#fucking sucks for him i have my birth certificate and my social security card he can't do shit about it

[invisiblyvisiblejay]

lifehack don't get so attached to ur kids names that when they come out as trans and want to change it u get super fucking personally offended about it

[livwritesstuff]

‘tis my birthday today (it’s gotta be one of the worst birthdays to have, we don’t need to talk about it) anyways that’s where this is coming from

(also i’m not trying to imply that jan 1 is eddie’s bday. i wouldn’t wish that on anybody. besides, he is def a weirdo february aquarius)

The second half of the calendar year is nothing short of pandemonium for Eddie and Steve and their three daughters.

Moe’s birthday in late July kicks it off, almost immediately followed by Steve’s birthday in early August, then Hazel’s in September. Robbie’s birthday comes mere days after Halloween, and from there they dive headfirst into the bedlam of the holiday season.

Much to Eddie's relief, they all made it to yet another New Year's Day, and while the girls are definitely feeling the end-of-winter-break blues, Eddie welcomes the reprieve in festivities, brief as it may be.

His own birthday is up next – though not for another month.

He’s really not a birthday kind of guy. Never had been.

He loves making birthdays exciting for Steve and their daughters (they have a whole slew of traditions and everything – there’s names spelled out in pancakes involved; it's a very big deal), but his own…not so much.

It managed to fly under the radar for the past few years, but since this year is the big Five-Oh, he knows Steve won’t let him get away with that again.

Eddie has a complicated relationship with his birthday. When he was younger and the weight of Birthday Importance was at its peak, he never really celebrated the way other kids got to, and now, as an adult, he doesn’t know how to feel the things you’re supposed to feel about your birthday. 

Steve does a good job, despite Eddie’s weirdness. 

His favorite, Eddie thinks, was the year Moe was born, when Steve had managed to catch him off guard by renting a tiny cottage up in Maine for a few days.

“Moe or no Moe,” Steve had asked, “I’ve got Rob and Nance on standby.”

(They’d taken Moe. She saw snow for the first time. It was amazing, and people who don't want to involve their kids in stuff are a bunch of fucking weirdos).

Steve gives him a letter every year – handwritten on notebook paper and folded into whatever cheesy card he picks out.

Eddie keeps most of the letters in a fireproof lockbox along with all their passports and social security cards and birth certificates (look – Eddie doesn’t fuck around with priceless shit), but he keeps the most recent one – the one Steve gave him for his forty-ninth birthday nearly a year ago – in the top drawer of his bedside table.

He has it pretty much memorized at this point.

It says:

Ed! (with an exclamation point and everything – god, does Eddie love him)

49.

Holy shit we’re getting old.

Writing this is making me think about all the ones from the beginning, when I’d write about our future together even though we didn’t have a damn clue what we were working towards for a while.

I think we’re in it, man. Crazy, right?

(The ink color suddenly switches from blue to purple)

Sorry for the color change. Hazy decided she needed a blue pen immediately. Hope your vision hasn’t gone totally to shit and you can still read the purple.

Anyways, since I have you hostage reading this, I’m gonna take the opportunity to discuss you, because you don’t let me in real life most of the time.

You are gorgeous. Best looking face I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much time I’ve lost off my day just staring at you (actually, not a loss. I take that back)

You suck at puzzles – I know that sounds bad, but it’s great for me. I need that to rub off on Moe because she’s getting pretty good and that’s gonna be a problem for me.

You make me laugh so fucking hard every day. I’m praying the girls get your sense of “elevated” humor or whatever you like to call it

You’re so fucking smart, Eddie. I count myself lucky for it endlessly

You are completely 100% you all the time. I’m still working on that I think but I’m getting there because of you. I’m glad all that shit we went through didn’t take that away from you.

the BEST dad. Can’t believe I didn’t say that sooner. Not to brag but our kids are turning out pretty awesome (can’t go around saying that too much though it’ll go right to their heads and then any power we have left goes out the window)

You’re probably the best person I’ve ever known. Don’t think I’ll be forgetting what a catch you are any time soon, because I won't.

Thank you for loving me even all these years later. My life is better every day that I’m with you.

We’ll keep things quiet this year. Don’t get used to it though. Next year’s gonna be a rager.

Love you always!

- Steve :) ♡ ☆

[rotttnapple]

Criminal Life (cont.) @wrathfulmercy

Charley glared up at Rick when the bastard quit dragging him around like a disobedient puppy - fucking cops and their fucking high horses. Acting like they owned everything and anything. Charley didn’t get why he even cared he was popping car doors for pocket change and the scraps rich people left laying around. If something came up missing, they’d just go out and buy it brand new anyways. 

“What do you want me to do, Sheriff? Get a job at McDonalds? Find some nice girl to knock up, be a nine to five minimum wage slave, pay my taxes, start drinking, get a beer belly and end up dying sad and alone ‘cause my social security barely pays for the rent in my shitty little rundown apartment? That what you want me to do, Grimes?” Charley’s voice is soft and low, but there’s an underlying hardness to it. Charley stares up at him, shoulders set, defiant. 

“You know what that needs? A social security number. One of those little cards that everyone has. And a photo ID. A real one that’ll pass a background check, ‘cause they do those too. And you know what you need to get that fancy little ID card? You got one in your wallet right now, don’t you? You need that social security number, and you need a birth certificate. Things that. I. Don’t. Have. Sheriff. Things that I can’t get.”

Charley stuck his hand in his pocket, fishing out a crumpled ten dollar bill. He stepped forward, looking Rick in the eye as he deliberately stuck it in the front pocket of his shirt. 

“Go have your drink, Sheriff. Bet you’ll be seeing me again soon with the rest of the dumb shits who thought it’d be a great idea to take a joyride in daddy’s Mercedes or try and buy coke off a cop. Be sure to punish me extra hard next time too. Heard you get three hots and a cot in prison. Compared to this shit it’s a life of luxury. Not like I haven’t sucked a dick for protection before.”

[dodger-sister]

Disclaimer: I stopped watching mid S9 & only just came back for this last run of episodes, post-the-Covid-break. So I’m not well versed in the current mythology, though I gather Becky says there will be two endings.  Ever since the end of Despair (s15e18), I’ve had this visual in my head of an ending.  I’m not quite sure how to get there, since again, I’m not up on current mythology.  But I wanted to write this down for myself.  It's not a Dean/Cas romance ending, but a friendship ending, and a good ending for everybody and yeah, kinda Dean heavy, but I know what I'm about, idk. But I just had a visual and for the first time in what feels like 1,000 years, I had something in my head that I had to get out through writing, and once again it's SPN, so like...here’s what I’m picturing:

First of all, Jack defeats Chuck.  But it drains all his power and leaves him powerless & more or less human.  Idk who becomes God then…Amara?  Michael? No one?  But when Chuck is defeated, everyone comes back – all the people Chuck deleted, all the Apocalypse World people, all the people like Eileen who died & came back.  Everyone.  And The Empty, as a gift to the boys for ending this nonsense, spits Castiel back out – (as a writer, I know it was actually a good ending for Cas, his pure happiness, but as a fan I won’t stand for it to end that way).  Then angels & demons are suddenly sucked back up into Heaven & Hell, to put things right.  As this happens, Dean turns wild-eyed to Castiel, thinking he’s being taken…but he doesn’t go.  He stays. And it’s in that moment they realize he is human now, blessed to be part of the humanity he loves now. (From this point on Cas’ outfits consist of button-up shirts with the top 2 buttons undone, black slacks, no tie & no trenchcoat). And then somehow we find out – if Amaara is God or whatever, she gives them the 411 -- that angels & demons are on lockdown and unable to return to Earth.  “At least for a millennium or so.  But that doesn’t mean there aren’t still things that go bump in the night, boys.” (Also, idk enough about what’s up with Adam, but pls insert your own happy ending in here for that boy, he fucking deserves it, the poor kid).

Then, for some reason – idk, maybe when they came back all the people in the world realized something had happened, things don’t just pick right up where they left off, everyone is a little dazed – a bunch of people are at the bunker with the boys, Apoca-World people & stuff.  And there’s kind of this montage, with a score, maybe a folk-rock song, idk, but like people slowly getting their bearings and heading out; the family with the two daughters, bags slung over their shoulders, shaking the boys’ hands in thanks and then heading up the stairs /fade them out to the next scene/ Sam & Eileen sweetly kissing /fade them out to the next scene/ Jody & Donna & the girls hugging the boys goodbye, heading up the stairs /fade them out to the next scene/ Dean setting a burger down in front of Cas, who smiles softly because there are some things he missed about being human /fade them out to the next scene/ Garth saying goodbye to the boys, heading up the stairs /fade them out to the next scene/ Sam & Eileen having amazingly hot sex /fade them out to the next scene/ Jack trying out his powers on a houseplant, nothing happens, he nods, accepting this is permanent /fade them out to the next scene/ Charlie & Stevie, with one of those great Dean-&-Charlie hugs where he cradles her head, omg /fade them out to the next scene/ Sam & Eileen in bed together, facing each other, hands pressed palm to palm, fingers interlocked, gazing loving at each other /fade them out to the last person/ Bobby gets a hug from Sam & then Dean, Cas goes to shake his hand and Bobby gives him a gruff look and then pulls him in for a back-slap hug.  “You boys stay in touch.”  Sam’s all, “Always, Bobby.”

Then all that’s left is the four guys + Eileen.  Sam says to Dean, “I’m gonna take Eileen home, get her settled.  I’ll be back in a few days.”

Dean says, “Or you could stay, you know?”  He looks like it’s hard to say, but he’s also happy for Sam.  “It’s not that far.” (Is it, idk, where does she live?)

Sam’s all, “You mean, like move in with her?  Naw, man, naw.  We aren’t there yet.”

Dean goes, “That’s not how it’s seemed this last week around here,” with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Sam blushes, so soft, a soft baby.  “No, Dean.  I mean…we aren’t there, *yet*.”

“Attaboy,” with a slap on the arm.

Then we get Dean hugging Eileen goodbye, she and Sam head up the stairs, Dean turns to Cas & Jack at the table. Cas stands up awkwardly, says, “I suppose I should consider getting a place of my own.  Humans do that, yes?”

Dean goes, “What? No. Are you kidding me? Sam’s gonna be spending a lot of time – and I mean a *lot* of time /suggestive tone/ with Eileen.  You’re not gonna leave me to clunk around this place on my own.”  Then he pauses, can’t quite meet Cas’ eyes, so not good with emotions that he knows what Cas said before The Empty took him but Dean can’t quite acknowledge it.  “Unless, like, that’s something you need.  For yourself, I mean. To not be here. If you wanna move out…”

Cas, firm and sure, “I do not.”

Dean looks up, a smile of relief on his face, “Well, alright then.”

Then Dean turns to Jack.  “What about you?  You gonna try to bail out on us?”

Jack, confused, says, “No, not at all.”

Dean asks, “Then what’s your plan? One day at a time?”

“Actually,” Jack says, and slides a pamphlet over that’s been sitting with a stack of papers on the table, “I hadn’t had time to give it much thought, but I was thinking this.”

Dean picks it up.  It’s a college pamphlet. “College, huh?  Following in Sam’s footsteps?”

“*Community* college,” Jack emphasis.  “So I could live here &, idk, try it out.  See what I want to do next.  The pamphlet says there are many options ahead of me.”

Dean gives Jack his patented half-smirk/half-smile.  “Alright, we can work with that.  What do you need?” He reaches in his back pocket for his wallet.  “Money for books?  A credit card?” He may have taken a while to get onboard the Jack-train, but he’s there now, proud Uncle Dean.  

“I think I’ll need a birth certificate and a, uh,” he glances at a list he’s been making on a piece of paper, “a social security number?”

Dean nods.  “Okay.  I can take care of that. I know a guy.”

He’s happy with both Cas’ and Jack’s answers.

/fade out to the next scene, scores starts back up, idk maybe we use a rock song here?/

There are a few wide shots of regular people going on about their lives, animals in the fields, people walking the streets, life going on, etc.  Then we start to see all the people we know who are still alive, living their lives…Garth, Charlie & Stevie being happy and domestic, Jody & Donna & the girls, Bobby, other people idk, Jack walking onto campus with a backpack over his shoulder & smiling on his first day of college, Sam and Eileen cooking in her kitchen & cute-kissing & being adorably cute together like so smushy cute.

/fade into  the next scene/ Cas is at the kitchen table researching, Dean walks in and heads to the fridge.

He asks, “You got anything, Cas?”

Cas says, “I think there is a nest of vampires in ***insert place*** and a poltergeist in ***insert place***.  You could probably take care of one and hit the other on your way back.  And for your pleasure, you will pass by ***something like the world’s largest ball of string***.”

Dean grins, thrilled about the cheesy tourist trap idea, “Oh, I’m down with that.  You in?”

Cas gives his doubtful face.  “It’s Jack’s first week of school.”

Dean nods, “Say no more.  I’ll call Sammy.”

/Final scene – music starts, Ramble On by Led Zeppelin/

Dean is standing outside Eileen’s apartment, at the back of the Impala, with the trunk open.  Sam comes out with a duffel, tosses it in the trunk among the other weapons.  We see the classic shot from the trunk POV of the two boys.  Sam smiles, content, ready.  “We got work to do.”  The trunk slams shut.  We see the boys get in the Impala, shut their doors at exactly the same time.  The view is from the back of the car as it revs up and starts off down the road.

Ramble On plays as we watch the Impala drive off until we can no longer see it.

Cut to credit screen that reads – “Carry on, my wayward sons & daughters.  Thank you for 15 years of memories.”  - Love, Eric, Jensen, Jared, Misha and the entire SPN cast & crew.

Boom, bam, credits roll.

(Sorry, I can’t for the life of me figure out a Read More break)

[master-sass-blast]

Authority Issues

Well, well, well. What do we have here?

(AN: I’m not abandoning Strong as Stone. This was just my entertainment for the day.)

Long story short: I had a dream with Piotr Rasputin/Colossus in it last night. It was glorious. I might’ve kissed him.

Like I said. Glorious.

And thus, after kissing the dream Colossus, I woke up inspired to write some fanfiction loosely inspired by my dream.

So, essentially, welcome to my latest hyperfixation.

For the record, I haven’t seen the Deadpool movies. I haven’t read the X-Men Comics. I haven’t seen the X-Men movies.

Yes, you got that right, this is undoubtedly the crackiest fic you’ll ever read.

Or maybe not. I’ll let you be the judge.

So, loosely based in the Deadpool Movieverse/X-Men universe, I present you this: a self insert pic with Colossus.

You’re welcome.

Also, @colossus-and-cable, I blame you for suckering me into this hyperfixation! Because of your brilliant writing, I can’t get enough Colossus content!

Well, they say create the content you want to see.

Rating: M for kidnapping, mentions of abuse, sexual assault, sequences of terrifying action (nightmares), and stong language.

Pairing: Reader x Piotr Rasputin.

Alright, so, it wasn’t your fault. Technically.

Remember that ‘technically.’ It’ll come in handy later.

For context: you are the latest trainee/recruit/refugee at the Mutant Mansion a la Professor Xavier is really stinking rich to afford the utilities bills for this group.

You’d seen the X-Mansion briefly, two years ago, on a newscast that your mother had turned off as soon as she’d seen you watching it, then forced you up to your room to ‘pray for protection against the ungodly lures of the outside world.’

Ah, the joys of growing up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere --zero tolerance of the queers, people of color, and mutants.

You’d read about the X-mansion’s purpose --taking in and training mutants to control their powers--in a newspaper article a few months later --well after your parents had decided that TV was ‘too great a portal to temptation’ for someone of your ‘unnatural, hedonistic tendencies.’

You’d been shocked. You hadn’t known that there was an actual group out there that was willing to take in mutants, much less train them.

Your father had ripped the paper out of your hands a few moments later and tossed it into the burning fire, stating that the X-Men were nothing more than heathens upsetting the natural order of God’s holy creation.

Perhaps with some great amount of foresight, your parents had decided to lock you into your room that night. Not that it mattered; the lock on your bedroom door had always been easy to pick.

No one ever said that foresight and practical wisdom were the same things.

You’d packed a bag of everything that mattered --clothes, toiletries, a stuffed bear, your state ID--then crept downstairs and broken into the family safe. You’d taken all of your paperwork --birth certificate, social security card--and all the cash that your parents had kept in there, and left.

Looking back on it, you were incredibly lucky the universe had gifted you with the powers to control air and wind. Instead of having to plot out a route via bus and train routes --thus risking being caught by the authorities and shipped back home--you could simply fly to the X-Mansion, stopping to buy food and rest as needed. Within a couple days, you’d found the X-Mansion, dropped yourself on their doorstep, knocked, and asked if you could stay.

Which, apparently, they were used to, because they’d just said ‘sure’ and let you in.

Two years later and look at you now!

A --still, technically--trainee on account of your difficulty controlling your powers and hot, hot issues with authority, under the tutelage of the X-Men. Free room, personal bathroom, three hot meals a day, and the fastest WiFi the world has ever seen.

And, well... a boyfriend, too.

Piotr Rasputin, code name Colossus, with the real secret to his identity being that he was a massive marshmallow with a heart of gold. He’d wooed you in his own sweet, subtle way as he’d helped you adjust to your new life at Xavier’s, taking your poor impulse control and hot, hot issues with authority in his patient, gentle stride.

It had been a good two years. The best two years of your life.

Which wasn’t to say that everything was perfect...

Right, so this is where the ‘technically’ comes in. And, as with ninety percent of your ‘technically’s, Wade Wilson is along for the ride.

You and Wade get along like a house on fire --compatible in all the wrong ways and usually resulting in some sort of damage to persons and/or property.

Wade, also known as Deadpool, also known as the Merc’ with a Mouth, also known as ‘the Obnoxious Red Dildo,’ has widely known and accepted authority issues, zero impulse control, and a daddy kink a mile wide that he likes to remind everyone of at any given moment --which is all of them.

You, the formerly repressed and abused mutant who has had their first taste of freedom and are itching for more, are --unfortunately--all too willing to help Wade execute any sort of prank, joke, or hijink, because for fuck’s sake, people, live a little!!!

Cue today’s incident.

It had started with a bet. Wade had bet you that there was no way in hell you could use your powers just right to launch a lit firework into Scott Summer’s --aka Cyclops’s--room.

The man had given you kitchen duty for being fifteen minutes late to morning training. The loser had to buy the winner pizza. It was too good of an opportunity to pass up!

You're just about to light the firework when something lifts Wade off the ground and hefts him to the side. A large shadow falls over you, and you look up with a cheesy grin. “Hi, babe.”

Piotr stares down at you, arms across his chest. He’s in defense mode, which means he isn’t here on the friendliest of terms. “What are you doing, myshka?”

You look down at the firework in one hand, the lighter in the other, then up at Scott’s open window. “Uh...” You look back up at Piotr and give him the most convincing look you can muster. “Arts and crafts?”

He isn’t convinced. “Professor Xavier sensed your plan.”

Ah. Well. That would do it.

“Hey! Russia’s Greatest Love Machine!” Wade interrupts, madder than a hornet and a little more crooked than the human body usually looks. “Stop fucking throwing me everywhere, you giant metal dildo!”

“Wade, watch your language, please.”

“Suck a cock!”

“In my defense,” You interject before Piotr can go off on his usual spiel about rules and ‘appropriate language,’ “it was Wade’s idea.”

“Hey!”

Piotr is still unmoved. “You are capable of making your own choices, dorogoy. Wade did not force you.”

“He was going to buy me a pizza, Colossus! How do you expect me to refuse?”

“Hey, that was only if I lost!”

“Yeah, well, you were gonna lose!”

Piotr sighs, shakes his head, then extends a hand to help you off the ground. Even when he’s busting you for misbehavior, he still treats you with the utmost respect and courtesy. “Come. We need to talk to Professor.”

You sigh and trail after him. This is gonna suck.

It does, in fact, suck. Talking to Xavier --again--sucks like a vacuum cleaner gone prostitute that’s hellbent on sucking its client’s dick off.

The professor, as always, is patient with you in talking about rules and your struggles with following them.

Scott Summers, who must have a serious anal kink considering how far he has a pole wedged up is ass, is not. “I’ve just about had enough of your acting out! Either act your age or--”

“Or what?” You interrupt with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll kick me out?”

“No,” Professor Xavier interjects firmly before Scott can speak. “You will always have a safe place at the Institute, Y/N.”

Scott scoffs. “Safe for her and no one else.”

You narrow your eyes at Scott. “Says the guy who has to wear glorified sunglasses all the time or he’ll blow a hole through the wall. You look like a tool, by the way.”

“Your destructive tendencies are way out of hand!” Scott snaps.

“My destructive tendencies? Logan goes through four phones a month and cut your bike in half because you drank one of his beers! How come he always gets away with it?”

“We’re not talking about that right now!”

You sit back and your chair and nod, feigning amicability. “Ah, I see. You’re a misogynist.”

“Y/N--”

“No wonder Jean’s always looking at Logan the way she does. You must be a pain in the--”

Scott’s hand smacks down on Xavier’s desk, cutting you off. “Are you looking for extra kitchen duty? Because I’ll be happy to provide it for you.”

You refocus on Xavier. “Okay, I have an administrative question. Why’d you make the actual tyrant in charge of punishment duty?”

“I run a fair and understanding system!”

“You gave me three nights of kitchen duty after I was late for morning training! By fifteen minutes!” You look back at Colossus, who is standing post in the back of the room. “Does that seem fair to you?”

Piotr flounders. “Well... being on time is important...”

Your jaw drops. “You’re not honestly siding with him.”

“I think things have gotten out of hand,” Xavier says, reasserting control over the room. “And I think I need some time to speak with Mr. Summers about his ‘system.’”

Scott recoils. “What?”

You pump your fist in the air. “Ha! Suck it, dickhead!”

“In the meantime,” Xavier added with a stern, if somewhat amused look in your direction. “Mr. Rasputin, I’m discharging Y/N into your care. I’d like to keep her separated from Mr. Wilson until she and I have had a chance to talk about the root of her rebellion.”

Your mouth falls open at the Professor’s orders, and your shock only mounts as Piotr actually accepts. You’re so shocked that you let yourself be ushered out by the metal man himself --ever gentle and respectful of your space--into the hall and away from Xavier’s office.

It isn’t until you’re halfway down the hall that it hits.

Rage. Red hot and burning. Rage at being chastised by Scott, rage at Piotr’s refusal to defend you, rage at being unfairly separated from your best friend. You were an adult, for fuck’s sake! You could make your own decisions!

You storm ahead of Piotr, ignoring his concerned calls, and march to your room.

Like the exposition said: hot, hot issues with authority.

You manage to grab the essentials --bag, wallet, ID, phone--and make it halfway to the front door before he catches you.

Technically, he’s already waiting there for you, in his human form.

Well, that would explain how he beat you there and why you didn’t hear him.

Piotr looks up at you, expression patient if somewhat admonishing. “And where I are you going, dorogaya moya?”

“Out,” You say. No point in denying the obvious.

Piotr sighs and shakes his head. “I do not think that would be wise.”

You shrug. “Arguable. I just need some time to blow off some steam.”

Piotr presses his lips into a firm line. “Y/N.”

Uh-oh. You recognize that tone --the ‘we need to talk as serious adults about serious things in a serious manner.’

Right now, it’s just seriously annoying.

“This is fifth incident in as many weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, can the record please note that Wade and I have been trying to scale back our ‘escapades?’ The car blowing up was a complete accident, not that Scott cared --oh, by the way, thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

That one lands hard, you can tell by the way his shoulders tense. “This behavior is irresponsible.”

“What, exactly, is with the vendetta against having fun?”

“Throwing firework into someone’s room is dangerous, myshka. Someone could have been hurt.”

You roll your eyes again. “It was a smoke bomb, Piotr. Not a 4th of July finale piece! Remember was I said about ‘scaling back?’” You finish descending the stairs and reach for the door handle.

Piotr reaches out --not much of a reach, he’s still a giant in his human form--and places his hand against the door. “No, myshka. You stay here.”

You bristle as you glare up at him. “I don’t remember for asking for you permission.”

Piotr exhales through his nose, the first sign that he’s actually getting frustrated with you. “The Professor--”

“Is not my dad.”

“--has asked me to watch you.”

“Well, I mean, if you want to come with me, I wouldn’t mine.” You grin up at him. “It could be a date.”

“I have things to do here.”

“Of course. Well, in that case...” You yank at the door, but Piotr is unmovable. “Look, Piotr, I’m an adult. I can make my own choices.”

“My instructions are to look after you. I cannot do that if you are not here.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “And how are you going to keep me here? Lock me in my room like my parents did?”

The comparison hurts him, you can tell by the way his blue eyes flash, but it’s enough of a distraction to suit your purposes.

While he’s still reeling from your words, you rip the door open and dart onto the front lawn. You can hear Piotr pursuing you, shouting your name, but outrunning him is easy, even when he’s in his human form. You simply manipulate the air around you to propel you forward. Before he’s even taken three strides, you’re over the wall and out of sight.

You grin as your feet hit the ground outside the wall that borders the grounds of the mansion and run towards the city.

Freedom.

The first thing you do is find a diner and order a heaping plate of food. A massive, greasy cheeseburger with extra bacon, a small mountain of fries, fresh out of the fryer, and a thick, sugary chocolate milkshake that comes in a glass bigger than your head.

It tastes like heaven. Junk food is in rare supply at the mansion, what with Piotr’s obsession with proper nutrition. You love him for it, but you miss your guilty pleasures.

The next thing you do is find that arcade Wade took you to for your birthday. You still have the credit card he bought for you, and you spend the day switching from game to game as you please.

It’s early evening when you leave, and it occurs to you that Piotr is going to be absolutely --you’d use the word furious, but you’re not sure if that’s even genetically possible for him--upset with you when you get back to the mansion, so you stop by the chocolate shop he took you to on your first date and pick up some fudge for him. He rarely treats himself, but you know it’s a favorite.

As you start walking the path back to the mansion, you get the eerie sensation that you’re being watched. Maybe it’s just the unfamiliarity of the city after growing up in a small town, maybe it’s just being a woman in an unfamiliar place while the sun is setting, but--

You look behind you, trying to find anything out of the ordinary.

A man, wearing a black sweatshirt, quickly turns to look in one of the store fronts.

You watch him, anxiety churning in your stomach. You catch his eye, he nods, and starts walking in the opposite direction.

You sigh in relief, and resume your progress back to the mansion. False alarm.

A few blocks later, and that creeping sensation on the back of your neck is back with a vengeance. You turn around again, unable to shake the suspicion that was curling in your chest.

The man in the black sweatshirt was back, standing about twenty feet behind you.

You grit your teeth as you pick up your pace. You focus on trying to find a place where you can duck out of sight and use your powers to run back home, back to the safety of the X-mansion, back to Piotr’s waiting arms --because even when you’ve been an ass, he’ll still oblige you with buckets of affection.

You spot an alley ahead --not ideal, but out of sight enough that you should be able to levitate yourself to a roof top, then hide there until the guy goes away and fly home.

You glance over your shoulder to check the pace of the guy following you and nearly have a coronary.

He’s now five feet behind you. 

How did he catch up that fast? You break off into a run, desperate to reach the alley before the guy reaches you.

A man steps out of the alley, grinning malevolently at you. “Going somewhere, doll?”

You barely have time to skitter to a stop before something hits you in the back of your head, knocking you to the ground.

Your last thought before you lose consciousness is how bizarrely empty the streets are.

“Hey there, doll. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

You come to in some sort of basement, dirty and littered with crumpled beer cans and other garbage. You’re tied to a chair, arms tied to the arms and legs to the legs, with another thick rope tying your waist to back of the chair. There’s a gag in your mouth and odd weight hanging around your neck.

The man that jumped out at you is sitting in a chair in front of you, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. “You’ve been difficult to track down. Lucky us, you decided to step outside your precious fortress for the day.”

You’d smirk at the man if you weren’t gagged. Apparently, for all their efforts to find you, they didn’t research your powers very well. You flick your fingers, ready to send the man flying across the room with a gust of wind.

Nothing happens.

You try again, then again, stomach sinking with dread as the man’s grin grows.

Nothing.

The man leans forward and taps at the weight on your neck, a soft metallic sound resulting from the press of his fingernails. “Suppression collar. No powers for you.”

Shit.

Left with nothing else, you try to yank yourself out of your restraints. You thrash and struggle to no avail --no amount of training was going to make you as strong as Piotr, even in his human form.

“They told me you were feisty. Apparently, you tried to run away from home several times before finding the X-Men.” The man leans forward, watching you with a lurid gaze as you struggle.

You growl at him through the gag. Just wait, motherfucker. I’ll get out of these ropes, and then I’m going to beat your ass stupid.

“Not gonna lie. It’s pretty hot.”

You try to flinch away as he reaches towards your face, but are ultimately subjected to the unpleasant sensation of his fingers caressing your cheek.

His touch is nothing like Piotr’s --it’s too rough, too forceful, and nowhere near loving enough.

“Now, we’re supposed to just take you back home--”

Your eyes widen at the mention of home --the small town you grew up in--and you start your struggle to free yourself anew.

“--but maybe we should have some fun first. After all, we’re not in any hurry.”

You stiffen and stare at him as your mind puts together what ‘fun’ might mean, then thrash around violently, almost knocking yourself over in the process.

The man reaches out and grabs the chair, forcing it back into its normal position. “Of course, I’d have to untie you for that, and I don’t want to risk you running away...” He turns to look at the other man --the one that had been wearing the hoodie. “Go get me the paralytics.”

You watch, horrified and on the verge of tears as the other man walks away and up the stairs, and let out a muffled scream.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the man said, leaning in to run his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’ll be doing a lot of that later, and you’ll be loving it.”

You’re about to headbutt him, but are distracted by the sound of several heavy thuds on the floor above you.

You and the man look up in unison, both trying to discern the source of the noises.

Then, there were several brief bursts of gunfire, accompanied by several metallic pings.

Silence follows.

The man growls under his breath and pulls a gun out of his jacket. He points it at your head. “Don’t go anywhere.”

You watch him ascend the stairs, then start trying to work yourself free. In your efforts, you cant the chair sideways and fall on your side, back to the stairs. You wince at the impact --your arm’s going to be bruised as shit later.

You flinch at the sound of another gunshot.

Everything’s silent for a minute, and then there are footsteps on the stairs again.

You start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks, and you try anything to wiggle your way free.

Then, there are a pair of hands on your shoulders, pulling you up and turning you around, and--

Piotr kneels in front of you, resplendent even in his human form, smiling reassuringly. “It’s alright, moya lyubov’. I’ve got you.”

You draw in a sharp breath and moan at him through the gag.

“Hang on.” He pulls the gag out of your mouth --carefully, the man is always careful--and lifts it over your head.

A cry bubbles out your mouth, followed by a breathless apology. “Piotr-- I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry--”

His thumbs are already wiping the tears off your cheeks while his lips press sweet, gentle kisses along your hairline. “It’s okay, myshka, I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He leans back and flashes you a crooked grin. “Let’s get you out of here, da?”

You nod, already itching to be out of the chair and in his arms. “Da. Yes. Si. Now, please.”

He chuckles and pulls a knife off his belt. “I need you to hold very, very still, moya lyubov’. Can you do that for me?”

You nod again and focus on holding still while he works at the ropes holding you in place. “How did you find me?”

“Tracker on your phone. Men forgot to turn it off.”

You manage a weak, half-hearted giggle. “Idiots.”

He chuckles back, mostly because it’s clear that’s the response you wanted. “So, what did you get up to before all this happened?”

“Oh, you know.” You tip your head back to try and hold back the tears that are threatening to reappear. “Got a bite to eat, smashed Wade’s highscore in Pac-Man at the arcade.” You manage a wavery smile as you tip your head forward to look at him. “I stopped by that chocolate shop you took me to on our first date, got you some fudge.”

“That was very sweet of you, dorogoy.” He’s done with your legs and waist and already halfway through the ropes on your left arm.

Your laugh comes out less as amused and more as hysterical. “Yeah, well, I figured it’d pay to have a bribe.”

“Bribe?”

“To get back in your good graces after being an ass.”

He smiles at you, soft and sweet, as he tosses away the rope that had been holding your left arm in place. “You don’t have to earn my ‘good graces,’ Y/N. You’ll always have them.”

It’s serendipitous timing that he finishes freeing your right arm in that moment, because you want nothing more than to be in his arms after that comment. You launch yourself at him, winding your arms around his neck. You sob, the weight of what could’ve happened hitting you full force, and press your face against his chest.

Piotr is forced to temporarily abandon his knife, tossing it off to the side so he can wrap his arms around you. He’s massive, exceedingly so, and it’s easy for him to curl himself around your --much smaller--body. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m so, so sorry, Piotr! I shouldn’t have run off, and I shouldn’t have said those things, and--”

“It’s okay, dorogaya moya, it’s fine.” He presses his lips against your forehead. “Let’s get you out of here, then we talk. But first.” His hands turn to the solid steel you know so well, and he presses his fingers against the suppression collar. “Hold still.”

You keep yourself still as he tears the collar off of you, then let out a relieved breath, sending a gust of wind throughout the dusty basement.

“Much better,” Piotr murmurs as he rubs his hand up and down your back.

You press against him, trying to close every tiny gap between you and him. You’re shaking like a leaf in a gale, body trembling with adrenaline and relief. You let out a tiny squeak as he lifts you into his arms and wind your arms around his neck as he starts carrying you up the wooden stairs. “I half expected you to come down in full metal.”

“House is very old,” Piotr grunts as he navigates the rickety steps with ease. “I am surprised I did not fall through floor.” He pauses halfway up the steps to look at you. “You may want to close your eyes.”

You oblige him and lean your head against his shoulder. “A grisly scene, unfit for the eyes of a lady?”

A puff of laughter ghosts over your cheek. “There was struggle.”

You can’t resist the temptation to peek at the scene as he carries you through the house. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of bodies crisscrossing the floor, riddled with bullet holes.

“I thought I told you to close eyes.”

“You should know by now I’m not good at listening.”

That finagles a chuckle out of him. “Stubborn girl.”

“Well, duh.” You peer at the bullet holes --some in the bodies, some in the walls--then check Piotr over for any sign of injury. “How’d you survive the shooting?”

“I came in defense mode. I was not sure stairs would hold me, so I changed.”

“They should’ve thought about the ricochet.”

“Da.”

The sun is almost done setting as he carries you outside to the awaiting jet.

You wince as your eyes adjust to the fading natural light, then blink as you realize you couldn’t have been captured for more than a few hours. “How did you know to come looking for me in the first place?”

“Professor Xavier got letter from intelligence operative. Said your parents had hired bounty hunters to find you and to keep you at X-Mansion until coast was clear.” He clears his throat and ducks his head, looking sheepish. “My... over-protective instincts got the better of me.”

You can’t help but tremble in his arms at the mention of your parents or the fact that they hired a fucking bounty hunter, good God. Your stomach churns as the memory of the hired man threatening to rape you and asking for paralytics, and you cling tighter to him. “Well, I’m glad they did.”

“So am I, moya lyubov’. So am I.” He carries you onto the jet and sets you on one of the seats. “Stay here. I will come back when we are in stable flight pattern.”

You try to stay in the seat as he starts the take off process, but you can’t help but stumble up to the cockpit after him.

“Yes, I found her.” Piotr looks up at you as you press yourself against his arm, and pauses to kiss your forehead. “She is alright, a little shaky.” He pauses again as he pilots the jet high enough to clear the top of the trees and surrounding buildings, then nods as the voice in the pilot’s headset speaks. “Da. We are on our way back now.” A few more exchanges between him and the voice in the headset, and then he’s setting the jet on autopilot and taking the headset off. He turns to face you, flashing you a crooked grin. “I thought I told you to wait.”

You try to reciprocate, you really do, but the past few hours as catching up with you. You lower lip starts trembling, and you slump against Piotr, crying quietly.

He wraps his arms around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Come on, dorogaya moya. Let’s get you checked out.” He carries you back into the main bay of the jet and --with a gentleness that completely belies his sheer size--deposits you on one of the seats. “How did they capture you?”

You lift your hand to the back of the head, wincing as your fingers brush against a small lump. “They hit me. Knocked me out.”

Piotr’s lips are set into a tense line as he pulls a flashlight out of his suit pocket. “Look at my nose, myshka.”

You stare straight ahead as he checks your pupil response to the light. “Piotr... I’m really sorry for being such an ass at the mansion.”

He chuckles. “It is alright, dorogoy. I need you to follow light with your eyes now.”

“And...” You add quietly as you track his light with your eyes. “...I’m sorry I compared you to my parents. That was... royally unfair of me.”

“It is okay, Y/N. I forgive you.” He clicks off the light and turns his attention to the nice, ugly bruise forming on your left forearm. “How did you get this?”

“I knocked myself over trying to escape.”

Piotr chuckles as he carefully prods the bruise. “That’s my girl. My fierce myshka.”

“Getting herself bruised,” you mutter with a wince. “That sounds about right.”

“Am I hurting you?”

“Well, it’s a bruise and you’re poking it. What do you think?”

“I am trying to ascertain if it is broken.”

You shake your head. “I’ve broken my arm before. It just feels like a bruise.”

He stops prodding at your forearm in favor of encapsulating your hands with his massive ones. “Did anything else happen? Anything you can remember?”

“No, I was out for most of it.”

“What happened when you came to?”

“I tried to use my powers to throw them across the room.”

Piotr snorts --actually snorts. “I suppose, for them, it was good thing they had collar. You would have kicked their asses otherwise.”

“Good for them, pain in the ass for me,” you mumble, annoyed. “He pointed out the collar, so I tried to yank my arms free.”

“I figured. You have rope burns on your wrists.”

You have to stop to force down the bile creeping up your throat before you can go on. “He said I was feisty. Said it was hot.”

Piotr’s hands tighten around yours. “Anything else?”

You start shaking again. “He said that he had to take me back home... but that he didn’t have to rush. He... asked for some paralytics... said he was going to make me scream.”

Piotr’s jaw clenches, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You giggle hysterically against his chest. “You came in the nick of time. He’d just sent the guy up for the paralytics when you crashed in.”

“Bozhe moi, I am grateful. I am grateful I found you when I did.”

“Me too.”

He presses his forehead against yours, taking deep, shaky breaths. “Was there anything else that happened, lyublyu?”

You frown. “Yeah. He touched my cheek and licked my ear.” You rub your cheek, then your ear. “God, that was gross.”

Piotr is quiet for a moment. Then, he lifts his hand to your cheek, rubbing his thumb against your soft, supple skin. “Like this?”

You lean into his touch, smiling weakly. “Yeah. Yours is better, though.”

“I would hope so.” He’s quiet for another moment, then leans forward.

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses a soft kiss against your ear. “Piotr,” you sigh.

He presses the side of his face against the side of yours. “Better?”

“Yeah.”

And, oddly enough, it is. It was as though Piotr’s touch erased the traces of the bounty hunter’s harassment. Sure, you could remember it happening, but you couldn’t quite remember how it felt. All you could feel was Piotr’s loving, tender touches and the affection he so willingly lavished upon you.

You turn your head towards him and press your lips against his.

He kisses you back for a moment the way he always does --with a tenderness that never fails to make you weak in the knees--and then pulls back. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier. I was too controlling. You are an adult, and I need to respect that.”

“Eh, I think I need to talk to Xavier about that one more than I do you.”

“Still, I am sorry--”

“I forgive you, Piotr. Stop beating yourself up.”

He ducks his head, smiling sheepishly. “Khorosho. I also want to apologize for not defending you in front of Scott. He was out of line.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad to be with you right now.”

“As am I, myshka. As am I.”

After one of the resident medics gives you a thorough check over and a blood test to ensure you hadn’t been injected with anything while you were knocked out --at Piotr’s worried insistence, and you were too worn out to put up too much of a fight--you're given a clean bill of health and instructions to rest for a few days.

Piotr escorts you to the living space side of the mansion, his hand a warm and soothing presence on your shoulder.

The two of you are met by Professor Xavier and one very pissed off looking Scott Summers.

“It’s about time,” Scott snaps. “We have jobs to do, you know. We can’t just waste our time keeping up with your outbursts.”

You roll your eyes. “Geez, Scott, who rusted the pole up your ass?”

Before he can retort, Piotr steps in between the two of you. “Enough,” he says, voice deep and hard. “She has had long day. She needs rest.”

“Yes,” Professor Xavier agrees. “We’re glad to see you back safely, Y/N. Rest for now. We can resume our discussion when you feel more recovered.”

You nod and let Piotr escort you to your room.

“The medic cleared you for concussion, so you can sleep on your own tonight.”

You bite back a frown. You would rather stay with him --in general, yes, but especially tonight, given the circumstances. Dammit. Why couldn’t I have a concussion? “Okay.”

Piotr cups your face in his massive hands. “If you need anything, come wake me up. Time does not matter, okay?”

You nod, then roll up onto your toes to kiss him. When he tries to break away once, you grab onto his shirt and cling to him.

He humors you for a few moments longer before disentangling your hands from the material of his shirt. He kisses both of your hands. “Sleep well, myshka.”

You manage a smile for him, but it dissipates as soon as he turns away.

You’re not sure sleep will come easy tonight.

You’re not sure it’ll come at all.

The needle glints in the glaring overhead lights of the basement, sinister and clinical.

You wrench at your restraints, but you’re stuck, frozen in place.

The man in the hoodie holds you still while the man from the alley stabs the needle into your arm, slowly injecting you with its malevolent contents.

You try to fight, try to free yourself, but you can feel yourself quickly becoming sluggish. Your limbs are heavy, stiff from the dose of the paralytic.

You can only watch, frozen, as they cut your ropes away. Tears trickle down your cheeks, but you can’t so much as flick a finger.

You’re helpless. Completely at their mercy.

You’re laid out on the dirty stone floor without any decency or preamble.

The man from the alley laughs as he cuts your pants away from you, laughing at your tears and the sight of your shame. He leans towards you, close enough that you can smell the beer he drank while waiting for the paralytic. “You’re going to love this, doll.”

You stare at the ceiling, crying as you try to will your useless limbs to move --to fight.

You jerk upright, breathing hard.

You’re in your room, lonely and terrified in your bed. The darkness around you feels oppressive, like it’s choking you.

You try to calm yourself, to still the tremors in your hands. You use your powers to draw more air into your lungs, to try and quiet your nerves.

You can still smell the beer on his breath...

You can still feel your limbs going numb...

You bolt out of your bed and fling open the door --screw anyone who complains about the noise. You dart down the hall, skidding to a stop in front of Piotr’s bedroom door. You rap your knuckles at the door, trying to stay upright while your knees knock together. “Piotr! Piotr!”

A light flicks on his room, the glow creeping out from around the edges of the door. There’s the thud of footsteps --too light for him to be in defense mode--and the door swings open to reveal Piotr’s confused, sleepy face. “Zdravstvuyte? Hello?” You must look worse than you thought, because the exhaustion drains from his face in seconds. “Myshka, what is it?”

“I had a nightmare,” you whimper.

Piotr ushers you into his room, closes the door behind him, and kneels in front of you. “It’s okay. You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.”

You sniff and slump against him. “I dreamed that you didn’t get there in time, and that they injected me with the paralytics, and--”

Piotr wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest. “Sh, lyublyu, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here.”

You wipe your eyes with the back of your arm. “Can I stay with you tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

You hadn’t asked earlier to avoid making him feel awkward. Piotr was such a stickler for rules and ‘appropriate behavior,’ and you had no doubts that he would consider sleeping in the same bed --especially since your relationship was still fairly young--to be inappropriate, to say the least.

However, he doesn’t so much as hesitate when you ask. He simply presses a kiss to the top of your head and whispers, “Of course, dorogoy. All you had to do was ask.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and let him carry you to --and set you on--the bed.

There’s bit of shuffling as Piotr finds a pillow for you, and then he shuts his bedside lamp off and lays down next to you.

You wiggle across the bed until you’re pressed up against him.

Rather than mind the invasion of his space, he simply winds his arms around you, holding you against his large, muscular body. “I would’ve have offered earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness. “Well, I would’ve asked earlier, but I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Politeness gets you nowhere.”

He huffs out a soft laugh and runs his fingers through your hair. “You don’t mean that.”

No. You really don’t.

Rather than admit defeat, you opt to trace your fingers over his chest. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, exposing his collarbone and the tops of his pecs. His skin is warm and soft under your fingertips.

Something in the back of your mind registers satisfaction at the shuddering gasp you pull out of him when your fingers graze over his collarbone, but you’re too tired to let the thought manifest past that.

By all means, it’s really soothing. Piotr’s fingers playing with your hair, his comforting embrace and warmth, the way his skin feels under your fingers. It’s almost enough to lull you into sleep, save for one nagging thought--

You tilt your head back to peer up at him. Piotr’s face is near indiscernible in the dark, but you can make out the shadowy outline of his features and the soft glint of his eyes. “What happens if I have another nightmare?”

“I will wake you up and comfort you.”

That --the promise that you won’t be left to suffer alone--is enough to finish calming you down. You close your eyes, lay your head on his chest, and let yourself fall back asleep.

You wake up --but not in the place you fell asleep in.

You’re in your room --not the one at Xavier’s, but in your old room, back in the middle of nowhere.

You bolt out of bed and race to the door. You yank and pull on the handle, but it doesn’t budge.

You try the windows next. You rip the curtains away, only to find that you’ve been sealed in. The windows are boarded over; not even a trace sunlight peeks into your room --your cell.

You pound your fists against the walls, desperate to find a way out. “Help me! Please, help me!”

A bright light floods the room, seemingly from nowhere. Someone grabs your shoulders--

“Y/N!”

You jolt awake, mid-scream.

Piotr is holding you by your shoulders, expression pinched.

Oh. That’s right. You’re in Piotr’s room. Not at home.

The relief hits you like a brick to the chest, and you start crying.

“Oh, myshka, what happened?”

“I dreamed was back home, trapped in my room.”

His arms slid underneath you and lift you off the bed. “It’s alright, love. I’ve got you.”

You draw in shaky, uneven breaths as you press your forehead against his shoulder. “I know. I’m just happy that I’m here, instead of stuck back there.”

“So am I, lyublyu. So am I.”

You sit at one of the many window seats, staring out at the cool, rainy day. Normally, a view like this --gray skies and damp grass--would leave you in a foul mood. Today, however, you were simply grateful to be seeing it.

It was horrifying to think that if Piotr hadn’t started looking for you, or if you had left your phone at the mansion, or if the bounty hunters had turned it off, or --a thousand other things, who knows. Point stands, you would be on your way back to your parents, never to see Piotr or the other X-Men again.

Or, maybe you wouldn’t have been underway to see your parents by now. Maybe the bounty hunters would’ve kept you in the basement, torturing you however they pleased.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t hear Piotr sneak up behind you. You shriek as he lifts you off the seat and spins you in a circle.

“ Zdravstvuyte, myshka.”

You can’t help but smile at him as he settles you into his arms, bridal style. He’s in defense mode, which makes things a little uncomfortable, but you don’t mind. “Hey, yourself. I didn’t heart you coming.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost in thought.”

“Good thoughts, I hope?”

Your smile fades. “Not really, no. I was just thinking... what would’ve happened if I hadn’t had my phone on me...”

Piotr’s grip on you tightens. “Easy, dorogoy. There isn’t much to be gained by those thoughts.”

“I know. It’s just kind of horrifying.”

He kisses you gently, then carefully sets you on your feet. “You need distraction. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No.” You intertwine your fingers with his --a near impossible task when he’s in defense mode, but you manage. “But, I can think of a couple other things if you really want to distract me.”

He ducks his head and chuckles. “Perhaps another time, myshka. Skipping meals is not healthy.”

You smile and let him lead you out of the library and in the direction of the kitchen. “Of course. Heaven forbid we mess up our meals.”

[rose-against-dersecest]

so shipping any characters is getting rid of their arc now? can't ship! wow. its almost like...you can be your own person and love someone else...wow

dave’s arc is about him accepting that he’s into men. rose’s arc is her accepting that she doesn’t need to rely on alcohol or something idk i hate rose’s characteriation post-cascade and pre-retcon and this doesn’t help my point at all but she’s in love with kanaya and dirk’s arc is learning to stop hating himself and trusting that his friends can take care of themselves and jake’s is about him not wanting to be sexualized and treated like a piece of meat by everyone and my character arc is going outside and filling my prescriptions that i need for more hormones but have keep putting off because i just realized last night i only have two more days in my supply and i waited like two months and fuck i need to schedule my blood test as well soon FUCK and i need to reapply for a new passport with my name and gender change and i need a new social security card and birth certificate but im fucking playing video games and on my discourse blog all day UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH this sucks ok nobody’s reading anymore i think it’s amazing how both justin and travis (forgot his name for a sec and wrote both tavros and tavris before remembering it’s travis) are scorpios like god that’s why griffin has so much anxiety. im so sorry griffin rip

[thatweirdmod]

Beriphitar's Pillage 4: New Man

Beriphitar's Pillage Chapter Four

"Oh I'm a mess right now- inside out. Searching for a sweet surrender, but this is not the end. I can't work it out. How?"

Sorry, Ed, but thanks for Sheeran your lyrics.

My teeth are grit both against the cold, and in rage. I have thousands of dollars, and more gold than the bums around me have ever seen in person. However, I can't even use it to buy a warm bed for the night for fear  of being noted or tracked.

No, instead I'm hiding under a highway bridge  with the homeless- broke-legged rats on the outskirts of society's race.

I have fond memories of before, when I went out with a couple of buddies and we terrorized these types of tattered skin bags with baseball bats, piss, and spiked drugs. Imagine how; it doesn’t take much.

Now, I'm among their numbers. I sit with my legs tucked to my chest, and the hood of my thick brown hoodie covering my lowered head.

There are some guys around the corner that I don't trust. I'm waiting for them to leave  before I settle in to sleep. The car would be safer, but in the movies at least, I see lawmen checking on people in their cars late at night too often.

My cushion is a plush sleeping bag that I gave 15 dollars to a toothless brown woman to go and pick up for me.

I said I’d add another 5 to fuck her, but she got all pissy and started going, “No no no, don’t disrespect me. I don’t do that kind of thing.” The stupid bitch was almost too upset to even get the sleeping bag- made me cajole her.

At least it all worked out, because my first night in the elements without the bag was... well  it would be weird to say "hellish", but it damn well sucked.

The teeth of the cold bit away the few moments of gentle peace that I'm usually allowed per day in sleep. Shivering on the bare concrete and clutching myself like a long lost lover, I could barely even feel the sweater on  my skin. Before, I'd thought that teeth only chattered for expression in books and comics.

If you’re wondering why I was freezing, then wasting time begging a sour old street rat to run an errand for me, it’s because I don't go into stores to buy anything anymore. Every interaction puts me at risk of being reported.

I won't put too much faith in my new beard's ability to  disguise me. Besides, I can usually convince other homeless to run  errands, and even to pump my gas into containers and bring it to me.

The gun I bought from one of the hidden street vendors helps to insure that they think twice before trying to cheat me, or trying to jump me and steal my stash. After that, they must at least suspect that I'm a criminal.

However, when it comes down to passing up honor, or passing up the money to buy basic necessities and/or drugs, they always choose the former.

The kind of pleasure that honor gives you comes from within, in your mind and heart. Life has given these people so much torment that they find it best to kill the parts of them that feel and think with drugs and alcohol.

They are base, without hope and future, living in the immediate and the material, and chasing the pleasures thereof. So of course they would choose the former.

I change spots regularly, however, so that I don't start getting a reputation as the loaded guy who hangs around such and such area. Groups might catch wind and gang up to split my wig and my wealth then.

As you  may have gathered, I'm even farther north than before. I'm actually farther than I intended to go before.

I am a rich, wayfaring danger, traveling through this world alone. There will be murder, rape, and anger in that cold land to which I go. I'm going there to start all over. And I'm going there no more to roam. I'm only going over borders. I'm only running far from home now.

Ooohh.  Dark clouds gathering above me. I know my way's rough and steep. And  escape and freedom lie just beyond me. And I know my way's rough and  steep. When I go there I'll be a bother. No lesson learned to call my own. I'm only chaos plaguing order. I'm only finding a new home now.

In my sleeping bag, I dose off to the ceaseless whoosh vrrooom of traffic, and the little song playing in my head. Now how many people do I need to apologize to?

Mid morning the next day, I'm doing the best I can to keep my hygiene up in  a bacteria encrusted public restroom.

When the bum behind me finishes pissing and leaves without washing his hands, I take out my wallet and pocket knife. I pull out my driver's license, library card, and all my credit and debit cards, deface them by scraping them, chop them up, and toss them in the bin.

I don't know  if this is the best idea, but it's kind of a damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. If I get caught driving without a license, I could be arrested. But if I show the license, same deal.

At least now I don't  have to worry about leaving a definitive link to myself if I ever lose my wallet around here.

Nothing to lose by getting rid of the cards, since I've abandoned my bank account. I don't need books from the library either, unless they have a step by step guide in there about how  to escape from the law in 100% of situations.

I leave, get in the little car, and review how to get to my next destination on a gas station map. The little dot where I was born festers about 100 miles east, and a little farther south of the Ligerdian border than this place.

I heard that the border is little more  than a 7 foot tall fence, with guards few and far between. You know how  I said that my drug farm was legal where I lived? Well, it isn't on the  other side of that fence.

There have been more than a few complaints by Ligerdian citizens concerning the fact that running contraband from here to there is so easy. But, the tax dollars never seem to have found their way down to the border. Probably got caught on the lining of some  politicians' pockets.

Hey! “from here to there.”

A plant there was, a plant, a plant. All green and nine points in its leaves. Three years in jail and a beating there. They’ll cuff and search you in the bare. But sweet it is to ease your cares, with the scent of weed up in the air.

From there to here, from here to there. All light and sweet and fragrant the air. I smell the smoke of weed over there. The weed, the drugs, and not a care.

I turn on the radio to a station playing chill music, and start driving. Tired of hiding as a wanted, homeless man in my own country, but getting caught in Ligerdia as an illegal alien could wind me up ass-fucked for good. The bottom line is, I need a new identity.

I knew another person before I left where I'm now going again. Kids used to buy fake identification cards from him, so they could drink and get  blue balled at strip clubs.

I wouldn't call his quality top tier, but if I could get one of those, it would grease my wheels. I need more from  him than just that, though, and more than I'm positive that he can provide.

I need a new social security number, birth certificate, and driver's license. If I can get all that, perhaps obtaining an official, legal, Ligerdian passport will be possible. Or perhaps I should just ask him to forge one of those too, so I don't have to worry about being snagged by their authorities. Decisions, decisions.

About two hours later, I'm driving down a street at 30 mph, again taking in the   grossly familiar sights of the dank, unassuming town of Drundam. The   aversion had already begun to build in my chest from 20 miles away, and now I feel nausea coming on. I never wanted to come back here.

I keep driving until I reach a rickety, two story house in a neighborhood. People like the ones who live here always seem to have a liking for cheap, bright colors.

This resulted in the rows of houses around me dressed in faded greens, pinks, purples, and oranges. Their skeletons underneath are precarious with rotting planks. The one I'm pulling  up in front of is light blue, just like the stain of it in my memory.

I step out of the car and take a tentative breath of cold air, smokey from a nearby factory. The whole place is bathed in cloud. An icy drizzle falls from the heavy grey above and into the pale fog beneath.  

The moisture darkened street is deserted, with most people out at work or school. I walk up to the house and knock on the door. No answer. I knock again, and wait.

The dude finally answers. He hasn't changed much. He still wears torn jeans, and a shirt not fully buttoned with curly brown chest hair bursting out at the top.

"Tell me I ain’t seein’ this," he says as he looks me over sourly.

"You're just seeing me, and I'm about to be a paying customer."

"Yeaahhh, I don't know about that. I saw the news."

When I frown he says, "Oh, don’t be surprised. What you did... that ain't no little local story. That shit spreads."

I cut to the chase. "If you're going to talk, maybe I should come in so that no one sees me at your house."

He shakes his head and sighs, then jabs his thumb towards the inside of the house. "Against my better judgement, alright kid."

I cringe. I don't appreciate being called "kid", not after everything I've done. I enter and close the door behind myself.

"Look," Uorthem says with pointed sternness, "I'm not in for any bullshit." He lifts up his shirt, punctuating his point with the gun tucked into his waistband. "Tell me what you want. If you got the money, and I can do for it, then we do business. Otherwise, you  get the fuck out, and I mean out of town too."

"I need a new identity- the full package. Short of plastic surgery, I'm a whole new man as far as the world is concerned."

Uorthem thinks for a bit, then moves his head in something between a shake and a nod. "That's gonna take some time."

"How long are you thinking?"

"10-14 days. It's a process."

I don't care for that, but this much is still promising.

"And I won't do it for less than $10,000."

That's shaving off a chunk from my winnings, but it's affordable.

"We have a deal, then," I tell him.

I turn to leave, but he says, "Wait."

Dammit.

I hear a zipper behind me.

"Momma always said I shouldn't poke feral dogs or test crazies, but I figure if you didn’t know to do what was best for ya when the rubber hit the road, you wouldn'da made it this far."

I turn back to see Uorthem's long manflesh hanging stiffly from his light, worn jeans.

"You ain't got much of a choice, do you?"

I stay in my place, and raise my eyes from his wrinkly, slightly mottled penis, and up to his face. My expression is blank, but tight.

"What're you waiting for? Get down there boy."

I kneel on the tiled floor, and carefully take his warm member in my hands. I force my clenched teeth apart, and begin a pattern of sucking, licking and rubbing.

I don't know why he smells like stale beer here. He hardens fully as I work, and moans deeply.

"Ohh, ahh yeah. Ya know, I hate it when they act like they never handled dick before. Men know what a man likes. You get it."

He digs his rough hands into my hair and forces my head farther onto his cock. I choke, but regain my rhythm with his dick farther down my throat.

He's so big in my mouth. Between his size and the overpowering smell akin to old beer and bleach, I'm nearly suffocating.

"Almost there... uuhhghahh. Suck like your life depends on it, 'cause it just might."

He blows down my throat. I try to pull off of his penis so I can swallow properly, but he holds my head there tightly until he finishes spurting every last drop. My mouth is filled with the unpleasant taste. He lets me go, and I pull away coughing and panting.

"Hmmph, ohhhhh," Uorthem groans in satisfaction, stretching his back. "Now go on, get your ass outta here."

I walk out, staggering a bit, and slam the door behind myself. My face is red with shame and anger, but this is still the new beginning.

The rising voice in my head that has telling me to give up since before I   even started has gotten quieter. It's still there, but to it I say, "Not yet."

I probably shouldn't just be standing out in the open like this, but I like the view. I've driven down to the rocky strip of beach that overlooks the choppy, cold sea.

This sea touches far fairer lands than this, the people of which are likely unaware that farther north, their blue waters turn grey, and lap at the edges of a sickly little world.

I stand looking out over the water, perhaps resembling Koume. I'm not yet sure what understanding she came to, but I'll gather the wind under my  wings and soar across a sky of my own color.

[yesblueberrypoptart-blog]

Innocence Lost

My mom had me when she was just 16. Having no support from her parents, who quite honestly were god awful parents, she decides to marry my father. Now heres the kicker, my mom believed until the day after she was married that my father was 16 as well. He finally tells her that he has been lying about his age the whole time they had been dating and that in fact he is 21. That should have been a warning sign to my mom, not only did he lie about his age, but my mom was getting suspicions that he had impregnated her purposely so that he could have a green card. You heard right. My father is an illegal, but that doesnt even begin to explain how fucked up my father is. You see my dad began to beat and cheat on my mom. When my mom was finally ready to leave, the condom they had been using somehow failed and my mother is pregnant a second time. It would not take until my mom was 20 for her to finally leave, and so she made plans. My father was visitng family in Mexico and my mom decided she "did not want to come". She calls my uncle from a small town in Siloam Springs, Arkansas and begs for him to come pick my brother, she, and I up. Now you may be wondering what finally put my mom to that point? Well ladies and gentlemen the father of the year award goes to my father for trying to sell both my brother's and I social security card's and birth certificate's. My mom stood up to my father and tells him she would call the police if he followed through with his plan. I am thankful to my mother because to this day my credit is clean. Heres a little secret though, one that my mother didnt know until I was 18. Right before she left my father, he begin taking his little four year old daughter with him into bed, undressing her, and forcing her to suck his dick. This was the beginning of the events that have taken place in my life. The one man I should have been able to trust in my life, destroyed it in a single night. The sad thing is that it is my first memory I have of my life. How do you even escape your first memory as a child? Especially when you begin using your own toys to masturbate because a sick man opened up desires that should not have been open to a child. The assults would continue until I was 8 years old. My father had won visitation rights, but expected us to call and make the visitations. Take into account that my brother and I were doing this until we were both 10 and 8. What asshole leaves that up to his children to decide? I finally had had enough of what my father was doing to me and so I went without seeing or speaking to him for two years. I thought I was finally free, little did I know that my father involved the courts in how we disappeared(we also moved). The courts having believed my father made the decision that we had no choice but to visit my father until we were 18. I am now 21 and it has been three years since I have spoken or seen the sick fuck. I still have nightmares and flashbacks. The one thing I count my blessings on is that I got smart in how to avoid being alone with my dad and so I would lock my brother's and I bedroom door at night, and sleep in the same bed as my brother. My father got the point and understood that if he ever touched me again I would tell someone. Now you may be wondering, why did you never tell your mom? I tried. She was in denial and told me to tell her again a few months later (when my father went to court to have his rights of seeing my brother and I respected). The damage was done and when my mom asked again I lied. In those three months I managed to convince myself that if my own mother couldn't believe me, then how could a judge. I was 18 when I finally told my mom that I wasn't lying. She has been angry at herself since.