Niya peered around curiously as Jermaine slowed his stride to allow her to see everything.

“Back Lion,” She pointed at the panthers, and Jermaine let out a small chuckle.

“No, baby. Panther. Can you say panther?” He crouched down to look at her, and she tilted her head as she looked at him. “Panther,” He repeated.

“Paha,” She attempted to speak it back.

“Yeah, a panther,” He nodded as he pointed to the other side of the bridge they were on, showing off the Leopards that were playing together in the other cage. “Leopard,” He pointed out before he stood up straight and began to push her some more.

“Look, baby—a tiger,” Beija pointed out, and Jermaine watched the girl slightly bounce in her seat at something else she recognized.

“Tiger,” She repeated.

“Good, good. Oh—here they come,” Beija and Jermaine stopped in front of the Lion exhibit, and Niya squealed as Beija unfastened and got her out of the stroller. She picked her up so she would be high enough to see.

“Lion!” Niya frantically pointed. “Look!”

“I see it, baby,” Jermaine laughed a bit before taking out his phone, snapping a couple photos as Niya clapped and laughed at the lazy cats that seemed to be content with laying in the sun. Once they exited the exhibit, they stopped at a face painting area and allowed the girl to get a small lion on her cheek.

A stop at the aquarium was next, and Jermaine was amused by Beija’s near reversion into childlike wonder for the sea and its inhabitants. The reptile house came last much to the girls’ dismay, but J always had a bit of a weird fascination with lizards at least—snakes, he still didn’t like or understood. They traveled throughout the zoo and checked out some more places before getting some complimentary candy for Niya, and soon headed back towards the apartment.

“So what do we want for dinner tonight? And no, we’re not having chicken,” Beija said as she walked through the threshold of the apartment, and J sucked his teeth softly.

“Why not? It’s good,” He complained as he carried a sleeping Niya inside. He closed the door with his foot and managed to lock it before carrying the girl towards the couch.

“We’d have it every night if it was up to you and the girl. How about some fish and shrimp scampi? I picked up some ingredients for it the other day,” He already heard Beija shuffling in the kitchen area, so he knew that she wasn’t asking if he wanted it or not.

“That actually sounds fine,” He yawned softly as he watched Niya slightly shift in his arms. Her eyes opened slowly, and he sent her a soft smile. “Hey, beautiful. You’re awake?” He tapped the tip of her nose, and she scrunched up her face before she yawned.

“Eat?” She asked.

“Soon. Mama’s cooking, He glanced down at the bag of candy that had been dangling from his wrist, and he pulled out a fun-sized Hershey’s bar. “Here...you can have one,” He handed it to her, and unwrapped it for her before he watched her softly suck on the candy to melt it down. He kept it in his hand so that she wouldn’t gobble it down, and he watched as she licked over her lips.

“Tank you,” She said, and he grinned as he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“What are y’all doing over there? I know you not feeding her candy,” He heard Beija complain, and he smiled as he tilted his head back against the couch before chuckling.

“Mind ya business, babe. We’re having secret Daddy and Daughter club time right now. You can’t come in,” He said.

“Grow up,” Beija let out a laugh before she shook her head. “If she gets hyper you’ll have to stay up with her,” She warned.

“Yeah, yeah,” He smiled before he relaxed against the couch, continuing to feed the girl the chocolate until it was gone. She laid back against his chest, and he allowed his eyes to pan towards the dazzling skyline that almost seemed painted outside the panoramic windows that adorned the common area of the apartment. He had truly missed home, and it seemed to be something they needed to relax. Of course, this relaxation wouldn’t last long, but he’d cherish it for now.

[attractivemanusa-blog]

5 BIGGEST MYTHS ABOUT WOMEN

What are the 5 biggest myths about women, you ask?

If you think you have us all figured out, then you are wrong! But the good news is, what I am about to tell you will go against everything that you thought you knew about women!

I’m Renee Slansky for The Attractive Man and in this post I’m going to BUST 5 myths about women that you thought were true! And trust me guys, you are going to be happy about the answers…

5 BIGGEST MYTHS ABOUT WOMEN…. BUSTED!

Alright, I’m going to let you in on a secret! I have been stalking the majority of all you men in the comments for our channel, because I want to get inside your head and know what you think about women. So click now to subscribe and be sure to watch to the end!

So, if you ever feel like really saying what you feel or want one of your questions answered then don’t hold back and tell us in our comments section!

I noticed that there were 5 major things that you guys seem to get confused and frustrated with when it comes to us ladies. So, it’s time to set the record straight and do my own version of myth busters! Oh, and number 1 is a big myth that has to stop so make sure you watch this whole video!

5) WE ONLY WANT MEN WITH MONEY

I will admit there are a lot of women out there who do prey on men for money, because they are either lazy, fearful of being broke or just down right gold diggers.  As a coach, but more than anything as a woman, this comment frustrated the hell out of me and I hear it more often than I should.

Here’s the thing. The right woman appreciates a man who can provide financially, because it helps provide her with security of the future , but it doesn’t mean she wants to count your pennies, because she will also be a woman who wants to  contribute as well!

We are women and biologically and scientifically speaking we yearn to nest and be protected by men. This doesn’t mean we want to bleed you dry or only marry you for your wallet. And if you are only experiencing women like that then the issue is that you can’t identify the right women from the wrong women and need to attend one of our bootcamps.

A man should, to some degree, want to look after his partner and children, not by having to work his ass off while she does nothing, but because it’s an act of love to help protect and provide for the family. And, the right woman will recognise that you are man of high value and will also be wanting to contribute in whatever way she can.

4) WE ONLY WANT TO DATE TALL, GOOD LOOKING MEN

Alright, I will confess I am attracted to a tall man, but I have dated shorter men because any woman who has the right intentions will get to a point to where they realise a real man isn’t made up only by his height.

Let’s first clarify tall. Most women see short as any man under 6ft, which is ridiculous I agree, especially when the global average height of men is 5ft 9 inches.

But let’s put things into perspective. You guys all have a certain type of woman and physical traits that you are attracted to, whether its big boobs, small bum and a tiny waist. We all have ‘types’ or ideal things we want. But in a world full of billions of singles we know that there has to be more than just these things.

Most women want a man who treats her right, the height is just an added bonus. The truth is if a man think his appearance or height is the only way to win a woman then he disadvantages himself.

Women are more attracted to the following things than height:

Confidence, manners, ability to lead , romance, and being valued and made to feel special.  

3) WE DON’T LIKE MEN APPROACHING US

Ok hold the phone! We love it when men approach us with confidence and charm, we hate it when they make us feel unsafe or are sleazy and aggressive. See the difference there?

If you haven’t watched my other video on 10 tips for approaching women effectively, then put that on your to do list.

Women may come across guarded when you approach her but it doesn’t mean she won’t be interested, she just doesn’t know you yet, so her reaction is normal!  But if you want to set the right impression then it’s all IN THE WAY you approach her. We see men talking to us and singling us out as old school romance, it makes us feel special and sets our hearts a flutter.

And here’s the thing, asking a woman out or talking to her is going to give you more of an indication if there is potential for anything as opposed to just selecting someone through a dating app.

Don’t be scared, be a gentleman and you will probably be shocked by their reaction.

2) WE ARE HIGH MAINTENANCE AND WANT YOU TO DO ALL THE EFFORT

I will say one thing, we do live in a time where self-entitlement is killing relationships and driving men and women apart.  Women don’t want you to do all the effort, but they do expect you to invest and make them a priority. And you know what, this is completely normal because it communicates that you value and like her.

Dating isn’t a competition of who does more or less, it’s a courtship and both people should be making the amount of effort that reflects how they feel. If she’s coming across high maintenance, ask yourself first, is this woman actually a diva or am I actually being lazy and not doing enough?

Everyone wants to point the finger at someone else and the truth is women are just as scared as you guys of being taking advantage of. We don’t want to date users either.

1) WE DON’T CARE ABOUT SEX

I don’t know where this myth came from but I have a feeling it’s from the 1950’s or from an over worked and underappreciate tired mother who just wants to sleep sometimes.  OK time for a little fact for you men.

Yes men do have a higher sex drive and think about sex 60% more than women on a daily basis , but a study that was published in TIME magazine revealed that their colleagues found that women in their 30s and early 40s are significantly more sexual than younger women. Women ages 27 through 45 report not only having more sexual fantasies (and more intense sexual fantasies) than women ages 18 through 26 but also having more sex, period.

Women want to have sex, but they also want the emotional connection. So the key then isn’t just to focus on getting physical with her but also tapping into her emotional state as well.

Guys you can sit there and vent your frustration through the comments or you can start to really understand us a bit more and then use it to your advantage. We aren’t that complicated , we are just misunderstood and a great woman is an asset!

But if you struggle with even knowing how to strike up a conversation or basically feel a little lost when it comes to women then be sure to download our Confidence cheat sheet Which has 18 proven ways to increase your confidence fast. These are methods based on science and psychology.

This will help you ease your nerves under stressful situations, like approaching beautiful women.

[mintyicee]

Warning: skip this post if want

It’s a rant...and i absolutely hate you tumblr app bc i had to redue this twice now! >:(

Anyway, I’m used to being ignored. Everyone around me since i was little to being a young adult now has left me to own thoughts and corner in my home since forever. Though i am partially to blame being an introvert and an absolutely horrible friend in keeping contact with friends online, I mostly do so if i feel no one wants to hear, see, speak, or look at me. I will personally disappear and hide myself bc i feel it will make others happy if i wasnt around. As if i didn’t exist. True, not everyone in your life will be around forever and true, being oneself is your greatest friend. But, as shy or quiet as i am, I love being around other ppl. I dont want to be around ppl 24/7 but i do want to connect with ppl i feel can appreciate me at my fullest and without feeling like im weird or the odd ball that doesnt belong.

With that being said, I may be USED to it but i ABSOLUTELY HATE IT. As any human being would of coarse and a lot of ppl have it worse dont get me wrong. Making this rant already makes me feel selfish and in need of pity which isnt why im writing this. Simply put i want to push this anger out of me and get it out of my system bc i feel i cant move forward until i do so. And when it comes to my problems i suck at communicating it to others bc i feel they have much more important things to be doing then to babysit someone who is feeling down (but id drop everything to listen to others sadness bc i care way too much). 

I hate feeling like i did back when i lived in my hometown. Very lonely and sad. Constantly crying. I wouldn’t do anything all summer but cry in my room bc of how alone i felt. And i gave a very important part of me away just to make sure i had at least one person hanging around. I regret it very much but my efforts to hang out with the friends i saw at school outside of school would be very close to zero. Everyone is either busy or just low key didnt want to hang out with me. Tho i was lucky to have at least one friend I would see more in certain grades, it wasnt constant. And once all the drama with my nuclear family subsided, i was much more alone in the house than before middle school. 

I didnt have a cellphone or home phone, no internet either till i moved and started high school. The things that kept me going usually was my writing, music, and cartoons. Seriously being serious here. The way Id touch base with any of my school friends was to walk to their house and be lucky if they had time or were home. When i moved i had so much hope that Id find ppl to share and spend time with. Not only that but i was in the real world and no longer stuck in a house like a prisoner or place for that matter. But like stupid ppl or racists, the same ppl pop up everywhere as well as the loneliness i was hoping to leave behind. Only it came in a new form: even when im around others. I am/was happier here tho. No longer confined in my hometown house. But recently it feels like i am. This summer has been my loneliest since the move and the feeling like no one cares about me at all have all come back at my lowest and most crucial decision making time of my life. Not being in school this semester/school year is hitting me hard and no job call backs for a whole month now either. 

Partially my fault tho. The new friend crew ive been spending time with have been ignoring anything i said in the group chat. Id be skipped over and lately it feels as if im just upsetting certain ppl and end up talking about me behind my back. Really nothing new but I’ve just had enough of it. Like always I distanced myself and stopped talking all together. I’ve been more political upset in recent days due to certain issues on twitter but I’ve only been talking to my boyfriend and my mother. In hindsight tho, they really are my best friends. They are here for me at my highest and lowest no matter how many times i cry or how suddenly i get upset or frustrated. They are the ones to accept me for who i am. No one else has done this to the extent as they have and really thats all i need. Even if i dont get any other long term friends i dont care bc i know they will be by my side till the end. 

But I also want to say that if you didnt want to be my friend in the first place or you wanted me to initiate the conversation first then u should at least comment back at what im saying. If i said something dumb or something that didnt add to the convo then tell me dont just ignore me like im stupid. I refuse to be your “friend” that you only want around to be made fun of. I’ve been through a lot and yes ik u have your share of problems but if your going to only look at yourself and care about yourself then i dont need you. Im good without having that in my life. Ive had my fill of people who act like that to me. And im also tired of people who dont care about others and present issues. I CRY ABOUT PPL I DONT KNOW THAT ARE ON THE NEWS WHETHER NAMED OR NOT. HELL I CRY EVEN IF THEY ARENT ON THE NEWS! There are soooo many ppl who have it way worse than myself who suffer daily and im sick of hearing ppl dont care about the ppl and situations around them! I wont sit here making an excuse as to why i cant help its the same old issues no money (no job as mentioned above) hell even no car but that doesnt matter. I still pray! I pray for safety of others and i pray that ppl will be alright and i pray that things will get better! And also mentioned earlier, ive been reposting about current issues on twitter! This is small but i want to try!

So please if you had no intentions of sticking around me at any of my current moods, dont appreciate the person i am, or relatively dont give a fuck then dont involve yourself in my life. Yes it hurts to be alone but Id rather have that and be alone then FEEL ALONE WITH PPL IVE COME TO CARE FOR! Also, if I have helped you through thick n thin and you think u can pop into my life whenever you feel like it only to stop talking to me or purposely upset me and even threaten me? GTFO of my life and dont come back! Ever (yes this is about a certain friend who moved away and i helped not commit suicide that im holding a grudge at)!  And if you honestly are going to get upset at the actions ive done and say you do good things when you have zero sign of love for others in your hearts, live in a bubble of your own world, and follow the bible “word for word” get out of my face too bc i dont need ppl who say they are here to help others only to shun me if i dont constantly keep verses in my head or do things the way you want them to be and to have me fight my own demons while going against your beliefs and saying that im not doing what im supposed to (yes this is about church)! I DO THINGS AND CARE WAY MORE THAN YOU DO TRUST ME AND THIS IS THE ONLY TIME IM EVER GOING TO SELFISHLY SAY SO BC ITS BETTER TO BE HUMBLE AND NOT ARROGANT. I TRY SO HARD NOT TO JUDGE YOU YET YOU GET TO JUDGE ME? NO I DONT THINK SO YOU SHOULD START AT LEVEL ONE AGAIN AND LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE! (still about church not friends here). Also dont worry about the level one thing; you would know what this means if you went to the same church. 

I’ve been couping with the idea that all i need is two friends. I’m so grateful and blessed to have them in my life and if im truly meant to have more than it will be so. I know two others of whom i need to apologize for hardly emailing or sending a message to. I feel so bad i have neglected them only bc ive been feeling so down about this and other issues (like before: school, no job/car, possibly changing career and life goals, etc) but really is no excuse. Welp I’ve said all i wanted to say for the moment. There is another topic i wish to vent about but it will have to be for another day bc i have no energy to complain about that topic. If anyone read all this im sorry i took time out of your day and that I hope you are doing well. I hope you continue to live your life to the fullest and to celebrate the good things not the bad that comes along. I just really needed to vent these emotions so i can finally concentrate on what i need to do. Thank you for listening <3

[bestcellphonespyapps]

Keep Your Teens Away from Danger with the Spy Device for Cell Phone

Spy device for cell phone is a must have for Moms who look for ways to monitor their children at school. It is their way of checking their teen’s location and cell phone activities. They prefer spying on text messages and listening to phone calls when they find their teens behaving differently and needs more guidance in choosing their friends and in getting along with peers.

When Friends Lead Your Child to Danger

Friends influence your children because they spend most of their time together without adult supervision. At times, out of curiosity and lack of guidance they might experiment and try exploring things that are new to them. This could lead them to danger without realizing they are already trapped in a situation where peer pressure could get them into trouble.

Absence of Parental Supervision Can Lead Your Child to Choose the Wrong Path

Family, as the basic unit of the society must be the venue of child development and values formation. When parents become busier with work and spend less time communicating with their children about school and their daily activities, children tend to look for other people to whom they can vent their anger, share their frustrations, and express themselves. They look for companions outside home, they join groups, peers, gangs, sorority, fraternity, and other social groups they feel they are welcome. Some of them find true friends, but mostly find the wrong path.

Use Spy Apps to Monitor and Manage Children’s Behavior

How can parents avoid this? Sound so absurd, but spy equipment cell phones can help parents manage their teen’s behavior. How can this be possible? Check this out.

Read text messages – Using the spy application, parents can monitor the messages their children exchange with their friends and what topics do they talk about. Are they discussing about topics that could lead to child rebellion against parents? Do they talk about plans of inflicting harm to others? Or do they talk about not attending school classes and activities? Parents might discover from reading text messages on their children’s phone remotely.

Listen to phone conversation – the function with reading text messages you’ll get and this time is real time conversation parents could listen to. The application can also check on the call logs and histories. It enables parents to check who often calls your children. Are they strangers or just a family member?

Monitor online activities – the application allows you to check the websites visited and how often it is visited. Parents can now check if their teens are playing online games most of the time and spend less time studying and doing school activities. This could also help parents in monitoring their children whether they visit pornographic sites or not, and to manage their social media usage.

Parents who spy cell phones of their children wanted to perfect their parenting approach. Parental Guidance means a lot to growing up teens. They need more adult supervision as they start to adjust with their physical, mental and emotional maturity. A happy home, creates happy parents and children.

Bestcellphonespyapps is a site for spy applications and softwares. It brings you to trusted product reviews, tips and tricks in using the apps, and how to use spy devices and equipments.

[uz-ma3]

observation #6

There are some big problems with 21st century revolution One of them is the lack of real meaningful coordinated action By this I don't mean nothing is being done, or the things being done are wrong or bad But more that the way they are done not really achieving the objectives that need to be achieved Giving specific examples defeats the point I'm trying to make which is that, despite all the talk and all the acknowledgment of the problems we have, we rarely ever see any real and significant change It's just a cycle of 'raise awareness', 'give people knowledge', 'raise more awareness', 'give people more knowledge' Everyone wants the same thing, we know what the finish line looks like, but we talk about getting to it, without actually making any big strides towards it, or putting ourselves in a position to make those strides Linked to this is social media: one of the best and worst things we've ever invented We have a pretty amazing way to talk and connect with people, and access to more knowledge than we can read even in 3 lifetimes But amazing as it is, at the end of the day it is just an artificial reality, with superficial connections (I mean that in the nicest way possible) Better yet, it is a hyper reality And the problem with hyperrealities is twofold: one that, as beautiful as it can be, it is not the real world, and two, this escapist beauty is what not only makes it dangerous but also leads people to, consciously and subconsciously, mistake it for the real world It's a world where recognition, in the form of posting and getting likes or retweets, equates in some people's minds to action And while it has some big ripple effect in that world, and even to an extent, in the minds of people who read it, in the real world it is much less likely to have as huge an impact on the external situations And it is in this emphasis on a reality that, even though it is linked to the real one, has a limited impact (sometimes but not always) on what actually happens in this world Social media also, which has such a big part to play in our lives, has also distorted, on a narrow level, many people's sense of self, and on a wider level, how different actors in the context of a revolution would react to certain events On a narrow level, you, as a person, may be introverted and prefer to not speak at all, or only when you have to But now, when you are in an environment where 'silence' doesn't exist and conversations are always happening, you feel the pressure to go against that core nature and join the conversation (like I said, there are two sides to the coin: it has helped people who suffer in silence have the courage to share too) However, although this distortion on the small scale, is bad, on that wider scale I mentioned it is even worse In the past, as I found out in true believer, revolutions had three main actors: men of words, 'fanatics' and men of action The men of words would point out to the population the injustices of society, then from the population would rise the fanatics who would, in their own way, attack the system through both their own words and actions and finally were the men of action who would put structure to the chaos caused by the fanatics There were not strict archetypes and someone could play multiple parts However, now those distinctions, which were so important in producing change, no longer exist, (or exist in a very diluted form) People who would have been fanatics or men of action have been transformed into men of words in part by social media They live out their archetypes in the hyper reality Fanatics are now 'militant men of words', who talk about dramatic action from behind their computer screens And men of action either don't know that they have a role to play, have no way to play their role in a meaningful way or know they role but have very little to gain from playing it The result being a situation where, even though every now and then there is change from their words, that can also inspire some kind of action, there is very little order behind it the frustration that the words generate is aimless and undirected and any disorder can be 'carefully managed and easily suppressed' In other words, no matter how many words are said, and how many promises for change are made, because they are just words, written on sand, the mindset and the literal+metaphorical frameworks behind the undesirable situation never really changes In the past, it's these three actors working in sync, whether knowingly and unknowingly, that brought change But because of the day and age we live in, the two other keys to evolution and revolution have been diluted to the max The English revolution, just one of many examples of real revolution, where the king, who was acting unreasonably, ended up losing his head, shows this synergistic relationship with fanatics, men of words and men of action all playing their equally important parts However, the modern day equivalent of that, with rogue politicians having their own agendas which are dangerously misguided, has not led to revolution like that in the past There's now an uneasy calm behind the discontent In the past, people who were unhappy with the situation would look for ways to have an impact on it, in the real world, in the best way they knew how a way that they were subconsciously aware to be suited to whatever 'talent' they had, whether that was being a leader, books, poetry and art or simply being part of the mob Now, people who are frustrated with the current situations sit on their desk, (sorry for the generalisations, it's to make a point) or even just open up apps on their phones, and say how they feel, voicing their anger or sadness It's a sort of appeasing power to be given/have, or content powerlessness, that allow people to impact the hyperreality but does almost nothing in the real world Again just to make it clear, this is no disrespect to people who do that, I do it too And I am not saying that we need to return to the times where for a change to happen blood had to be spilled Violence, in the 21st century, isn't the way But neither is social media venting (which is ironic because that's just what I'm doing😂) We need to find new ways to shift the paradigm The roles I mentioned are still relevant, but they need to be relevant to the max and not watered down The way they operate needs to adapt and evolve to this new world we live in In the past, they operated in the spheres of religion and rhetoric But maybe now, they should operate (in the best way possible) in the spheres of power and money A lot of us want the same thing without being consciously aware that we do We all tend to subconsciously operate in our own space, forgetting or ignoring that we exist in a network where every action has an impact on things and people around you When you follow your Good, what I define as what's meant to be done by you, in/for the bigger picture at that point in time, you create a ripple effect, that spreads to all those around you Like a conductor in a circuit, you being yourself sets off a spark that allows energy to go through you and spreads around you-keeping the light of the world going/glowing But that spark needs to be set off and made use of in the real world You (we)(I) need to ask, how can I, in my own way, make a visible or deep (through e.g. art, music etc etc) change on the situation my society is in, that will have a practical impact in the real world and follows my core, uninfluenced beliefs and nature (I could probably have phrased this better, but I hope you get me) The goal being to find that balance between the 'light' of society not being too dark or too bright, with the first being purposeless 'destruction' and the last being excessive 'creation' And to find this balance you have to find that spark, that only you have, and use it to synergise with those people around you and make an impact in your own way Social media is one way of doing this, but should not and cannot be the only way It's a useful tool, but no substitute for real world actions For the web we all operate in to work to the best of its abilities, we have to all find and fulfil our roles, whatever they are It'll be important now, and even more so in the future Not being caught up in hyperrealities But also having a very clear conception of self Knowing your-self deeply, and how that links with what you (know you) should be doing, in your heart of hearts Smashing the mirrors society holds up in front of you, that shows a distorted image of who you really are There I'm done Rant over