#when my brain finally decides to work and goes deep down the rabbit hole

[thetinyadventurer]

So I did some thinking last night and I finally understood something: I think I understand why Helga would’ve come back for revenge in the proposed sequel to Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

I’d be royally pissed too! First of all that betrayal from Rourke would hurt like hell! She spent 13 years with the guy, enduring life-threatening situations, overcoming obstacles and she believed he had her back! In the comic they released titled “The Secret of the Shepherd’s Journal” Milo’s grandpa expresses concern for Helga’s safety when she goes to scout out an ancient temple on her own. He warns Rourke and Helga that the place is likely guarded and heavily trapped. Rourke assures Milo’s Grandpa that she’s “been through far worse than this”. And he’s right if you look into her dossier file. To me, this shows two things. One, Rourke’s worked with Helga long enough that he knows her strengths and what she’s capable of. He knows that she’s tough as nails and is competent enough to not only carry out his orders but to succeed as well. In short HE TRUSTS HER! Two, Helga would have the same trust in Rourke in return. You don’t just go out and fulfill your C.O.’s orders without question unless you are a) absolutely loyal to them or b) trust them completely. Again, those two have been through a lot and I imagine that they’ve come through for each other time after time.

Sidebar: Now that I think on it this explains why Helga stuck with Rourke to the very end during the expedition to Atlantis. Even though she was clearly uncomfortable at some points. (Seriously just look at her expressions during the Heart of Atlantis Scene. Girly is NOT okay!) But she pushed past her own feelings to fulfill her end of the bargain because, again, SHE TRUSTS HIM! They’ve been through harder situations in the past and Rourke’s come through before so why SHOULDN’T she trust him?! Also, at that point, once they’d taken The Heart of Atlantis there was no going back. They’d taken an artifact that is sacred and vital to the Atlantean people, they committed regicide— They can’t undo their actions with a simple “sorry” so they had to commit! Plus if they gave it up at that point they would’ve been met with retribution.

Anyway! Rourke’s betrayal would have hurt so damn bad! I kinda have an idea of what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you trusted and I imagine the feeling was 10x worse for Helga. She’d be feeling anger, disbelief, confusion and a myriad of other emotions. Of course she gets her revenge when she shoots the balloon thus dooming Rourke to his fate.

HOWEVER, now that we have confirmation that she would’ve survived via Rourke’s shattered crystal remains we can infer that her suffering wouldn’t have stopped there. For one thing, her injuries would’ve been extensive and painful as hell. If Helga came back as a cyborg we can infer that the shards from Rourke didn’t heal her completely. Otherwise she’d have no need for replacement parts. So this chick, once she SOMEHOW managed to survive the intense volcanic eruption, would’ve had to crawl her way out of that place. Probably still injured and in extreme pain. I asked my husband (who has incredible pain tolerance btw) what it feels like to break a bone and he explained to me that it does more than “just knock the wind out of you”. You hear the crack and then you feel it. REALLY feel it. It’s a pain that’s so intense that it can immobilize you and put you into shock depending on the injury. So… Helga trying to move with numerous broken (maybe even shattered) bones would be the worst experience ever! And let’s not forget the damaged, possibly ruptured, organs that she’d be dealing with. I imagine that she probably would’ve spent days in utter agony and she couldn’t die because the crystal shards would’ve kept her alive.

Even worse, there’s no one coming to help her. Everyone thinks she’s dead (obviously) so she’s on her own. She’d only have her own thoughts for company and I imagine that the anger and resentment would grow with each passing moment. And who’s to say that Rourke’s own rage didn’t somehow transfer over to her via the shards and add fuel to the fire. She’d probably be blaming everyone for her predicament at that point and thus the seed of vengeance is planted.

Anyway, she makes it to the surface somehow and is probably rescued by some people. Some wounds might’ve gotten infected at the time resulting in amputations and such. And by the time she’s somewhere safe her life has changed forever. She’s lost limbs and who-knows what else, everyone thinks she’s dead. She can’t go back to Mr.Whitmore for work because of what she did (she’d probably get imprisoned) and it’s not like she could go home to her family. The world is in chaos being plunged into WWI and who knows what her family dynamic is like so… She’ll have to adapt. She’d probably obtain the cybernetic limbs and would spend a significant amount of time recovering. Next she’d gather resources and would obtain a crew. This would also take a long time… And that entire time her friends are reaping the rewards of their trip to Atlantis. They got the money she believed she was owed.

After all, SHE’D made the difficult choices! SHE was the one who was willing to get her hands dirty— To go against her conscience and leave an entire civilization to die out! She was willing to risk it all and would hope it’d be worth it— Only to get stabbed in the back and forgotten while her friends get rich! AND THEY DIDN’T EVEN LOSE ANYTHING!

So yeah, of course she’d be pissed!

Though I doubt she’d be willing to take personal responsibility for any of it. From personal experience, trauma and the emotions that come with it can really screw up your brain! Rational thought (at least for me) wasn’t exactly in the cards and I think it’d probably be the same for Helga, too. To Helga she’d be a victim in all of this and knowing her she wouldn’t take that sitting down. Going back to Atlantis and getting revenge for her would be cathartic (and less expensive than therapy). It wouldn’t take her suffering away but it would make it all worth it!

TLDR: I overanalyzed about Helga again and I made an essay. Basically, I can see why Helga would come back for revenge. I’d be pissed off too if I’d been betrayed, mortally wounded, mutilated and forgotten about, too.

Anyway! Enjoy your day people! Here’s a Helga gif!

[gisellelx]

Hello! Love your blog and i wanna say

Your analysis and your posts in general are always so well researched historically. How do you do that and how can I do it too?

So I wanted to answer this with care and time and thoughtfully. I hope this answer will be good not just for you but will be worth reblogging for anyone who wants to think about how you develop good researching skills more generally. Because ultimately getting good at making sense of the world isn’t just about writing or just about fic or just about academia; it’s about being a good citizen of the world.  The short answer to this question, up front: I’ve gotten good at research because it’s my actual job! I’m a professor and not even a new one really anymore; I have a book of research coming out later this year which still feels really weird to say. I happen to know how old you are because we’ve chatted so don’t forget to put into perspective that before you started formal schooling I had already written my first 50+ page research work. I’ve been at this seriously for almost two decades now. However, there are some fundamental ways that professional researchers go about thinking about everything, whether it’s something as inconsequential as fic or as monumental as the stuff going on in the U.S. right now that I think are a little different, and they’re replicable in useful ways. So here’s three things that matter.  Get curious. This actually is pretty easy for fanfic writers because we already have something we’re curious about--whatever fandom(s) we’re in. But curiosity isn’t just about the spark; it’s also about getting interested in making connections between different kinds of things. When you encounter any given piece of information, the first thing you should start thinking about is “how does this piece of information fit in with everything else I already know” which will lead you to “how does it contradict what I already know” and “what else do I need to know to understand how this fits?” This leads you down really interesting rabbit holes.  An example from fic/tumblr answers: A witch hunting Anglican really doesn’t map on to what I know of Anglicans/Episcopalians in present-day. So then I start to ask, “Okay. What was actually going on in the church in the 1640s?” I’m going to mesh it with some of my own knowledge: I know the protestant reformation happened a hundred years earlier, but I don’t know a ton about what happened after, except that the Puritans arrived in New England eh, about that time. So I go down the rabbit hole of finding out about the church in the 1640s. At some point there I’m going to run across some of the secular history: that the 1640s was the English Civil War. Okay, what was the Civil War about? Who won? How long were they in control? Questions beget questions and true, at some point, you have to decide when to stop if it’s for writing. But honestly, if you’re curious, you probably won’t stop thinking about it even if you’ve found out enough to answer the thing you want to answer. Because you’ll 

Develop a lens. The thing you’re interested in becomes the way you start to see the world. Start relating everything to the thing you are trying to find out more about. Notice when you’re getting more information about that thing or when something would matter to that thing. I have an assignment I give my students where they have to write four short assignments relating stuff they see about language use to the things they’re learning in class. It’s partially to teach them about the concepts they’re learning, and partially to teach them about writing, but it’s mostly to accustom them to viewing the world through the lens I’m teaching them. It’s to help them get curious about why one barista’s tone sounds friendly and the other’s doesn’t even though the say the exact same thing. It’s mutually reinforcing: the lens begets curiosity and curiosity begets the development of the lens. If I encounter a fact, a piece of history, a moment in time, an old song, there’s a little piece of my brain after 11 years of writing Twific that is always asking “Where were the Cullens?” I have headcanons for days about how each of them, especially Carlisle, would’ve dealt with any individual moment in history. When I sing an old hymn in church I sometimes look down at the date in the hymnal to find out if it’s one Carlisle would’ve sung as a human. I’m always working through this lens, and that means I’m always adding to the knowledge. 

Finally, source well. Especially for something as fanciful as fic, there’s not a lot of reason to dive deep into academic tomes (although I have; I am a fucking nerd. See above re: my work.) But dive deeper than the first page of google. Read the first Wikipedia page you come to, but then read a couple of the pages it links to! If the English Civil War has to do with Cromwell and it established the Protectorate, and those things are linked? Well, read those, too! And then you might need to cross-reference--okay, now I know what the Protectorate was, and I’ve decided from that original go-round that Carlisle’s dad was probably a Puritan, not really an Anglican, so...what was the relationship of Puritans to the Protectorate? I’m going to next throw that into google. And I’m looking for high-quality sources: magazines, university websites, things that end with .edu or .gov. I’m clicking on the “about” to find out who wrote the thing and how much of an expert they are. If they say something that no one else has said and I can’t find anything that tells me they’re an expert in this? I’m going to disregard that info and move on. This is applicable to way more than just fic--this is about figuring out that as much as I go YEAH YEAH YEAH at some hyper-partisan trash website that fits my political view, I need to step back and consider where it’s coming from, who the author is, and how much they know.  The more you’ve sourced, the easier this gets. My knowledge on Carlisle’s history goes deep, I fell in love with him and only him when I read the series. I have read about popular culture when he was growing up, I have read histories of the English Church, I have spent time thinking about and being fascinated by the history of the development of medical knowledge and medical schools. I didn’t go to the Eye or Big Ben when I happened to be in London; I went to the City Museum and wandered around the part of the city where I imagine he lived, looking for things which have survived since the 17th century and taking note of things which are new to think about what Carlisle would think about them (he is very un-fond of the Gherkin.) I literally spent a day and a half looking at London through Carlisle’s eyes. Because I’m curious; because I have a lens; and because I’m going to grab good sources whenever I have them.  That is a SUPER long post. But I hope it’s helpful. When it comes to writing, the richer your knowledge, the more likely you are to drop the right detail which places your reader and makes them buy into everything else in the world. I remember reading a fic which took place in my hometown and the author had one of the Cullens flying in their private jet. In my hometown, a mid-sized city in the midwest, there is a commercial international airport, but there is also a smaller airfield which handles much of the private air traffic. That author had that Cullen plane take off from the smaller airfield. I don’t know if she is also from my hometown, but she got that detail right, and it signaled that I could trust the rest of her storytelling.  So. It’s worth it: to be a good writer, to be a good researcher, and just to be good at understanding the world. I hope that helps and sorry for the word vomit. Professors write a lot, too. 

[wheelersdealer]

RABBIT HOLE

Summary: You hate Steve, Steve hates you, you may have fooled around once or twice but whatever -- he’s found himself oddly protective when he sees some prick picking on you and you’re not sure how you feel about sympathetic! King Steve.

Pairing: King!Steve x Queen!Reader Warnings: Profanity, Small Sexual Themes, Harassment A/n: This is a continuation of my “Her Majesty” story you can find on my blog! Also, new fic format so I can give gif creators direct credit! Just click the picture and you’ll be sent there! Also, all gifs I use are reblogged prior to posting an imagine.

Steve Harrington has fallen down a rabbit hole. Of both physical and figurative means but this fic is PG-13, so —

The subtle touches you share and the gentle, but seductive glares you shoot his way in class and in the hall…it’s all built up to be something greater. No, it isn’t love, it's certainly not love because how can a King love the Queen attempting to raid his castle, and he doesn’t want to date you but…it’s hard to explain.

Here! Just now —

His eyes are drawn away from practice. He works with Tommy and some other boys in shooting hoops, mostly numb from their bickering and his spot-on shooting despite the crick in his wrist (totally not related to you).

Hey, at least he lands.

But then his eyes land on you, standing in the alley between Hawkins High’s two buildings. It’s the perfect view, the sun hitting your face just right. Just well enough to capture your furrowed brows and a glare so strong he can realize now that the ones you give him are nowhere near malicious.

And then he sees a guy.

And then Steve gets hit the head.

He hisses and groans as the ball collides with his skull, but still, he’s focused on you and this guy. He’s not just a regular teenage boy no he’s-he’s a guy. Like, a man, a dude.

“Harrington!” Tommy scoffs, picking up the ball and holding it between his ribs and arm.

Steve rolls his eyes at them, but still feels inclined to stay and play or at least try to explain. He decides not to, instead, his focus still on you as he rubs his temples to ease the thumping in his brain and tries to steady his legs as they’ve become a bit numb from standing motionless for so long.

“Where the hell are you going?” Tommy scoffs. The guys around them aren’t exactly in their group and Tommy has felt a need to prove himself to them the entire game through ‘trash talk,’ ‘smack talk,’ (yes, different things according to Tommy), and showing them just how confident he is to bully none other than ‘King Steve Harrington’ on the court.

“Can it Tommy, will you?” Steve spits back at him.

He limps off toward you and in the corner of your eye, he’s nothing but a grey speck that invades your sight.

You’re stiff with your arms crossed over your stomach. Clearly, it’s meant more to hug yourself than to be all calm and casual, with Steve able to see from this far away just how tight you’re holding your own arms.

Your shoulders are up, your chin is closer to your chest, and you have your feet pointing away from this situation…

So you can…run, perhaps?

“HEY!” Steve shouts the moment he worries why you would worry about having too. He claps his hands and that’s what draws you to him. His voice is a bit too hoarse and husky from basketball to recognize immediately.

You roll your eyes allow him a chance to speak. You take a few steps back from this guy, and Steve clearly sees that you consider him as an opening.

His heart flutters at the honor. Just a little bit.

Steve plants himself in front of this guy and spits, “Can I help you?” He picked up that tone of voice from his ‘Take me to your manager!’ mama.

You peak over Steve’s shoulder and watch the guy babble. You’ve allowed yourself to be more open about your vulnerability, hugging yourself directly and keeping your head down but you still manage to scold the guy with sharp eyes behind your brows.

Steve can see that he definitely looks familiar…But then again there’s a lot of quaffed and blonde-haired douchebags that have roamed not only the halls of Hawkins High but the halls of every high school in America, really.

He looks like he’s in college but he still wears his Hawkins varsity jacket.

Steve gets caught in his eyes, squinting and trying to decipher this dude’s face.

“Get lost,” the guy spits, trying to step past Steve to get to you.

“Um, yeah,” Steve hisses, “I don’t think so.”

“This is none of your business.”

Steve pants and crosses his arms. “Well doesn’t seem like it’d be much of some deadbeat college kid’s business either, so…?” The guy clenches his jaw. “Beat it.”

You cautiously walk up to Steve and you two watch the guy leave. He keeps looking back just about ready to kill both of you but his fury is so satisfying you can’t help but smile mischievously and give him a little wave goodbye.

You chuckle and Steve jumps and looks at you.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice laced with worry.

But it sounds too caring and too enthusiastic. He reels it back a couple notches and puts on a face of apathy. He repeats, “You okay?” Like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

And suddenly now that it’s over and done with and you have a chance to think over all the drama, you deflate.

“Thanks, Harrington,” you mutter and pat his arm before walking off.

Now Steve feels like a douchebag.

He curses himself and grabs your wrist only to realize when you violently yank it away that that sort of interaction might not be the most welcomed right now.

“Sorry — Y/n, are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” You insist and try to walk away.

Steve jogs after you. He has an eagle eye on all of your surroundings and when he finally spots the guy, he almost walks into a light pole. But he’s Steve Harrington so he’s able to play it off in all of his kingly glory.

He mumbles to himself. “Who was that guy anyway?”

You both stop walking and watch him get into his car. Steve looks down to your arms, still so tightly crossed over your chest.

You grimace.

“Chad.”

Everything comes back to Steve in a flash before his eyes.

‘Chad’ was, and is the biggest douchebag to have roamed the halls of Hawkins high in all of human history. So much so Steve has never been sure if Chad was ever his real name because it fits too close for comfort.

(He may not be in the realm of Billy Hargrove who is soon to come, who you’ll one day learn carries all sorts of douche-baggage, and he certainly isn’t in the realm of Tommy H. who is completely riding on his high school career to save him from minimum wage, but never in his years of being ‘King Steve’ has Steve ever seen such an undeserving candidate pulled straight from a Slasher Fic about pretty popular people destined to get slashed.)

Chad never got that title because, despite his popularity, he was an all-around douchebag nobody cared to hand the crown to.

Hell, in contrast to you, Steve would say you’re a princess (the connotation being he’s come to see you as quite sweet), but he knows you’re really a Queen (the connotation being that you are still willing to rip his eyes out of his skull at a moment’s notice during this very, very complicated but consensual relationship).

Never-mind what he’s just seen. He can’t help but think, “Why Chad?”

“I mean seriously Y/n — Chad Kokovsky? That guy is like,” he rolls his eyes, “the biggest douchenozzle to roam the Earth. Okay? Even I can’t stand him.”

Douchenozzle. That’s creative —

You scoff, never having been so offended.

“Not like I asked him to come here, dumbass!” You gently push on his chest then start heading back inside. Steve hisses at your strength and follows with a hand to his chest. “I ran into him at Dairy Queen and he decided to be all creepy.”

“Woah Woah Woah—“ Steve jogs to get in front of you. He holds your arms and looks you in the eyes.

Yours flicker from his own to his hands on your shoulders and he promptly takes his hands away and puts them on his hips.

“He followed you?

You whimper and stomp your foot, wanting this conversation to be over.

“Y/n, he followed you?”

“I guess! But it’s no big deal since he told me he’s like, starting school back up again soon. He’s like on break now. Besides like, isn’t that just something you all do?”

Steve Harrington…has never been so offended…in his life.

“No!” He curses under his breath. “Jesus Y/n, has this happened enough times for you to think it’s normal, cause it’s not normal!”

You bite into your lip and look down at the ground.

Steve can see Tommy embarrassing the absolute shit out of himself just some distance away.

He runs his hand through his hair and comes up with a solution: “Any time you have a problem with a guy, you come to me, alright?”

You step away from him. “Why?”

“B-because—“

“HARRINGTON! HURRY UP!”

Steve grabs your arm gently this time and pushes you closer to the school and under the shade.

“Because,” he lowers his voice even more, “I’m King Steve, Y/n. The hell they gonna do when I tell them off?”

“And I’m ‘Queen Y/n’ so clearly, what about it?”

Steve leans in closer. There’s a smirk tugging at his lips. “Gotta stick together, right? Whole castle goes down without its Queen, right?” You squint. “That’s chess…right?”

You chuckle and shake your head at the ground. “That is chess, Harrington, you are right!”

“See?!”

You look around, suddenly paranoid yourself. “I’m not getting you involved in all of my shit, Harrington. I appreciate the offer, but you can forget it. I’m not jeopardizing my crown since it’s the one thing I get for dealing with this shit.”

“Psh! How much ‘shit’ can you possibly have?”

You raise one brow. Steve suddenly feels butterflies in his stomach just imagining what’s about to come out of your mouth.

You explain but won’t look into his eyes for any of it.

Deep breath—

“So clearly Chad’s kind of obsessed with me for the time being. Richard Mackey and his goons, you know, the ones who sit—“

“On the west end of the cafeteria with the funny glasses, yeah yeah—“

“Yeah. Deborah Sheppard told them a bunch of weird-ass shit so he could woo me,” Steve’s face scrunches up in disgust, “And I don’t want to be the mean bitch who tells off the ‘nerdy’ group so I have to tiptoe around that. Sandy, Sue, Sammy, and Kelly decided to go be dumbasses and got involved with a bunch of college guys and they had a fling over the summer but now none of them want anything to do with it so I’ve been trying to get them off their backs for a while now. Kathy and Deborah H—“ You gasp an overdramatic, cartoon gasp, and clutch Steve’s arm. “Oh, I forgot! And—!”

“Jesus Y/n—“

You smile smugly. “Getting tired yet?”

Steve licks his lips and runs his hand down the side of his face. He sighs and shrugs. “Sure, why not. Me, and you,” he pokes himself in the chest then keeps his finger against yours, “Can solve all of these problems, superficial and not, alright? I mean,” he chuckles, “King and Queen gotta look out for their kingdom, don’t they?”

You chuckle. “You really ready for that Harrington? No offense but I thought your expertise only ranges in picking up chicks and being complicit around Tommy.”

There’s a moment of silence as Steve realizes that is his range of expertise. (And his hair.)

“C’mon,” He mumbles through closed lips.

You look and he has his hand out. You shake it, looking into his eyes till the moment you separate.

You turn and (Jesus, again—) Steve grabs your arm and with a quick tug, you’re twirled back right in front of him.

So close…

Your chest is against his, your knee between his thighs. His look of triumph and excitement about this new partnership has vanished. His eyes are malicious, but his lips frown.

And his voice is low. “Come get me if any of those guys start bothering you…yeah?”

You suck your lips in and nod weakly.

Steve lets go and gives you a gentle push.

Suddenly your walk isn’t as confident as before. It’s modest.

You look over your shoulder just before you reach the door and Steve’s still staring at you, that pitiful, worried look taking over his features.

He snaps out of his gaze, tries to quickly look somewhere that isn’t you.

Damn.

He fell hard.

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[kurowrites]

This Cursed Broken Heart - Part II

Second part to this. All parts. I wanted to finish the entire thing, but I don’t have the energy right now, so well. Have part two of three or four, idk.

---

Sunday comes, and Wei Ying’s nervousness has not abated one bit.

He doesn’t have to be worried about Lan Zhan, he knows that. Lan Zhan has always been a favourite with his extended family, because let’s face it, Lan Zhan is the kind of boy you want to introduce to your family. Lan Zhan is the kind of man that your family hopes you’ll marry one day.

Wei Ying is the kind of boy your family always warns you about.

That error in judgement really came back to haunt Lan Zhan later on. Wei Ying still remembers the moment when he looked at Lan Zhan and realised that they were stuck in a hole they couldn’t get out of. And that’s when he had known it was time to leave.

He doesn’t have to be worried about Lan Zhan, but he has to be worried about his own messy feelings.

He picks Lan Zhan up at 10 o’clock sharp, and as always, Lan Zhan is already waiting for him. He’s wearing a form-fitting white three-piece suit and a light blue shirt today, but has foregone a tie to break the formal stiffness of the look. Instead, a patterned silk handkerchief in tucked into his breast pocket. He looks effortlessly elegant, as if he’s just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. Wei Ying hates it, because goddamn, it makes him feel inadequate. His own black suit and red shirt combo make him look crummy in comparison.

It also makes him want to worship at the altar of Lan Zhan again.

He slaps his best smile on his face and leads Lan Zhan to the car.

“Just tell Granny Yu you’ve been very busy with work if she asks anything private, ok?” he tells Lan Zhan as they drive off. “And ignore Jiang Cheng. He’s grumpy because I managed to recruit you. He has to face the aunties on his own now. They’re going to try and matchmake this year too, set him up with some unsuitable and unlucky girl, I have no doubt. He hates it, but he still never manages to tell them to stop.”

“You are not dating?” Lan Zhan asks, which isn’t really what Wei Ying intended Lan Zhan to take away from this conversation.

Wei Ying shoots him a quick, considering look, but Lan Zhan isn’t looking at him.

“No,” he says eventually. “That would be a little weird, wouldn’t it? ‘I know we’re dating but I need to take my ex to this party because Granny Yu expects him to come.’ No, that wouldn’t work out well. Might as well ask them to break up with me at once.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t deign an answer to that, and keeps staring out of the car window in silence. Wei Ying falls silent, too, not knowing what to talk about next. Every topic seems to be fraught with dificculties. He knows so much about Lan Zhan, but asking him about his rabbits, his brother or if work is going well seems either shallow or cruel, depending on how you look at it.

They drive on without speaking again, until they finally arrive at the venue.

“There we are,” Wei Ying sighs. “Okay, Lan Zhan, it’s time to put on your boyfriend hat. Have you decided what you want as your reward? Remember that I’m poor, though. I can’t get you expensive things.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, but he gets out of the car and goes around to the other side, so he can help Wei Ying out. He often did that, when they dated; old-fashioned chivalry that never failed to make Wei Ying blush. As if it still comes natural to him, Lan Zhan’s hand settles on the small of Wei Ying’s back once he’s out of the car, and he guides him towards the entrance with an ease Wei Ying is jealous of. A pulse of white-hot electricity races up and down Wei Ying’s spine at being touched this way by Lan Zhan.

Not a single person has touched him like this for an entire year, and the fact that it’s Lan Zhan who’s doing it, doing it again, makes something in Wei Ying’s brain go a little fuzzy.

They step into the fancy restaurant that Jiang Fengmian reserved for his birthday party, and they are immediately welcomed by a stampeding horde of noisy relations. Everyone is here, from his little toddler cousins to that one great-aunt that’s like a hundred years old, and it’s both painfully familiar and yet also tinged with a sense of enduring strangeness. None of these people are connected to him by blood, after all. He’s not here because he belongs.

He never even met his actual grandparents.

Lucky for Wei Ying, Lan Zhan is a bastion of calm in the noisy chaos of the Jiang family coming to greet them. They congratulate Jiang Fengmian and enjoy the thirty seconds of attention he can bestow upon them, and then continue greeting all other members of the family. Lan Zhan sticks to his side, so he simply stays right where he is, half-shielded by Lan Zhan, and pastes a friendly smile on his face.

‘Yes, look here,’ he says to himself. ‘Your token gay cousin and his boyfriend are here.’

It’s a ridiculous notion, but it keeps him smiling. And it’s not wrong. Most of the offspring in the Jiang family has married early, and everyone married a heterosexual partner. All of them also got busy producing more offspring basically from the wedding night onwards. The only notable exception is Jiang Cheng, who is a late bloomer if there has ever been one, and Wei Ying, of course. Wei Ying, who always thought he was straight but never felt he should date or marry, until he fell head over heels for Lan Zhan. Wei Ying, who hasn’t looked at another person since.

Literally any other cousin in this family that is over the age of eighteen is married and has produced at least one child already. It’s kind of insane.

“Lan Zhan!” a voice drowns out the general cacophony of noise. “It’s so good to see you!”

And out of the middle of the crowd appears a tiny old woman, leaning heavily on her cane. Granny Yu is as old as stone, and her legs are bad, but her voice still carries with the vigour of a woman who’s used to being obeyed.

Lan Zhan obediently leans down so Granny Yu can inspect him. As usual, she seems to have no complaints as far as Lan Zhan is concerned. When she turns her eyes to Wei Ying, however, they become critical.

“Wei Ying!” she belts. “You are so thin! Look at you! Lan Zhan! Are you feeding him right?”

“Granny Yu,” Wei Ying tries to appease her, “I’m already an adult, I can take care of myself.”

“Nonsense,” Granny Yu grouses. “You’ve always been a terrible eater. Always hoarding your food until it went bad. Lan Zhan, you need to make sure that he’s eating.”

It’s embarrassing, to get reminded of the little habits he picked up while living on the streets. He got rid of that particular habit one year or so after he was adopted by the Jiang family, but Granny Yu never forgot about the time when she discovered his little food hoard, and has been checking his size, weight and general health ever since. She always tells her many grandchildren to eat, but with Wei Ying she’s that more tenacious. And once Wei Ying started dating Lan Zhan, she never failed to remind Lan Zhan to feed him properly. And Lan Zhan, with infinite patience, agreed with her every single time, promising to take care of Wei Ying.

Well, he did use to feed Wei Ying. But Wei Ying’s current state, which he thinks is hardly different from his usual state, is not Lan Zhan’s responsibility. If he’s a little thinner than usual, that’s on himself. Still, Lan Zhan nods seriously as he’s being admonished by Granny Yu.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, and it’s easy to lay his hand on Lan Zhan’s chest to get his attention, as if he never stopped doing it. “Don’t listen to her. I can feed myself.”

Lan Zhan looks at him, and the mulish expression on his face is familiar enough that Wei Ying can read it immediately. Lan Zhan has said it to him before: ‘A little more weight won’t hurt you. And a little more food does neither make you greedy nor a glutton.’

“I will eat to my heart’s content today, Granny Yu,” Wei Ying says out loud, because he really wants to shut down this discussion as soon as possible. “So don’t blame Lan Zhan, hmm?”

Granny Yu seems slightly mollified by his promise. She huffs once, and then starts herding people towards where she wants them at the large tables prepared for them.

Wei Ying is relieved once Granny Yu is gone. The first test has been passed, and no one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

That changes the next moment when Jiang Cheng suddenly appears next to Wei Ying.

“I can’t believe you actually brought him with you,” he hisses into Wei Ying’s ear.

“Jiang Cheng,” Wei Ying warns him. “We’ve talked about this.”

“You’re just trying to garner points with Granny Yu,” Jiang Cheng shoots back. “Because she always liked you best.”

Before anything more can be said, Wei Ying finds himself pulled away from Jiang Cheng. He just catches Lan Zhan’s angry glare (directed at Jiang Cheng) out of the corner of his eye, then he’s maneuvered to the seats that have been reserved for him and Lan Zhan.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying whispers to Lan Zhan once they’re seated. “I warned him like three times not to say anything.”

Lan Zhan doesn’t reply, but he takes Wei Ying’s hand into his own and lifts it to press a kiss on his knuckles.

The lips that brush his skin are soft and warm. It’s so gentle, and so sweet.

It’s too much.

The gesture is far too intimate; too intimate for what they are no more, too intimate for the occasion, too intimate for Wei Ying’s heart.

He pully his hand out of Lan Zhan’s hold, attempting to make it seem natural and not like he’s trying to escape the affection of his own (fake) boyfriend. Still, he has to take a few deep breaths to collect himself. It’s too much. He feels shaky. He was a fool when he thought he could casually see Lan Zhan for one day and not be haunted by the ghosts of the past that he never managed to exorcise the entire time.

Lan Zhan doesn’t try to engage him again. Instead, he exchanges a few words with one of Wei Ying’s uncles seated across the table, and the bustling around them continues as if everything is perfectly fine, until the food finally arrives.

[pcygoldenchild]

Ole Reliable

✨summary: Chanyeol, big shot CEO, was scary to say the least. But he was only so scary because he had you to make sure he was on top.

✨warnings: NSFW, dirty talk, sexual intercourse, cum play, breeding

Part 1

The next day you woke up on the couch of your condo. Your small body only in your bra and underwear. You were held tight in Chanyeol’s arms who was still sound asleep. His eyelashes and lips always caught your attention at times like this, which you two had a lot of. It was nice seeing him not stressed about work or anything. Just to watch him in his sleep was something you loved doing any chance you got. His busy eyes still fluttering under his eyelids. You like to think he was always dreaming of you.

“That’s creepy.” he said with his eyes still closed. You smiled and didn’t say anything.

“I can feel you staring at me.” he said again. You didn’t say anything still and just couldn’t help but smile at him.

“I don’t care. Stare all you want. I know I’m beautiful.” he says smirking. You roll your eyes and get up. He finally opens his eyes and watches you put on his large dress shirt. He grabs your thigh before you start to walk away. He just holds you still and looks up at you with that signature Park Sparkle.

“That’s creepy.” you say as you remove his hand and walk into the kitchen. You grab a glass and get some water. He joins you in the kitchen in just his briefs; he was built like a Greek God. You can’t help but stare at his ass and back when he goes to grab his own glass of water. He leans on the sink across from where you were leaning.

“Shamelessly checking me out.” he says as he takes a sip. You put your glass down and cross your arms.

“Like you don’t look at my ass or tits any chance you get. Doesn’t matter if it’s here, your place or the office.” you defend. He did have a really bad habit of checking you out at the worst times. Worst times meaning in front of his colleagues or parents.

“No shame in looking at what’s mine.” he said nonchalantly. Mine. That word sent shivers down your spine and he didn’t even know it.

“Yours? Last time I checked, there are no relationships between colleagues.” you said taking a step closer to him. You lean forward and put your glass in the sink looking up at him.

“I’m the boss. I can do whatever I want.” he said staring down at you and down his shirt loosely buttoned on your body.

“That’s called abuse of power Chanyeol and is very bad.” you said. Abuse of power is actually really bad for a business so you weren’t lying.

“You’re right. But I specifically have no rule against relationships in the office. You should know that. You helped me decide.” he smirked. You were now pulled flush against him as his hands were around your waist.

“That was 5 years ago. I don’t remember that and it’s hypocritical then if you basically forbid Jason from dating that girl from HR.” There was a big “scandal” in the office when Chanyeol called Jason to a meeting to discuss his...incident.

“They were caught, by me, fucking in his office. I did not want to see that. And they were not dating. They were fucking each other’s brains out for the hell of it.” he defended. He was right. They were like horny rabbits always flirting and hooking up.

“And what’s so different about us?” you ask as you run your hands up his muscular arms.

“Well for one, I love you. And two, I don’t just fuck you. I make love to you. There’s a great difference between us and them.” he said smirking down at you like he won a medal.

“You make love to me? I don’t recall this Park Chanyeol. Care to explain?” you smirk as you walk back until you are against the island counter. He smiles at you and inspects your body. You can’t help but see how tight his briefs are getting and the growing figure in them.

“Hmm the last time we made love? It was exactly a week ago from today. We came back from dinner and decided to go to my place. You we wearing this really tight black dress that showed off every curve of your body. It was driving me insane all night and you knew it. The second I walked into the bedroom you were standing there waiting for me to take it off you. I’m pretty sure you remember the rest of how that night went.” he said bringing back the events of a magical night. You did remember every bit of it. From the way his lips explored you to the way his dick filled your hole.

“I’d love to show you again but I’m really in the mood for something else.” he stepped closer to you, leaning his hands on the counter so his face was level with yours. You bit your lip at the familiar glimmer in his eyes.

“Does it involve fucking me?” you breath out. He smiles and runs one of his hands down the front of his shirt unbuttoning the two buttons you had fastened. Your matching bra and panty set now exposed to him as he examined you like he didn’t already know every part of you.

“It does. It involves me fucking you right here. The first time we fucked in your place was right when you moved in. We fucked right here in this kitchen with boxes we were supposed to be unpacking all around us.” he said as he pulled your panties down. You removed the shirt and he continued on to your bra.

“I remember. It was so good we had to reenact it at your place; twice.” you smile. You two were incredibly horny when you were together. Especially when he was this good looking; you had control in the office but outside of it you did not hold back.

“Lets bring that back shall we?” he said as he lifts your now naked body onto your counter top. Your bare ass hits the cold marble as you brace yourself. You watch as he slips his briefs down and fucking hell was he blessed. Everytime felt like the first time you’ve seen his cock. It was extremely pretty, the only pretty dick you’ve seen in real life. It was fitting to be on such a beautiful man.

“If I weren’t positive you were in love with my dick, I’d be self conscious from the way you stare at it.” he said coming between your legs. You instantly grab his neck and taste his plump lips. He responds and grabs your hips pulling you into him more so you were on the edge of the counter. You loved the taste of him, the taste of his need for you. You two completely forgot the need for oxygen or the lack there of. All until your own breath was taken away when you felt his tip rubbing harshly against your clit. You moaned into his mouth and shivered at the feeling. You looked down and saw him guiding his leaking tip directly on to your clit. Your body reacted to this just the way he liked it.

“You never fail to lose it when I do this. It’s my secret weapon to make you a mess. What is it? Is it the feeling of my tip on your sensitive little clit? Or is it the sight of my hard cock touching your pussy? Which is it sweetheart?” he said while still rubbing your clit. The feeling making your skin tingle and his words lighting a spark in your core.

“Fuck Chanyeol.” was all you could say as you tried not to get too worked up. He enjoyed this. He enjoyed making you squirm like this from the little things.

“You’re so worked up sweetheart. It’s really fucking with me, you know that? You know what sounding like that does to me?” he said playing with your nipples.

“Mhm. Yes. God yes Chanyeol!” you breathed out. You grabbed his face and pulled his lips to yours. Anything to stop him from talking while he was torturing your clit. He responded back and you could feel his smirk against your lips.

“Fuck!” you gasped when he fully thrusted inside you, no warning. He smiled again into your lips as you stayed with your face screwed up in pure ecstasy. Your eyebrows were upturned and your mouth stayed in an ‘o’ as he slid in and out of you. He stared into your eyes as soft groans escaped his beautiful lips. Your own soft whimpers bouncing around the kitchen walls.

“Always so tight for me. Always so fucking hungry for me. All mine. Do you hear me? You’re mine.” he says with every deep thrust into you. You were nodding and moaning like crazy. He was driving your emotions and senses crazy. Everything working in harmony to make you clench down around him repeatedly. He was filling you to the point where any sudden movement was enough to make you shiver. His hands got tighter on your hips the more he fucking into you. The feeling of his constant pounding effecting him just as much as you. Both of you were going to release soon and it was going to be hard.

“Fuck I’m going to cum! Please don’t stop!” you pleaded. He repeated ‘I won’t’ over and over again with his thrusts. You were both becoming very sensitive and now it was time to combust.

You felt your stomach tighten, your abs flexing. You laid back on the counter and arched your back. The cold hitting your tingling flesh eliciting the most lewd whined from you as you cum around your precious Chanyeol. You squirmed and clenched uncontrollably around him as you tried your hardest not to love yah him away. He on the other hand was always so calm when cumming. His reactions were subtle. He watched your squirming body and go through the pleasure of an orgasm. His hands dig into your sides as his own release washed over him. He always slows down and glides against your walls slowly as his cum squats into you. He only lets out those low deep groans that make his voice seem 10 times lower than it is.

When he escaped your body leaving behind a feeling of bliss you relaxed into the cold counter. He still had his grip on your hips and was still deep inside you. You opened your eyes and looked at the sweaty radiant man in front of you. He was watching you just like you do him. He then slowly pulled out making you flinch at the feeling. He watched some of his cum spill out of you, not allowing it to fall to the floor.

“I have the craziest idea.” he said playing with your sensitive leaking hole. His fingers rubbed your folds lightly.

“Every idea you have is crazy.” you say sitting up a little. The action made more of his seed come out of you. He quickly pushed it back in locking it in with his fingers.

“This one is pretty crazy.” he smirked. He looked down at his fingers inside you preventing his cum from leaving you. You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Park Chanyeol. What are you doing?” you ask.

“Giving you a baby.” he smiled his pearly smile. You couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“At least marry me first.” you teased closing your legs and sitting up. He leaned in and kissed you still smiling like he had this all planned.

“Hmm you’re right. Although we are already basically married, let’s get married and try this again. Maybe in the dining room? Maybe my office for old times sake?” he teased. And to be honest you’d fuck him anywhere. You’d do anything with him. Because he’s apart of you as you are apart of him. His ole reliable in every part of his life. The one who has his signature Park Sparkle.

[master-sass-blast]

Meeting the Rasputins

HOLY. FUCK. IT’S DONE.

This is 19.6k words long. It was SIXTY-ONE FUCKING PAGES in Word before I switched everything to Tumblr formatting.

I want an award. I deserve it.

Summary: You finally meet Piotr’s family face-to-face. And, because nothing in your life is simple (and because I’m the author), you wind up with a head injury that provides a lot of much needed answers.

[Set after ‘Silent Scream.’]

Rating: T for sibling rivalries/issues, depictions of child abuse, head injuries, angst, angst, and more angst.

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

Much love and thanks to @leo-writer for proof-reading this monster!

@marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @rovvboat

You like to think that, in your relatively short time on this not-as-green-as-it-ought-to-be Earth, you’ve handled more than your fair share of shit and come out fine. You were raised by abusive parents, grew up in a community that persecuted and tormented you, were hunted by men with rifles, and have had to deal with Wade Wilson on cocaine withdrawals. You’ve looked death in the eye and walked away –relatively—unscathed. You are a grown-ass adult who can handle their own shit, thank you very much.

So, why is it, darling universe that lives to smite me and watch me suffer for no good reason, you think, a touch angry, as you pace the hallway you’re most definitely not hiding in, that I can’t handle meeting a new group of people that I already know doesn’t hate me.

It’s officially time to meet Piotr’s family. Yes, yes, you’ve met them over phone and Skype calls, but now they’re coming here. To the mansion. For a week. To get to know you and visit Piotr.

And you already know that they like you just fine.

But, the little negative troll voice in your head replies, what if they meet you in person and realize just how much of a garbage heap you are, and they decide they don’t want you anywhere near their perfectly functional, not fucked up son?

Touché, you think back, convinced despite yourself.

Before you can delve too much further down that rabbit hole, Nathan walks into the hall from the flight of stairs leading up from the ground floor and grabs you by the arm, thus preventing you from walking a rut into the carpet. “Relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” you grumble. “You’re not meeting the parents and siblings.”

“Yes, I am. Unlike you, for the first time.”

“Yeah, but you don’t need them to like you.”

He raises an eyebrow at that. “I thought you said your previous interactions with them went well?”

“Well, they did—”

“So why wouldn’t they like you now?”

“Because they’re going to figure out that I am a literal garbage fire of a human being.”

Nathan sighs and pulls you in for a one-armed hug. “Kid.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re meeting Wade, too. If you can do worse than him, I’ll actually be impressed.”

You giggle –a little on the hysterical side, but who gives a shit at this point—at that. “Fair enough.”

He pats your back. “You’ve got this. I think the only person outside of where you grew up that doesn’t like you is Scott, and he doesn’t count.”

You snort. “He’s your dad.”

“I said what I said.”

All anxious misgivings aside, you do feel better, more confident. You know that Piotr’s family likes you well enough, and you’re definitely not going to do worse than Wade, of all people. You’ve got this.

And then the door opens, and you can hear Piotr greeting people and talking to them in Russian, and, yupp, his family’s officially here, and you do not got this.

And, in light of that stunning revelation, you take the least destructive course of action possible.

You pass out.

You come to in the library, stretched out on one of the couches, with Wade’s worried face hovering over you.

(His face is also attached to the rest of his body, which is a relief in and of itself. You wouldn’t put it past him to decapitate himself for a reaction.)

“Less screaming than I was expecting. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or not.”

You let out a weak huff. “I’ve seen uglier than you.”

“See, now I’m just offended. I’ll have you know that it takes a lot of work to look this bad, and I will not have my hard work go unrecognized.”

“You look just fine, handsome,” Nathan says softly. He’s seated in the chair next to you. “How’re you feeling?”

“A little lightheaded? Did I pass out?”

He nods. “You know why?”

“Fuck if I know,” you grumble as you fidget with the hem of your shirt.

“I, for one, highly advise never knowing anything ever,” Wade says brightly. “Makes life much easier that way.”

You laugh, and for a moment you almost forget that you’re in here because you passed out, and that you’ve still got to deal meeting Piotr’s family at some point—

And then the door to the library swings open and Piotr walks in, his expression the perfect picture of concern.

You feel your throat constrict as reality comes crashing back and look away quickly in a –bad—attempt to hide the tears welling up in your eyes.

Piotr’s by your side in an instant, cradling you in his arms and crooning to you gently. “Nyet, nyet, nyet. None of that. Why so upset? Are you hurt?”

You sniff lamely. “I’m sorry.”

You can feel him frown as he presses his lips against your forehead. “For what? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I’m just fucking everything up—”

He shushes you again, this time kissing the bridge of your nose. “Not true. You have ruined nothing.”

“But I passed out—”

“It happens—”

“And now your family’s gonna hate me!”

Piotr actually has to pause and blink a few times in order to process your sudden turn in reasoning, which is probably a good indicator for how far off base your logic is –not that you’re aware of that at the moment, because nothing in this life ever comes easy. “Myshka –tische,” he says when you don’t stop rambling. “I am not following. How do you get from ‘passing out’ to ‘my family hating you?’”

You let out a frustrated whine and gesture at your head. “It makes sense in here!”

He sighs softly and kisses your forehead. “You are worrying for nothing. Everything will be fine. I promise.”

You bury your face into his shoulder. “No, it won’t. They’re gonna realize I’m a fucking garbage fire and hate me.”

“You are not garbage fire—”

“Yes, I am!”

“Nyet. You are not.” He kisses your forehead. “Do you trust me?”

You scrub your face with your hands and nod.

“Then, trust me when I say it will be fine.”

“But—”

“Trust me. Please. It will be fine.” He helps you sit up and kisses you gently. “You stay here. I will get my family.”

“Wait.” You grab his shirt before he can stand. “Just –just for a minute. Please?”

He obliges, sitting with you while you take a moment to collect yourself. He holds your hands in his, rubbing little circles over your knuckles. His blue eyes are locked on you, loving and completely judgement free.

He’s a literal, actual angel.

There’s no way in hell you deserve him.

You take a deep breath –two, three, four, c’mon, Y/N, just like ripping off a bandaid—and nod. “Alright. Okay.”

He smiles softly, kisses your forehead, and squeezes your hand once before getting up and heading out of the library.

You can hear him talking in the hallway, and footsteps walking towards the library—

It’s happening. Oh God it’s happening.

Nate squeezes your shoulder. “Deep breaths. You’ve got this.”

You inhale deeply and focus on staying calm. I’ve got this. I’ve got this. I’ve got this.

Meeting the Rasputin family, as it turns out, is not as disastrous as your anxiety thought it would be. Shocking.

It’s also more of an experience than your rational brain had expected. You’d expected them to be a loving, decent family –they are—and the similarities in appearance and personality quirks—

What you did not expect, first and foremost, was for Alexandra Rasputin to walk into the library while shucking a black leather jacket, thus revealing two full sleeves of tattoos on her arms.

Mikhail follows after her, also dressed in a black leather jacket, faded red Chucks, and heavily distressed jeans. He’s got piercings in both ears and long, curly hair that’s been tied back into a man bun, of all things, and you can just make out some sort of tattoo peeking over the collar of his shirt.

Illyana, the baby of the family at nineteen, is also similarly dressed in black –though she looks more ‘refined goth’ than ‘side road punk’ like her brother. Her ears are also pierced, silver studs sparkling from multiple points—

And then Nikolai walks in, wearing sensible, non-worn out jeans and a button-down shirt, and holy fuck you never considered that Piotr might be the odd kid out.

Next to you, Wade’s also similarly shocked. He’s actually gaping, mostly because he doesn’t give a shit about what anyone thinks about him. “How did your boy scout end up like that with all of… this?” he hisses in your ear.

“Fuck if I know,” you whisper back.

“Y/N.” Alexandra smiles warmly at you, brown eyes sparkling as she extends a hand towards you. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.” Her dark, black hair cascades over one shoulder as she shakes your hand—

And it’s not hard to see why your uncle fell for her, way back whenever that was. You’re two seconds in to meeting Alexandra Rasputin, and you’re downright charmed.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you manage. “Sorry, uh, about the—”

She waves you off as she sits on the couch opposite of you. “These things happen. No apologies needed.”

After nearly a whole lifetime of being raked over the coals for your differences, your weaknesses, her simple, easy acceptance of the situation –of you—almost makes you cry.

Piotr goes about making the necessary introductions between his family, Wade, and Nate; since you know enough about Alexandra’s backstory, it’s easy to catch the glints of sharpness in her eyes that set her apart from her family, the little bits of awareness of who she’s talking to and just what they might be capable of. You’ve seen it in Wade, Nate, your uncle, Neena, and it’s… interesting to watch it now.

Illyana wrinkles her nose at Wade once the two of them are introduced, and for a moment you think she might say something about his appearance, but then she says, “I cannot read him.” She pauses for a moment, then jerks her chin at Nate. “Him either.”

That gets an eyebrow raise from Nathan. “You’re telepathic.”

“Wade has healing factor,” Piotr explains. “None of telepaths here can read him.”

“Pretty sure they wouldn’t want to!” Wade adds brightly.

“And Nathan…”

“Techno-organic virus,” Nate supplies, gesturing at his arm. “Part of it’s in my brain already. Puts out interference against telepaths.”

“So, your arm is not prosthetic?” Nikolai asks.

“It’s a virus I contracted as a child. It eats away at my organic body and replaces what it eats with metal and technology.”

Alexandra’s lips quirk into something resembling a smirk. “Fun.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“And… how are you two related to Y/N?” Mikhail asks, brow furrowed. “She’s mentioned that the two of you are together, and I’ve heard Wade referred to as ‘brother,’ but she calls you ‘dad’…”

“They’re my adoptive family,” you clarify quickly. “None of us are actually related to each other.”

“And what about your biological family?” Nikolai interjects.

You grimace. You’ve kept your proverbial cards close to your chest about your biological family –some things just aren’t meant to be discussed over a Skype call. But now, now doesn’t seem quite like the right time to talk about it –your parents, growing up, everything—either.

You settle on the simplest option. “I’m not in contact with them, save for my uncle. He might show up while you’re here. Or not. He’s kinda like a cat, actually. Does what he damn well pleases when it damn well pleases him.”

Alexandra smirks, then nods. “Well, hopefully we’ll get to meet him.”

You wonder for a moment if she’s just playing along, or if she has no idea who you’re talking about, then shrug. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

There’s quite a bit you pick up about the Rasputin family in your first face-to-face conversation with them.

First, it’s that Nikolai’s the talker of the two parents. He’s not overly animated or loud, but asks the most questions and offers the most anecdotes. Alex, by contrast, seems more content to observe. Most of her commentary is a simple expression –a smirk, a raise of an eyebrow—or a gentle huff.

Alexandra, however, is definitely the wittier of the two of them. Which isn’t to say that Nikolai isn’t witty, but Alex can go toe to toe with Wade, of all people.

All conversation effectively dies for about five minutes because all of you are gasping for air after the two of them get going.

Second, it’s that the family seems to be full of ‘odd ones out.’ Case in point, Illyana’s the only Rasputin child to have gotten Nikolai’s blond hair –but Alexandra’s the only one with brown eyes; all of her children have her husband’s baby blues.

And Piotr’s really the only one that’s like Nikolai in mannerisms. His two siblings have more of Alexandra’s ‘grit’ to them. Their smiles are a little sharper around the edges, their responses a little edgier than their brother’s.

Illyana, however, is the only quiet one. Mikhail is loud and gregarious –roguish, even—and Piotr easily outpaces his baby sister by miles in the conversation department.

“She’s too used to using her abilities to glean everyone’s thoughts,” Alexandra says of her daughter at one point, nudging Illyana’s leg with her foot –and that’s when you notice that Alexandra Rasputin is wearing combat boots. “Not used to talking.”

“It is more efficient,” Illyana mutters, smirking just a little.

The third thing you notice about the Rasputin family takes a little more time to put together. In fact, you don’t really even pick up on it until you’re helping Piotr get his family settled in.

Mikhail and Piotr Rasputin do not get along.

“Do you like being X-Man?” Illyana asks as you and Piotr help his family unload the car they arrived in.

“I’m not technically an X-Man,” you clarify. “But I do help with missions, now and then. I wouldn’t say it’s ‘fun,’ but it’s definitely not boring.”

“Piotr says he likes it,” the youngest Rasputin explains. She smiles and wraps her arms around her brother’s waist. “Says it is best choice he ever made.”

Piotr beams as he squeezes her in a one-armed hug. “I like helping others, teaching others to be better. I find it fulfilling.”

“And some of us,” Mikhail interjects as he pulls a massive black duffel bag out of the back of the car, “like having fun.”

“Mikhail does mercenary work,” Illyana whispers to you as Piotr grimaces.

And, suddenly, Piotr’s constant aggravation with Wade makes sense; it just hits too close to home for comfort.

“Not just that, but da.” Mikhail grins. “Not all of us can live with being glorified nyanya.”

Piotr’s grimace deepens into a frown. “I see nothing wrong with it.”

Mikhail shrugs –a tense, jerky movement that belies the casual expression on his face—and starts walking briskly towards the house. “Not all of us can be you.”

You don’t miss the way Piotr’s shoulders sag, just a little, and roll up onto your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I think you’re an amazing teacher. The kids here are lucky to have you.”

He smiles down at you and kisses your forehead. “Spasibo, moya serdste.”

One of the best things about normal families that don’t hate each other, you’ve discovered, is that there’s an abundance of evidence of them being happy and living each other. Namely, in the form of pictures.

Especially pictures of childhood and teenage years that the subject of said picture might want, say, buried forever and left forgotten to humanity for the rest of time.

Which is how you find yourself cooing over various baby, childhood, and teenage-years pictures of Piotr while your boyfriend and his father work on preparing dinner. “Oh. My. Gosh.” You hold a picture of Piotr dated from when he was fifteen. “You never told me you dyed your hair!”

The picture itself shows a teenage Piotr favoring the camera with a brooding expression. He’s dressed in baggy jeans, a black hoodie, worn out looking farm boots –and his hair is dyed bright, obnoxious, blue-raspberry flavored Airhead blue.

Not the top, or the fringe. His whole head.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head, tips of his ears turning red as he focuses –very intently—on the skillet he’s working with. “I fail to see what is so amazing about all of this. My hair was blue. Many teenagers dye hair.”

“He had his friend pierce his ears in barn during summer,” Illyana adds, leaning over your shoulder to point at the picture. “He thought it looked cool.”

“It did look cool,” Piotr mutters under his breath; he shoots a sharp glare at Mikhail when his brother spouts off something in Russian, but says nothing else.

You can’t help but laugh when you make out the stud in your boyfriend’s ear. “Oh my gosh. You were an emo kid! Did you really pierce your ears?”

He sighs, but smiles with a shrug. “Da. I took piercings out when I turned twenty. The holes scarred shut.”

“Can I see?” You reach out for him when he sighs, then grin when he hands the pan he’s working with off to his father and makes his way over to you. You brace your hands against his chest and peer at his ear as he bends over so you can see better –and, sure enough, there’s a faint scar right on his lobe where the piercing used to be.

“Is not that funny,” he mumbles when you laugh, but he kisses your forehead anyway.

Mikhail chuckles. “Kiska-vzbityye.”

And while you don’t know what that particular phrase means, the sudden glare he gets from Piotr and the none-too-subtle throat clearing from Nikolai and Alexandra tell you that it couldn’t have been particularly nice—

And then all ponderings you have about what Mikhail just said fly out the window, because your uncle lands on the back lawn of Xavier’s property.

“Holy shit.” You dart out the back door and across the lawn to where he’s standing.

Your uncle catches you in a massive hug and spins you around. “Hey, punk! How ya doing?”

“Good! What’re you doing here? I didn’t even know you were coming!”

He smirks, shrugs, and starts steering you back towards the mansion. “Had the time off. Got bored of jacking around at my place. Thought I’d come see you.”

You can’t help but beam as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “Well, your timing’s just amazing.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, Piotr’s family came to visit—” You cut yourself off right as the two of you step back into the kitchen, because at that precise moment you recollect the conversation on your uncle’s farm where you put together that he’d had a thing for Piotr’s mom –still has a thing for Piotr’s mom—and aw fuck.

The collective reactions from everyone in the kitchen are best described as ‘mixed.’

Your uncle, true to form, goes completely and utterly still at the sight of Piotr’s family. All signs point towards him bolting out the back door once the shock passes.

Mikhail seems more curious than anything else, which suggests that he doesn’t know the whole backstory between your uncle and his mother.

Piotr, who knows what you told him back on the farm, keeps looking between his parents, your uncle, and you, expression saying ‘what the hell do we do with this?’

Illyana’s face stays fairly neutral, but you can only imagine what sorts of thoughts she’s picking up from everyone.

Nikolai, surprisingly enough, doesn’t seem all that perturbed. Surprised, sure, but there’s none of the usual –or, perhaps more accurately, projected by mass media—automatic jealousy and chest thumping you would’ve expected.

And Alexandra, as true to form for all you have context for, smirks and lifts the bottle of beer she’s been sipping at while everyone’s been chatting and prepping dinner towards your uncle. “Been a while.”

That gets Mikhail’s attention. He frowns at his mother and jerks his head at your uncle. “You know him?”

One of Alex’s eyebrows tic upwards, just for a moment, and she lifts the bottle to her mouth to take another sip. “Old colleague.”

And that’s got to be some sort of code for whatever Alexandra’s got lurking in her past, because Mikhail’s eyes narrow automatically and he starts regarding your uncle with about as much caution you suspect he’s capable of.

Your uncle’s mouth tightens into a grimace –and then he sighs and visibly forces himself to relax. “Yeah. It has been.” He gestures with the hiking backpack he has slung over his shoulder. “Let me get settled, and then I’ll help get dinner ready.”

For a moment, you’re completely shocked by his apparent decision to stay –and so is everyone else, from what you can tell, because even Alex looks surprised—and then your brain kicks back on. “Uh, yeah. Let me help you find a room to stay in.”

It’s easy enough to find a room –most of the students and teachers are out for the summer, either staying with or visiting family—and you pick one that faces away from the drive and has a balcony.

Your uncle sets his pack on the floor next to the bed. “Thanks, punk.”

You nod and laugh nervously. “If I leave you to get settled in, are you just going to leave via the balcony and head back home?”

He sighs heavily, rubs at the back of his neck with his hand, then shakes his head. “No. I came here to see you. That hasn’t changed.”

You blink, stunned. “But Piotr’s family—”

He shrugs. “I’ll manage. I’m not gonna ditch out on you just because some people –well, no, yeah, ‘people,’ I met Nick a couple times way back when—I used to know are here. I’m not gonna do that to you.”

You throat constricts with emotion and your eyes get misty with tears. You practically dive at your uncle and wrap your arms around his neck in a massive hug.

He holds you back just as tight as you start to cry. “I got you, punk. I got you.”

You wake up next morning when Piotr does. Pale, golden, early morning light is peeking through the cracks between the curtains and the window frames; you can hear birds chirping outside, occasionally punctuated by sounds of traffic or people waking up from somewhere else in the house.

Piotr kisses your forehead when you stretch and make various squeaking noises. “Dobroye utro, myshka. It is still early. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

You sigh contentedly and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down for a proper kiss. “No. ‘M up. What’re you doing?”

“Getting ready to work on breakfast.”

You stretch again –your back finally gives a satisfying pop—and sit up. “I’ll help you.”

He smirks as he resumes getting dressed for the morning. “‘Help’ or ‘hinder?’”

You gasp and feign offense. “I’ll have you know I’m plenty helpful!”

He chuckles –then laughs when you get up and start poking him in the ribs for some well-deserved retaliation, before catching your hands in his and lifting them to his mouth so he can kiss your knuckles. “Ya lyublyu tebya, dorogoy.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” You kiss him gently, then start rummaging through your dresser to find a clean shirt and pair of shorts. “So… what do you think of my uncle being here?”

Piotr lets out a mildly amused huff. “I was not… expecting him.”

“Neither was I,” you mumble. You clear your throat, then say, “Are you, like, okay with him being around? Y’know, while your mom’s here?”

Piotr shrugs. “She seems comfortable enough. Besides, your uncle has just as much right to see you as moya mama does to see me.”

“Okay, but your mom has the poker face of a granite statue.”

He snorts at that. “Very true. But I think she is… as good with things as possible.”

Suitably dressed, you pull your hair back into a messy, somewhat haphazard bun, before pulling on a pair of socks. “Fair enough.” You kiss your burly boyfriend again before patting his chest and yanking him towards the hallway door. “Come on. I want coffee.”

As it so happens, Piotr’s parents and your uncle are already awake for the day and seated at the kitchen island. Your uncle seems a little twitchy –well, more so than usual—but seems to be holding up well, all things considered.

You plop down on the stool next to him and drop your head onto the counter. “Ow.”

“Try it again,” your uncle suggests. “I bet it won’t hurt the second time around.”

“Fuck you.”

Across the counter, Alexandra snorts. “How are you this morning, malen'kaya ptitsa?”

It takes you a minute to put together that she’s talking to you; when you do, you lift your head off the counter. “Uh… not bad? Kinda tired, but that’s pretty typical.”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a slight smile as she nods, and then she leans back on her stool a little and starts talking to Piotr in Russian.

You let the noise of their conversation wash over you as you drop your head back down to the counter –much gentler this time—and close your eyes. You’re starting to wonder if agreeing to get up when Piotr did was such a good idea after all—

And then Piotr sets a steaming mug of coffee down in front of you and kisses the top of your head.

Your uncle smirks as you pick up your cup with a delighted coo. “What, can’t make your own coffee?”

“I’m not allowed to dictate my own caffeine intake anymore,” you admit, “because someone thinks I’m irresponsible.”

“You drank three Redbull cans in almost as many hours when we drove out for training,” Piotr retorts, fixing you with an exasperated look. “You are exact definition of ‘irresponsible.’”

You smile sheepishly as the other adults laugh. “Yeah, but you love me.”

He kisses your temple. “Konechno.”

“Where do you go for training?” Alexandra asks as Piotr starts rummaging through the kitchen to get started on breakfast. “I was under the impression that Charles had well-equipped trainers to handle his recruits.”

“Oh, I do train here.” You jerk your head at your uncle. “I just go see him on occasion, if I need special training.”

Alexandra nods. “Not many mutants have access to other mutants with similar power sets. You are very lucky.”

You snort. “Well, I don’t know if I’d say ‘lucky.’ He lives out in the middle of nowhere. It’s a pain to get out to him.”

“Travelling builds character,” your uncle fires back easily.

“You make me do chores when I’m there!”

“Chores build character, too.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and shake your head. “Yeah, whatever.” You take another swig of coffee, then cock your head to the side so you can see Alex’s tattoos better. “Y’know, even with all the times I talked to you guys on Skype, I don’t think I ever counted on you having tattoos.”

“Most people do not,” Alexandra says with a slight smirk.

“How long did it take for you to get all of them done?”

“Well, the actual tattoos take a few sessions to do, since they cover my full arms.” She holds up her left arm. “I worked on developing this sleeve for… a few years, I think, in my twenties, but this one—” she taps the right one “—I got done in a few weeks, when I was forty-two. Medvezhonok actually designed it for me, before he left to come to America.”

“That’s cool.” You peer closer at the design –it’s a piece that blends a sunset on a beach into a full on starry galaxy—and sure enough you pick up on little bits of Piotr’s style. “I never actually considered getting a tattoo. I guess I could get one, if I wanted to.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it,” your uncle interjects. “The family’s latent mutation is gonna make it harder for the ink to set properly.”

You let out a disappointed huff. “Well. That sucks.”

“Same goes for piercings, too.”

“Well, now I’m just depressed. How am I supposed to go through a proper rebellious phase without being able to get a tattoo or pierce the fuck out of my ears?”

“You still have hair,” Nikolai points out with a smile.

You grin. “That’s true. I could always dye my hair. And you could help me, babe, since you know all about that!”

Piotr just sticks his tongue out at you before going back to getting breakfast ready.

“So, what’s it like living in Russia?” I mean, Piotr’s already told me a lot, but I’m sure there’s stuff he left out.”

Alexandra and Nikolai take turns telling stories –about what farm life is like, about what the kids were like growing up, about the community they lived in. Each one’s better than the last, and it’d be more than easy to stay enthralled—

Except that your brain keeps putting certain details together.

Like how the Rasputin family lives on a farm.

And how your uncle mentioned that Alexandra had always wanted to live on a farm.

And how your uncle is still in some sort of love with Alexandra.

…And how he lives on a farm, too.

You wind up staring at him halfway through a story about how Mikhail had tried to teach their barn cats to swim, and the growing look of confusion and mild horror must be more obvious than you’d thought because Alex actually stops mid-sentence to glance between you and your uncle.

“Am I missing something?” she asks.

You blink at your uncle when he raises an eyebrow at you. “You… you live on a farm.”

Alex puts together the details much faster than you did and gives your uncle a look that lands somewhere between exasperation and shock.

“Relax,” your uncle grinds out quickly. “My coping mechanisms aren’t that bad. It’s a matter of convenience. Easier for me to stay off radars that way.”

“Konechno, konechno,” Nikolai says with genuine sweetness. “What kind of farm?”

“Not really anything specific. I grow some produce, but that’s about it –and it’s mostly for me, too,” your uncle explains with a jerky shrug. “It’s more about staying in the middle of nowhere.”

Nikolai frowns softly. “Must be lonely.”

Your uncle ducks his head, clears his throat, and pushes his stool back with a scraping noise as he stands. “Hey, Pete. Let me help you with some of that.”

It’s a clear cry for some space. Please, stop asking, I can’t take anymore.

Nikolai’s forehead wrinkles as your uncle walks to the opposite side of the kitchen. He opens his mouth to say something else, then pauses when Alexandra puts her hand on his arm.

She shakes her head.

Don’t try. Leave him be.

He closes his mouth again, hangs his head slightly –then clears his throat and straightens back up before smiling at you. “So. You… enjoy it here?” He gestures at the room. “At mansion?”

It’s unfathomable, but it almost seems like he’s… worried about your uncle. About the man who –at one point, ostensibly—was his romantic rival.

And, granted there’s a lot of water under the bridge that might’ve been Alex and your uncle, but the absolute, unlimited gentleness that Nikolai exudes is nothing short of amazing.

He reminds you a lot of Piotr, actually.

You smile back and nod. “I do.”

You wind up going on a run while your uncle and Piotr get breakfast ready. Since it’s the middle of summer there aren’t any students to interrupt your efforts, leaving you to run one of the trails in the woods at the back of Xavier’s property in peace.

And with that peace comes a lot of thoughts.

So far, things aren’t going all that bad with Piotr’s family –even with your uncle randomly showing up. You haven’t made an ass of yourself, and none of the Rasputins seemed too put off by your fainting spell yesterday.

You can still feel the need to have them like you lingering in your chest, though. A little nagging sensation that you’re not good enough.

Focus on running, you tell yourself. Oxygen in, bad thoughts out. Catharsis. Not twisting your ankles. Yes.

You slow down to a jog as you come out of the woods and onto the back lawn—

And nearly stop altogether when you see your uncle and Alexandra sitting out on the patio by the back door.

Because out of everything you expected to see today, that is not even close to any of it.

Alex inclines her head at you as you approach. “Care to join us?”

“For a minute, sure.” You plop down into one of the patio chairs and pant heavily. “I think I’m properly awake now.”

“I bet,” Alex says.

“I thought you only ran for food,” your uncle teases.

“Yes. This is my ‘pre-breakfast’ run.”

“What, do you have a pre-lunch run, too?”

“No. I’m not a masochist.”

Alex chuckles, then lifts her hand and makes a loose twisting motion.

The back door swings open just in time to let Nikolai –who’s carrying three cups of coffee with him—out onto the patio.

You keep an eye on your uncle as the two Rasputin parents converse briefly in Russian. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem too much weirder than normal, but that doesn’t mean you’re not done worrying.

Nikolai sets down one of the cups in front of Alex, one in front of the chair next to her, then hands the third to your uncle. “I was not sure how you take—”

Your uncle waves him off as accepts the cup. “Coffee’s coffee. I drink it however. Uh, thank you.”

You can’t help but blink.

It’s not every day you witness a man giving his former (sorta) romantic rival a cup of coffee, after all.

Nate and Wade show up a little before lunch –and Wade is absolutely delighted to finally meet your uncle –and vice versa—after so much time and speculation.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” your uncle says as he shakes Wade’s hand. “Especially a lot about you and fireworks.”

“We have a love-hate relationship,” Wade says with the utmost sincerity.

“And this—” you gesture to Nate “—is dad. Or, uh, Nate.”

Your uncle sticks out his hand to Nathan. “I already like you better than her biological one.” There’s a beat of silence, and your uncle looks like he’s dying inside for a moment before he looks down at you. “Awkward?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Just repress it?”

“Probably the best option.”

Nathan’s lips curl into a smirk. “I’m already seeing the family resemblance.”

“Terminal awkwardness,” you supply. “It’s genetic.”

“Part of the mutation lineage,” your uncle adds.

“So, not to point out the obvious, but you—” Wade points at you “—didn’t introduce him with a name.”

You freeze for a minute, because fuck there’s really not a good way to explain that—

“Legally, I don’t have one,” your uncle says.

Wade’s eyes light up. “So, that’s free game to call you whatever pops into my head in the moment?”

“Fuck no. Andrew works fine.”

“Well. That’s disappointingly vanilla.”

Your uncle watches Wade as he traipses into Xavier’s like he owns the place, an amused smile play at his lips. “Oh, he’s a riot.”

“Just wait,” you tell him. “He gets better.”

Ellie and Yukio show up after lunch –and both girls immediately gravitate towards Illyana, and you can absolutely see where some of Ellie’s goth style comes from now that you’ve got the two of them side by side.

“This is so cute, I can’t,” you whisper to Wade as you watch the two of them compare notes about some of the latest fashion trends in their fashion community.

“Baby Goth and… less Baby Goth,” Wade agrees. “Hi, Yukio!”

“Hi, Wade!”

“Did you bring it?” Ellie asks Illyana, the most excited and animated-looking you’ve seen her, well, ever. “Did you bring it?”

Illyana laughs. “Konechno. I must practice.”

Ellie whirls and looks imploringly up at Piotr. “Can we go to the music room? Please?”

Illyana bats her eyelashes at her older brother. “I do need practice.”

You frown, confused. “Wait, what? What practice? And why do we need to go to the music room it?”

Piotr chuckles as he starts walking out of the kitchen. “Come and see.”

Part of your curiosity is sated when Mikhail and Illyana walk into the music room with a guitar case and a violin case, respectively.

And then whatever satiation you might’ve had evaporates when Illyana pulls out an instrument you’ve never seen before. “The fuck is that?”

“Language, myshka.”

“Electric violin,” Illyana says, elbowing Mikhail in the side when he shoots Piotr a disbelieving look. “I played since age seven.”

“And you obviously play guitar,” you say as you point at Mikhail. “Huh. I guess I never thought you guys were musical. I mean, I’ve heard Piotr sing –well, try to sing—”

“We do not let him sing!” Mikhail exclaimed, eyes wide. “Never. He made Illyana cry when she was baby!”

Piotr shrugs somewhat amicably, though his smile looks a touch strained. “I just have different talents. Nothing wrong with that.”

Mikhail snorts. “If you say so.”

“Honestly acquired,” Nikolai pipes up, tapping his own chest with his index finger. “I am not singer either.”

“Play something by Metallica!” Ellie insists brightly as Illyana and Mikhail finish setting up.

Illyana snorts. “Do you enjoy giving complicated request?”

“I think we can handle it,” Mikhail says with an easy grin. “We have been practicing.”

You sit down next to Piotr, nestling against his side as he puts his arm around your shoulders. “Are they really going to play rock music?”

He smiles. “Wait and see.”

It’s quiet for a moment, save for the sounds of Illyana and Mikhail tuning their respective instruments.

Then, Illyana nods, Ellie hits ‘play’ on a CD player, and the opening chords of Metallica’s ‘Ride the Lightning’ blast through the room.

It’s nothing short of astounding. Illyana plays the part originally meant for the lead guitar, while Mikhail bobs his head with the beat as he plays the rhythm part.

You can’t help but grin. You don’t think you’ve ever heard anything like it before. Then, a vocalist kicks in on the CD, and you frown. “Wait. That’s not James Hetfield.”

“Lzzy Hale,” Ellie says over the music. “It’s the Halestorm cover!”

Your jaw drops when Illyana keeps up with the fastest guitar riffs without even breaking a sweat. “Holy shit.”

Piotr doesn’t even bother to correct your language. He just beams like the proud brother he is. “She is very talented.”

“No kidding! I don’t think my fingers could move that fast, like, ever!” You grin and nod your head in time with the music. Alright. Color me impressed.

The next few days are nothing short of utterly delightful. Piotr’s family is absolutely wonderful to be around, your uncle’s not acting any weirder than usual and –dare you say it—even seems to be enjoying himself, and the mansion hasn’t blown up –which might be a record of some kind, all things considered.

Even with the weird tension between Piotr and Mikhail, things are good. The two brothers seem more happy than annoyed to see each other, and things don’t really escalate past a few pointed comments –usually from Mikhail—directed at each other.

If anything, the only regret you’re having is not always have a camera or your phone on hand. There’s no shortage of priceless moments –especially when Alexandra revealed she’d brought some of Piotr’s old artwork with. The look of mortification on his face –and the actual drawings and paintings themselves—was priceless.

It’s almost been downright idyllic.

…

“So, wait, you’re the mutant parent.”

Alexandra nods. “Telekinesis and energy manipulation.”

You point to Nikolai. “And you’re…”

“Carrier,” he says with a smile. “Not actual mutant, but gene is very present in family lineage.”

“So the likelihood that Piotr and I are gonna have mutant kids—”

“Basically guaranteed,” Alexandra says with a smirk. “I’ll be sure to give you a few fireproof blankets before you have your first one.”

Your eyes widen. “Fireproof?”

“Mikhail can summon fire –along with manipulating energy and teleportation.”

“Illyana can teleports, too,” Nikolai adds. “It is magic channeling, from my side of family.”

“So, what you’re saying is, I could have a fireball baby that could teleport at random.”

Alex chuckles. “Mikhail was.. rare. He manifested three weeks after birth. But Piotr was a, ah, late bloomer; we actually thought he wouldn’t be a mutant.”

“Manifested at nineteen,” Nikolai adds with a chuckle.

“Yeah, he’s told me the story. Put himself between Illyana and a tractor, just happened to armor up.” You grimace. “I’m glad he turned out to have an armor mutation.”

“So were we. At any rate, I doubt your children will manifest as young as Mikhail, since Piotr presented so late.” Alex eyes you for a minute. “You are planning on having children?”

You nod. “Yeah, after we get married. We’re just… uh…” You swallow hard and duck your head. “We’re waiting on some things with my health to… clear up.”

“Medvezhonok mentioned as much.”

Nikolai gently places his hand on yours. “How… how are things? Are you healthy?”

You nod as best as you can. “Yeah, pretty much. It’s more, uh, mentally related.”

Alexandra nods. “Your episodes.”

“I take it Piotr mentioned them,” you say with a grimace.

“Only that you had them and that no one knew why,” she clarifies. “He did not give specifics.”

“Yeah.” You sigh heavily. “If I knew why they were happening –if there was a way to treat them—I might not hesitate so much, but… I keep breaking from reality. And –and when I do that, I relive some… some really bad memories from my childhood. My uncle kind of explained it as my mutation putting up a defensive shield around me while I go through the episode? I, uh, I’ve uprooted trees before, so… yeah.”

Nikolai nods as Alexandra translates for him, then frowns deeply and squeezes your hand. “That sounds very… intimidating?”

“Scary,” Alex corrects.

“Da. That one.” He gives you a concerned look. “Do you have way to be safe during such moments?”

“Oh, yeah. The mansion’s got safe rooms for various mutation meltdowns,” you explain. “Whenever I have an episode, I book it over there until everything passes. And I’m not having as many lately. My therapist’s been working on treating my anxiety, which helps reduce stress, which means I have less episodes, so… yeah.”

“Well, take care of you first, always,” Nikolai says, patting your hand. “Cannot be healthy mama if not healthy you first.”

You can’t help but smile at him. “Don’t worry; I will.”

You run into Nikolai at the gazebo later that night. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

He starts when he hears your voice and takes the cigarette out of his mouth a little sheepishly. “Ah… bad habit from youth. Never quite vanquished.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t snitch.” You start up a small breeze to carry the smoke away from the gazebo, then sit down next to him. “Something got you stressed, or…”

He shakes his head. “Not so much. Just occasionally get urge.” He glances over at you. “Do you?”

“Nah. Stuff like that’s bad for my anxiety. I try to stay away from it.”

He smiles ruefully. “Probably for best.”

Unbidden, memories from you most recent stay at your uncle’s place pop into your mind’s eye.

She always wanted a farm. Leave it to that woman to get what she wants in life.

You look up –Nikolai’s built a lot like Piotr—at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Konechno. Anything.”

“You… you know about my uncle and… Alexandra, right?”

He nods. “Da.”

“You seem… pretty comfortable with him being here.”

He raises an eyebrow with you, but he doesn’t seem alarmed or upset. “Should I not be?”

“No, I just…”

“You were expecting ‘jealous man?’”

“A little, I guess.”

Nikolai sighs and takes a long drag from his cigarette. He exhales a cloud of smoke, then taps some ash on a little tissue square set next to him on the bench. “As I see, Alexandra and I have good marriage. I trust her with all things –and I trust your uncle to act decent. This is not my first time meeting. I know what type he is.” He frowns a little. “If anything, I worry for him. Alexandra says he lives alone?”

You nod. “Yeah. I think he likes it that way.”

Nikolai shakes his head. “No one ever likes that way. They just tell themselves so.”

“Yeah, there’s truth in that.” You cock your head to one side when he sighs. “You know, I think you’re the only guy I know that would worry over the wellbeing of his wife’s ex.”

“If we cannot have compassion for those hurting, we cannot properly exist,” Nikolai says simply, as if that explains everything.

In a way, it does. And, not for the first time since the Rasputin family arrived, you’re completely floored by the overwhelming decency and kindness that each family member seems to exude.

A couple of mornings later, you wake up to Wade’s ringtone blaring as loud as it possibly can. You groan and crawl over your boyfriend to reach your phone –waking him up in the process, not that you’re awake enough to care at this precise moment—and answer the call. “You better have a good reason for waking me up this early.”

“Trust me, I do.”

The solemn urgency in Wade’s voice finishes waking you up; this isn’t a crank call or some random chat. He’s actually worried about something.

You sit up and push your hair out of your face. “What’s up? Is everything alright?”

“We’re all still going shooting today, right? With Pete’s family and everything. This morning.”

“Yeah—”

“Can I bring a friend along?”

You blink, surprised. “Uh… it’s kind of a family event…”

Piotr rubs at his face and groans. “What does he want?”

You cover the microphone end of your phone with your hand. “He wants to bring a friend to the shooting outing today.”

Piotr rolls his eyes. “Tell him no.”

You lower your hand. “Piotr says—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but apparently it’s the anniversary of Castle’s family’s death, and…” Wade goes silent for a moment. “People just… people shouldn’t have to be alone when dealing with that shit.”

You’re not particularly attached to Frank Castle. He’s saved your life, you’ve saved his, and you’ve been around enough assassins-for-hire that his Punisher getup doesn’t really scare you all that much, but sometimes you forget that the man lost everything. That he’s still trying to grapple with losing everything.

And you know, firsthand, that having good distractions around while dealing with heavy emotional trauma can be nothing short of life-saving.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Wade sighs. “Look, normally I wouldn’t give a shit, but… but after Ness, and Nate losing his family—”

“No, no, I get. Hang on.” You cover the microphone end again and look over at Piotr. “He wants to bring Frank Castle.”

Piotr’s eyes widen. “What?”

“It’s the anniversary of his family’s death, babe. Wade’s worried about him being alone.”

Piotr takes a moment to process the information, then sighs heavily and gets out of bed. “I’ll go ask.”

“Piotr’s checking with his family,” You tell Wade, lowering your hand once more. “I’ll text you the outcome.”

“Thanks, sis.”

“You gotta promise me something,” you add, trying to be as stern as you can. “Frank’s gotta be on his best behavior. Piotr and I both have family members tied up… some complicated shit. If you think Frank’s gonna start doing his ‘Punisher thing,’ then he can’t come.”

“I’ll keep him on a short leash. Figuratively. I’m pretty sure he’d cut my balls off if I tried to do it literally.”

“I mean… they’d always grow back.”

“Okay, but that would hurt.”

“I mean, it would… but can you imagine getting a picture of having Frank Castle on a literal, actual leash?”

Wade goes silent for a moment. “Holy shit, I just found my new project.”

The two of you derail into the rabbit hole of how to put the Punisher on an actual leash –and then the finer workings of if a lasso can count as a leash, because if it can’t that means Wade would have to get a collar of some sort on Frank, too, and more steps means more possible stabbings—long enough that you’re still on the phone when Piotr walks back into the room.

“Okay, what about those leashed backpacks that parents use for kids?” you suggest as Piotr opens the door to your bedroom once more.

“A solid idea. Wait, do they make those in the right size for emotionally constipated men with guns?”

“Fuck, I guess they don’t.”

Piotr just stares at you. “What are you talking about?”

“We’re trying to figure out how to get an actual leash on the Punisher,” you say. “Like, just for a photo. Not for anything kinky.”

“Excuse you, I’d be happy to try the kinky stuff, too,” Wade objects.

“Yeah, we’ll you’re insane.”

“You are both insane,” Piotr mutters. “And my family is fine with Frank coming.”

You relay the invitation to Wade, then hang up after promising to help him with the logistics of putting a leash on the Punisher. You slide out of the bed and wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s torso. “Thank you.”

He kisses the top of your head. “For what?”

“For humoring Wade. He was concerned about Frank after everything he went through with losing Vanessa.”

Piotr stays silent for a moment, then sighs heavily. “I did not even consider that. I was more thinking about Mr. Castle.”

You kiss his chest. “Well, still. Thank you.”

It’s mid-morning when Wade and Nate arrive with a particularly sullen, quiet Frank and—

“Oh!” You grin. “Karen! Hi! I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

Karen Page grins back at you, just as classically pretty as you remember from the night you bled on her couch. “I figured I could use the practice, and Wade said I wouldn’t be intruding.”

Which is basically code for ‘I’m here for Frank,’ but you’re not about to point that out. “Not at all! Let me walk you guys out to the range. Piotr’s already out there with his family.”

“I didn’t exactly take him as the… ‘gun type,’” Karen says as she follows you around the side of the house.

“I think it’s more of a Russian thing,” you say. “Different attitudes towards firearms. And I don’t think he minds guns as much as he minds…” You let your voice trail off, then cut your eyes towards Wade a couple times.

Karen nods knowingly. “So what’s it like meeting his family?”

“Honestly? It’s been great. They’re a lot of fun to be around. Although, I’ve eaten so much food in the past week. I mean, I should’ve seen it coming since Piotr’s parents run a farm back in Siberia, but still.”

“That sounds like heaven,” Karen says.

“It really has been,” you agree. “How’s your week been?”

She lays out the basic pieces of a story she’s been working on –another corruption case in the Senate—but you can tell her focus in more on Frank than anywhere else. Her gaze darts over to him every few seconds, like she’s trying to make sure he isn’t going to make a break for it.

She shifts the focus back to you –well, the Institute, more accurately—after a few minutes, right about when you notice that Frank’s been tensing up the more she’s talked about her article.

And that basically reaffirms in your mind that the flirting and sheer connection between Frank and Karen you’d witnessed back when they’d rescued you wasn’t a product of your concussion, which is…

Interesting.

“We do have a few year-round residents,” you confirm. “Most the X-Men actually keep their own apartments and come in for two-week long shifts or emergencies. The people who stay here permanently are either kids that have been kicked out of their homes or picked up from orphanages or the foster system, or adults that can’t get their own place because their mutation makes that impossible for them.”

“How would a mutation get in the way of renting their own place?” Karen asks, frowning.

“Well, any mutation that affects physical appearance usually deters most possible letters from, y’know, letting. So, people with abnormally colored skin –think fluorescent green—or spikes protruding from their face or fur… you get the idea.”

Karen’s frown deepens. “But… they’re still people. It shouldn’t matter how they look.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to our reality.” You grimace. “It is what it is. It’s why we all look out for each other like we do.”

Karen nods. “What about you and Piotr? Do you guys live here full time?”

“Piotr’s a teacher during the school year and on active training roster for the younger mutants –his armor makes him impervious to just about anything, which is handy when a kid might wind up accidentally chucking a fireball at your face—so he stays here full time, and I…” You shrug. “I’m here with him.”

“That’s right. You mentioned not being on good terms with your parents.”

It floors you, just a little, that Karen Page –who you’ve only known for a handful of hours, during which you were concussed and bled on her couch—would remember a little detail like that.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Wade interjects, ceasing his efforts in talking Frank’s ears off long enough to insert himself in your conversation with Karen. “I don’t know too many parents who call their kids just to say they hate them.”

All you can do is shrug when Karen shoots you a shocked look. “It is what it is. At least I don’t have to live with them anymore.” You can hear the sounds of Piotr talking with his family and your uncle, and you’ve never been more relieved to be approaching a group of people in your life. “We’re here. I’ll introduce you to everyone. Guys—” You step into the clearing where the range’s been set up. “This is Karen and Frank.”

It occurs to you precisely three seconds too late that you should’ve used an alias for Frank. Oh well. Can’t do anything now. You clear your throat and continue on. “Karen, Frank, these are Piotr’s parents, Alexandra and Nikolai, his siblings, Illyana and Mikhail, and my uncle—” you blank on a name until you remember that he told Wade to call him ‘Andrew,’ and you really hope that Karen and Frank don’t make too much of your pause “—Andrew.”

“How do you two know each other?” Mikhail asks, gesturing between you and Karen.

“Oh, you know, the usual. I got kidnapped, escaped, bled on her couch.” You shrug. “The basic foundations of any good friendship.”

Alexandra smirks. “Naturally.” Her gaze flits to Frank, who is very carefully keeping to the edge of the group and looking at everything but the people present. “Do you have any experience with firearms?”

Frank briefly –reluctantly—meets Alex’s gaze and nods. “Marine Corps. Former Scout sniper.”

Alex nods back, smirk completely unmoved by that little tidbit of information. “Good. You might be able to keep up.”

And that, out of everything, is what draws Frank out, gets his attention. He actually looks shocked for a moment, at the sheer brazenness of the comment, then smirks back. Just a little.

It’s better than the shell-shocked look he’d been wearing when he’d arrived.

“Only one way to find out, ma’am.”

You’re not unfamiliar with shooting guns; between Wade, Nate, and your uncle, you’ve got a decent amount of experience. You know how to handle one safely and fire it with pretty decent accuracy. Granted, shooting’s not your favorite way to spend your time –though it is, in your opinion, a decent way to blow off some anger.

Point stands: you shoot. You know how to shoot. You know how to handle a firearm safely –which, frankly, is what you care about most.

Second standing point: You’ve been around Nate and Wade long enough to know that some people are very serious –Nate—and enthused –Wade—about shooting, and like to make quite the event of target practice. You’re usually not opposed to such events –especially when Wade’s involved—because that implies you get to shoot fun targets, like half rotted watermelons or gallons of milk that have been emptied and subsequently filled with glitter.

But sweet holy fuck almighty, you’ve never seen a shooting event quite like this.

There are so many guns. More than you can count, but you’re pretty sure between your uncle, Wade, Nate, Alex, Mikhail, and Frank that there’s at least fifty different types.

Leave it to a group of mercenaries and assassins to pull out all the stops.

Also on the list of surprising things is that Piotr is a pretty decent shot; he sticks most to hunting rifles or shotguns, but still.

“I had to learn back home,” he says by way of explanation. “To keep farm safe from predators.”

“What?” You ask, all too enthralled to know more. “Like, bears?”

“Sometimes. Wolves, also. A tiger, once.”

You gape at him. “You saw a tiger? Like, outside of a zoo?”

He shrugs, as if he hadn’t just said one of the most mind-blowing things you’ve ever heard. “They are native to Siberia. Sometimes, juveniles come into town limits looking for food.”

“It is not a common experience,” Alexandra adds as she loads a pistol. “But it happens.”

“So, wait.” You frown. “Did you shoot the tiger?”

“Nyet, nyet, nyet,” Mikhail interjects before gesturing over his head with his hand. “Over. To scare.”

“That’s still amazing, though,” Karen says. “We only have tigers in zoos, over here.”

“I once threw myself into a tiger exhibit!” Wade adds as he adjusts the scope on one of his rifles.

“I thought I read about something like that in the news,” Frank mutters as he loads various clips.

“Why would you throw self into tiger display?” Illyana asks, expression rightfully confused.

“It was a low point, I admit.”

You can’t help but chuckle as you take it all in. You love your weird little family –Frank and Karen too, however they’re meant to fit in—such as they are.

You hang back and watch for the most part –and so does Piotr, seemingly more content to sit and observe with you once he’s got his ‘practice’ in. You laugh with everyone else when Illyana fucks up several of her shots and gets a gentle scolding from her mother that seems more worried than anything else, then try to ignore the churning pain in your chest when you watch Alex put her arms around her daughter and kiss the top of her blonde head.

It's what you never got, growing up; as much as you don’t want to be jealous, envious, you are.

“We’re gonna love the fuck out of our kids,” you tell Piotr quietly as Wade and Frank put up a new set of targets. “We’re gonna frickin’ smother them with hugs and love and kisses and everything.”

He puts his arms around you, almost protectively, and kisses the top of your head. “Konechno.”

Of course. Like it’s an automatic given. Like there’s not even another conceivable option. Of course the two of you are going to love your kids more than anything else.

You close your eyes and tip your head back against his chest as emotion –grief, pain, rage—threatens to overwhelm you.

Piotr wipes away your tears before there’s a risk of anyone seeing them.

The ‘extended target practice’ concludes with is arguably the most entertaining gun-related event you’ve ever seen and will ever see in your life: a super sniper shoot-off.

Frank, Alex, Mikhail, Wade, Nate, and your uncle all prep their various guns, and then it’s on.

Nate and your uncle are first out, surprisingly enough. Granted, the margin for error is extremely narrow, but you still expected them to make a little further.

Wade’s next, followed by Mikhail –and, now that you’re thinking about it, it all makes sense considering that the two of them use sniper rifles more regularly in their ‘lines of work.’

And that just leaves Frank and Alexandra, and whoo boy. Put two people who are equally stubborn and equally proud of their skills as snipers, and what do you get?

Correct answer: a very drawn-out, involved competition that eventually boils down to the two of them actually measuring the diameter of the holes where the bullets hit the targets –and, to make things worse, they both shot through the same hole five times—to see who had more deviation in their aim.

“How much longer are they gonna be?” You ask. The rest of you are already packed and ready to head back to the mansion for lunch.

“It could be a while,” Karen admits quietly.

Illyana nods in agreement, basically settling that you all might be out here until sundown before Frank and Alex find an answer that satisfies them both.

“Moya lyubov’,” Nikolai calls out.

“Terpeniye,” Alexandra says back –which, considering that she’s already said it five times, you’re figuring is the Russian equivalent of ‘just a minute’ or something similar. “Ha! You have the higher deviation! I win.”

“Did you use your telekinesis to keep things tighter?” your uncle asks in a lazy drawl.

The look of utter indignation and betrayal on Alex’s face is priceless –and so is the look of shock on Frank’s.

“You’ve been cheating,” he accuses.

“I have not!”

“There’s no other explanation! You’ve been using your mind shit to keep the shots tighter!”

Alex smirks. “Or, perhaps, I am just a better shot than you.”

Frank narrows his eyes at her. “The day I buy that is the day I put my hair up in a fucking man bun.”

And that is an amazing concept in and of itself, but the way Karen chokes on a snort tells you that there’s more to that than meets the eye—

Alex just takes a hair elastic off her wrist and holds it out to Frank. “Start pulling it back.”

Frank grins –and it’s the most human and not haunted you’ve seen him look all day—and shakes his head. “Nah. There’s only one way to settle this.”

And it’s easy to see where that’s going, judging by the looks on Frank and Alex’s faces, and since the rest of you actually want to each lunch before the turn of the century, you all swoop in to keep the two of them from putting up new targets and going at it again.

Karen actually shoves Frank away from the table with the rest of the guns and ammo on it. “No, no. I want to eat lunch. We’re going inside.”

“Okay, okay –Christ, let me put my shit away first.”

Wade shoots you a look when he sees the small grin Frank’s sporting, then raises his nonexistent eyebrows when you nod back at him.

Nikolai’s already whisked his wife away from the table, leaving Illyana and Mikhail to put her stuff away. They’re bickering in Russian at each other, and you’d be concerned if the expression on Nick’s face wasn’t one of complete and utter adoration.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch your uncle just barely holding in a pained grimace. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, and you try to think of some excuse about some of you heading back to the house to start lunch early –really, just anything that’ll give him an excuse to duck out without drawing attention to his departure—

“So, Y/N. Wade and Nate are telling me that you are most exceptional fighter.”

You look over at Mikhail, distracted from your internal reverie. “Huh? Oh, yeah.” You shrug. “I try.”

Piotr’s eyes narrow. “Mikhail—”

The eldest Rasputin waves him off, relaxed and indifferent. “So, that makes me wonder: just how good are you?”

It’s easy to hear the challenge without him actually saying it.

You cross your arms over your chest and raise an eyebrow at him. “Good enough to kick your ass.”

A chorus of chuckles goes through the group –and Piotr pinches the bridge of his nose. “Nyet, nyet. Absolutely not. We are going inside and eating—”

“Da, which means all more reason to do this now,” Mikhail argues. “No one wants to spar on full stomach.”

“You mean, you don’t want to get your ass kicked on a full stomach,” your uncle interjects, smirking. “Because that’s what’ll happen.”

Alexandra scoffs. “Biased much?”

“No more than you.”

It devolves quickly from there, everyone taking sides –Nate, your uncle, and Wade all back you, while Mikhail’s family is quick to vouch for his prowess—while Piotr does his best to get a handle on the situation and shoots daggers at his older brother.

And it’s the first time you’ve seen Piotr get downright angry with someone that isn’t Wade –sure, you and he have fought, but he’s never turned the full brunt of his wrath on you like he has occasionally with Wade—and the fact that it’s his brother makes it all the more…

Interesting.

Weird.

Concerning.

A mix of the three.

And then Frank takes his wallet out of his back pocket, and whatever control your darling boyfriend had over the situation evaporates.

He pulls out a couple bills and holds them between two of his fingers. “Twenty on Y/N.”

And now there’s money on the table –Wade tries to make his bet in cocaine, and fortunately Nathan gets him to shup the fuck up before Piotr can take his head off—and you’ve never been that good at backing down from a challenge.

You squeeze Piotr’s hand, trying to reassure him and get him to relax a little. “C’mon. Five minutes. It’ll be fun.”

The group of you walk out to the back lawn –far enough away from the house that you shouldn’t be at risk of destroying any windows, but close enough that someone can easily get the first aid kit if stuff goes wrong.

“Five minutes!” you shout at Mikhail. “Do your fucking worst!” You float off the ground, careful to keep an eye on the eldest Rasputin; it’s a go-to move of yours; most of your opponents can’t levitate themselves or uses their abilities against you as easily if you fly, and you’re not above using such an easy advantage.

Mikhail smirks –then winks out of sight before appearing right in front of you and latching onto your shoulders like a koala.

“Shit!” You bob up and down as you try to get him off you, then spin yourself around with a burst of air until he physically can’t hold on.

He manages to teleport closer to the ground before he makes contact, fortunately, but he still tumbles a fair distance. He pushes himself onto his feet as Wade cackles like a maniac, then disappears from view again.

You’re ready for him this time, and create a vortex of air around you before he can reappear. Sure enough, he gets sucked up in the air currents before he can grab on you; he swears a blue streak –and you know he’s actually swearing because of the grimace that flashes across Piotr’s face—in Russian as he plummets back to the ground.

You smirk, feeling victorious and enormously pleased with yourself, as you watch Mikhail brush chunks of dirt and grass off his arms and legs. “That the best you got?”

He narrows his eyes at you –he’s starting to look a little pissed off, actually—and his eyes start glowing.

“That’s not good,” you mutter to yourself.

And, sure enough, it isn’t.

Bright, glowing strands of copper-colored energy appear at the ends of Mikhail’s hands. He lets them grow into orbs for half a minute –lets them charge up—and then launches one at you.

You let the bolt of energy zing past you –then gasp when it stops in its tracks a few yards away and starts hurtling towards you again. “Shit!”

You’re forced to go on the defensive, using your flight abilities to evade Mikhail’s energy “missiles.” You’re faster than them, fortunately, but he starts peppering the air with various smaller ones, meaning that there’s almost no room to fly at all.

You narrow your eyes down at him as you narrowly avoid having your elbow singed by one of the bolts. Best to target the root instead of the leaves. You fly upwards, make sure that you get yourself positioned so your plan doesn’t backfire suddenly –and then let yourself freefall.

It doesn’t take long to pick up speed. You can actually see Mikhail’s eyes physically widen as you hurtle towards him.

You start flying again mere feet away from the ground. The sudden rush of air created by your move sends a current directly at Mikhail.

He flies back with a grunt and tumbles across the lawn like a hyperactive gymnast.

And, sure enough, some of –not all of them, but enough to prove your theory—the energy orbs fizzle out.

You smirk to yourself as you soar back into the air. Strategy acquired. Goal: kick much ass.

And you do. Even with his ability to teleport, he can’t do that without losing more of his ‘missiles.’ He either has to get knocked around by your constant dive-bombing, or teleport out of the way, and either option puts him at a disadvantage.

You’re winning. You can hear Wade cheering you on from the sidelines. You grin to yourself as you make another pass at Mikhail –he swears as he teleports out of the line of fire—and soar back up towards the sky.

And it’s not that you have to win. You don’t have anything extraordinary to prove. But, by your own admission, you’re too competitive for your own good, and kicking Mikhail’s ass is actually kinda easy—

And then he teleports right in front of you and unleashes a massive burst of energy almost directly in your face.

You’re going too fast to stop or get out of the way in time, so you grit your teeth, make a shield out of air, and hope for the best.

There’s a massive boom that rattles your teeth. You feel yourself get knocked back, but you still feel like you’re flying—

But you can hear someone screaming like they’re watching their kid die in front of them… and it kinda sounds like Piotr…

But you’re still flying? Or, at least you’re still in the air…

Why does your head hurt so much? And why does something smell… burnt?

You manage to open your eyes long enough to see a massive green blur zooming towards you, which you vaguely manage to identify as the back lawn. Oh… shit.

And then a set of arms are wrapping around you.

How you get to the ground is a mystery to you, but suddenly you’re there and your boyfriend’s hovering over you.

Except he’s blurrier than usual. And since when could he make duplicates of himself?

You can see his lips moving, but you can’t really hear what he’s saying.

And suddenly, you’re tired. Straight up exhausted. And your whole body’s kinda numb, which isn’t the most reassuring sensation, but it does mean that if you’re uncomfortable you can’t feel it, and a nap is sounding amazing right now.

You let your eyes close. Just for a minute.

It’s dark. The panes in the windows are an oil slick, dark in solidarity with the night outside.

There’s a single light on in the room, a bedside lamp. It paints the room in a weak gold hue, the only contrast and respite from the oppressive, endless darkness beyond the windows.

The quilt on the bed is cream-colored with age and soft from years of use and washing. Green, yellow, blue, and purple flowers gaze up at you from the fabric surface, the hodge-podge of fabrics almost making the blanket look like it’s rippling.

Beyond the closed door, you can hear voices. They’re hushed, quiet.

Angry.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

“You can’t possibly imagine the struggles we’ve gone through with her—”

“No. No. Don’t paint yourself as a fucking martyr. You’re the scum of the earth and you know it.”

It’s the door, though, that gives it all away.

What am I doing in my uncle’s house?

“She’s waking up.”

Your eyes flutter open. You wince at the bright lights, the glare of which are not helped by the impeccably white walls.

You’re in the Institute’s medical wing.

Dr. McCoy smiles down at you. “There she is. How are you feeling?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Brain’s bein’ icepicked. Lights’re too brigh’.”

“Let’s get those turned down a bit, then.”

While you wait for the lights to settle on more friendly terms of existence, you realize that someone’s holding your hand. You squeeze the hand holding yours –and it’s instantly recognizable, there’s only one person in the mansion with hands that big.

Piotr kisses your temple gently. “Myshka.”

You tip your head towards him and force yourself to open your eyes.

He looks wrecked. He’s paler than usual, and his blue eyes are rimmed with red.

“Hey.” You squeeze your hand. “Hey. I’m okay.”

He grimaces slightly. “You got hit in face with an energy pulse. If your uncle had not caught you, you would’ve hit the ground.”

You frown as you try to recollect what happened.

Shooting with the Rasputin family. Your uncle. Wade and Nate. Frank. Karen. Check.

Frank and Alex getting into the mother of all sniper shoot-offs, which only stopped because the rest of you forced them to give it up. Check.

Mikhail throwing down the mother of all gauntlets. Check.

And after that… Presumably, something had to happen after that. Specifically, you getting hit in the face, because that’s what Piotr said happened, and you know he wouldn’t lie to you.

“You might not remember all of it,” Hank says as he finishes turning down the lights. “Which is normal with head traumas. Can you walk me through your day, up to most recent thing you remember before waking up here?” He nods as you rattle off the day thus far –you leave out whatever weird dream you had between getting hit and waking up here, because you don’t know how to factor that in or why you can even remember it. “Alright, your recollection’s pretty good. Which is a good sign –and, admittedly, not that surprising since we’ve learned about your latent ‘damage resistance’ mutation.”

You frown suddenly and start patting your face. “I still have my brows, right? Piotr said somethin’ ‘bout gettin’ hit with an energy pulse—”

Dr. McCoy chuckles. “Your eyebrows are present and accounted for.”

“Okay, good. I didn’t wanna figure out how to draw ‘em on.”

“Understandable.” He asks you a few more questions –how much pain are you in, are you feeling any tingling sensations anywhere, do you feel like you can breathe alright—before nodding once more. “Okay. I just need to do a series of test to make sure your body’s handling the trauma alright –just to see how your nervous system is responding to the trauma—and then you should be ready to be discharged.”

After making sure your body isn’t on the verge of imploding, or whatever the fuck else might happen, Hank discharges you with some basic pain meds, a list of symptoms to keep an eye on while you recover, and strict instructions to Piotr to not let you fly or do anything too strenuous for the next few days.

Which basically means you’re gonna be mother-henned for the next few days, but you can’t exactly say you mind. Your head hurts, and you’re still fuzzy from getting hit so hard. Having someone watching your back is comforting, really.

The sun’s still high in the sky as you and Piotr amble back towards the main part of the mansion. Apparently, you’d only been out for twenty minutes. Lucky you.

Everyone’s waiting for the two of you in the rec room –including Frank and Karen, which is surprising but not unwelcome.

Mikhail stands as you walk in, looking a little sheepish—

You squint when you realize he’s got a partially black eye. “Did I do that?”

“Nope!” Wade says, popping the ‘p.’ “Piotr did! Hauled off on him as soon as Fuzzy Lumpkins took you away for a healing session.”

You shoot Piotr shocked look, but he’s focused on Mikhail, borderline glaring at his older brother.

And Mikhail’s glaring right back at him, and suddenly the room’s filled to the brim with crackling tension.

You watch the two of them for a few seconds, then do your best to smooth things out. “O-kay. I’m hungry. Has anyone else eaten yet?”

Nate shakes his head. “We were waiting to hear how you were.”

“Al-right.” You nudge Piotr a little when he doesn’t pick up on the conversational cues –or, more importantly, stop glaring at Mikhail. “Let’s get some lunch, yeah?”

His demeanor shifts instantly as he bends down to kiss the top of your head; it’s almost like he’s a completely different person. “Konechno.”

You purse your lips a little as you follow him to the kitchen. And we’re in full on passive-aggressive mode. Great.

“So, you’re both mutants.”

Your uncle nods at Karen’s statement.

Instead of cramming into the kitchen or the breakfast nook, you’d all opted to use one of the dining rooms used by the students during the school year while you ate lunch. You’d half expected Frank and Karen to leave as soon as they knew you were in decent shape, but they’d opted to at least eat lunch before heading out.

(You’d also half expected Frank to sit away from literally everyone else, but Karen seemed to bring out his best behavior, which –again—is interesting.)

“And you both can fly?” She frowns as she wipes some ketchup from her sandwich off her fingers with a napkin. “I thought the X-gene randomized mutations.”

“It can,” your uncle says with a shrug. “But if there’s a long enough direct lineage, sometimes recurring traits show up.”

“So, the mutation must’ve been in your family for a long time, then.”

“As long as I can remember.”

Karen nods, then smiles. “I can’t even imagine what it would be like to fly, all on my own. If I’d woken up one morning, as a little girl, and been able to fly, I don’t think my parents would’ve been able to get me to walk again.”

Admittedly, your initial experience with discovering your powers hadn’t gone as idyllically; not even rose-tinted glasses could change that.

But flying, in and of itself? It’s the most amazing sensation in the world.

You grin—

You’re shivering. You’re under a pile of blankets, and heat is blasting at you from the car’s air vents, and you can’t. Get. Warm.

The ground is rocky and uneven under the car’s tires. It makes you bounce in the back seat, which makes you dizzy. You cry as your stomach churns violently. “I’m gonna throw up!”

“Do not puke in the car!” Your mother’s voice. “Just close your eyes and breathe through your nose.”

You do as you’re told; you keep your mouth screwed shut and try to fall asleep. It’s dark outside, heavy clouds covering the stars and moon and plunging the world into an inky abyss.

The car keeps bouncing you and your stomach. You can feel the bile creeping up your throat.

The car lurches to a stop and the door next to your seat is flung open. Strong hands unbuckle you and lift you out of your car seat.

You puke on the grass. On someone’s shoes.

Your mother panics. “Dammit, Y/N! Don’t—”

“It’s okay.” Your uncle’s voice is shaky, but his hands are gentle as he keeps your hair out of your face. “She’s alright. What happened to her?”

“We tried to fix her—”

“Y/N? Y/N, can you hear me?”

You blink –and you’re in the dining room, and everyone’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Huh?”

Dr. McCoy is kneeling next to you, frowning as he watches your eyes and color. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“We… were just talking about flying.” You frown. “That… that just happened.”

“You were gone for ten minutes,” Nate says quietly.

“Even I’m not that bad at keeping track of time,” Wade adds, but his smile is forced at the edges.

A wave of cold dread runs down your spine, and reach blindly for Piotr’s hand. It’s warm and solid against yours, and you try to keep yourself grounded on the sensation of his hand holding yours. Don’t panic. Panicking won’t help anything. “What does it mean?”

Frank clears his throat. “Could mean nothing,” he says quietly. “Blackouts can happen with head injuries.”

Dr. McCoy nods. “I think I’m going to extend your rest period, just as a precaution. And—” he looks over at Piotr “—someone needs to check in with her every hour, just to see how her memory is and how she’s doing. If she has more blackouts, record the symptoms, how long they go for, that sort of thing.”

“Da.” Piotr squeezes your hand, then leans over and kisses your cheek. “Everything will be alright.”

You lay your head on his shoulder by way of response. I really hope so.

Karen and Frank head out right after you all finish lunch –with Frank promising Alex that there’d be a proper rematch in the future.

And, unsurprisingly, Piotr practically whisks you away to get some proper rest as soon as the door shuts behind them. He actually carries you up to your shared room –which you aren’t complaining about because walking is for chumps—and sets you carefully, gently on the bed.

“I thought you weren’t supposed to sleep after getting a concussion,” you ponder.

“That is myth,” he says. “And the healers fixed any concussion you might have had. They just cannot fix temporary trauma from impact.”

“Ah. That makes sense.” You squint your eyes as you mull it over. “I guess.”

He kisses your forehead. “Besides, I mostly brought you up here so you could relax… and so we could spend some time together.”

You smile up at him. “Well, that I’m not opposed to. Can we watch a movie?”

“Konechno.” As he makes to retrieve his DVD case from one of the bookshelves, the main door to your room swings open.

Mikhail peers in. “Am I interrupting?”

“It’s called knocking,” Piotr says bluntly, tone flat. “Try it.”

You actually gape at him. “Babe!”

“It is good manners—”

“Yeah, and what are you doing?”

He actually hangs his head at that, looking like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I…”

Mikhail just holds up his hands. He doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t look like he wants to start a fight, either. “I just wanted to apologize.” He offers you a sheepish smile. “For, ah—” He taps the side of his own head. “Doing that.”

You shrug. “Hey, it’s sparring. Accidents happen.”

Piotr lets out an angry huff. “Accidents happen. Ego trips are planned.”

Before you can say anything, Mikhail groans and rolls his eyes. “Again with that! You never give me doubt of benefit! None!”

“Your ego,” Piotr snaps, eyes sparking with anger. “Has caused plenty of problems. Why should this be any different!”

“You think I would try to hurt her?”

“I think you would prioritize winning over common sense!”

Mikhail sneers at his younger brother. “Well, not all of us can be you.”

“Okay, enough,” you growl out. “Both of you.” You sigh and rub your temples –your head’s throbbing, but you suspect it has more to do with listening to them than with your injury. “Babe, would you mind making me some Gatorade while I talk to Mikhail for a minute?”

Piotr just crosses his arms over his chest. “Someone needs to stay with you. To keep track of your symptoms.”

“Are you serious?” Mikhail growls. “I can watch her for five minutes!”

“How do I know I can trust you, after today?”

“Are you fucking kidding me!”

“Langu—”

“Okay,” you interject sternly. “I swear more than him. Quit being petty.”

Piotr purses his lips and exhales sharply. “I told him not to start sparring—”

“And the two of you need to work out whatever problems you have on your own. I’m not refereeing or watching.” You give Piotr the gentlest pointed look you can. “Sweetheart. Five minutes. Please.”

He grimaces, but nods. “Khorosho.” He crosses the room quickly, then plants a slow, sweet kiss against your forehead. “I’ll be back quickly.”

“She said five minutes, asshole,” Mikhail mutters from his position by the door. His expression sours as Piotr’s shoulder clips his own on his way out –which, despite his size, you can tell was deliberate on your boyfriend’s part—and grumbles something under his breath in Russian before looking at you. “You wanted chatting?”

“Just to make sure we’re good.” You pat on a spot at the end of the bed lightly. “Come on. I don’t bite.”

“I hit you, not other way around,” he points out as he sits down on the bed.

“Look, I might not remember the fight, but I refuse to believe that you just trounced me.”

He laughs at that and relaxes a little. “Da, da. You, ah, ‘kicked my ass,’ as they say here. I seriously underestimated you.” He pauses for a moment, then hangs his head a little. “And pridurok is right. I let ego control me.”

“Okay, one, I know what the Russian word for ‘idiot’ is; Piotr uses it to describe Wade all the time.” You smirk when he grins sheepishly. “Two, whatever ego thing you’ve got it fine, at least in this situation. Sparring’s sparring. I know that whenever I step into a fight, I run the risk of getting hurt. I didn’t think this situation would be any different.”

Mikhail frowns. “But… if I had kept in better check—”

“Look, Mikhail,” you say earnestly. “Were you trying to hurt me?”

He shakes his head. “Nyet. Absolutely not.”

“Then we’re good, in my book. Trust me, I’ve had a lot worse for way pettier reasons.”

He eyes you warily. “So… you are not upset?”

You shake your head –well, as much as you can, anyway. “Not about the sparring. If I’m upset about anything, honestly, it’s about how you treat Piotr.”

He grimaces. “Things… have never been good between he and I. We… we do not see eyes to eyes on many things.”

“I gathered. You seem to go out of your way to antagonize him.”

The grimace deepens. “I know. I… I do not always know how to stop it.” He smiles bitterly. “Piotr has always gotten along better with everyone. Mamochka, papochka, Illyana, cousins, girls, boys –everyone. I think…” He winces and swallows hard. “I think I am just too sensitive.”

You study him for a minute before commenting. “I’d wager you’ve got some insecurities to work on, but I think your ‘sensitivity levels’ are just fine.”

He manages a small smile at that. “Spasibo.”

There’s a series of heavy footsteps in the hallway, and then Piotr’s walking back into the room with a water bottle full of Gatorade in hand. He stops just past the door way, clearly a little caught off guard by his brother’s new position in the room.

Mikhail nods at you and stands quickly before Piotr can say anything. “I leave you to it.”

You shake your head, just a little, as he vanishes from view. “I’m never going to get used to that.” You accept your bottle of Gatorade from your boyfriend with a smile. “Thanks, honey.”

He returns to the task of retrieving his DVD case, but it’s not hard to tell something’s on his mind.

“I can hear you thinking, you know.”

He huffs a little laugh at that. “I thought my sister was supposed to be telepath, not you.”

You humor him with a small, fond chuckle. “C’mon, babe. What’s eating at you?”

He grimaces as he crosses back over to the bed and sits down next to you. “I was not… fair. To Mikhail.”

“Yeah, you were kind of an asshole to him. What is it with you two, anyway? You’ve been at each other’s throats since he got here.”

Piotr’s lips quirk into a puzzled frown as he runs his fingertips over the DVD case cover. “Mikhail and I… we are oil and water. We have never gotten along. I think he is arrogant and careless, he says I am controlling and judgmental…”

They’re both right, to an extent, you think to yourself.

Piotr exhales heavily, and his eyes take on a glassy look that tips you off to the fact that he’s recalling some really unpleasant memories. “Mikhail… when we were younger, he used to tease me until I gave him what he wanted. Or I snapped. Or he would put me in uncomfortable, dangerous situations to get a rise out of me…”

You reach out and curl your fingers around his hand.

He smiles, just a little, and lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss it. “Where I grow puzzled is… I can remember times when he would be… subdued. Gloomy. And during these times, I know we got on better. And then he would get back to his wild self and teasing would start all over.”

You squeeze his hand comfortingly. “Look, babe, I’m not gonna pretend I’ve got all the answers to this situation. I didn’t grow up with siblings –and Wade, as awesome as he is, doesn’t exactly fill the ticket for direct knowledge in this sorta thing. But, if there’s anything you need to do, it’s actually communicate with Mikhail instead of letting him walk all over you until you snap. You need to set boundaries.”

“I have tried,” Piotr insists. “He just ignores them.”

“Then you need to enforce them,” you add on. “Look, sweetheart, you’re great at talking a good game, but you’re shitty with the follow-through. Case in point, Wade. You like to talk healthy behavior with him, but eight times out of ten you don’t actually enforce any of the boundaries you talk about having.”

“Killing people—”

“Isn’t what I’m talking about, Piotr. The jokes, the language, the pranks. Yeah, Wade’s an adult and can do what he wants, but so are you. Look, what I’m trying to say is that you need to talk to Mikhail, and then you need to stick to your guns if he tries to ignore your boundaries. And if he keeps doing that, then maybe you just need to give him the heave-ho.”

Piotr hangs his head a little. “It is not that simple.”

“Sorry.” You wriggle over to him and wrap your arms around his waist. “I wish I could help more.”

“You have helped immensely.” He kisses your forehead. “You called me out on my poor behavior, and you have given me much to consider.” He kisses your cheek, then your lips, then taps the DVD case with his hand. “How about we watch movie now, da?”

You smile up at him. “Sounds great.”

“So. I have question. What qualifies as ‘worse’ than unyielding concussion?”

“Severe,” Alexandra corrects from where she’s chopping vegetables for dinner. “Not ‘unyielding.’”

After relaxing for a few hours, Piotr had agreed that you’d be fine to hang out during dinner prep.

Key words being ‘hang out,’ seeing as he’s banned you from all knife-and-heat related duties until you stop having blackouts.

At any rate, you’re in the kitchen with Piotr’s family, Wade, Nate, your uncle, and your darling boyfriend, perched on one of the barstools while everyone else works on getting dinner together.

(Correction: everyone else sans Wade because Wade is also banned from dinner prep duties; unlike you, however, his ban is indefinite for reasons Piotr refuses to mention and Wade laughs too hard make elaborating possible whenever you ask.)

Mikhail jerks at her with his thumb. “That. And does it have anything to do with the ‘episodes?’”

Piotr goes ramrod straight so fast it’s a shock he doesn’t hurt himself. The look he shoots his older brother is beyond murderous.

You hold up your hands in a placating gesture before he can verbally –or literally, it’s anyone’s guess at this point—rip Mikhail’s head off. “It’s alright, he can ask. And… uh, I guess it does? I don’t know. It’s a little complicated.”

“Does it have to do with why your parents are not present?” Illyana pipes up.

“I guess?” You let out a slightly nervous laugh and shrug. “It’s… uh… really complicated to explain. I’m not exactly on speaking terms with them. With anyone where I grew up, actually.”

Nikolai frowns. “No ‘old friends?’ Classmates?”

You shake your head. “My mom schooled me at home. I spent most of my life inside the same four walls. I, uh, grew up in an anti-mutant town.”

“Nyet,” Mikhail says, forehead wrinkling. “That does not make sense. You are mutant. Why would your parents… not just move once you presented?”

You grimace. “They’re anti-mutant, too.”

“But… you are mutant and their child.”

And it strikes you that none of the Rasputin children can relate to what you’ve gone through. They grew up in a home where their differences were celebrated –where they were even modeled for them by Alexandra.

“It’s not always enough,” your uncle supplies after a moment of tense silence. “Some people value their beliefs more than those around them.”

“Why not let you live with him?” Illyana points at your uncle. “You are both mutants. It would make sense.”

“I was never in a position to raise a kid,” your uncle says grimly –which gets a sharp look from Alex, but she doesn’t question him.

“I doubt they would’ve let me go, anyway,” you say with a bitter smile. “I tried running away from home. A lot.”

“What happened?” Mikhail asked. “Obviously, they did not let you go…”

You shrug when his voice trails off. “Got hunted through the woods by men with guns until they caught me and dragged me back to town. Or I accidentally killed them; I had a lot of trouble controlling my mutation when I was younger.”

Alex actually drops her knife. “They did that you? They really…”

Nikolai’s eyes get shiny. “Who… who does that to a child?”

“The people from where I grew up, apparently.” You shrug with one shoulder. “I’m just glad it’s behind me.”

“What about ‘episodes?’” Illyana blurts out. “You said they connected?”

You tap your fingers against the countertop. Talking about your past has never been easy, and right now’s no exception. At least they aren’t blaming me for what happened. “Sometimes, I have hallucinations about the shit that happened to me where I grew up. It’s like I’m actually back there, going through all of it again. When that happens, I break from reality and lose control of my powers.”

Illyana darts around to the other side of the counter and wraps her arms around your shoulders. “That sounds scary.”

You smile and pat her forearm. “It can be. But I’m getting better. And I’ve got tools to help me get through them.”

The kitchen stays silent for a moment, then Mikhail clears his throat and braces himself against the counter on his elbows. “I think… all of that is definitely worse than concussion.”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I—”

You’re shaking so hard you can’t walk. Your legs keep giving out with every step you take.

Gravel crunches underneath your sneakers. Little ladybugs light up red and pink on the side, though they don’t do much to abate the suffocating darkness.

You’re sweating, like you’ve been sitting in a hot room all day, but you feel cold. And you can’t stop shaking.

Your father’s hand is a vice on your arm. “Quit dawdling! We need to go!”

“I’m trying! My legs feel weird!”

“Don’t talk back to me—”

Your mother shoves you into your car seat and forcefully buckles you in. “Start the car. I’ve got her.”

Her voice is calm, which must mean everything’s alright, right?

You blink, and you’re keeled over on the lawn outside your uncle’s house, puking up everything in your guts and then some.

You can hear him screaming. He’s angry.

“What did you do? What did you fucking do?”

You start crying. Tears fall onto the blades of glass, glittering like stars. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

He scoops you up into his arms and runs into his house with you. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault, I’ve got you.”

You blink again, and everything seems fuzzy. Something’s pressing against your arm, and several hands are holding you against something soft and warm.

“We need to stabilize her—”

“Her brain’s been gouged with the psychic equivalent of a serving fork, there’s no stabilizing that.”

“Find a fucking way or you’re out of a fucking job!”

Your head hurts. Your chest hurts. Your everything hurts.

You try and try to squirm away from the ache.

A pair of massive hands press against each side of your head, holding you in place. “It’s okay.” Your uncle’s voice. “I know it hurts, and it’s scary, but it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Her heart rate’s going nuts.”

“We need to stem the signals being sent out by her brain.”

“Get me some anesthetic. This’ll be easier if she’s asleep.”

“Myshka?”

You blink, and you’re back in the kitchen, cradled in Piotr’s arms. “When did I get on the floor?”

“You stopped talking mid-sentence and fell over.” His face is creased with worry. “Did you black out?”

“I guess. I mean—”

“Nyet,” Illyana rejects. “Her brain was retrieving memories, not stopping all processing.”

“She broke from reality,” Wade surmises, eyes widening. “In seconds.”

“We need to get her back to Dr. McCoy,” Nate says, standing abruptly.

Piotr lifts your off the floor and starts carrying towards the medical wing of the house. “Agreed.”

You’re trying to be calm. The embodiment of zen. The living definition of chill.

But between the mutation repression collar around your neck, the wires and sticky ‘nodes’ stuck to your forehead, and the knowledge that you’ve been breaking from reality with no warning, you’re not having much luck with it.

Piotr squeezes your hand as fat tears roll down your cheeks. “Tische, tische. Deep breaths, moya lyubov’.”

You draw in an uneven breath. “I’m scared.”

Piotr just kisses your forehead. You know he’s scared too, he’s just better at game-facing that you are. “Professor Xavier is very experienced with psychic therapy. If anyone can help, it is him.”

“Yeah, but I’m breaking from reality without warning now,” you whimper. “What if whatever I’ve got is getting worse? Or the hit I took made it worse? What if—”

“Deep breath, myshka. Please.” He rubs his thumb in slow circles against the back of your hand, but there’s no missing the tears that well up in his eyes. “Speculating helps nothing now.”

Before you can spiral again, Professor Xavier and Alyssa walk –well, Alyssa walks, Xavier rolls—into the room.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Alyssa sits down on the bed next to you and clasps your hand warmly. “How’re you feeling?”

“Scared,” you admit tearfully. “Really scared.”

“I bet. You’re dealing with some big stuff right now. Let’s see if we can get some answers for you, alright?”

“Have you found anything noteworthy in your scans, Hank?” Charles asks.

Dr. McCoy shakes his head. “No. There aren’t any signs of any injuries or abnormalities that might explain the hallucinations.”

“Illyana said that I was accessing memories,” you pipe up. “But… I don’t remember these. I mean, I do now that I’ve seen them, but they’re not anything I’ve gone through before.”

“How many new sets of memories can you recall?” Professor Xavier asks as he folds his hands over his lap. He frowns as you run him through everything you can recall –from waking up in the bed and hearing the argument, to throwing up on your uncle’s shoes, to most recent set of mix-matched recollections—then glances over at Alyssa. “Could she be accessing repressed memories?”

“That would explain why she doesn’t remember seeing them before,” Alyssa says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “Try doing a scan of her mind. See if you can find anything.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I hate this part. It always feels so weird.”

Professor Xavier chuckles. “I will endeavor to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

You do your best to brace yourself, but the sensation of Xavier entering your mind still makes a shudder run down your spine.

Piotr squeezes your hand reassuringly. “Try to relax as much as you can.”

You grit your teeth. “I know, I know.”

Everything’s quiet for a moment, save for the sound of the heart monitor Hank hooked up to you. Then, in a voice with too much underlying urgency to be comforting, Xavier asks “Y/N, are you completely certain that you’ve never had an encounter with a telepath before coming to the Institute?”

“Not as far as I know. Why?”

“I’m seeing a great deal of psychic scarring that was blocked from view before,” Xavier says, voice tense. “It’s extremely old, from the looks of it.”

A chill runs down your spine. “So what does that mean?”

“I’m… not sure yet.”

You crack one eye open and stare at him. “Not sure?”

He purses his lips. “Until we can ascertain what incident your formerly repressed memories are attached to, I cannot be certain about the nature of the scarring and how much it might impact your mind.”

“Are we gonna have to clear out the rest of the block?” Alyssa asks.

“I believe, given the nature of the blackouts and the lack of warning that accompanies them, we have no other option.”

You swallow hard. “What do you mean ‘clear out?’”

“We would go in and release whatever memories are being held back by the block in order to figure out how extensive the scarring is on your mind,” Xavier explains.

You can’t help but tremble. “And what if I don’t want to do that?”

Xavier sighs. “You have the right to deny treatment, of course, but I am genuinely concerned for your health. Given that you lose all control of your physical faculties, the risk of your being seriously injured during a blackout is quite high. For your sake, I would urge you to accept the treatment.”

Your lower lip quivers as you look over at Piotr. “I’m scared.”

He scoots his chair closer to your bed and takes both your hands in his. “I will be right here for whole time.”

“You’ve got the collar on, too,” Alyssa says as she pats your arm. “You’re not at risk of hurting anyone else.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat and look over at Professor Xavier. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Physically, no, though the memories recovered may cause a great deal of emotional distress.”

“You’ve got Piotr here, and me, and your family is waiting outside,” Alyssa reminds you gently. “And you’re in a much better place than when you first came here. You can get through this.”

You give her a watery look. “Would you say something if I couldn’t?”

She nods. “If I didn’t think you could make it through this in one piece, we’d figure out a different way.”

You take a deep breath, then nod. “Alright. Balls to the wall. Let’s do this.”

Professor Xavier nods back. “You will likely be more comfortable if you relax your body and close your eyes.”

You settle back against the bed, taking the time you need to get your pillow and blanket adjusted. Once you’re comfortable –and don’t have anything else to stall with—you look over at Piotr.

He kisses your forehead. “It will be okay. I will not go anywhere. I promise.”

You nod, take a deep breath, and squeeze your eyes shut.

The house is small, out in the middle of nowhere. It’s stark white against the stormy sky, with gray shutters and a tar black roof. The windows glint in their settings as the sun strains past the clouds in bits and pieces. An immaculate grass lawn stretches out all around it, with red and gold poppies lining the walk up to the front porch.

You’ve never felt the need to run more in your life, but your mother’s hand is latched onto yours, unrelenting. “Mommy, why are we here?”

Your mother doesn’t answer, just marches behind your father, yanking you with as they walk up the steps to the house and ring the doorbell.

A pretty but otherwise average young woman opens the door. “Come in. I assume you brought everything I asked you to.”

“Yes,” your mother says crisply. “How long will this take?”

“About half an hour, start to finish. Have you dosed her yet?”

“Before we left home,” your father answers.

“Good. Bring her to the bed.”

There’s a bed sitting in the far corner of the back room. It has railings on the side, like a hospital bed. Loose straps and restraints lay across the mattress.

You dig your heels in. “No! No, I don’t wanna lie down! No!”

Your father lifts you off the ground and carries you over, ignoring your kicking and screaming. He holds you down by your shoulders while your mother and the other lady strap you onto the bed.

You thrash and strain against the straps, but without your powers there’s no point. You’re not going anywhere.

The other lady moves to the head of the bed and places her hands on each side of your face. “I’ll begin now.”

And then, agony.

Is.

All.

You.

Know.

White hot. Consuming. It burns through you as you scream and scream and scream.

Maybe it lasts for an hour. Or maybe five minutes. Or maybe time just stops altogether. You can’t process anything outside of the blinding pain wracking your body.

At some point it stops, and then you’re being unbound. You sit up, shaking all over.

“She is perfected,” the other lady says.

Your mother kneels in front of you, smiling expectantly. “How are you feeling?”

You lift your gaze to look at her as tears continue trickling down your cheeks. You breathe in—

And then the room explodes as you scream.

Your eyes snap open.

You’re back in the medical wing room.

You’re back with Piotr.

You’re safe.

Piotr leans towards you as you press a hand against your mouth. “Myshka? What is it? What’s wrong?”

You bury your face in his shoulder and start crying.

It takes time for you to get it all out. You get halfway through the story, then decide that you’d rather tell everyone at once and ask for yours and Piotr’s families to be brought in.

When you were seven, your parents caught wind of there being a woman who could “cure” mutants by telepathically removing their mutations.

Your parents, being the people they were, decided to ask her to “cure” you.

And reality, being what it is, meant that her operation was one big sham. As soon as you’d been unrestrained, you decimated the entire house with a sonic scream.

Afterwards, the side effects of the treatment started showing themselves. Instead of repressing your mutation, the telepathic woman had caused you severe brain damage.

You were dying.

Not wanting to deal with a dead child on their hands, your parents had taken you to your uncle’s and demanded he heal you.

And he had. He’d called in a lot of favors to do it, but he did.

“And you sent her back home to them,” Wade says once you finish, glaring at your uncle. “I’m sorry, but what in the actual fuck!”

“It’s not that simple, Wade,” you argue tiredly.

“Oh, but it is! If I can kill a guy with a Zamboni, this is that simple!”

“Do you really think if I’d had any choice, I’d have let her go back with them?” your uncle growls.

“Wade,” you interject softly before your adoptive brother can respond. “You know me. You know I wouldn’t defend him if I didn’t think he deserved it.”

Wade relents at that and sits down, expression melancholy as the indignation rushes out of him. “Man. Your parents are fucked up.”

Across the room, Alexandra is wiping tears off her cheeks. “What mother does that to her own child?”

Nikolai just shakes his head and says something in Russian in a trembling voice.

Piotr stays with you that night, cramming into your bed with you on your request despite the fact that a cot had been brought in for him. He keeps his arms wrapped tightly around you, pressing intermittent kisses to the crown of your head as the two of you sit in silence. Between his shock over the whole situation and the fact that you can’t really get more than two sentences into any conversation before you start crying, there’s not much to be said.

He starts rubbing your back when you start sobbing anew. “Tische, moya dusha. Everything is okay.”

You press your face against his chest as you bawl. “P-promise me –promise me w-we’ll never do anything like that to our kids. N-not just m-mutation stuff, b-but even if they’re –if they’re disabled, or autistic, or—”

His arms tighten around you, encircling you completely. “Konechno. They will always be loved, regardless of whatever comes with them.”

(Later, after you’ve been discharged from the medical wing, you’ll realize that he could’ve been offended that you’d even think that he’d hold any sort of condition against a child of yours and his, but instead chose to accept your fear for what it was and reassure you that the two of you would always –will always—do right by whatever children you have.

You’ll start crying again when you do.)

…

You come to with a sharp inhalation several hours later. Your eyes are sore from crying so much, and your bed is noticeably Piotr-less.

Alexandra is seated on a chair next to your bed. She cringes when she realizes you’re awake. “D’ermo. We thought you would sleep much longer than this.”

You frown sleepily. “Where’s Piotr?”

“Nikolai and I had him go stretch out in his own bed for a bit. We figured we would get him up in a few hours, before you woke up.”

“What time is it?”

“A little past six AM.”

You grimace. “Fuck.”

She smirks. “I was never a morning person, either. How are you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess. Nothing’s hurting. Trying to sleep with these fucking wires all over my head is a little annoying, though.”

“And emotionally?”

You frown a little –you didn’t think you had any tears left in your body, but your eyes are already welling up—and hug the blanket against your chest. “Sad. And angry. And just…”

Alexandra gently puts her hand on yours when your voice trails off. “Maybe this is not my place to say… but you ought to be proud of yourself. And I know things will process in time, but you have been through so much, and yet you have not lost your compassion, your kindness, your joy. You are incredibly strong, Y/N. Don’t forget that, in all this revelation.”

You give her a small smile. “Thank you. And I’m trying to process stuff out and give myself time, but… I don’t know. I know I went through a lot, but I know my uncle and you –or people like Wade, and Nate, and even Frank—have gone through so much worse. I guess when I think about all of that, my stuff doesn’t seem like it was that big a deal.”

Alex shakes her head. “The point of surviving trauma is not so we can compare our scars to others’ and decide who has had it worst by the marks left behind. The point of surviving is so that we can be compassionate towards others who are still enduring their own struggles, and so we can help them make sure they swim towards the surface, rather than down.”

“Wow. That’s… that’s really deep. And inspiring.”

She smiles. “I cannot take credit; Nikolai said it, not me.”

You smile back. “He seems like a wonderful man. I see a lot of him in Piotr.”

“Nikolai is the light of my world,” Alex agrees. “I would not be who I am now without him.”

“I know I wouldn’t be who I am without Piotr, either.”

She’s quiet for a minute, then she squeezes your hand gently. “For what it’s worth, I think I would be very lucky to have you as a daughter –or, daughter-in-law, I suppose. Whenever you and medvezhonok decide the time is right.”

You try to smile at her –because she’s being sweet and you really do appreciate the sentiment—but you wind up crying instead.

You’ve already found replacements for your father in Nate and your uncle, but this is the first time you’ve had a motherly figure say you’d make a good daughter, and it’s making you emotional, dammit.

Fortunately, Alexandra seems neither startled or perturbed by your sudden outburst of tears. Instead, she simply moves from her chair to the edge of your bed, puts her arms around your shoulders, and presses a motherly kiss to the top of your head. “Tische, malen'kaya ptitsa. It’s okay.”

You wind up spending three days in the medical wing. Fortunately, between yours and Piotr’s respective families, you’re never left wanting for company or entertainment.

You also learn the hard way never to play Poker with Wade, Alex, your uncle, and Mikhail, because you will lose so badly, holy shit.

You also (also) learn that Illyana can, in fact, shred faster on her violin than Mikhail can on his guitar, which is great.

Piotr’s a constant presence by your side while you’re confined to your bed in the medical wing. He squeezes into bed with you at night, and during the day he does different art practices while sitting next to your bed.

Despite the constant stream of people and comfort, you’re still going out of your mind. You’ve stopped blacking out, which –as far as you’re concerned—means that you ought to be free to galivant around the mansion as you damn well please.

Fortunately, by mid-morning on the fourth day, Dr. McCoy, Professor Xavier, and Alyssa finally agree with you.

“Oh thank Cthulhu!” You yank the sticky pads the wires had been attached to off your forehead before the healer working with you can lift a hand to help. “I thought I was gonna go insane!”

Professor Xavier chuckles as you try to vacate the bed as fast as possible. “Before you wander off, there is one more piece of information we need to share with you. We believe we have a working diagnosis for your episodes.”

You freeze halfway through getting out of bed. You stare at Xavier for a moment, then blindly reach for Piotr’s hand.

He squeezes your hand in his. “What did you find?”

“Well, the blackouts were specifically caused by the combination of the head injury and the repressed memories coming to the surface,” Hank starts. “We’re not exactly sure why they manifested the way they did, but I’m confident that Y/N’s in the clear now, considering she’s been without incident for the past seventy-two hours. As for the episodes, we’re all in agreement that the psychic scarring caused your traumatic memories to manifest as hallucinations.”

“Now that we know what’s been causing the hallucinations,” Alyssa adds, “we believe that medicating your anxiety, continuing with counselling to help you process your childhood trauma, and regular telepathic therapy should get your episodes mostly –if not completely—under control.”

You stare at all of them. You can barely breathe. You almost can’t believe it.

A diagnosis. A treatment plan.

A fucking answer.

We could get married now, you realize. We finally know what’s going on. Piotr and I can get married.

You barely have to look at Piotr to know he’s thinking the exact same thing.

You start crying. After years of not knowing what was wrong with you, you finally have answer –and a way to deal with your issues, an actual plan.

You practically fling yourself into Piotr’s lap. When you wrap your arms around his neck –and he wraps his arms around you—you realize he’s crying, too.

The future’s never looked so bright.

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Jeffrey Alexander, Dire Wolves

An ever-mutating group, Dire Wolves (Just Exactly Perfect Sisters Band) describe their activities as “a sound of ecstatic improvisation.” They explore the confluence of psychedelic rock and free music, rambling through kosmiche rhythms and formless jazz, sometimes during the same spontaneously-created piece. Band leader Jeffrey Alexander previously participated in Black Forest/Black Sea and The Iditarod, and has played with Jackie-O Motherfucker for several years. With both a new Dire Wolves album (reviewed here) and a new solo release this summer, it’s a fine time to get his set of “ten musical things that have made me what I am, I think”:

Warner Brothers loss leaders comps

Especially The Big Ball, which was the first one I got, had a huge impact on my pre-teen brain. Grateful Dead, Joni Mitchell, Pentangle, Pearls Before Swine, Neil Young, Captain Beefheart, Tim Buckley, Jethro Tull, Incredible String Band, wow the list goes on and on. As a little wannabe-punk obsessed with all things SST, these collections expanded my ears to folk and classic rock, and continue to inform my record buying and listening habits to this day, some 40 years on.

Pearls Before Swine and Tom Rapp—For the Dead In Space

For The Dead In Space by Various

More specifically, Pearls Before Swine and Tom Rapp. I went down this rabbit hole in a major way in the ‘80s and ‘90s. Sometimes things just get under your skin, I guess. Delicate and truly psychedelic. I collected everything I could find and even recorded my own cover versions. Then I decided to ask others to do the same: projects that I worked on for years, and one of the things I’m most proud of. I turned my friend Marissa onto PBS and recorded her version of this track (her debut release) as part of these tribute albums.

Kate Bush—Hounds Of Love

A friend of mine in high school art class gave me a cassette of Hounds Of Love when it was first released. We listened to it while sculpting and painting that entire semester. I still have that same piece of plastic, although it sounds like it’s been underwater lately.

Lau Nau—Painovoimaa, valoa

I met Lau Nau on my first tour of Finland in 2004. She crafts some of the finest music of our times, deeply personal and hypnotic with subtle textures. I’m amazed and honored that she has been part of Dire Wolves these past few years.

Spires That In The Sunset Rise—“Wide Awake”

I first stumbled upon them at a camping music festival on a Wisconsin farm, also in 2004, and I was simply floored! I ended up releasing 3 of their albums (and 2 Ka Baird solo discs) on my now-defunct record label. Haunting and timeless music, played with perfection. Like Laura, Taralie and Ka are incredible improvisers with excellent ears and I’m equally amazed and honored that they have also recently been collaborating with Dire Wolves. We are not worthy.

WHFS

I can’t forget the radio station that I grew up with in Maryland. Totally free-form, deep cuts, far-out progressive. Improvisational radio is just like playing improv music – it doesn’t always work, but when it’s ON there is nothing better. I listened to this station every single day and on headphones on my newspaper bike delivery route. WHFS absolutely warped my brain, no question! And in the early ‘90s I even took a job as the M-F graveyard shift overnight DJ on Jake Einstein’s new station WRNR, after he sold HFS.

Flo + Eddie—By the Fireside

Speaking of radio, I have to include Flo + Eddie. Their ‘70s show By The Fireside was an amazing hodgepodge of sounds; they cut off records indiscriminately, were obviously totally wasted and having a ball. And just look at them here on German TV! Freaks living the dream.

Alice Coltrane—Journey In Satchidananda

The best. I return to her albums probably more than any others: profoundly moving. And of course Pharaoh Sanders wow!

Urdog—”Zombie Cloud”

I moved to Providence, RI in 1997 and stayed for ten years. I feel very lucky to have been part of an extremely special time/space for some incredible happenings/art/music/adventures. So many wonderful artists came to study at RISD and Brown and many moved into cheap, busted Olneyville warehouses, put on masks, and the rest is history. Urdog – a trio of guitar/farfisa/drums – was one of the best of the lot. I had the privilege of traveling with them across Europe in 2005, playing with bands like Sunn, Boris and Träd Gräs.

Träd, Gräs och Stenar—Gardet Fest, Stockholm 1970

Speaking of which – yes of course! Träd, Gräs och Stenar. Everything I love about about choogle and kosmische and free-spirited groove all rolled into one. My absolute favorite is their set at the Gardet Fest, Stockholm 1970. Here’s a great Swedish documentary (TGoS feature at the end of part 1 and into part 2).

The Dead—Hampton Coliseum, Hampton, VA, 10-9-89

Finally, I must mention The Dead, again. I traveled in a campervan across the country for several years on that trip. Here’s a Dark Star from Hampton VA in 1989. It was the first DS in many years (and my first), not to mention Drums>Space>Death Don’t (holy wow) but this video is especially great for me to actually view, as I was in the tapers section watching my levels. But we were all on another planet. After the Attics encore (again, wowow) the venue put up the house lights and the crowd refused to leave. Howling! Grateful Dead combine everything for me - trad folk, blues, jazz, improv … transportive ecstatic music, totally in the moment. Like I said earlier, when it’s ON...

[steve0discusses]

Yugioh S2 Ep 23-24: Escape From Box Fort

Currently trying to stop checking twitter more than once a day, and I’m getting legit twitter-shakes so I’ve decided to stave it off by watching nonsense television. So, last update I said that this was a 3 episode game arc yada yada, but that was apparently me just assuming that Yugioh had a formula. Because, to my shock, this one game was 4 episodes long.

It was 4 episodes mostly of Pharaoh rolling his eyes to the sky every time Kaiba said anything.

According to my bro who actually cares about the rules of this game, they broke basically a whole lot of established game rules in this particular match but like, I was all over that fast forward button so if I didn’t catch it, no harm, no foul. I was more interested in Tea and Mokuba’s very bizarre meet up at the box warehouse.

And while they formulated their half-brained plan (which is still better than Yugi who is always two halves of a brain) Marik and his snuggie villains tied Joey up in some dark room full of just one million cupboards and no light bulbs. Even Joey was not entirely sure of the purpose of any of that effort.

He also threatened to beat them all up so I assume he was just going to start bouncing around and headbutting everyone? His hair isn’t sharp enough for that - that’s a Yugi move, who probably greases those weird bangs with gel and then wipes all 4 of them it through a knife sharpener every morning.

There goes Marik, tying people up when he was just going to possess them anyway. Congrats Marik, now you have to untie the guy you only tied up like 3 minutes ago.

It really does feel like this villain just has zero idea what he is doing, and I’m guessing that probably happens a lot when your sister can see the future all the time. Why make plans or decisions when you have Ishizu to over explain everything to you? Honestly he wouldn’t even have had to tell her his fast food orders, she’d just show up with tacos when he starts feeling munchy. The life. Maybe he’s only been kind of a mess ever since he decided to embrace that whole cursed boy lifestyle?

Luckily for him, everyone else on this show is just as incompetent, and his big rival is a dead Pharaoh with amnesia who is currently squatting in the body of an angsty teen who plays the slowest card game I have ever seen played.

Anyway, speaking of ridiculously wasteful plans, will Tea decide to make a box, fort, again, although it really, really didn’t work the first time?

(read more after the cut)

So like, if Tea does it, she’s too heavy, but if Mokuba joins in--a kid who probably only weighs twenty pounds less than Tea, then...it works? I mean maybe this time they used tape?

I mean Mokuba is a genius child, so maybe he’s just better at building stuff. Maybe that’s what he learned from whatever vague genius orphan program these two underwent that still somehow landed Seto in public school. Mokuba learned to put the heavy boxes on the bottom.

And the moment Mokuba’s gifted feet left this box tower, Tea fell right back on her butt.

It took Yugi and Seto so long to play a card game that Tea and Mokuba had enough time to formulate a plan, follow it out, and actually succeed.

This is Mokuba.

They took so long Mokuba escaped. The kid who has been some sort of tied up/in a cage for over half of this show so far.

Anyway, Tristan narrowly avoids missing his train, which would have saved them both from what I’m guessing will be a hell of a lot of trauma.

Such an awkward train ride.

This show just can’t get anyone together, huh? Not complaining, mind you. Just...noticing. First it was Yugi/Pharaoh who really didn’t even blink once when Tea friendzoned them. I mean I think he just sweat a single forehead droplet or something. Now we have Tristan and Serenity, who haven’t even been on a real date--one of which is still in bandages from a very severe operation--and it’s like “we gotta break that one up waaaaaay before it starts.”

Who knows, maybe this anime was like “we can’t risk a Sailor Moon on this, we are already too much in hot water. Can’t be pulling out relationship stunts if we also gotta tie Tea up in a weird bondage chair and somehow still stay on the air during daytime kid’s TV.”

Which really happened, by the way.

How tall is this Odion guy PS? 11 ft?

Anyways, that’s one episode. Rip Joey. Other than that, not much to say about that one, so, lets jump into the next one.

On the other side of town things are still effed up but slightly less effed up as we are about to yes, absolutely, still blow a hole through the ceiling of this well populated building whether the team wins or loses.

So, they decide to work together. Well not really. They decide to trust that the other one won’t screw it on his turn. Considering these two are both card masters, this really was the lowest bar ever as far as trust goes. Can Yugi trust that Seto will play cards well? Y...yes. That’s literally all this kid does other than skip school and run a multicorp that only exists to invest in even more cards.

And he played them so well that this happened

I mean there are a lot of kid’s shows where villains fall to their deaths, but something about how realistic all these characters are drawn and how it’s put in a realistic-enough location to make it feel a lot darker than lets say Gaston falling off of Beauty and the Beast’s tower, you know what I mean?

But no matter, because Marik got these evil snuggies custom made and it is freakin weird.

I mean sure, whatever it takes to keep your 15 yo from doing a murder, Yugioh, I’ll take it, I guess. Even though like...I keep getting flashbacks to Mannequin. I never really wanted to remember Mannequin, so thanks for that.

Anyway, this began a really bizarre fight where Yugi wanted to interrogate the last guy standing--as if this guy knows anything--and Kaiba just wanted to straight up kill him for abducting his little brother. Both ideas were bad, so it’s fine that Marik nipped this in the bud.

Again, standing here next to Magic Muto, Kaiba is just refusing to admit that any of this is even slightly magical. Maybe he was such a bad wizard in his past life that he was cursed to not even believe in the concept of magic in this reincarnation. Not like it really matters, since Kaiba’s tech is basically magic.

Also get a load of this effect.

Hell yeahhhh it’s getting real 2001 now! Mm, probably took them like 4 computers to render back then. Glorious.

So, they both decide to drop this guy and he passes out on the roof of this building. No need to move him or anything. No need to disable the three other bombs. Just like...just loot his body and leave. I love this kid show’s weird ass morality.

So after ALL of that, Mokuba arrives. Good thing Kaiba didn’t actually murder anyone in revenge for his little brother (though he did try) or that would have been...awkward. Though, probably not the first time.

Since Tea saved his brother, Seto decides to help Yugi out by saving the lives of Yugi’s friends (of which, two are in the finals of Seto’s tournament, so he does actually need them.) He makes a note that he’s only doing this so he won’t owe Tea anything, and that Yugi did absolutely nothing at all. Which was kind of true, this entire match was a bad idea that gave them nothing but broken glass.

That’s right, it’s anime food time. Yes yes yes, my favorite time.

Just kidding, it’s all in boxes.

Thanks 4 kids, for not allowing us to think that people in other countries might not eat the same food we do. I guess they figured that the triangle shaped rice ball that Serenity had in the next scene looked enough like a taco to trick us.

Real talk, if my Taco Bell came in a fancy real wood box all cutely wrapped like that, it would be NUTS. Can you even imagine if Taco Bell decided to make Burrito Supremes into cute bento boxes? Hell. I would eat a Burrito Supreme again for the first time in 3 years. I would even eat it if they somehow put a burrito in that nasty Nacho Cheese Dorito flavored shell (though tbh that Cool Ranch shell was absolutely delicious and 10/10. Nacho cheese Dorito shell: bad)

Sorry I’ve been thinking a lot about Taco Bell ever since I realized you could go online and customize your burrito and I’ve been going down the rabbit hole of other people’s mad quesalupas and freaky deep-dish crunchwraps (one guy said he just gets a plain 5layer burrito and shoves a bunch of Doritos in there with extra nacho cheese sauce and he asked “Is this weird?” and the top comment was “no, you are God among men”)

Anyway, I just want you to imagine that spectacularly awful custom 5 layer burrito smothered in extra queso sauce and lovingly wrapped in a box with adorable wrapping paper and being given just two chopsticks to eat it with. And you do. On a train for everyone else to smell.

And then a few weeks ago I asked rhetorically, does Yugi and Seto get to go on a bachelor-style helicopter date and the answer is--YES.

Bless this storyboarder. Get this cross-stitched so I can hang it over my fireplace. Maybe it’s just me who thinks this shot is maybe the best joke in Yugioh, but I mean. Look at it. It just keeps giving. Yugioh characters are just so bizarre when they’re shoved into very small, very normal looking spaces.

And FYI I totally checked twitter four times while writing this so like...so much for that life goal. Boy, I have a twitter problem.

So, next week, on Yugioh:

Does anyone else in Marik’s troupe get real hot, so they take off their hoodie and we find out that nearly everyone else is also wearing the same exact pastel pink crop top sweater as Marik? Do Marik’s snuggie parachutes accidentally go off at embarrassing times? Does Seto pull out a neck pillow and just pass out for a few episodes while stealing Yugi’s arm rest? Does Mokuba offer to watch a movie on the copter and all they have is just Serendipity and Sleepless in Seattle?

And for those new here, this is a link to the Yugioh recaps in Chrono Order from Ep 1 so you don’t have to scroll through comments and stuff

[sweetkwannie]

Puppy Fever

♬ pairing; kim jihun & reader

// summary; you’ve finally broken him. you’re getting your wish.

// warnings; fluffy, v. v. fluffy. (if u kno wat i’m talkin bout)

// word count; 1,323

♔ author’s note; my very first post. what a wacky world we live in.

Even though it’s three in the morning and you have class in about five-ish hours, those facts don’t stop you from spiraling down the rabbit hole that is social media. First you started with simple Twitter posts that made you giggle, then you slowly shifted to Instagram and skimmed through the many posts from your friends, until you saw this super fluffy puppy on an advertisement. Now, here you are, scrolling through the hundreds of thousands of pictures of giant malamute pups!

You want one. Without a doubt in your mind, you want one right this instant, but how exactly can you go about that? You don’t want to wake your partner knowing he has a busy schedule tomorrow, but you also want to beg him to drop everything and go buy you one of these sweet-faced puppies. Deciding to just ask him about it in the morning, you roll onto your side and begin gently scratching at his back. He hums contently in is sleep, leaving you feeling soft as heck. ‘There’s no way he’ll say no’, you think. He can’t! If anything he’ll probably want one just as bad as you after seeing those cute pictures.

Morning comes and you’re already jumping at the opportunity to speak to your compassionate and understanding boyfriend, Jihun, about your desire to have a giant fluff ball pet.

“Baby!” You twirl yourself around his back while he fiddles with the light colored locks atop his head.

He hums curiously, glancing at your snuggling self through the mirror.

“I think it’s time we grow our little family.” Despite the intentions being completely innocent, Jihun tenses, his cheeks turning a soft pink as he twists to look at you with wide, confused eyes.

You couldn’t possibly be thinking of a baby. You’ve only been together a couple years. Not to mention you’re both still young and have many years ahead of you. Having a child is a big commitment, and costly too! You don’t even have room for—

Jihun’s train of thought is completely halted when you show him a picture of a group of fluffy beasts. A bright grin on your cheeks as you, cutely, say, “We should get a puppy! An Alaskan Malamute to be specific.” He visibly sags with relief, taking a hold of the phone and flipping through the many, if not, hundreds of pictures you’ve saved.

With pursed lips, he hands the phone back, “Don’t you think they’re a little big for our small place?”

“Yeah, but we could make it work…”

You’re pouting, eyes big and watery at just the thought of being rejected. Jihun hates it. He hates how you have him wrapped around your finger, but will that stop him from saying no? Yes, kinda. He won’t say no entirely more of a, “I’ll think about it.” Which is probably worse than saying no, because now your hopes are at an all time high, and when you put your mind to something it normally works out. In your favor, of course.

It’s been a few days since the ‘I’ll think about it!’, and you’re getting ancy. He hasn’t gotten back to you about an answer, and you’d hate to pester him over a puppy. But, well, you really want one. Like really want one. You have hardcore puppy fever, and it’s only gotten worse the more you scroll through WeRateDogs on Twitter. Look at them, they’re so cute! With their little floppy ears, soft looking coats, and happy grins…

Pictures! That’s the perfect! If you can manage to give him puppy fever as well, he’ll have to get one.

Operation Get a Freaking Puppy!

Step One: Show Jihun several pictures and videos of dogs being their cute selves.

“Look how sweet!” You coo practically shoving the phone in his face one night. “Doesn’t she look soft and cuddly?” You question, grinning from ear to ear as you admire the video you’ve seen about eight times already.

He nods, smiling. “She is really adorable.” He says, watching along with you as the black Lab prances about and attacks a stuffed toy.

The night goes on like that. With you running across hundreds of posts of dogs of all ages, showing them to your very kind and patient boyfriend…

Step Two: Send him pictures of dogs you run across online through text.

You [1:12PM]: look at these beauties

You’ve sent a mirage of baby pitbulls to Jihun. All wearing elf outfits with matching hats and ears.

Jihun [1:27PM]: aren’t you in class??

You [1:32PM]: listen

Jihun [1:33PM]: ?

You didn't respond.

Step Three: ???

You’ve run out of ideas, and to be honest you’re slowly giving up hope. It’s been almost an entire month of you annoying this poor boy, and he hasn’t even given you an answer. He didn’t say no at the very least, and you’re fed up with it. You’re sulky and huffy, giving him attitude and being an all out brat about it. Deep down, you know you shouldn't be acting this way over a pet, but you can’t help it. Brattiness is a good source of emotional release for you. A productive brat though. Can’t get behind on school work, can you?

Cross legged on your shared bed, you stare at the ten page essay you’ve been scribbling all over with red pen. Rereading and revising over and over, seemingly unable to be happy with what you have.

“The inner workings of the human brain are meticulous and my brain is the size of a peanut…”

Heaving a sigh the papers get tossed to the side and the back of your head meets the headboard. The chewed up end of the pen finds its way back in your mouth as you work the exhausted gears in your brain. When you first wrote this paper it sounded great, honestly you deemed it good on your own, until you got it back from your professor. He absolutely obliterated it. You had never seen so many question marks in your life.

As you’re wallowing in the sorrows of college assignments, the door to your bedroom gets kicked in, basically. In pops your cheesy grinned boyfriend, swallowing his lips to compose himself before striding over to the bed.

Sitting up with arched brows you ask, “Good day?”

He nods, eyes glitters with absolute joy. “Come here buddy!” He randomly calls out calls out, spinning around and making kissing sounds with puckered lips. He crouches down, stretching out his arms and hands.

You’ve never jumped up off the bed so fast, eyes wild and crazy as you glance down the hall. Bumbling down said hall on uneven footsteps and panting like crazy is a pint-sized ball of fur. His eyes big and sweet, pure black with deep brown fur. He comes skidding across the hardwood into Jihun’s arms, licking and rubbing all over his face.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, but he looked so sad sitting in the window. I couldn’t leave him there.”

Holding back tears and squeals, you hold out your arms expectantly. Jihun slowly slides the giddy dog into your hold and he’s already hopping to lap at your face. You give him kisses back, cooing and nuzzling the fluffy friend. “Oh, he’s so precious!” You utter lightly with a breathy laugh, petting between his ears.

“He’s a couple years old already, and his name is Coffee. At least, that’s what the papers say.” Jihun cuddles in close, tying his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder. “Do you like him?”

Like him? Like him?! You love him in all his Coffee glory! He’s perfect and sweet. He’s more than you could’ve asked for. “More than you.” You tease, giving your lovely boyfriend a smooch on the cheek.

Jihun mocks offense only to cuddle himself deeper against your neck and sigh. “I love you, loser.”

“I love you too, idiot.”

[crveritaserum]

top 5 visuals of each house go

Although I do not find it necessary for this list to exist since we all know I’m the hottest person at Hogwarts is, I’ll humour you desperate souls just this once so you can stop desperately pestering me about this. If you want your name mentioned so desperately why don’t you just send in a message about yourself? Personally, for me, none of these people would even be considered for this list, but the public has spoken. 

Let’s start the list with the infamous House of Snakes. A list of beautiful people would not be complete without my beloved boyfriend ( @crvince ) even if his family is attempting to get in between our love. Only he actually deserves a spot on this sad excuse of a list. Then we have the rotting flower ( @crtitania ). It seems even a flower is able to bloom in such a desolate place like the dungeons, but just because a flower can bloom doesn’t mean it can shine. all I see from the ice princess right now is a lot of look and not a lot of personality. Considering she did win over the attention of both an idiotic lion and snake, however, maybe there’s something there I’m just not seeing. Next would be the house mistake ( @crichigo ). Sometimes I wonder if it’s actually possible for the sorting hat to wrong. Doesn’t Ichigo seem too soft and impressionable to be a snake? How such a pushover got placed into the snake den is still a wonder to me. It’s no wonder then that he got swallowed whole during his first few years here. Onwards, we have our overused trope ( @crben ). Tall, dark, and handsome has always been in. time has proven that this trope is one that women will never get tired of and, boy, is our Benjamin the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Of course, tall, dark, and handsome only gets so far in life, if that’s you’ve got going for you then soon even that becomes boring. But you don’t care much for such trivial things now do you, Egg Benedict? Lastly, we have diva wannabe ( @crpenelope ). The only reason she is even considered for a spot on this list is that there is no other person in Slytherin that comes even close to deserving a spot. Call it a pity placement.

Next onto The Lion’s Den. What list is without the most sought-after female of the house ( @crcwan ). It’s only natural for her to be on the list with her dull charms and mediocre looks. fair warning, darlings, the list just gets worse at this point as she seems to be the only relatively interesting Gryffindor. Then we have happily ever after thirsty ( @crxevie ). Fairy tales have taught young girls everywhere that your heart is supposed to beat faster around the one you like, but when you heart seemingly beats faster for just about everyone you see, I think it’s about time for you to go seek professional help. I’m sure the matron would have something to fix your tachycardia and maybe teach you through her many years of accumulated wisdom that what you’re experiencing shouldn’t be considered love, it’s called desperation. so this infant ( @gracecr ) seems to carry herself very highly and as she in the house of the lions, this is something that comes as unsurprising. I appreciate someone confident enough to love themselves, but where do you draw the line between self-love and narcissism, little grace? Then we have airfoil ( @crwingyau ). Chicken wing here seemed to have grabbed some attention with the fact that she was seen snogging with a boy in the library. But if that’s the only thing noteworthy she’s done since her time here at the school then I’d like to just move on and talk about other more pressing matters. Clearly the boys in Gryffindor really aren’t anything special if only one of them made it onto the list. Wannabe fuccboi ( @crzhengyang ) the bad boy act isn’t working for you, dear, no one seems to notice your attempts to win every female over with your charms, maybe you should switch up your act and try again. 

Now onwards to the Ostriches. Or should I say Ravens, but they don’t have the brains for that. Probably into cat ear headband ( @crperseus ), last time we mentioned him on this blog, he seemed to have to gained himself quite a following. But oh would you look at that? Things seemed to have slow down for our sleeping beauty. Nothing new has happened with him since then, it seems that perhaps you people have finally decided to wake up and realize that someone into cats more than humans isn’t worth all the hype. Little miss troublemaker ( @crxaria ) over here seems to think of herself as a force to be reckoned with, but I can only say two words to describe her act: try hard. Darling, watch yourself around these waters, tread too deep into this persona of yours and you might find that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As if we don’t have enough people trying to freeze over the grounds of Hogwarts with their icy personalities, here is another lowballing contender ( @crxalma ) trying to be the reason for the long winter that seems to drag on forever. A weak example, honestly. If people can still think of you as being “nice deep down” then you’re doing the whole cold thing wrong. Honey, it’s spring now, lose the act and accept the fact that you were never as cool as you thought you were and never will be. Now it seem weird is in this season as eccentric ( @crlianna ) takes the grounds of Hogwarts by storm. People, you have me questioning your taste more and more with each passing day. To think someone that goes around calling themselves trash and still plays Pokemon Go is considered cool. But I guess in that case, she makes my job easier for me. I don’t need to waste my breath to ridicule her when she does it so well herself already. Last another fake boy ( @crmason ). As someone who finds himself to be the next Casanova, Mason’s personality is literally that of another typical fuccboi with commitment issues. Honestly, people, why do you all keep falling for such acts, it’s not even original. The only thing original about him is the fact that he’s a fuccboi, that’s not Chinese like the others. 

Now onto our final and most forgettable house! First off, the future failure of a president ( @cecilcr ) this one is pretty self explanatory, I won’t waste my time trying to justify the placement of this one on this list for the house of bores. Congratulations to Cecil for being the poster boy for what a Hufflepuff should look like. Nice, soft, boring. Then we have the namesake, our little wannabe nobility ( @crxalice ) seems to be lost in her own world as well, falling into the rabbit hole fantasy where her dreams will come true. But darling, when you curl up with a snake, you have to watch out for the fangs. Wow look another eccentric ( @crxaelita )! With her wistful thinking and snowflake personality and borderline obsessive interest with all things magical creature related, it looks like someone here wants to be the next Newt Scamander. But I guess since we already have someone else pining for the position of Voldemort and she can’t one up that, she had no choice but be stuck with the weird Hippie Hufflepuff persona. Hufflepuffs were always so soft and boring for me. To hope for anything different from someone that hails from this house was too much to ask for it seems. You’d think that because he has the money and status of a pureblood, he’d also have a backbone, but grandpa at heart ( @crxhardt ) seems to let just about anyone step all over him in the name of “friendship.” Now miss blank wall ( @crxlottie ) to think that even this one could sneak her way onto the list is quite shocking to me as I can only seem to describe her using one word: basic. Sure, she has the looks of the Mei family, but when it comes to the personality and charm she’s duller than a rusty nail. While her cousin seems to gain the attention of all those he talks to, little Charlotte over here can’t even seem to catch the attention of the guy she seems to be interested in. Although, honey, I do advise that if you decide to go for someone that’s way out of your league like that, you try to steer clear of your best friend’s fiance next time. 

[ashxpad]

How to Prepare for a Professional Photo Shoot

Back when I was taking pictures just for the fun of it, I never once thought to optimize my preparation. There was no preparation — no shot list, no scouting, no mood board. That all changed when making pictures became my job and my livelihood.

Now there are stakes, and it’s more important than ever to set myself up for success and lay the foundation necessary to create work I’m proud of. In fact, let me dispel the myth of the scatter-brained creative who picks up their camera when inspiration strikes; I would argue that the quality of my preparation before a shoot is the single biggest indicator of how my final images turn out.

Before I go any further, let me take a moment to define what I mean by “professional photo shoot.” This includes any photo shoot that is conducted for commercial purposes: in other words, to make money. I would like to broaden that definition to include any shoot that is conducted for the purpose of fulfilling a commercial assignment, whether or not it is commissioned by a client. Oftentimes when you first start out, there are no real clients to speak of, and the onus is on you to produce self-assigned work that builds your portfolio in a way that potential clients see what you can do. Regardless, there are real stakes involved and a target audience you are trying to reach. Yes, this requires your own time and money, but do it right and you will be well on your way to your first commission.

To begin, ask yourself these two questions:

1. What are your constraints?

Whether they are provided in a client brief or they are self-imposed, the following constraints will always apply in some manner:

Budget

Timeline

Target audience

If these constraints are left undefined, that means someone isn’t communicating properly; you are always working within some kind of box, no matter how big or small. Either ask the client or be honest with yourself, because I can guarantee that even Jeff Bezos himself isn’t flying you to the moon for that perfect shot.

2. What are your goals for the production?

Does the client have a specific hero shot in mind for the campaign? Are they trying to bring more female representation to a historically male niche? Maybe your portfolio errs on the darker side of the color palette and you want something more bright and light-hearted. Whatever your ambition, make sure you have a clear idea of what you want going into this endeavor. Without direction, things can go off the rails quickly.

Once you have an answer to these questions, you can begin gathering your thoughts in a structured way. I’ve broken it down into a simple five-step process:

Step 1: Ideation

Not everyone simply sits down, has a lightbulb go off, and amazing ideas start flowing. Cal Newport, in his book Deep Work: Rules for Focused Success in a Distracted World, he writes about the benefit of setting aside time to dive deep into the task at hand and work without distraction for a set increment. As I write this article, I am alone in my office with headphones in and Pop Goes Classical playing on Spotify. I texted my girlfriend to tell her I would be unavailable for a while, set my phone to Do Not Disturb and got to writing. I don’t always follow this process to a T, but when I do, I know that I will be at my best.

Once you have set aside time to think, feed your brain with outside content — work from other photographers you want to emulate, Pinterest boards with the look and feel you’re seeking, etc. This is your time to go down those rabbit holes and look outward for inspiration. Take note of your ideas as they come; some prefer mind mapping, others make lists, but find what works for you. When the ideas run dry, filter them through the constraints you identified earlier. This will help you narrow your options to something attainable and realistic. You can archive those that don’t make the cut for future consideration. In my case, I do this publicly in the form of Dreamscapes, a collection of creative concepts I have put into words for future inspiration.

Step 2: Mood board

Once your selected idea is clear in your mind, it’s time to find visual content that matches your intended style and document it. Pinterest is great for mood boarding, but using one social platform can be limiting. I prefer to look across the internet — on Google Images, stock websites, Pinterest, Instagram, you name it — and curate my findings in Evernote. This allows me to keep all my pre-production materials centrally located and searchable.

If you’re thinking, “Wait a minute, then aren’t you just copying someone else’s work?”

Here is the thing: There is very little that hasn’t been done before. If I were scrolling through a single shoot on Alex Strohl’s website copying only his images, then you might have a point; but when you cast a wide net and gather reference images from 20 different photographers, you aren’t copying anyone. You’re simply finding your lane.

Step 3: Casting

Once you have identified your target audience, you have to find the talent that best matches that audience. As I discussed in a previous post on how to tell an effective brand story, the character you choose must match the story. Depending on my budget, I may use a professional modeling directory like JoinAgent.com. On a self-assigned project, I would instead seek out a friend or search Instagram for local talent to offer a time for print (TFP) arrangement where it’s known that both parties are unpaid and looking to build their portfolios.

Step 4: Location Scouting

Steps three and four are interchangeable depending on the kind of images you are shooting. For a project that leans more heavily on the adventure side of things, location is often the more important variable and thus should be decided first. I often find interiors using Airbnb, while I find outdoor locations using a variety of platforms: AllTrails, Instagram, Pinterest — take your pick.

Here is my list of outdoor locations on AllTrails for a recent shoot with United By Blue.

Step 5: Shot List

This is where the rubber meets the road. All the ideas you have floating around in your head must now be documented as concrete, defined shots. In the early stages of pre-production, I take note of my ideas in list form on Evernote. Then, using StudioBinder’s shot list widget I cross-reference that list with my mood board to sequence shots in the order they will be taken. Every shot includes detailed notes on who the subject is, what action is taking place, the kind of lens I plan to use, from what angle I want to shoot, and the kind of lighting I expect to have. It may seem tedious, but consider this a time to visualize the end result and ground your thoughts in one succinct document.

On the left is the beginning of my shot list on StudioBinder, and on the right is my mood board in Evernote.

Now Bring It Home!

With all the necessary pieces now in place, it’s time to execute on your vision. In the event you are working with professional talent or you are working within a specific timeframe, I recommend drafting a call sheet for the entire crew and including your mood board and shot list as attachments. I often find it useful to print all of these documents to include in a hardcopy production binder on the day of the shoot. It keeps you organized and provides a fail-safe in the event your devices run out battery or lose connection.

Now that you’ve done the legwork, you can rest assured that when shoot day rolls around you will have done everything possible to prepare for success. Get out there and make some beautiful images.

About the author: Brad Vassallo is a commercial and outdoor lifestyle photographer based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. A creator since his earliest days, he once had the dream of being a National Geographic photographer. In spite of those aspirations, he spent the better part of his life chasing other people’s dreams of what he was supposed to do and who he was supposed to be. At a certain point though, the voice inside got to be too loud, too persistent and told him that the path he was on was not his own. He began to listen to that voice, affirming his own creative aspirations and returning to his creative roots. You can see more of his work on his website and Instagram.

This story was also published here.

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[vestedbeauty]

Positive Thinking Is Hooey. This Works Better.

New Post has been published on https://vestedbeauty.com/positive-thinking-is-hooey-this-works-better/

Positive Thinking Is Hooey. This Works Better.

Positive thinking always bugged me. It seemed to require lying.

Mind you, I’ll be the first to look for the silver lining. But that’s different from positive thinking. Here’s the thought experiment I’m running now.

A few months ago, I bought a copy of Trevor Blake’s “Three Simple Steps” because my employer and friend, Ryan Moran, called it the best book he’d read all year (other than his!). I figured I’d breeze through it, pick up some cool insights to implement, and then put it on the shelf. As with most books, reading it would yield a few gems I’d use to make some incremental improvements in how I show up in life. I gave myself two weeks to read it and pull out a few action steps.

Three months later, I’ve just now finished it. Not because it was a tedious read, but quite the opposite. Trevor’s message – and even his writing style – is kind of like a nice single malt scotch. You could gulp it down, but what a waste that would be. 

Reading the very last pages, including the acknowledgements, within seconds, I wanted to flip to the beginning and start it again. That’ll happen tomorrow.

But like most writers, for me, I’ve got to write about something to know what I really think! I’d love for you to listen in – and would welcome discussion if you’d like to share your thoughts.

There’s so much to process in this book. Like a delicious meal served with a fine wine, savoring and lingering is the only way to go. We’ll start with just one concept – that of being “for” rather than “against” anything.

What You Resist Persists

Whether you’re into personal development – or if you’ve raised kids – you know this truth. It’s about where we put our focus and energy. 

A hypothetical for you. Pretend that your child starts dating someone you think is a horrible choice, and you object with every fiber of your being. What happens? Yes. They dig their heels in, get married, and have ten kids with that person. Because something in them felt like you left them no choice but to rebel and preserve their own sovereignty. Had you not objected so vehemently, the relationship might have run its course. The energy you put into being against it fueled it.

We Go Where We Look

Just listen to what he says at 2:55.

I don’t know that I’m a believer in the Law of Attraction so much as the Law of Attention. In my own experience, it’s become obvious that where my focus goes, that’s what grows. The better I master my attention and learn to direct it, that’s magical.

Maybe you’ve experienced entangling yourself in mental anguish, too? 

Perhaps it started by waking up feeling anxious. Your mind went searching for every reason you should feel that way. Running a mental inventory, your brain found every deficit in how you’ve handled life. You spot that financial stress, relationship strife or disconnection, acute awareness of physical discomfort or flaws, and your mind actually seems grateful for a thorn to hang onto.

Now you’ve got a name for the thing that’s bothering you – something you can turn over, examine, and own. There’s almost a sense of relief because you’ve identified what’s bothering you. But it’s short-lived because what you’ve actually done is send yourself down a rabbit hole that only gets worse the further you go. By devoting so much attention to what feels horrible, that horribleness only expands.

But the same is true in the opposite. You know this if you practice gratitude. Even if you’re in a foul mood, if you start mentally listing things you’re grateful for, the list gets pretty big pretty fast. 

Noticing this inevitability, I’ve leveraged it on purpose. If I’m feeling anxious, down, or less than positive, I’ll challenge myself to count ten things I’m grateful for – counting on my fingers to make sure I don’t lose track. Each item seems to spawn four more, and by the time I end the exercise, the count reaches into the dozens. Focused thoughts expand – in any direction.

This video, in that context, always lights me up.

It’s Not Really Positive Thinking

That’s always seemed like a ruse. I’ve been in settings and businesses where it took incredible delusionary power to tolerate the level of denial going on. You’ve probably experienced that, too.

I’m trying hard to find any other example besides the one I’m about to share. So, that’s probably the one that needs sharing.

When I was young, I was a pastor’s wife. At one point, we served in a Pentecostal church. (There I met some wonderful people, some who have been great friends to me for many years. Between them and the lessons I’ve learned, the experience was not altogether negative. Just wanted to say that first.)

Here’s the instance…

At one point, we were attending a Sunday night service. They went long. Longer still, when you count the altar time at the end. Kind of compulsory (and I was very young and not yet comfortable setting boundaries). My back had been teetering on the verge of going out all day, and standing so long became agonizing. I finally spoke up to excuse myself so I could go sit down. The head pastor started praying for my back – a particularly long-winded prayer, claiming my healing like you might see a televangelist do.

[This is so uncomfortable to write.] All the while, inside, I’m just silently begging to be allowed to go sit down, or even better, to go home. But I felt compelled to go with the group’s consensus that my back was healing on the spot. There was an unspoken directive – faith demanded a certain positive perspective. NOBODY said it, of course. But that was my perception. It seemed like a requirement to believe something contrary to what I was experiencing. 

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One truth became evident: The mind heart cannot accept what the mind rejects.

No Belief Required

Trevor talks a lot early on in the book about being “for” rather than “against.” This wasn’t entirely a new concept for me. Over the past couple of decades, I’ve been on an earnest pursuit of personal development. I’d learned practices, like setting intentions and focusing on gratitude, that satisfied my integrity and pointed me in the direction I wanted to go.

But the way he puts it feels like a whole new level of mental discipline. Before reading Three Simple Steps, I’d experimented with just identifying and sitting with my emotions. Definitely better than feeling vaguely “off.” But after finding the perfect descriptor for a feeling and staring it in the face, then what? 

I discovered that my focus is kind of like a blow torch.

If I paid too much attention to some feeling – even if aptly named – that doesn’t serve me, it was easy to slide into an utterly destructive mental state. Climbing out of that pit took a lot of energy. At my best, I believe that while pain is just part of life… but suffering is optional. After enough experiences of that pit, I decided to bypass it as much as possible. So, while it’s helpful to be able to identify any emotional state I experience, it’s way better to be able to steer myself in the direction I wish to go.

In being “for” instead of “against,” I found something to practice that does just that. Unlike mere positive thinking, it satisfies my sense of integrity because it doesn’t involve trying to believe anything, much less a lie. It works quickly; like lifting a toy train and setting it on a set of tracks, this practice resets my attention and direction. Finally, a few months into this practice, I see changes in my life. I notice my thoughts serving me better. Even in the face of challenges, there’s a growing sense of peace that lets me approach life from a more relaxed place. 

So, How Does It Work?

The way I experience it, it’s like this…

Things happen in, to, and around us, all day, every day. We’re consciously aware of some of these inputs. We have thoughts about them, and those thoughts lead to feelings. Those feelings either fill us with delight or they repel us. That’s the fork in the road, and we get to choose which way we’ll go. Our mood will follow, flavoring the next part of the day, week, or even for years.

In that moment, we can choose thoughts that are either “for” or “against” – no matter what the situation is. The mind will follow that choice and create what we experience.

Time for an example, because this still sounds pretty esoteric. In fact, I’ll give a highly practical and probably universal example.

Here’s How Being “For” Helped Me Tidy Up

Hubby and I like to keep our house clean and uncluttered. We’re not obsessed or anything – it’s just a preference. I function best in a tidy and reasonably clean space. 

With Christmas preparations, there was a lot going on. Our space had more boxes than usual. One table was full of supplies for wrapping presents. We were also working on our new chicken coop – so there were building supplies and debris right outside. Our cleaning lady recently quit because of some health issues and a career change. For a couple of weeks, I thought I’d just take over because I don’t mind cleaning and figured it would be a good way to ensure I move more each day. But I discovered that while I rather like doing daily maintenance cleaning, getting around to deep cleaning wasn’t happening. It became a losing battle.

Altogether, these factors resulted in a messy house. If I’d given a lot of thought to how much I was “against” living in a mess, my thoughts would have gone to the dark side. My emotions would go toward despair, frustration, resentment, and all of that might have resulted in an angry freak-out. 

Instead, I practiced being “for” instead. I’m for order, for tidiness and clear space. I’m for the peaceful feeling of a neat environment. Those are the “for” thoughts I focused on, and they helped keep my mind in a resourceful (and happy) state. As I practiced keeping my mind focused on what I am “for” it became easy to just clean up the mess. I wasted zero minutes stewing and fuming about how messy we’d let the place get. That meant I could fix it faster. It also meant I could focus on my work rather than getting hijacked by the drive to battle what I didn’t like. Even better, I didn’t pick a fight over it 🙂 

Practicing “For” Is Fun

A clean house is nice, of course. But this is fun to practice every day, as often as it comes to mind. From potentially big worries (the degenerative disc disease in hubby’s spine) to smaller annoyances (driving in holiday traffic in the snow), I’m learning to spot the fork in the road. It’s right in that spot that choosing consciously whether to be for or against in my thoughts makes all the difference.

It’s an entirely different thought experiment from “positive thinking” which always felt intellectually dishonest. “For” thinking feels more like working a puzzle. It’s a conscious choice to harness how the mind works for the best outcome. 

This is just one new practice I’ve been playing with as a result of reading Trevor Blake’s book. It’s one of the first detailed in the book, so I’ve had the most practice with this one. His steps build on one another and the results start to compound. As he posits, we get more of whatever we focus on, desirable or not.

This post got kind of long, huh? Part of me is screaming that I need to go back and edit, to tighten it all up… maybe even optimize it for the search engines, add a call to action. LOL (content marketing training dies hard!). But really, I just wanted… needed… to put my thoughts out there. My hope  deep certainty is that this blog will eventually gather readers who long to talk about this kind of stuff, who share their experiences, and who are on the same path. So, if you’re still here and if this resonated with you, thank you. I truly would love to hear your thoughts. 

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[gooddame]

You’re drunk and want my name tattooed on your ass. This is a good one to do...

I want to thank @lilbreck for always being in my corner even when I’m being a dummie about drabbles.  I’ve often said that she pulls me out of my personal bubbles more than she knows and this story is for her just because of that reason.

It’s a little over 4k so I’m gonna go under the cut so it doesn’t take up a lot of dash space. Though I can only be so sorry about it being grammarly incorrect so please excuse them. I will make up for it later. This can also be found in my new drabbles page Granted Wish on Fanfic.net.

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“No one says ‘just one shot’ and really means it Care,”Katherine cries as she grabs Caroline’s hand dragging her up on the bar stooland finally the bar top.

Caroline laughs as Kat hands her a shot glasses filling itup as the next song starts up in the rowdy bar they’ve been in for, oh, fourhours now. Their small drinks clink and it’s down the rabbit hole for Carolineas she swings her hips bumping along with Kat to the beat of the song. Shekeeps her head up dancing knowing Kat will never tire as she sways putting on ashow with her footwork making the crowd cheer loudly along with her.

Kat reaches for her hand as the bartender scoots them off inneed of room to serve the guests the pair of them have been entertaining makingKat roll her eyes and Caroline acquiesce to his need graciously. As graciouslyas a girl filled with whiskey and tequila anyway, strictly top shelf, she wasraised right after all in the small town of Mystic Falls. Kat seems todisappear into the crowd leaving Caroline to hunt for a stray chair or table towait for her so she can go home before she’s too drunk.

Her head sways to the new rhythm of the song playing, it’sone she’s heard for years and for some reason it makes her smile as Kat comesback holding two waters and two beers walking like she’s in a pool of jello.Caroline smiles reaching out to help her as they find a corner of the bar closeto the digital jukebox she finds herself leaning on to start in on her drinks.The water is invigorating as it hits her tongue, the lively bar crowd doing alot to keep her body temperature running high.

“I figured one more wouldn’t hurt,” Kat states as she sipsfrom her beer nudging a smile from Caroline as the blonde shakes her headsipping her drinks with glee.

Caroline only knows three words an hour later, ‘one morebeer’ as she observes Kat chatting up the brooding guy she had had her eyes onin the corner of the bar with way too much gel in his hair. Miffed Carolinerealized far too late that she wasn’t going to come back with a bottle of waterlike she said when she sees Kat grab for his hand. It’s a sign that Kat hasdecided to leave with him something that is confirmed when Kat throws her a slylook and Caroline reaches for her jacket preparing for her journey home. Alone.

Caroline mouths to her friend she’s going home, no need tomention how annoyed she is that once again Kat managed her to move past herthree drink max only to leave her high and dry. She counts her drinks, eleven,including shots. They shouldn’t feel this good, she thinks as she pulls herleather jacket back on knowing she doesn’t need it in the hot California aireven in the dead of night.

She makes herself focus, knows that with every tap of herheels on the pavement she’s that much closer to her comfy bed she never shouldhave left. Looking back when she’s down the block she discovers that Kat wasquick about her escape to as she is nowhere to be seen. Looking back so swiftlymakes her sway so she grabs onto the metal rails of a tattoo shop she alwayspasses on her way to work.

Before Caroline can think about it too much she’s slippinginside as her eyes devour the brightly colored displays on the walls and eventhe front desk. Her eyes release the sketches only to find a man with plumppink lips and dark blonde messy curls atop his head with blue searing eyesfocused on three sheets of paper over the front desk.

“Hey, I’m Rose,” The woman with the spunky brunette hair saidin a friendly tone as Caroline waved, “I’ll be with you in a moment. Feel freeto look around.”

Caroline smiled knowing she was acting drunk because she wasstaring not at Rose but at the man Rose was talking to and eavesdropping wasnot above Caroline, especially when drunk. She caught her say his name, Klaus,it suited him even though it made Caroline’s eyebrow rise notably. When herealized he had an audience in her Klaus waved her over, Caroline shook herhead but Rose also waved her back to them.

Rose’s eyes flickered from her to him as the corner of hermouth lifted, “Maybe you can help us out,” she says as she slides the papersCaroline can now see are sketches over to her.

“Currently,” Klaus speaks surprising Caroline yet again withhis British lit though if he sees her shock he doesn’t show it, “I’m unable tochoose between three of these designs. So you can see why I need you.”

“Actually, I don’t.” Caroline squeaks sobering at the worstpossible moment because his eyes are so incredibly blue and pleading, “I don’teven know why I came in here.”

“You’re here now,” he replies smoothly as Rose disappearsinto the back office, “And you’re wearing the shirt of one of my favorite bands-One of my favorite songs.”

Caroline looks down at the cut up yellow and blue Beatlesshirt Kat sneered at earlier that evening, “What song?” she inquired onlyraising her eyes as he makes a noise sounding faintly of amusement.

“With a little help from my friends,” he answered with a bitof intrigue in his tone as he closed some of the space between them.

She rolls her eyes even though internally she’s interestedin where he’s going with this, “We’re not friends,” she reminds him hoping shecan blame her flirty tone on the alcohol.

His eyes narrow in her lips, her smile, “Give me time,” hetells her as she looks from him over at the sketches he’s kept near this entiretime.

“Are these yours?” she asks surprised when she sees his namejust on the edge of the paper knowing the answer already before her eyes lockback with his.

“When you make something, it becomes a part of you,” heexplains, “That’s why it’s so hard to choose,” Caroline has already surmisedthis but she won’t mention it yet.

“I like the lines of this one,” she whispers in awe as hereyes took in the thin lines of the antique compass following with the words,‘Wherever you want to go’ wondering what it might look like in color, “It’ssoft almost like they’re just shades.”

“Is that the only thing jumping out at you,” he queriesmaking her blush as his words his breath tickles her cheek, “I suppose I shouldconsider it.” he says her before she can reply.

Rose pops her head back in to find Klaus has just decided,“Great, “I’ll get Trevor to start gearing up,” she tells him reaching for thedesign as his attention goes back to Caroline.

“Do you have any?” he probes and for a moment Caroline islost about what he means making her blush profusely when she realizes.

“I have two,” she admits as he smiles in her direction,“Teenage rebellion,” is all she’ll say after when his eyes linger on the starby her toes.

“And the other is?” he asks as his foot sets itself in frontof her own closing the rest of the distance between them as she lifts her handto brush her hair back.

“Just there,” he breathes over her wrist making Carolineinhale swiftly at the feel of his hot breath over her skin, “beautiful.” Klauscompliments her.

Without touching her Klaus has a way of making Caroline feelwarm all over making her slow drunken brain short circuit when he speaks again,“You’re welcome to one of these designs.”

“When you’re ready,” Rose calls from the further end ofanother room making Caroline jump back from their close distance, not an easyfeat in her shoes.

“Klaus reaches out catching her arm before she can dive intothe glass display next to them, “Um, thanks,” she manages out as the heat ofhis hands seeps into her body.

“Where are you getting it?” she tests straight after makinghim the surprised one for once and mentally she gives herself some points forfortitude.

Klaus winks as his hands ride off of her waist only to sethis fingers on the hem of his Henley and pull it over his head exposing theother images already inked into his flesh, “Can you guess?” he questions.

Caroline’s eyes shoot up towards the ceiling as he stridesaround her leaving his sketches and his shirt on the desk leaving her spinningwith possibilities. When she trusts that he’s been stamped and seated hergreedy eyes search for his sketches reaching for his shirt. An involuntaryshiver runs over her at the feel of the still warm fabric smelling so fantasticshe has to remind herself of what she’s doing.

She smiles as Rose comes back in to help her wagging herrazor perfect eyebrows at her, “Decide on one?” she asks as she reaches backinto her little office to grab a hanger for Klaus’ shirt.

“I don’t even know that I want one,” Caroline articulates asshe gives up Klaus’ shirt to the brunette, “I mean, they’re beautiful.” Shecompliments, “And I thought you couldn’t tattoo people who are drunk?”

“You don’t seem all that drunk,” Rose replied as she reachedfor the two sketches making Caroline’s hold on the edges become harder toescape from.

“Thanks,” Caroline says feeling the bite of her challengingtone as her eyes lock on the one sketch closer to the right replying in adefiant tone, “I want this one.”

Klaus’ deep pink lips form a stunningly broad smile when hesees her walk into the back, “Jeremy will help you,” Caroline hears Rose say asshe removes her jacket exposing her arms to the cold room.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he teases as she takes a seat on hisside waiting for Jeremy to appear so they can discuss where and how she wantsit to look.

“Bite me,” Caroline replies making him laugh and makingTrevor throw her a dirty look as Jeremy comes around the corner waving at herwith Klaus’ sketch in his hand.

Caroline lifted her hand, her knuckles rubbing at her eyesas she made a move to destroy the vintage alarm clock at her bedside, “I hateyou Katherine Peirce,” she groaned pathetically.

Her head swarmed as she moved to cuddle the side of her faceinto her fluffy pillow when the owner of the cursed name pushed open herbedroom door and spoke, loudly, “Please bitch, you love me.”

Caroline could feel the follicles in her eyebrows when theynarrowed in confusion, “What are you doing here?” she asks sitting up andinstantly regretting it.

Kat looks into her bedroom confused, “You called me,” shesupplied looking amazing in her suit pants and buttoned top with a revelingfront and fresh curls.

Caroline looked down at her Beatles top and panties justknowing her face must have looked like crap as she searched her mind for anidea of when she called her roommate, “I did not,” she said when she knew shehad no idea.

Kat makes a face as she moves around the kitchen, “Yeah, youdid,” she rejoinders reaching for one of their bright colored mugs, “It was toobad too,” she winks sparking something in Caroline, “I was getting freaky too.”

“Ugh, stop,” Caroline cries reaching for her ears to coverthem trying to keep the images at bay, “Why does my ass hurt?” she whinessoftly to herself.

But of course Kat hears as she passes by eating a croissant,“Did you fall on your flat ass?” she inquires with a laugh but to Caroline it’sa distinct possibility and then she realizes.

“Hey!” she shouts tossing her one of the pale blue pillowsthat has managed to escape the floor during her slumber.

Kat ducks with a swift flip of her hair, “Cute ass,” shecorrects with a grin, “My bad,” she replies as she starts the k-cup machine.

Caroline rubs her back softly feeling a slight sting as herfingers glide over the greasy skin while she moved to climb out of bed, “It feelsbruised. Why is there gauze on my bed?” she gasps out.

“Don’t you have a mirror?” Kat calls to her from the kitchenas Caroline pulls her shirt over her head as she rushed to her closet where herfull length mirror was propped on the inside of the door.

Turning her body Caroline felt her heart stop, “Kat!” sheexclaimed as she felt at her back where she had just been massaging to feel thetantalizing lines of her newly minted tattoo.

Caroline heard Kat run from the kitchen into her bedroom, “Noyelling,” she complains before her eyes set on what had Caroline doing so, “Idon’t have any cof-fee, Caroline how drunk were you?”

Her friend’s incredulous look done nothing to calm Carolineas she vaguely remembered she counted her drinks the night before, “I can’tremember,” she cries as Kat touches the edge of her skin.

The friends lock eyes in a daze, “Check your pockets,” Katbuzzes with trepidation motivating both of them scour her bedroom for her pantsand jacket for evidence of the night prior.

“My jacket is missing,” Caroline worries out loud while hereyes focus on the floor under her bed, spotless as she had expected.

“Jeans?” she asks as Katherine who has gone to search in theliving room having seen Caroline’s rings and necklace by the front door.

“Here,” Kat calls sounding as she’s speeding back toCaroline’s room just when the blonde is lifting herself off of her knees,“Receipt, in the back pocket.”

Caroline reaches forthe receipt as she throws on her silk robe covering her bra and panties, “PetrovaPiercings and Tattoo’s,” she mutters in dread, “That’s around the corner.”

“No shit,” Kat drones grabbing the receipt from her as shenotices something on the crumpled yellow paper, “Look at the back, phonenumber!” the brunette purses her lips as she raises her eyebrow.

Surprised Caroline retorts, “Klaus, I know that name, it’son my flat ass,” she grumbles as she tries to settle herself on her bed withoutdiscomfort.

“I said cute,” Kat corrects her as she sips from her freshlybrewed coffee Caroline can only assume she picked up while finding her jeans.

“Kat what did I do,” she asked her oldest friend as shesettles into the edge of the bed with her holding out her arm to hug Caroline.

Kat hands her the blue mug sharing with her friend as shespeaks, “I dunno,” she shrugs crossing her legs as she thinks, “Was he cute?”she asks Caroline as if she could remember.

Caroline sips fromher friend’s mug hating the bitter black taste without creamer or sugar as Katcontinues, “Because that is a nice ass tattoo, no pun intended,” she laughsthoughtfully, “Wait, actually yes.”

“Okay I am going to try really, very hard not to panic,”Caroline squeaks as she feels Kat reach for her coffee before Caroline can dropit.

Kat stands up cradling her mug, “Just dial the freakingnumber,” she rationalizes trying to keep Caroline level-headed was practicallyher first job and she’s good at it, “It’s got X’s on it. I mean, clearly, helikes you.”

“Okay,” Caroline swallows having just one more fear, “Whatif in my drunken state I met a murderer?” she inquires because in her statethat seems like a sensible question.

Kat groans rolling her eyes, “Then he would have found itreally easy to kill you,” she reminds her friend in a sarcastic tone Carolineis not fond of, “Call him.”

“Fine,” Caroline agrees before there’s a new problem, “Where’smy phone?” she asks her impatient friend as she checks the charging dock onlyto find it empty.

Kat looks from one end of the room to the other as shespeaks, “Dead probably, oh, here,” she articulates as her foot kicks one of herthrow pillows on the floor over finding it.

“Poor baby is almost dead, I’m so sorry,” Caroline stallscleaning the screen off from what she can only assume is the balm that wasrubbed into her backside.

“Connect it and push the pretty printed numbers,” Kat tellsher running out of patience for her best friend as her coffee mug gets emptierby the minute.

“It’s ringing,” Caroline retorts as she presses the icon forthe speaker before she can change her mind about hanging up entirely while inthe process of standing up.

“You’re on speaker,” Kat grumbles knowing exactly what istranspiring because she is in fact right there next to her friend.

The call connects just as Caroline shushes her phone all thewhile her eyes are on the counting seconds of the screen and his voice rumbles,“Hello?”

And suddenly the memory of Klaus floods her, “Klaus?” she asksonly to hear him chuckle lightly in her ear as the image of the bright light ofthe parlor takes centerfold in her mind.

She hears him shift from his position and greedily pictureshim, Henley, necklaces and all, “Caroline, good morning, Love,” he utters, hiswords wrapping her in their warmth.

She turns her head so Kat can’t possibly see the blushrushing to her face in a swift blush as she his voice evokes the memory of hishand in her own, fingers twined during the time that Jeremy had worked on aparticularly tender spot. Reality is lost on her as she lingers in her memoryof their unconventional encounter in the parlor. The deep frission caused bythe feel of his fingers in her hair massaging gently to the bite of his nail ashe deliberately cased all of her focus to come to him alone.

-

She blushed at the way he all but smirked when she obstinatelycommunicated to him not to peek as she undid the button of her dark wash jeanswhen she noticed his eyes wander from her face. The mirror behind them wasuseless to showcase what she looked like lying on her stomach with a lifted upshirt knotted around her breasts as Jeremy worked on the stencil. Her eyesavoided his only to look straight across the room at the reflection of the fourof them in the room to find he was already looking at her.

“So, may name, ay?” Klaus asked, making her blush though she refused tolook away from his darkening eyes watching her in the mirror.

“It was part of the sketch,” she had intoned, proud that her voice soundedeven as her stomach fluttered under his penetrating gaze. “And it’s tiny.”

Klaus barely moved as he shifted to lean forward as she watched him inthe mirror, “I can assure you love,” he paused dramatically looking down at histrousers, “It is not,” Trevor snorted as Caroline turned a darker shade of red.

“Last chance to back out,” she heard Jeremy say as his needle startedup and Caroline steeled herself with a nod looking from Klaus to him in themirror nodding for him to do it.

It had been years since she felt the tight sting of needle to flesh yetCaroline savored it as she and Klaus exchanged hooded looks through the mirroras they say impeccably still. She took a special pleasure in the way his armsflexed as he stood when Trevor had finished with his tattoo. If possibly shelet out a soft moan while that happened she managed to pass off for pain whenKlaus looked back at her.

She watched him go before turning her head but not before catchingJeremy’s teasing reflection in the mirror and ignoring it as she hid her facein the headrest of her seat. So imagine her surprise when she opened her eyesto see a pair of black combat boots with the laces wrapped at the ankles andthe trousers she recognized as his tucked into them. Her eyes traveled over hiswaist to his Henley and necklaces before landing on his perfect little smirk.

“Falling asleep are we,” he inquired as he pulled on one of the rollerchairs closer with his boot before he sat down crowding her.

“I’m just,” she trailed off as his fingers stroked her cheek, hersenses exceedingly aware of him so close to her that she could smell what wasleft of his aftershave as he hovered over her face.

Distracting was one way of putting what Klaus seemed to be doing,making her think of him instead of the needle work at her backside. Yet hedidn’t speak, he didn’t ask why she had it placed there and Caroline didn’ttell him she simply stared straight into the eyes that bore into her own. Itwasn’t until at long last she felt the buzz of the needle leave her skin thatshe realized he held her hand still.

Jeremy moved to sit up setting his equipment aside as he cleared histhroat to make sure the pair of them could hear him articulating, “All set.”And actually listen.

He went over the instruction for tattoo Caroline which Caroline barelylistened too already having two other tattoos so she simply nodded. As she wasadding some more of the salve that he had offered to her Jeremy helped her wrapher tattoo to protect it on the way home. She watched Klaus stride to thecounter as she reached for her phone wallet in her jacket to grab her cardreading how late it was.

“Don’t worry about payment,” Klaus told her from the counter as sheshook hands with Jeremy, “I already handled it,” he answers her unasked questioncavalierly.

“Who are you,” she asked with a curious tilt of her head as Trevorwaves them out of the room back into the waiting area.

Klaus’ hand is on her upper back leading her but careful of where hetouches, “Would you like to find out,” he probed with a simpering look.

“Walk me home,” she statedpushing her jacket into his arms as she struts ahead of him where Rose holdsthe door open for them both.

“How could I not,” Klaus retorted with a brief lift of his eyes to theceiling before walking out after her, “You’re beautiful and it’s late,” Hereasoned.

Caroline feels him settle into her side on the pavement while she knotsthe front of her shirt to keep it from fussing with her newly covered ink whenshe told him, “I live just over there.”

“So our meeting was coincidental then,” he mused watching the ‘v’ ofher neckline slide lower from the severity of her knot causing a rumble in histhroat.

At their pace they make it to her building faster than Caroline wouldhave liked so when she pulls out her keys to get inside she asked him, “Did youwant to come up?”

Klaus faltered, “I think it’s safer if I just give you my number.” Hesaid cautiously as he pulled her receipt from his pants pocket.

“Why?” Caroline inquired as she watched him pull a pen from his boot ashe leaned on the building wall to write.

“Because you might regret leading me up into your home while you’restill inebriated,” Klaus insisted with her as he tucked his pen back in hisboot and handed her the slip of paper.

“I haven’t drank anything in hours,” she moped as she removed the spacebetween them eager to get him inside of her shared apartment considering Katwouldn’t be there.

Klaus tugged on her shirt pulling her that much closer and it that muchlower revealing the black lace of her bra, “And yet,” he hissed looking upinstead of down.

Caroline laughed in his ear as he continued to speaks, “You still couldforget about me in the morning. It would be a scandal, Sweetheart,” he murmuredagainst her neck.

“So with that said,” he hummed into her flesh as he nibbled at her ear,“Here’s your receipt Caroline.” While she felt his hand slide into her backpocket squeezing her ass as he placed his number inside.

Caroline took the opportunity to rub her front against his making himgroan, his mouth falling open as she surprised him with a deep kiss. Her handsunder his back drawing him closer as her fingernails punctured his Henleypulling him tighter against her. Klaus squeezed her waist as he dragged hismouth over hers purposely taking control of her kiss while leaning her againstthe brick wall.

He sucked on her bottom lip one last time as his eyes opened, his lungspressured for air as he spoke, “That was certainly a valiant effort.” MakingCaroline smile as leaned her head back on the wall watching him.

“Goodnight Klaus,” she murmured as she let go of the front of his shirtmaking sure he was finding this moment as hard to let go as she was before shereached for the keys hanging off of her wallet.

“Call me in the morning Caroline,” he all but purred as he lingered onthe step way, hands behind his back watching her go.

-

“Are you still there?” Klaus’ voice brought Caroline back tothe present making her feel about as warm as he did last night when he pressedher against the wall and she could feel everypart of him.

“Yep,” she squeaked collecting herself quickly, “Sorry Ijust,” she felt herself babbling as Kat mouthed ‘Game face’ to her.

Caroline nodded taking a deep breath, “Did you want to go tobreakfast, probably brunch? Oh, wait are you at work?” she questionedcautiously.

She heard his footsteps as if he was pacing in the roomwherever he was making her smile, “I’d love to meet you for brunch, I assumeyou’ll need a bit of time if you just woke up,” he tested.

“Great,” she said to him thankful of his consideration asshe moved around her room quietly trying to gather her brush and makeup wipes.“I’d love that!”

“What’s going on,” Kat whispers as Caroline reached for heryellow towel and kisses her friend on the cheek mouthing, ‘I’ll explain later’to her.

“Fantastic,” Klaus replies sounding nervous which only madethe butterflies in Caroline’s stomach flutter more, “I suppose I’ll text you inan hour?” he asked subtly pushing for a reply.

“Great, she exclaimed before she could think of anotherword, “I swear I know more words than that,” she promised as she strode to thebathroom whilst still on speaker.

Klaus made a sound before commenting, “I’m intimatelyfamiliar with what your tongue can do Caroline,” making Caroline think shecould go for a hot shower.

“Girl,” Kat salutes her as Caroline throws her robe at herwhispering for her to get out of the bathroom before she pushed her out.

“Great, I mean awesome,” she corrected as she switched onthe shower feeling for the right temperature, I’ll hear from you then.”

She felt his broad smile in his words as he spoke, “Lookingforward to it,” making her squeal to herself as the line disconnected andCaroline jumped in excitement.

The door swung open a second later before Caroline had achance to lock it, “Caroline, it’s later. So what the hell happened last night?”Kat squawked unceremoniously as she tossed Caroline’s dead phone into thelaundry bin.

“Kat,” Caroline laughed as her friend narrowly missedfalling into the shower in her very expensive heels Caroline was sure would beruined by water.

[colp76-blog]

When I first decided to watch, review and discuss the Stanley Kubrick films, it seemed so simple when I first decided to take up this challenge. It’s was pretty enjoyable to talk about The Shining because that film has been etched into my brain for most of my life. Next, I looked at Spartacus and kind of breezed through that as I told myself it was a film Kubrick never wanted to acknowledge as his own work. It was only when I started to write about Full Metal Jacket that I began to notice that I had somehow fallen into a much larger world than I first expected. 

Then I watched  Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb and I literally felt like a rabbit caught in between the headlights. It was quite a surreal moment and left my brain, well; feeling blank and unable to work out what I just watched . . . . never mind put it into words. This is the moment when I realised I needed to start learning more about Stanley Kubrick and his films before I attempted to write about this film again. 

Two months later and I have fallen down the rabbit hole and more importantly, not left for dead at the side of the road. In this time I have been consuming a lot of information and it has been a joy. My hunger for more knowledge has even led me to The Stanley Kubrick Exhibition in London and it was simply life changing for me in the way I had been approaching life and viewing it beforehand.  Unlike Stanley Kubrick though, I am not a genius but that isn’t that part of his life and work that attracts me to it, it’s his approach to life and I do find it hard to put it into words but, maybe his desire to bring out simple feelings of humanity in ourselves that gets lost in a world of meaningless garbage. I now realise these early reviews of his films are not going to be a beautiful landscape painting but maybe a blank canvas with some bold colours splashed about, which can be also can be just enjoyable from a certain point of view. So, as the future goes, I’m in a very good place at the moment as I have my trip to London to talk about and a few audiobooks to review amongst other things. As for Dr Strangelove, well I did manage to watch the film at the Prince Charles Cinema in London with an exclusive introductory short film “Stanley Kubrick Considers The Bomb” and it gave me a far better understanding of the film, so let’s get to it. 

Dr.Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

Director: Stanley Kubrick

Release Date: 29th January 1964 (United Kingdom)

Bodily Fluids.

As much as I like to research a film, I’m also trying to work out what my first reactions are after watching it and look at what stands out to me, and I will admit that after first watching Dr Strangelove I was a little taken aback that it was a comedy. I think this was because I had always thought of Stanley Kubrick as someone who is very deep and meaningful in life and film. Another problem for me was Peter Sellers, well because I have always known him as Inspector Clouseau in The Pink Panther franchise and I have always loved and watched those films, so it was a little hard for me to picture him any other way. I was in a dilemma! I knew I really had to put the effort in to learn about the creation of this film and was happily surprised to learn that Stanley Kubrick himself decided to make it a comedy because of the ridiculousness of the circumstances in which the story is presented. It wasn’t until I watched the film at the Prince Charles Cinema when the comedy actually hit me, these people are in complete control of our freedom and they are absolute buffoons, what else can you do but laugh. It also reminded me of my own view on life, when things go get pretty serious I learn to laugh at things as well, if not I would be a pretty morbid human. So, at first, the comedy didn’t make me laugh out loud like some films I adore, but the more I watch it, the more it does make me laugh, if only because of the serious of the situation which I will discuss next.

What Danger?

I have read about the Cold War and the fears of a nuclear conflict between the Soviet Union and the United States, I never really gave much thought about that scenario ever becoming an issue, what if the wrong person pushed the wrong button? I hadn’t give it much thought, to be honest!  That was until I listened to a snippet of a Stanley Kubrick interview on the short film, Stanley Kubrick Considers The Bomb that I fully felt just how powerful the film actually is, Stanley said something about people’s ignorance to threats to humanity like this! I’m one of those people and I never thought once about the repercussions of what could happen when first watching this film. Now, I get the comedy and I also get the message, it is both terrifying and pretty dam hilarious that for some reason we think people who are in a powerful position somehow won’t share the same flaws every human being since the beginning of time have shown. Over the years I have kind of taken a back seat when it comes to current events, not because I don’t care but because it’s just so draining on the soul as you watch endless loops of news TV, I could be doing more about this though, and plan too. I’m not saying I’m going to change the world, but I could start with one simple gesture and go from there.

Visually Breathtaking.

One thing that completely blew me away on my first viewing of this film was just how beautiful it was. We all know just how wonderful the Pentagon War Room is but it’s the small things that really catch my attention and the B-52 Stratofortress bomber help fill that void. I really loved the attention to detail Kubrick used to make this bomber feel tangible and the endless clicking of buttons and opening of secret documents and survival kits really brought it all together. I also really like the scene with Turgidson Tand Miss Scott in the mirrored hotel room and love how Kubrick managed to make it look a lot more breathtaking and larger than it actually was. And finally, I like the shots outside the base when the soldiers are in combat. Okay, these scenes are not as beautiful as the sets on the film, but they help cement the fact that there is nothing extravagant about war and people will die very easily and very quickly.

Summary.

This film has taken me quite a while to finally discuss, it’s not because I didn’t enjoy it but more about how much information is already out there. It really is very deep and its obvious Stanley Kubrick understood life and all its trimmings a lot more than I do at the moment. That said, I am willing to learn more and that is one of the fundamental reasons why I started my site in the first place, to learn. I have barely made a scrape on the film as you could write so much about the characters, the Cold War and sexual themes amongst a whole lot more topics. I guess these reviews are going to be much like a first date and you cant learn everything about someone after one night. I’m just happy that I’m now aware of this film and can now enjoy and learn about it more in the years to come. If there is any way I could metaphorically describe this review, it would the opening of a can of worms, it scared me at first but later I could do nothing but laugh and worms landed awkwardly around me. It did remind me of a world that I had almost forgotten about and I’m now thankful I haven’t.

What next?

The next film is one that I connected to at an early age, one I did not know was directed by Stanley Kubrick. A Clockwork Orange fascinated me as a teenager and I’m hoping that I can find that connection again as I revisit it as a forty-something. Thank you for reading and I hope that you got some enjoyment from it. This is my place to record where my thoughts are up to now in life and this is quite literally the start of my journey into the films of Stanley Kubrick. I know for some serious fans this will be nothing new, so thanks again for taking the time to give it a read and I hope you come back for my next review.

http://talesfromtheneonbeach.com/stanley-kubrick-the-film-collection/

When I first decided to watch, review and discuss the Stanley Kubrick films, it seemed so simple when I first decided to take up this challenge.