#he has a hard time processing and communicating anxiety and negative feelings about situations outside his control

[honeybeebytheseaa]

I wanna write a fic maybe expanding over ten chapters (to those waiting for the next gen AU fic I swear it’s coming isjdjdn) with a gift swap scenario but the switch leaves everyone with a power that’s very unconventional to their lives.

Because in the movie the reason many of the family members had quarrels with their gifts was due to the fact that Alma got to dictate how they’d be used. The gifts are meant to be extensions of the family, but I want to see a situation where the magic goes “you guys are straining again ✨family bonding time✨” and swaps their gifts.

My current idea is:

Julieta - Shapeshifting - I want to see an introvert like her get a gift that forces her to be in the spotlight. By getting Camilo’s gift she’s encouraged to be more risky and makes mistakes.

Pepa - Future sight - A little on the nose with this one but I think because of her anxiety, her main takeaway would be she can’t control the future and whatever happens happens.

Bruno - Enhanced Super Hearing - Somewhat same vain as Pepa where he learns he can’t control what people think and feel about him, as the enchanted hearing allows him to hear all the negative things people say about him.

Isabela - Animal Communication - had a debate with myself between giving Isa super strength or animal communication but I decided the ladder because she might have too much fun with super strength and I can’t have that. Working with animals might make her a little more emphatic and give her a better understanding towards nature.

Dolores - Super-Strength - Still a little in the edge with this one but perhaps time management? Dolores often uses her gift by just milling around where with Lusia’s gift she’d have to constantly be running and running.

Luisa - Healing with food - PATIENCE. Cooking is an extremely difficult and tedious process. And though Luisa is a hard worker, she only really knows how to run not walk. At first I’d feel she’d be very frustrated, moving too fast and trying to get a recipe done so she can move on, but eventually she learns to slow down and take it one step at a time.

Camilo -Weather Manipulation - He has to learn to be vulnerable with people. Camilo is absolutely that kind of person to bottle shit up but with a cloud over his head 24/7 that’s not an option anymore.

Antonio - Plant Manipulation - ehhh I’ll be honest I’m still figuring out what his lesson would be. Antonio is pretty baby so unlike the rest of his family the magic might not give him a super hard time with this one. Perhaps it’d be a case of learning control and also a chance for him to communicate with other walks of nature outside animals. Also it’d be hella funny if he’s making flower crowns and behind him Camilo is quite literally laying in a puddle of his own sorrow, Dolores broke down the guest room door, Luisa is covered in flour, Isabela is trying to get a cat off her head and Mirabel is screaming at the sky because now she has to babysit the other idiot grandkids that have dangerous gifts.

Mirabel — No gift — yeah she’s not getting dragged into this— or not getting dragged into this with a gift at least. She still has to help figure out how to switch things back and also acts as a second hand when the swappies begin floundering too much. So in short: she is still the therapist.

If anyone has ideas on how they could be swapped let me know. Again the swap is meant to really challenge the person by giving them a gift they wouldn’t do well with so it forces them to adapt.

[clonecumber]

YEAH, WHATEVER, NINER

[palmett-hoes]

per your post "every single one of the monsters is autistic and/or adhd" will you elaborate on that?, if you do i will love you forever (not that i wont if you dont do it)

oh boy i would love to!!! unironically nothing brings me more joy than writing long, convoluted character analysis posts

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okay so i’ve written several posts before about why andrew is autistic. his moral code, the roundabout way he communicates, his body language, his stimulation-seeking behavior, his strict adherence to transactional deals, the emphasis on honesty, and a dozen other details. at this point i just take andrew being autistic as fact, not just an interpretation

h o w e v e r  i also hc that andrew is dyslexic, which is also a neurodiverse condition

- - -

similarly, i’ve seen more than one person interpret kevin as autistic, and i absolutely agree that it fits. not just the hyperfocus on exy but mostly the way he communicates. he’s very indirect, especially in his affection but very direct with his opinions. he tries to be helpful in a material way to the people he cares about, even if he comes off as negative. he wants the people he cares about to be safe and successful so he pushes them to work hard and reminds them in measurable ways how to stay healthy. he doesn’t factor in a lot of room for emotions, so instead he focuses on quantifiable things that he can improve. i personally act very similarly. approaching someone emotionally is hard for me, so when the people i care about have problems all i can think to do is try offering solutions, check up on their well-being, etc. practicality instead of conventional sentiment is extremely common with asd

- - -

so now let’s talk about neil. i had to think on this one for a WHILE but ultimately came to the conclusion that neil is adhd, probably hyperactive type. 

like obviously neil is high energy. i would say he probably does the most exercise of anyone on the team. morning run, morning practice, afternoon practice, night practice with kevin and andrew, plus he doesn’t have a car so he runs to class (on a BIG ass campus), and goes for an extra run when he feels stressed. that’s... insane, honestly.

neil reminds me SO MUCH of this post that goes:

“Was just informed by my mom that I do in fact have ADHD and the reason I thought I didn’t was because ever since I was seven whenever I got super energetic my mom would have me go chop wood so now when I’m feeling The ADHD I go chop wood”

(phenomenal post) and that’s neil to a t. tell me this isn’t exactly how neil handles his problems and also exactly what mary would have had to do to keep her unmedicated and very energetic son focused on the task of staying alive

neil also definitely has that ADHD on/off switch with his interest. the obvious being exy which is like the definition of a hyperfixation, but you can see it in other things: the way he runs totally hot or totally cold with people, his complete disinterest in his schoolwork, the way he can’t seem to sit still long enough to follow movies. but then there’s also the hyperfocus. doing the same drill for hours on end. watching exy game after exy game. staring at andrew until time falls away

what’s more, neil on many occasions shows racing thoughts, both in an anxiety way (and anxiety often goes hand-and-hand with adhd) but also as a way to quickly and accurately take in details about people to build a character profile of them. this is what allows him to connect with the foxes, how he manages to get through andrew’s puzzles, and even how he knows what to say in order to knock riko down a peg. his brain just works so fast and it takes in a lot of very specific details and disparate information to make connections.

but also like,, neil has a HUGE problem with time blindness. like the instant he didn’t have his mother around to manage and direct him anymore he lost all sense of time. he stayed in Millport for a YEAR. and what did he keep telling himself during that time? basically “i really need to move on, but not just yet.” for a YEAR! then he gets to palmetto and he’s like “i’ll cut and run in a month or two” then he doesn’t “i’ll be gone by halloween” wrong again “i’ll leave by the raven’s game” nope. like,, the boy just has NO sense of time and he can’t seem to make himself DO anything outside of an externally enforced schedule. and even then,,, HE HAD 48 FUCKING DAYS TO FIGURE OUT SOMETHING TO DO TO NOT GET MURDERED! 48 WHOLE DAYS. he didn’t make a plan, he didn’t write down any letters with goodbyes, he didn’t GO TO THE FBI LIKE HE’D INTENDED TO THE WHOLE TIME! nah he just made out with andrew and when he finally got to zero he was just like “ah shit, that was fast. oh well guess i’ll die” and that’s time blindness, babey!

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let’s move on to nicky. 

now i think it would be really easy to say nicky is just adhd because he’s high energy and forgetful but tbh,, i don’t think that’s all of it. like if you really look at nicky’s character and especially at his problems, he has asd problems just as much as he has adhd problems.

so nicky is dual diagnosis asd and adhd. also nicky reminds me a lot of a girl i used to know who was autistic/adhd

so, adhd:

very generally speaking, ppl with adhd will struggle with sitting still, listening to and following instructions, planning/organization, following a schedule, and some social boundaries like “appropriate” times and topics of conversation

i would say you see hints of this with nicky. he’s definitely a rambunctious personality, constantly on the move, constantly stimulation seeking. he’s very tactile. he likes to dance, he likes to party, he complains about it but he’s an elite-level athlete. he’s also decidedly very chatty, and doesn’t seem to really pay attention to what he’s saying. he distracts himself and the people around him have to keep him on track. he has some trouble with boundaries. he’s a little all over the place. he’s almost a bit of an adhd stereotype

also one thing i find interesting is that when neil sees him in the library doing work neil is surprised to see he’s capable of that, especially bc when we see the upperclassmen doing work they generally do it in their dorms or on the bus and/or with other people around. that hyper-social nicky would be alone in a quiet place is weird. but this is like the most common tip for dealing with adhd. don’t do it in a familiar space. have a designated space and time to do work. limit distractions. just a lil detail

so now, asd:

in all honesty, most of nicky’s actual problems in the narrative could be viewed as stemming from asd symptoms. his number one issue being that he has a lot of trouble with nonverbal cues (and tbh, verbal ones too). the twins are mostly quiet. andrew especially (when he’s sober) communicates primarily nonverbally, and nicky seems to have a lot of trouble with this. despite knowing them for the longest on the team, nicky honestly seems to have the least insight into the way either of the twins actually thinks or processes things. he loves them, and he’s very forgiving of them, but he fundamentally doesn’t understand them. 

the twins, andrew especially, put up a LOT of nonverbal boundaries, and nicky sort of inadvertently keeps trampling all over them. he’s touchy in a way they don’t like. he talks a lot about their personal lives to other people. he treats them like they’re joking when they’re serious. etc. and like,,, you kind of get the sense that the upperclassmen feel similarly about him. beyond the homophobia, beyond the fact that he’s loyal to andrew, the upperclassmen still treat him with this sense of,, bafflement, i suppose? it’s clear that they don’t really understand him and he doesn’t really understand them. although, nicky IS curious about the upperclassmen, while the upperclassmen are pretty dismissive of him. it reminds me of when my sweet, floppy dog tries to play with my cat. their body language is different; they’re each receiving different signals than they believe they’re sending out

only,, nicky loves people!! he likes being around them, he likes talking to them. he’s interested in their lives and stories, but it’s very clear that he can’t read between the lines on people. he has an incredibly hard time with people who expect their actions to speak for them, which is most people, but is especially his cousins.

actually this is very much also an issue that i have: things need to be spelled out for me. the way i deal with it is i ask a lot of questions. ‘how do you want me to react to this potential situation?’ ‘what are specific things that make you most comfortable?’ ‘please explain to me exactly how you feel and what has prompted those feelings?’ and i’m always communicating vice versa like that with other people. a lot of specifics in both questions and answers

and the interesting thing is, when i was skimming through the books reviewing dialogue styles for another ask, i noticed that, actually, nicky DOES do this. with neil and the upperclassmen, nicky asks a LOT of quick, clarifying questions. things that ask after tone, that ask after intent. it’s kinda sad that he does this for communicating with acquaintances, but with the twins, the people he’s closest to, he makes a lot more assumptions. and i’m really proud of nicky for having this coping skill, because i can’t imagine it’s something he grew up doing. there’s no way he was raised in an environment that fostered this kind of open communication so it must have been something he learned about much later, probably in germany with the kloses, which would also explain why he’s a lil imperfect about it

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now last but not least, aaron

this is another one i had to think through for a long time before it felt like it fit

much like how i felt that it would be easy to read nicky as simply adhd rather than also asd, i think it would be easy to say aaron is autistic simply because he is quieter, less rambunctious. however, i actually think he’s adhd, likely primarily inattentive type

in all honesty, aaron’s #1 character trait for the first two books is basically that he’s disconnected. detached. separated both from his family and his team. not in the same forcefully apathetic way that andrew is, more,, spaced out. he’s just kind,, there. not really paying attention to what’s going on, tuning in every once in a while only if something really catches his eye/ear then tuning right back out again. just sits in his corner and plays on his phone. and the thing is, from the moments when he does tune in, you can tell that he actually does care. he backs nicky when seth insults him in tfc, and we know he cares deeply about andrew even if he’s become disillusioned with their fraught relationship. he even hangs with his family, doesn’t seem to really try and slip away to other friends besides katelyn, he’s fine spending his leisure time with the monsters. so it’s not totally apathy, he’s just,,, tuned out most of the time

and, yea, that sounds like adhd. it’s not the type that most people are familiar with, and for a lot of people this causes it to slip under the radar. it can make it hard to get help or a dx because it doesn’t fit with how adhd “should” look or how someone “should” act, but difficulty focusing your thoughts and staying in tune with the current moment is absolutely part of adhd

addiction is also a huge problem for people with adhd. a lot of stimulants affect people with adhd very differently than neurotypicals, especially in small doses, and an adhd kid who’s struggled their whole lives with the disorder might try speed or god-forbid meth or fuck even coffee and suddenly find that things are a lot easier for them. they start to self-medicate, they don’t actually know what they’re doing, and then they’re addicted, and everything spirals out of control. we don’t know too many details about aaron’s addiction other than that his mother enabled him, but wouldn’t this fit? it’s also an explanation for aaron still taking drugs at eden’s, given that cracker dust seems to be a mild amphetamine. (aaron talk to betsy about the neurocog and get an actual prescription please)

(total throw away but aaron plays videogames and videogames are like,, adhd culture)

[clawsanddiamonds]

IC PORTION; BASICS —

CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: Selina Kyle / Catwoman

FACECLAIM: Morena Baccarin

AFFILIATIONS: Most notably, herself.

AGE (physical age as well, if different): 37

SPECIES (human, metahuman, alien, etc): Human

IS YOUR CHARACTER’S IDENTITY SECRET OR PUBLIC? Secret

IF SECRET, OR YOUR CHARACTER IS A CIVILIAN, DO THEY HAVE A CIVILIAN OCCUPATION? Hell no, unless you count thievery as an occupation. Her pockets are deep, certainly enough to sustain a temporary stay in Sokovia.

DOES YOUR CHARACTER LIVE IN THE MOUSEHOLE? IF SO, WHAT ARE THEIR DUTIES? No

DESCRIBE SIX TRAITS (3 positive, 3 negative) YOUR CHARACTER HAS AND HOW THESE AFFECT THEM: +Bonus: LOVED BY CATS. + Adaptable and independent: She will do what it takes to survive. Selina’s survival instincts are almost unparalleled - whatever it takes to make it, she will do it. She has worked so hard to create herself from the ground (under, even) up, and refuses to let anything stand in her way. She makes her own rules and only follows those, and even then sometimes changes things up. + Charismatic: Social engineering is the name of the Catwoman game, and it is something Selina excels at. Despite the manipulation piece, there is no denying that Selina Kyle has charm and will be the center of attention if that’s what she desires. She excels at manipulating social scenarios to exactly what she desires them to be, and to be successful at that she certainly has to be charming with dazzling smiles and easy-flowing conversation. + Intelligent: Strength and intelligence go hand-in-hand in the world Selina has found herself in, and she was blessed to not be lousy of either. Selina’s intelligence is often as quick as her whip, and she’s quick on her feet (ha) and outside of the box as well. Her heists and plans are usually overly organized and well thought out with a large deal of thought and planning behind them, always with many contingencies in case things go awry. Selina is able to process things very quickly and react in kind, an absolute necessity in her line of work. - Selfish / narcissistic: At the end of the day, Selina’s one and only priority is herself. While, at times, she certainly can show compassion and concern for others, her biggest concern is her own wellbeing and her comfort. Selina’s need to be self-serving and independent is number one, and overrides most other desires and needs in her life. - Distrusting / doesn’t play well with others: Letting people in is something that Selina avoids at all costs, considering her history and the things that she has been through. Her initial instinct is to distrust (and usually dislike), and it is hard to sway away from the initial impression. After all, her survival has depended on this many times over. Feeling attached or contained is anxiety-driving for her, and therefore, she avoids it. Those that she does let in and trust are few and far between, and those relationships are often complicated: Selina is not above sabotaging these relationships out of fear, and to prove that she needs no one. - Calculating: Selina is always ten steps ahead, which can certainly be seen positively in many lights but her intentions are usually poor. When pushed, Selina can be manipulative, cruel and devious. Her cunning is always razor sharp and her plans and heists will use strategies crafted precisely to the weaknesses available to her. After all, anything you can do, she can do better.

POWERS AND/OR ABILITIES: peak human condition, extreme agility, near perfect balance and reflexes, acrobatics, hand-to-hand combat, martial arts, boxing, disguise, stealth, thievery, proficient with most weaponry she can get her paws on.

WEAKNESSES: Physically, she’s absolutely human so there are absolutely downfalls to that. Personality wise, she’s absolutely unable to back down from a challenge and struggles with a conflicting internal moral compass quite a bit and has a pathological need for freedom.

IC PORTION; DETAILS —

WHAT BROUGHT YOUR CHARACTER TO SOKOVIA? In short? The masquerade hosted by the UN had certainly caught her attention, and Selina found herself an alias and managed to snag an invitation. Unfortunately, things got a little dicey before she managed to snag any real items of interest, even if she did make off with more than a few wallets and some jewelry. However, consider her interest piqued enough for her to make a temporary stay in Sokovia after the disaster that was the masquerade. After all, there’s definitely more she can do here.

DID THEY SIGN THE ACCORDS? WHY OR WHY NOT? No.

PROVIDE 3-5 HEADCANONS RELATED TO YOUR CHARACTER: Selina quietly donates funds under various aliases to group homes and charities dedicated to young children that grew up in similar situations as she did, trying to save other girls from the horrors she had to face so young. Selina was severely claustrophobic as a child and teen, and still feels a sense of panic when enclosed in tight spaces. She has an extreme fear of being trapped, doesn’t like to feel blocked in, though has been able to hone in one her ability to keep the panic down as she’s gotten older. Selina thoroughly enjoys dancing, in just about any facet. It’s a way to let loose, almost like fighting without the bruises and the blood. Dislikes background noises, such as music for the sake of just having it on or the TV on in the background. Selina much prefers the quiet. Selina associates Catwoman almost as a separate entity, a separate part of herself that she has become reliant on. She feels as though she is a different person when she puts on the suit - stronger, angrier, less concerned about the consequences of her actions. Catwoman has become a part of her, personally as well as professionally. Selina has a slight sense of disgust for the vigilantes that include children in their antics and take them on as sidekicks. She works alongside them at times and has a desperate urge to protect the children, especially after seeing most of them injured or tortured and some of them die.

CHARACTER BIO — tw: everything. e v e r y t h i n g. drugs, alcohol, pedophilia mentions, teenage prostitutes, murder, suicide ...everything.                                                                                                                                          

In life, there are really two choices: you adapt, or you die. Selina prided herself on avoiding the latter, which meant she excelled at the former. A tragic backstory goes hand-in-hand with most Gothamites, and Selina was no exception: her mother died by her own hand when Selina was just a child, leaving her and her sister in the care of a father unfit and unwilling for the job, leaving the girls to fend for themselves. Social workers made quick work of plucking Selinga and Magdalene from the Kyle household, depositing them instead into Sprang Hill, a group home of sorts. Selina found that Sprang Hill was not much better than being out on her own, and found herself fighting to keep her and her sister safe. Her behavior was considered less than appropriate and ideal, and so Selina was sent away from Sprang Hill at the age of eleven, separating her from her sister. Sea Gate was worse than Sprang Hill, worse than Selina could have imagined, and so the fight for survival continued. The director of Sea Gate was cruel and believed in harsh discipline, and seemed to have a mission to break Selina and make her compliant, though he was largely unsuccessful. She was about thirteen when she learned of the director’s crimes, primarily embezzling money from the program, and was bold enough to brag about her findings. This resulted in Selina finding herself back on the streets, but not before the man in question tried to have her killed: Selina was drugged, thrown into a bag and tossed into the ocean to prevent her from going to the authorities. (Silly man, didn’t he know that cats have nine lives?) Selina survived, and returned to Sea Gate to demand that all records of her be destroyed and that she be let go, scott free. Back on the street, Selina joined the Alleytown Gang, which was a community of sorts consisting of pickpockets and thieves run by a woman who went by Mama Fortuna. Selina was already a skilled pickpocket and thief, fierce to her very core, but this was where she was able to further hone in on her thieving skills. However, her time with the group did not last long, as Selina found herself suffocating under Fortuna’s thumb. Survival instinct kicked in again, and Selina was forced to take extraordinary measures: at the age of fifteen, she resorted to prostitution to earn money to keep herself afloat. It was here that she met Sylvia, a mother hen of sorts to help guide Selina through the new world she found herself in. Sylvia did her best to protect Selina, and found herself beaten nearly to death when she took on customers too rough for the green-Selina to handle. However, Sylvia’s protections didn’t last long as Selina dug a hole for herself with a pimp named Stan, who Selina began to see personally outside of work as well. She thought she was in love at seventeen with a man at least twice her age that abused her heavily. She was left in an alley after a particularly bad confrontation with him, and the detective questioning her in the hospital got nothing but lip and attitude back despite trying to help her. Selina was left with a phone number of a man that the detective said would at least teach her how to defend herself: Ted Grant. Initially, Selina put the number aside and went right back to work on the streets and right back to Stan. She was given more “kinky” clients with a slinky cat costume to go with it, playing the part of a dominatrix for her customers. It was then that Selina decided to call the number she’d been given and train with Grant, deciding she needed to put her safety first in even trickier situations. Selina took to training like a cat to cream; she was able to learn an eclectic mix of fighting skills to have in her back pocket for when things went awry. After a client gave Selina a whip to use in her dominatrix role, Selina went to Ted and demanded he teach her how to use it as a weapon rather than a toy used for sex work. Selina took another young prostitute under her wing, a teenager named Holly that Selina saw quite a bit of herself in: too young for this, but out of options and Selina did what she could to protect her, much as Sylvia had once done for her. While she was training with Ted, Selina met and began working with Stark, a criminal mastermind that helped her hone in further on her thievery skills. Stark took Selina on as something like a partner in his crime industry, and Selina kept this a secret and continued to work as a prostitute as a cover. It was around this time that Selina witnessed Batman in action for the first time and saw him escape from the police. She felt inspired by him: anonymous, unstoppable, feared and used this inspiration when she donned the catsuit she’d been given to use as a dominatrix as her own costume to conceal her identity, reclaiming the suit for herself. Donning her catsuit as something akin to a suit of armor, Selina quit being a prostitute, beating her pimp (Stan) within an inch of his life and leaving him in the same alley that he’d left her for dead in. Luck would have it that as she unmasked herself, she would run into her sister for the first time since they’d been separated all those years ago. Overwhelmed and filled with a sense of dread and terror, Selina ran and this caused her sister to pursue her. Stan took note of this, and once recovered enough to enact his revenge, would kidnap Magdalene and use her as a tool to trap and contain Selina. The situation quickly escalated, with Batman saving Magdalene though Stan did not survive the encounter. Selina realized that wearing the catsuit made her feel different - empowered, enraged, and severely out of control. She swore she would never wear it again, not after the near-death of her sister and Stan’s demise. However, as fate would have it, Selina found herself slipping into the catsuit again after Holly was beaten nearly to death by a police officer who had hired the teen as a client. She nearly killed the officer, stopped by another intervention from Batman himself. Selina’s legacy as a career thief as Catwoman started there, primarily on the East End of Gotham where she targeted crime bosses with fewer morals than she had herself and deep pockets. She set her sights high and decided to go for gold and quickly climbed to the top, opting to plan a job against the one and only Carmine Falcone. She was half successful, clawing and permanently scarring Falcone’s face with the metal claws she used with her catsuit during the operation, though ended up needing a rescue from the one and only Batman himself yet again. The relationship between the Cat and the Bat remained conflicting as such: sometimes on the same side of the coin, while others on the opposite, with occasional team ups when they weren’t on opposing sides. A team up with Stark, her once-mentor, led to Selina betraying him and making off with the loot intended for both of them (valuable diamonds which would sustain her and her lifestyle for quite some time); this was a power move that surely proved that Selina was able to take care of herself, was controlled by no one and proved that she was an incredible thief in her own right. Selina Kyle was transformed. Street-kid turned criminal turned prostitute turned socialite with the money Catwoman procured from her heists. She was finally reaching the heights she never thought she could, what she felt she always deserved, and was licking up each and every second of it. Catwoman began to work internationally, organizing detailed and major heists globally rather than confining herself to Gotham. Catwoman continued to tip the scales into vigilantism at times when she was not off scoring, working with her own brand of personal justice on cases that she deemed worthy of her attention and action. However, despite it all, she always had her eyes on the prize and her priority was always set on one thing and one one thing only: herself.

EXTRAS —

Myers Briggs: ISTP Hogwarts house: Slytherin, Ravenclaw a close second Zodiac: Pisces Sin: Greed, Pride

[thebookofbri]

Things I Wish I Told My West Indian Parents - The Collective

Dear Kings and Queens , I come to you all with a warm heart of gratitude. I applaud your courage, your strength, and your voice! Thank you for trusting me enough to share these very sensitive thoughts and experiences that you have all held close to your heart. May these pieces serve as a R E L E A S E . May they BIND UP the negative impacts that they’ve caused and may they LOOSEN the beautiful souls that you all are evolving into.

Whether you are a viewer outside of the west Indian community, a west Indian parent, child(ren) of west indian parents, or a supportive friend, I ask you to open up your hearts and minds to these shared stories and experiences below:

“I wish I told my west Indian parents that disciplining your children doesn’t always have to mean putting your hands on us – A conversation here and there would’ve been enough. ”

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“ I wish I told my west Indian parents that  I was a bisexual”

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“I Wish I told my west Indian parents that I think I would’ve been into church wayyyyyyyyyyyyy more if not so forceful. Like I wish they would just talk to us as humans. Not as a thing. Don’t get me wrong I’m into church and love God. I’d give my life to stand up for him. But growing up I would’ve been this way if not so forceful”.

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“Communication especially about the uncomfortable topics like sex! Life isn’t just about education and working!

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“Growing up I was never truly allowed to express myself emotionally if physically. Like if I ever thought my parents were wrong and I dared to speak up about it no matter how respectful I was about it, I would get shut down disrespectfully as if I was in the wrong the whole time. It hurt me because I didn’t really know how to and it affected my school, work, and even personal/romantic relationships. I was also put under extremely high standards, this put a lot of pressure on me from and every young age. It was hard for me to learn how to let go, it was hard for me to learn it’s okay to not be perfect, it was hard for me to accept failure and truly I still struggle with it which also makes it hard for me to open up about things I’ve failed in or not being able to make those around me happy as I feel they should be”.

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Things I Wish I Told My West Indian Mom - When you tell your daughter “little girls should be seen and not heard” You’re teaching her to be submissive and passive. You’re teaching her that she has no voice and it’s not her place to speak on things she’s passionate of. You’re teaching her to sit by and watch men screw up everything consistently. Unfortunately, you’re teaching her that her voice doesn’t matter which is ruinous to her development because her voice is one of the most powerful tools in her belt.

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1. I wish I didn’t have to figure out that you loved me or that you were proud of me, I wish you would have just told me. For years, I worked to earn what should have been given to me as a birthright and in your inability to express this to me, I struggled to find it in myself and so sought it in the world. I didn’t find it there either.

2. The provisions you provided me, the house, the lights, the food, and the clothes; they were always appreciated but there was nothing I valued more and rarely received like your physical presence. You worked ceaselessly to provide and I will never forsake or undermine that sacrifice but you missed what mattered that most; the person I grew into. That person was more than a profession. That person was more than the education. That person was more than the expectations and I wish you had gotten to know her, because I struggled to find her, heal her, and forge her, to become her, and more likely than not; you’ve never had the pleasure of meeting her.

3. I wish your love language wasn’t physical discipline. In place of constructive affirmations or words of affections, your preferred course of action created more gaps in the love story you poorly narrated over the course of my life. It made resenting you second nature and resenting the world; first.

4. I wish I could carry the weight of dashed dreams, the ones you called expectations, as easily as I could shoulder the weight of the hurtful rhetoric that had become commonplace between us. Know that in spite of that, I tried and still try to live up to them, if only to give you the joy that seemed to escape you so often. If only to shrink the cost of your sacrifice.

_______________________________________________________________________

I Wish They Told Me That Silence is Not A Strength ! Since I was a little girl I’ve watched my mom bend over backwards for people whose sole intentions were to take advantage of her. Through and through, I always hear her say when people wrong you, just turn the other cheek. Now, don’t get me wrong it also says that in the Bible, but in the Haitian culture we tend to use The WORD out of context quite a lot. She was never truly happy, but never dared to speak up. Of course, I learned from her, after all, she was my mother ! THIS silence has broken me times and times again. Even when I was wronged in many ways imaginable, by family who was supposed to love me and care for me. Eventually, I came to the realization that if everything bad that happens to me I stay silent, then how can I help the next person who went through that situation or something? One of the main events in my life that lead to this realization was when a family member tried to abuse me sexually.

In that moment I told myself “ I can do two things scream so everyone in the house will come running, and he will stop or stay silent like I was taught” I went with option two.... I SCREAMED like my life depended on it. When asked why I was screaming, I explained that he ( my cousin) tried to touch me inappropriately. I was met with so much disappointment. My uncle asked me “ how could you even say that ? Are you trying to bring shame to my family ?”They told me to never repeat the occurrence of that event. It was killing me, so I decided to tell my dad . I was living with this family after my mom passed away, because it was too painful to stay in the house that mom and I shared almost all of my life. I told my dad all that happened, he was furious, and decided that I had to come back home.

My dad was the only person who believed me before I even uttered a word. I then moved to the United States, and told myself that this so called family was practically dead to me. The trauma was slowly killing me. At the age of 17, I decided to begin my own healing process, and started telling everyone who will listen, and I started to feel better because I could finally speak! I was free from the bondage of silence, It felt like I was almost completely in control of my voice again.

Finally, I decided to make the final process of my healing forgiveness. I forgave them, but I promised myself that I will never let anyone hurt by keeping my truth hidden, no matter how ugly it may be. I am now the mother of a beautiful littler girl, and I can never imagine her being in my position, but scared to speak up against injustices, unfair treatment, and things that make her uncomfortable.

Silence in our culture allow evil to repeat itself. Our culture is so good at sweeping things under the rug that it will eventually destroy our nation. However, I will continue to teach my daughter to always use her voice!!. I will teach her to be the voice of reason for her generation. I want her to know that I have her back no matter what, and I will choose to believe her story every single time. SILENCE is not a strength!

_______________________________________________________________________

I Wish my West Indian Parents Told Me that vulnerability does not equate weakness.

_______________________________________________________________________

I wish my west Indian parents told me that they loved me.

_______________________________________________________________________

“As an adult I struggle to have real genuine romantic relationships and friendships because I struggle with being emotionally intelligent and available to the ones I care about. I wish my parents taught me how to love – their example as a married couple seemed dull and lifeless. Their relationships with me and my siblings reflected that very same thing.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“As a young woman I wish my west Indian mother told me that being single after college and wanting to do my own thing is okay. I wish she told me that It didn’t and still doesn’t take a male figure to complete me”.

_______________________________________________________________________

“I wish my parents didn’t compare me to other people’s kids – all it did was embarrass me and make me feel like I wasn’t good enough”.

_______________________________________________________________________

“I wish my west Indian father would actually spend time with me – I know he has to work but his absence has impacted my life so much”.

_______________________________________________________________________

“I wish my west Indian parents knew that I am trying my best and that mental health is real. I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression and it’s not an excuse to do nothing - I just need help”.

_______________________________________________________________________

Thank you for your support and thank you for taking the time to read the experiences of others. .

I ask that you reflect on what you’ve read.

Has this raised any awareness for you?

Are there similarities or parallels that you can make from these stories in your own life?

If you are West Indian – what will you do differently as a parent? As a friend? As a daughter or son?

Any conversations you think you’d start?

Peace & Love Tribe 🌻❤️

[najatheangel]

Written Ship 💕💕

hii!! i was wondering if i could get a written ship for NCT, BTS and (G)-IDLE. thank you in advance! 💕

i’m overall quiet laidback and low-energy. i often come off as aloof and standoffish due to my quiet and very, very (very) introverted nature. i’m deadpan and unenthusiastic, both in my humor and overall communication skills, so it’s very hard for me to express my affection (without dying of embarrassment).

i’m a devoted nerd and really enjoy learning. i spend a lot of time broadening my knowledge in anthropology and personality theory, as well as spiritually and astrology. i love reading and writing, spending my time (that i’m not randomly reading someone’s astrological chart or typing every single living being with personality labels) writing new drafts for fantasy books i can only wish to publish.

i’m a libra, INFJ and ravenclaw. i speak fluent portuguese, english and spanish, and am learning french and chinese mandarin — i study linguistics in college. i love conspiracy theories, and have full length 12 pages theories of my own. i also love fashion and dressing up, often getting comments on my “preppy” style. i’m not that in tune with the physical world, so i can often forget to “live” outside my head.

thank you so much for reading this far!!! 💘

Hello honey boo, thanks so much for requesting and telling me about yourself. Your a very interesting person. Anyways here’s your ship...😊😊

From Nct(ot23), I ship you with...Kun

Positive Side: When I read your description, for some reason I just felt like someone like Kun would be the perfect fit. Although your personalities and energy levels are very different, Kun can motivate you for simple things like waking up early in the morning, do something productive and even try new things you’ve never done before. Don’t worry about embarrassing yourself sometimes Kun has his very corny yet cute moments so, he has no shame in feeling embarrassed with you. As we know, he’s the ultimate mama/husband material for you and the Wayv members so sometimes he’ll need someone laidback as you to help him relax, get good sleep and talk about his day with. So this opposite attract situation works for the best! As far as hobbies, you both have a lot of interests and share your love for knowledge on certain topics. Kun is very wise and is willing to read the latest books you recommend to each other and later on will have discussions on them. He would send you his secret cooking recipes to let you cook by yourself if he wasn’t around to eat together with you. While he was off on his comebacks, backstage he would read up on personality types and his astrology natal chart that you have sent him so he would discover more about himself. He’s very fluent in Chinese and Korean, but he would also want to learn other languages from you since ten be teasing him like crazy so he decides to take weekly language lessons from you. Overall you both can learn to adapt to each other’s personalities yet at the same time bring the best versions out of yourselves.

Negative Side: Once you two started getting serious, the scarier it got for the both of you because now friends and family were involved in learning more about your relationship together. The pressure got to you not only because you wanted to make a good impression on them, but it was all starting to move too fast for you. Kun asked you out after 4 months of being with you and you didn’t want to break his heart by saying you need more time or this is moving too fast, so you just rolled with it. Knowing how introverted you can be, the anxiety started kicking when you were meeting his family. They seemed very sweet and supportive, but they were asking a lot of questions and it started to get to your head. You panicked and decided to leave early not wanting disappoint Kun. “Kun, I think we’re going to have to slow down a bit. I’m not ready to face your family yet.” He tries to grab your sleeve to keep you from leaving his parents house, but you ran off shedding a tear. “I guess she’s going to need some more time.” Leans against the door looking up to the ceiling sighing.

But...: After a few weeks of not speaking or visiting Kun, you’ve decided how much you wanted to be with him and are willing to face through this awkward moment with him together one last time. Once you’ve called him you didn’t even have to tell him where you were, he was already behind the door and ran upstairs to your room to pick you up bridal style spinning you around. You were home alone for a split second enjoying your long awaited reunion until you hear your parents knocking on your door dropping off some food for you. You were a bit nervous, but more confident than the last time to let Kun meet your parents first. You walk down stairs hand in hand smiling at each other before opening the door. “Let’s invite them in and eat together Kun.” “There’s no turning back after this are you sure?” You kiss him on the cheek and then on the forehead to calm the nerves. “Oh I’m sure.”

From Bts, I ship you with...RM

Positive Side: You two are unstoppable together, the beauty and the brains couple. You were infatuated by each other the more you get to know each other by the minute. Although your a ravenclaw and he’s a griffindor, you both compliment each other very well and adore each other’s characteristics. He love how intelligent, sharp and creative you can be when you put your efforts into your writing and your ability to learn multiple languages which is a used skill to have. Just like Kun, you can learn from his leadership skills and you love how caring he is amongst the people around him. RM loves his alone time when it comes to reading a book to find inspiration in the mountains or traveling to different art exhibits to take his beautiful photos, but the he’s much happier bringing you along. He was your biggest inspiration and you wanted to follow in his footsteps which along the way developed into a romantic relationship. He also had that ability to help you achieve your dreams by sending you motivational quotes, giving you advice and giving you feedback on your writing so you can publish your books with his help. Although he has his clumsy moments and might makes mistakes every once in awhile, he still wishes to do his best to be your life partner and mentor for the long run until you both retire.

Negative Side: It was a tough process trying to make it official with him, because most of your conversations were about astrology, conspiracy theories and hardships you’ve experienced throughout your pasts. You saw him as a mentor and a reliable resource and you thought that was all he would ever be. However, he was the first one to fall for you and worked really hard to make you notice, but never out right said. When you even started going on blind dates, he was still being the sweet man supporting your love life. This one time you even introduced the guy you were dating for awhile in front of him and he was trying his best to smile and be happy for you, but it was obviously getting to him. “Y/N, I think I’m going to head back out to the dorms, I’ll see ya later.” He tries to reach out to hug you, but the guy your with clings you closer to him glaring at him. Ever since it was awkward for the both of you to face each other.

But...: After months of being with your current boyfriend you start missing RM and you start feeling bored with your relationship. The excitement, feeling and passion just wasn’t the same without being with RM. You decided to meet up with now to be your ex and told him that you should see other people because how you fallen in love with RM. For the most part he expected that to happen and offered you to drive you to the airport to catch up with RM before he flies away to L.A. for his album promotions. It was like straight of a k-drama, you ran as fast as you can to find Bts and as soon as they were going to walk inside the airplane, you saw them and screamed “Namjoon!” to get his attention. He was confused at first, but as soon as he heard your confession he cut you off with a kiss. “You don’t even have to say it. I love you too. I have for a longtime.” He looks down at you smiling, but realizes he has to leave in 1 minute. “Go ahead Namjoon, I’ll be waiting for your return.” You both wave at each other blowing one last air kiss each other waiting for the next reunion.

His future wife is going to be sooo lucky. ✨

From (G)-IDLE, I ship you with...Yuqi

Positive Side: She was your saving grace. This is another opposites attract situation where your personalities oddly blend so well together. While your more introverted and prefer to stay in small groups, she’s more on the extrovert side and prefers to hang out in big groups. Since she likes you so much, she doesn’t mind being alone with you and spending quality time with you. Once again she can be very funny and sometimes have her clumsy yet cute moments just like RM which makes you fall in love with her even more. When you show her your stories and need feedback on it, she reads it over as many times as you need to with her deep satisfying reading voice. She might not know a lot on your subject as far as astrology, personality types and linguistics, but she’ll know what study tools that’ll help you pass your exams, take time out of her schedule to help you finish your papers and reward you with a good meal with her members after your done. Lastly she would love to learn multiple languages from you and even ask you how to say certain words so she can say things like “I love you” or “I want to cuddle”, but when’s she’s away she wants to say “I miss you. I can’t wait to see you again”

Negative Side: For the most part Yuqi is very sweet to you and there’s barely any arguments about anything, but except when you have your days when your stuck in bed or prefer to have some time alone. Yuqi is very friendly and would want to spend as much time with you as possible, because of her schedule so when your not in the mood to hang out or prefer to sleep on your own it does upset her a little. She would be a little irritated for the most part, but she wouldn’t try to have a full outburst over it because she has other things to worry about. She would even tell her members about it which would upset you, because you feel like she’s fed up with you and cause a misunderstanding.

But...: After talking it over with the members, she realizes that sometimes you just need your time alone to rest from school, writing and doing research all day. Just like for her when she had to be in the studio and practice her choreography all week for her comebacks, she needs some time to rest, but have her members if she can’t reach out to you. You both apologize for upsetting each other and for now on will work the issues out by talking to each other. Your both also very forgiving and don’t dwell to much on the past so it’s best to focus on the future.

Out of everyone, I ship you the most with...RM💜

@nephilete Thanks so so much for requesting love and I hope this somewhat made your night/day. Feel free to request again.

[marginsofmarga]

Great Hope Amidst the Pandemic

As much as possible, we totally want to be in control of our lives. We take time to manage personal goals which are the big things to work for and accomplish such as receiving a diploma, getting married and having a family, starting our own business, becoming a big-time executive, or traveling the globe and such. These are essentially some of the things we want to do in life and in preparation for that, we plan. There may be small interruptions like atmospherical conditions, heavy traffic or sickness and we're used to it. But in an unexpected instance, in a snap, a pandemic called Coronavirus hit us by surprise and consumed us within months. Worst case scenario: it is a huge interruption everywhere with no specific vaccine.

Everyone has been writing on this and I don't know where to start. When I first heard about Coronavirus, there was a certain fear I felt as if my heart skipped a beat, wondering what repercussions it may create. By researching, I came to understand that it's highly contagious, attacks the respiratory system and no one is an exception especially the immuno-compromised ones. Knowing the fact that there is no cure for this disease heightened up my worries — for myself, my loved ones, my nation and the world.

The world is grippling with an invisible, deadly enemy. I had a feeling that it will be one heck of a ride. This pandemic got me feeling a roller coaster of emotions. I was not in my comfort zone. I had a lot of what-ifs. Before quarantine started, usual activities were still allowed despite having early cases in the country so I couldn’t help being paranoid at school, while commuting, while going to the mall and going outside with no choice but to be exposed to a lot of people which made me totally anxious and wonder "what if I get the virus" so, I did the best ways possible not to catch it. I sanitized every now and then, did limit interactions, took vitamins, used face mask and became extra careful when going out. After school, in the dorm where I stay, I really make sure to keep my health in check so I wash my hands, eat and sleep properly. Let me just say that living a little away from home sucks especially when there's a sudden global virus. I had to take care of everything myself. I was longing for security. I just wished I could go home.

There was a time back then when I really had a hard time sleeping that I fell asleep at 4 o'clock in the morning so it led to overthinking and unwanted panic attacks. Fears abound. Such uncertainty. How long will it last? What if I get sick since I lack sleep? What will happen next? Worries kept rippling because aside from these, there were school requirements to fufill, an overall health to watch and uncertain future to come so it was absolutely tough for me and took a toll on my mental health.

Days before ECQ was imposed, it was another day full of worries and not being in control. Classes were suspended due to more cases detected. So I packed my luggage, took a 1-hour ride to get home and finally be with my family. It felt good to walk into our doorstep but even if quarantine was imposed, oh God, my worries didn’t fade. Fear and anxiety were still present. During the first week of ECQ, I still got panic attacks and sleep issues. I was deeply overwhelmed. That’s why I willingly shared my thoughts to my go-to person, my mom. It's been a long time since I had a panic attack and that time, it was difficult to control and worse, even my sleep was affected. My mom would calm me down by helping me meditate with a bunch of essential oils and by staying present. I also talked over the phone to my Kuya who's in Manila and with other loved ones so it eased out my agony. Their words comforted me. Their company patted my back. I started to feel safe. I felt much better. I stopped dwelling on the negativity. I looked into the blessings which I'm really grateful for. I prayed to God. I consciously focused on the fact that I'm alive and I have a purpose. I knew I just had to shift my perspective. I started to heal. I started to pick up my broken pieces like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Well, there’s always a new day. The virus is still there, but no one’s stopping me from overcoming my fears and doing what I love. Let’s face life no matter what. Since I'm really a home person, I didn't bother much about things to do in quarantine. These are the things that kept me going while staying at home: I do love being active so after getting up in the morning, I would pray and think about the things I'm grateful for. After that, I would turn the television on, go to Youtube and do my usual workout routine (a good sweat releases endorphins). I also got to bake some goodies, learn to cook new recipes and get creative with my makeup looks. I also do household chores and binge-watch my favorite shows on Netflix right after. I even do some home photoshoot so I get to play dress up. Spending time with my family 24/7 is a major blessing I experience amidst the crisis. Every night, I pray to God and talk to him sincerely. Prayers are the best antidote and His hands are my safe haven.

These were some of the meals I cooked.

These were some selfies I took during quarantine as I get creative with my makeup looks to avoid overthinking.

Watching my favorite series, FRIENDS. A good laugh comes a long way.

With regards to academics, as a student and as a person, I was firm on my stand to push for mass promotion of all students. Considering the situation and ongoing threat of the global crisis, health is greatly at risk. I voiced out my opinion on social media. In my little way, I wanted to help those near around me to come to our house for internet access if ever mass promotion didn’t push through. Good thing my professors were considerate enough to pass us all even if the university didn’t go for mass promotion at first. Luckily, a new memo from our school’s administration came to a decision in benefit of the students. Mass promotion pushed through.

This is a screenshot of my Mass Promotion post where I voiced out what I felt.

Just yesterday, I received a bad news. It felt devastating to lose one of the best professors I had. We didn’t see it coming. He suffered from severe pneumonia and tuberculosis. He was one of the people who believes in me and appreciates my passion. He had expert communication skills and a strong work ethic. Not to mention his great sense of humor that kept every discussion in class fun. I have always admired him. I will surely miss Sir Guban. Heaven gained an angel. May he rest in peace.

This is Sir Guban, one of my best professors who just passed away.

Giving shape to time is indeed important now when the future is so shapeless. The pandemic is a whole new ballgame with new rules being created each day. We are challenged to let go of normalcy and face a new one. I know it’s hard to gain a perspective when you are in the middle of such uncertainty; to make sense of what is going on and how the future will emerge. But I have learned that I need to trust the process because eventually, it will unleash a better version of myself, a stronger one. As I began to reflect on the reality of such a virus and trying to contain it, it became clear that it says something quite wonderful about humanity. It says that we have the capacity to shift out of our comfort zones and to quite literally work together to save our lives and the lives of others. There is a tremendous hope for humanity being demonstrated around us. We can choose to walk through it lightly, with a little luggage, ready to imagine another world and ready to fight for it. Life may hit us hard countless times but I found out that it’s about finding ways to get back up again and moving forward despite the greatest obstacles.

Always wear your face mask, sanitize, be mindful and be safe.

This is a contribution to ComCo Southeast Asia’s “Write to Ignite Blogging Project”. The initiative is a response to the need of our times, as every story comes a long way during this period of crisis. Igniting and championing the human spirit, “Write to Ignite Blog Project” aims to pull and collate powerful stories from the Philippine blogging communities to inspire the nation to rise and move forward amidst the difficult situation. This project is made possible by ComCo Southeast Asia, co-presented Eastern Communications and sponsored by Electrolux, Jobstreet and Teleperformance.

[bothsandneithers]

Day 3327

I need to hurry up and write this, because I am forgetting how miserable I was. This is not part of an effort to ensure that I don't repeat this process over again (perhaps as some may be tempted to do after childbirth). Instead, this exercise is consistent with my tendency to ask my friends to describe the most uncomfortable and unfortunate parts of their vacations. Who wants to hear a story that could more succinctly be conveyed within the narrow pages of a travel brochure? To adapt this question to the present situation: Who wants to hear a series of events that could be more adequately summarized by a few pages in a student handbook?

I’m sure that someone could have a field day by drawing parallels between giving birth to a child and writing a dissertation. While this is not my story to tell, I have described my experience by drawing upon the image of a mother who harnesses supernatural strength to lift a car off of her child. The listener is then immediately confused, and I then have to clarify that, in this metaphor, I am both the mother and the child, and that the dangerous, debilitating, threat of the car, is my dissertation.

It may be more effective if I am more direct: I want everyone to know that I (as the small child) was quite miserable, and I (as the mother) accomplished something that I thought was more than I could handle.

I imagine that if a car did end up on a small child, then the entire situation would invoke so much stress on the mother that she may not ever be able to recount exactly what happened during those subsequent moments. In a different way, of course, and for reasons I am still trying to understand, I too remember very little from the summer and early fall leading up to my defense.

In the place of memories, I find myself relying on artifacts to represent months and events that I cannot recall. One such set of artifacts are the six or so issues of The Atlantic magazine that have been set aside into a small pile; each one received a small verbal promise that I would open the pages after my defense. Now, as I review the covers, I imagine that they may never be read. Below are some of the stress-inducing cover stories of these abandoned issues:

How to destroy a government: The president is winning his war on American institutions.

How QAnon is warping reality and discrediting science.

The election that could break American.

How did it come to this? Why the virus won.

In the early days of lockdown, when the virus was beginning to take hold of its victory, I read this explanation for why most of us are not thriving right now: In order to flourish, one must be able to play several different human roles over the course of the day -- something that is arguably impossible when we rarely leave our dwellings.1

After reading this explanation, I starting clinging to the argument that the overwhelming reason why completing my dissertation had become so difficult was because of an absence of variability in my human roles. Even though none of my other typically played human roles were terribly interesting (commuter, friend, peer, coffee shop customer, gym patron), each one offered me respite from the singular human role that I was stuck with: The neurotic graduate student.

The neurotic graduate student human role was difficult to be around, because she was always worried about so many things: that her arguments weren't good enough, that there were errors in her code, that she should be able to understand certain concepts that were still evading her, that more time-intensive analyses were still required, and that overturning new stones would reveal that previous analyses or assumptions were wrong or incomplete. More simply, the neurotic graduate student human role was always worried that she was not good enough.

This persona can be debilitating, and I found that the act of writing a dissertation included a lot of time not actually writing, but rather, a substantial amount of time was devoted to sitting in paralyzing anxiety, not able to do anything.

Even though many of the weeks leading up to my due date were a blur, I do recall choosing this time to watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Perhaps I did this because misery loves company. I decided to view this odd movie choice in a particular odd format, whereby I watched the movie in 15 minute intervals, across several nights, as if savoring a segmented Toblerone.

I watched the first few segments in stoic sympathy with the characters, but I eventually found myself amused when Jack Nicholson realizes that almost all the residents are “voluntary”:

You can go home any time you want? You're bullshittin' me. He's bullshittin' me right? Cheswick, you're voluntary? Scanlon? Billy, for chrissakes you must be committed, right? I mean, you're just a young kid, what're you doin' here? … I mean, you guys do nothing but complain about how you can't stand it in this place here and then you haven't got the guts just to walk out?

I remember smiling for a few moments at this scene; it was a gentle reminder that I invited this stress into my life, and that I could, indeed, bring it all to an end if I really wanted to. The smile was fleeting, and felt similar to when you are crying, and your friend says something that is true and funny to try and make you feel better, and you laugh and it feels really good but it also reminds you of how bad you feel, and how far away you are from feeling like yourself.

Yet again, someone else might have a field day drawing parallels between today’s academic environment and a fictional mental institution from the 1970s. I can't do this, in part because, aside from that one scene, I don’t actually remember what happens in the movie.

I did, however, voluntarily lock myself in a hotel room to write, because the suffocating familiarity of my home was preventing me from generating any new sentences. A sticker had been placed between the room's door and its frame, denoting that the room had been thoroughly cleaned. Surely this was only intended to be a symbolic seal to provide some peace of mind that it was safe and acceptable to be outside of one's house.

Once inside the room (that seemed no cleaner than in the absence of a pandemic), I did not immediately initalize my plan to write incessantly. Instead, I desultorily found myself on a support group on reddit that was dedicated to "PhD stress." Feeling compelled to write anything that was not my dissertation, I made a post targeted at those who were also writing their dissertations during a pandemic:

What you are doing right now is really, really hard.

Under "normal" conditions, you would be facing a sheer amount of uncertainty with your work (e.g., not knowing how analyses will turn out, not knowing what your advisor will think of your progress, etc). Under these new conditions, you are dealing with the uncertainty of the state of the world (pandemic), the government (upcoming election -- if in the US), as well as your dissertation! These are absurd conditions, whereby any one of these things would undoubtedly have negative impacts on your well being.

For many, you went from having an entire support group of peers, to sitting in your bedroom, day in and day out, trying to come up with novel ideas and effective ways to communicate these ideas.

As such, I urge you to take care of yourself. I urge you to give yourself permission to ignore unwanted criticism that, while in other circumstances you may work hard to address. Now, in this current context, just don't. Give yourself permission to stop perpetuating the idea that your work and your psyche should not be impacted by the fact that nothing is the same right now.

Defend your ideas, yes. And do good work (-- nah, do good enough work). But know that you are defending your work under surreal circumstances. Account for this when you wake up tomorrow, move four feet from your bed to your desk, and try to do the same thing over again.

Overnight, this became the most popular post in the subreddit’s history. Admittedly, there aren’t a lot of members in this particular community (it should also be noted that this post was recently surpassed in popularity by a post entitled, “PhD has destroyed my mental health”). Still, several users responded with something along the lines of, “Thank you. I needed to hear this.”

I needed to hear those words too -- that is one reason why I wrote them. But I was also desperate to play another human role; one who ambiguously could have already made it to the other side of the dissertation defense, and was able to offer encouragement to those close to the finish line.

Soon after my hotel stay, where I eventually did find motivation to write, I was set to defend my dissertation. This was met with the opportunity to transform into another human role: someone who was nearing the end of her graduate student career, and had no choice but believe that her work was good enough.

The dissertation defense took place via video conferencing. I sat at my desk in my make-shift office in my bedroom.

Five kind and smart professors asked me kind questions that made me feel smart.

And that was it.

After the defense, the stress began to fade away. I recalled the wise words that my therapist once said, “It’s remarkable how, after the defense, people just won’t need anything from you anymore.” I made edits to my dissertation and submitted my final version. I dismantled my “home office” and replaced it with a reading chair and a plant. A new issue of The Atlantic arrived in the mail, and now with time, cognitive space, and optimism that this issue would not be as depressing as the others, I started to read.

I opened to an article about a historian who predicts that the United States is about to experience a terrible decade. He blames this on the overproduction of elites. ("There are still only 100 Senate seats, but more people than ever have enough money or degrees to think they should be running the country.") These elites find alternative ways to disrupt the status quo to influence people; the elite overproduction "creates counter-elites, and counter-elites look for allies among the commoners.”2

Although the article was compelling, it did not feel like appropriate material, as one does not work tirelessly through graduate school to then be compared to Steve Bannon.

I continued to the next article which was about young adults (or old children) who post things to a social media platform I’ve never used (TikTok). Not only do they create short videos that are viewed by millions of viewers, but there is an entire industry of these individuals, and they curate their content together in the mansions that they cohabitate (I am yet to grasp the monetization of this endeavor).3

I settled into my chair. Finding myself enjoying my new human role as a casual observer to an unknown world, I thought: What an absolutely absurd life pursuit.

xx,

Amy, PhD

https://nplusonemag.com/issue-37/the-intellectual-situation/epilogue-for-a-way-of-life/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/can-history-predict-future/616993/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/charli-damelio-tiktok-teens/616929/ ↩︎

[hancfubuki]

character analysis;

SAKURA FUTABA

alright, lads. those who know me or followed me on my previous blog know that i LOVE to do this. i need to clarify that i study psychology, so these analysis is coming from a professional point of view ( which i do mostly to reinforce my essays because like, teachers love to make us analyse movies and characters lol ) and solidify my characters as my passion is giving a feeling to them of ACTUAL human beings. 

now, i have seen many headcanons of futaba being autistic but, yet again, from a psychological perspective i don’t see it, and i’m gonna explain why. ( however if you headcanon her as autistic is completely valid. this is a personal analysis and perspective ).

if you have a character analysis request let me know and i’ll be more than glad to do it!!

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG POST. I’LL TRY TO MAKE IT AS SHORT AS POSSIBLE BUT I KNOW BEFOREHAND IT IS FOR SURE GONNA BE LONG. 

breaking down the character i can see clear signals of depression, anxiety disorder, agoraphobia, hikikomori syndrome and selective mutism; this last one is commonly mistaken with the autistic spectrum because the common knowledge is associating the non-verbal behavior with the autistic spectrum or cases of schizophrenia, but in fact, this condition is not only applicable to those disorders. in real life, some people have been diagnosed with autism when in fact they suffer selective mutism, so it’s better to actually understand the root of the disorder before jumping to conclusions and giving an actual diagnosis. 

let’s start with a short definition of each condition:

MAJOR DEPRESSIVE DISORDER: this condition affects negatively on the way a patient feels, thinks or acts. it causes severe feelings of sadness and in the majority of the cases loss of interest in activities that were formerly enjoyed. this also has an effect on the patient’s behavior and can also lead to physical problems. 

( SOCIAL ) ANXIETY DISORDER: a pretty common condition ( there are studies that say that nearly 30% of the adult population suffer from this disorder ). this is actually a normal reaction of the brain when it senses excessive fear or stress, it alerts our brain of possible danger and sometimes it can escalate and turn into panic attacks. 

AGORAPHOBIA: derives from the anxiety disorder. it is the fear of open, big spaces that can handle large crowds. usually the patient’s affected with this phobia feel fear mostly because they anticipate situations like using public transportation, standing in line, etc. it causes an immense fear that leads to panic attacks because they feel trapped, helpless or embarrassed. in some cases, this phobia starts because of previous panic attacks, so the patient will try to avoid those places and if something triggers that feeling, the phobia is going to act up.

HIKIKOMORI SYNDROME: this is a japanese culture-bound syndrome. it affects mostly young people in japan. they live isolated from the world, most of them locked down on their parent’s house ( some of the cases might communicate ONLY with their relatives. in the most severe cases they won’t speak to anyone at all ). this lock down can last days, months or years and it is heavily influenced by the internet and technology, as the it is their only escape. 

SELECTIVE MUTISM: also derives from anxiety disorder. the patient is unable to speak in CERTAIN social situations. it usually starts on childhood but it also affects adults. contrary to its name the person does not refuse to speak, they don’t have a choice as they are truly UNABLE to speak. certain people triggers panic on them and this causes the talking to be impossible, as it is an anxiety disorder, the person will anticipate situation as well that cause distress. however, despite of this trigger the people that suffer from this condition is able to speak freely to close family circles and friends as they don’t really trigger a freeze response on them. mostly this fear comes from the expectation the other person might have on them, and this provokes the anxiety causing a great difficulty responding or initiating verbal communication.

moving to her personality and background, from the very first moment we notice the anxiety coming from her, she is only able to communicate behind a screen and with an alias as she does not really completely trusts the phantom thieves. why do i think she has selective mutism instead of being under the autistic spectrum? easy, when you start the game you can notice sojiro constantly getting calls ( and we realize later on they were from futaba ). meaning that she is able to bond properly with him, sojiro even explains later on the game that she didn’t eat nor talk for a long time and little by little he was regaining her trust to let her know that she wasn’t alone. still, you can notice sojiro’s guilt as he is not able to take her out of the house and he is happy that at least she is eating but still you can see the traces of the depression and anxiety on her personality.

futaba explains her desire to die, a common thought that derives from depression as the people that suffer this condition usually see life as meaningless. she doesn’t want to be seen either, so she covers her face and any trace that could easily identify her because yet again, she needs trust to speak normally to another person, besides she has this constant fear of being judged which shows her anxiety. 

also a very important point is that people with this affections ( anxiety and selective mutism ) is that they might come off as RUDE or BLUNT ( something we notice on futaba ), because they are well, socially inept. however, as soon as she starts spending more time with the thieves she starts acting more relaxed and it’s when she starts showing her cheerful, childish side. i truly believe that these conditions started from her childhood, because as it is stated on her story line, she grew up being a lonely child. kids would just ignore her because she was considered a genius, her mother was never home and she started believing that her mother cared more about her research than being with her, this plus the lack of friendships and her mother’s dead only developed a severe anxiety disorder that later on was going to evolve in the conditions i explained previously. 

the thieves indeed help her to slowly start her process of overcoming her fears, and it shows that initially she didn’t really got along well with all of them, especially makoto because makoto has a more mature vibe than the others and this would only intimidate her and made it hard to actually catch her attention because most of the subjects makoto would bring were considered boring for futaba. remember that social anxiety causes that, you are not going to bond with everyone and only trust can lead to a relationship of reciprocate interest. 

overall, we can see how throughout the game she starts doing better. she creates a list with joker that allows her to conquer her own fears and well, after all everything is a process that takes years. she still relies a lot on the internet, but now she has real interaction and friends, but still when joker is about to leave she thinks about the possibility of them no talking to her anymore because akira is actually the glue in the group. of course thankfully it didn’t go that way, and they remained closed even after their leader left ( it’s canon on P5D don’t touch me ). akira is such an important figure for her as well, he has a lot to do with her improvement and i sense ADMIRATION coming from her, because akira is everything she would never dare to be. however the best chemistry she has among her friends are ryuji and yusuke, as they are easygoing, eccentric people and it’s easier to pick up trust on their personalities, as well as morgana as she shows a deep love for cats. ann, makoto and haru are the completely opposite of what futaba is yet the friendship still work because they take up on the big sis role for her. makoto is extremely mature so she actually helps her to find her boundaries, ann might have caused an issue on her self-esteem at some point but she also is someone she admires because futaba realized that she is not only looks, instead, she is an actual warrior who deals with a lot of things, and haru is the fluff ball that actually spoils her. all the different personalities among the group helps futaba towards her rehabilitation ( i’m sorry, i had to LMAO ). 

an important aspect is sojiro, HE DOESN’T PRESSURE HER INTO ANYTHING, he knows and understand what she is going through and he let her be because he is aware that HE CANNOT CHANGE HER. change and getting better is a personal decision, and of course a person needs support but you can’t actually do it for them. honestly, sojiro is a GREAT paternal figure and he deserves all the love he gets because he is so caring and understanding that he contributes to her growing. also the balance in the group of friends is really important for a person who suffers from severe anxiety disorders because it allows them to interact and explore things that are out of their comfort zone, and this is the case with the thieves. they are so different yet so similar that it is easy for her to understand how despite having a similar background it affects everyone differently, leading her to open up her mind a little and allowing her to understand that the change lies within her.

in summary, we can notice a big change on futaba, she is more comfortable outside and with people and she eventually will be over her traumas. remember that she is still growing up and she has a lot to go through, there will be good and bad times, probably future traumas that might affect her anxiety but that’s what i love about her character, it’s not about “getting cured of the conditions” is learning to live with them because they are apart of you. and this is what the character development on my futaba portrayal will go, it will be her accepting her anxiety and realizing that anxiety doesn’t control her but instead finding balance. 

[grindskull]

Shit that fucks me up #1 - Toxic Masculinity and being a “man”

Gotta have some way to organize my random thoughts here. I’m going with the obvious thing - Shit that fucks me up (STFMU). This is about me and my experiences. It is not my intention to discredit or question other human experiences. Sharing in the hopes of connecting with others who may have feel similar in their own skin. There are things here that others may define as triggers so read at your own risk (rape, abuse, and this fucking world). ---

Here is me being vulnerable.  I am putting myself out there by discussing masculinity and how I often do not identify with the larger concept of “being a man” in any positive way. You can call it toxic masculinity if you prefer. It’s acceptable shorthand for something that is just as nuanced and difficult to wade through as anything gender related.  I read this article on The Atlantic yesterday and there were some things that really resonated with me and my experience as a man/male (he/his/him). You can read it here (sorry there is a pay wall if you read more than 4 articles a month) but I will also be quoting some of the article below.  If you have time to read the article I’ll wait. It’s a bit long (many articles on The Atlantic are) and kind of academic at times. It’s okay if you don’t agree with everything in the article. Just read it.  Done? Okay let me set the stage a bit for how this shit fucks me up. ---

I’m male. I have always identified as a male/boy/man in my life. Unfortunately my experience with other males/boys/men has been mostly negative. It started at an early age when I had a hard time connecting with other boys my age. I was not interested in typical “male” interests like sports, violence, competition, and achievement. I had few (usually 1 or 2) friends at any one time and they typically had some kind of unhealthy power dynamic over me where I was subservient to my “friend” in some way.  I have some thoughts on reasons why this happened. The short version is I lived in poverty (often extreme) and I was searching for help and support in order to survive. At home I had abuse (mental, physical, verbal), drugs, addiction, and neglect. It was not a safe place to be so I did whatever I could to not be there. It was not unusual for me to eat maybe one meal during the day (typically what I could get from others at school or their home). Winter was the worst as we often did not have heat. Some of my “friends” used this as a way to hold power over me and make demands of my personality, time, and attention. Imagine finding yourself in this situation - you have to actively work to not be yourself in order to appease others for your very survival. Of course as a youth I didn’t identify it this way - my “friends” were just bossy or demanding. All of my male role models were basically assholes who did not give a fuck about anyone except themselves. This was a huge part of the 80′s zeitgeist in popular culture at the time as well. In some ways nothing has really changed. “... when asked to describe the attributes of “the ideal guy,” those same boys appeared to be harking back to 1955. Dominance. Aggression. Rugged good looks (with an emphasis on height). Sexual prowess. Stoicism. Athleticism. Wealth (at least some day).“ Under this common definition of “masculinity” I do not see myself. I am loyal, honest, caring, and sweet (to those I love). I love my body though I am non-athletic and have been most of my life. I am an attentive and talented lover but I have had very few sexual partners in my life and never saw them as moments of “conquest”. I was dirt poor most of my life but now live comfortably in my own home with my long term partner. So while not “wealthy” it is far beyond anything I could have imagined I would have in my life as a boy. Stoicism I have down. That one was easy. For me it’s just a nice way of saying “I have completely disconnected from my emotions and not having feelings or emotions is the best way to be a man”. I believed that for a very long time - it’s only in the past 2-3 years I have begun the work of breaking that down and reconnecting with my own emotions. It’s all tied up in trauma, depression, and anxiety so it takes a bit of fucking work but it’s very much worth it. If you are a man/male who thinks it is normal to not have emotions (or that emotions make you feminine/weak) please listen to me - THAT IS BULLSHIT. YOU OWE IT TO YOURSELF TO HAVE EMOTIONS.

“... young men described just one narrow route to successful masculinity. One-third said they felt compelled to suppress their feelings, to “suck it up” or “be a man” when they were sad or scared, and more than 40 percent said that when they were angry, society expected them to be combative.“

Emotions are not weakness. You are not weak for having them, feeling them, or connecting with them. There is great strength in connecting with yourself and understanding your emotions. Don’t let anyone tell you different. They are delusional at best and actively trying to harm you at worst.

“While following the conventional script may still bring social and professional rewards to boys and men, research shows that those who rigidly adhere to certain masculine norms are not only more likely to harass and bully others but to themselves be victims of verbal or physical violence. They’re more prone to binge-drinking, risky sexual behavior, and getting in car accidents. They are also less happy than other guys, with higher depression rates and fewer friends in whom they can confide.”

---

How did we get here!? Have men always been this way? What about the good ole masculinity of ye olden times? It was a simple time where men were men right? A man’s man? “According to Andrew Smiler, a psychologist who has studied the history of Western masculinity, the ideal late-19th-century man was compassionate, a caretaker, but such qualities lost favor as paid labor moved from homes to factories during industrialization. In fact, the Boy Scouts, whose creed urges its members to be loyal, friendly, courteous, and kind, was founded in 1910 in part to counter that dehumanizing trend. Smiler attributes further distortions in masculinity to a century-long backlash against women’s rights. During World War I, women proved that they could keep the economy humming on their own, and soon afterward they secured the vote. Instead of embracing gender equality, he says, the country’s leaders “doubled down” on the inalienable male right to power, emphasizing men’s supposedly more logical and less emotional nature as a prerequisite for leadership.”

Take a minute to read that and really take it in. Like many things in the US (and the world) the effects of industrialization and war shaped our current version of accepted masculinity. More specifically the leaders of this country (and leaders in other countries) used their positions of power to strengthen men and this new masculinity in our institutions. Then we were taught that this was the “right way” to “be a man”. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

“Today many parents are unsure of how to raise a boy, what sort of masculinity to encourage in their sons. But as I learned from talking with boys themselves, the culture of adolescence, which fuses hyper-rationality with domination, sexual conquest, and a glorification of male violence, fills the void.“

Here we have the core of what I experience as a man when it comes to the current socially accepted version of masculinity and why it fucks me up. I don’t identify with any of this shit! It does not feed me. It does not make me feel fulfilled and happy. It doesn’t make the world better for anyone it simply dehumanizes us all. 

“In a classic study, adults shown a video of an infant startled by a jack-in-the-box were more likely to presume the baby was “angry” if they were first told the child was male. Mothers of young children have repeatedly been found to talk more to their girls and to employ a broader, richer emotional vocabulary with them; with their sons, again, they tend to linger on anger. As for fathers, they speak with less emotional nuance than mothers regardless of their child’s sex. Despite that, according to Judy Y. Chu, a human-biology lecturer at Stanford who conducted a study of boys from pre-K through first grade, little boys have a keen understanding of emotions and a desire for close relationships. But by age 5 or 6, they’ve learned to knock that stuff off, at least in public: to disconnect from feelings of weakness, reject friendships with girls (or take them underground, outside of school), and become more hierarchical in their behavior.“

I’m not going to get into the topic of my own father (that’s another post in this series for sure) too deeply but I will say I completely identify with these ideas. Emotional distance, only expressing anger, telling me having emotions was weak. This was reinforced societal norms throughout my youth through today. Don’t talk about your problems or feelings. Ball them up inside. Wall yourself off from the world. Connections = weakness that others will exploit. You must control every situation and hold power over others. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

---

So when did I wake up? When did I start to see through this shit in some way? When my younger sister was born. It was really obvious to me that she was treated in a different way and expectations of her as a girl/woman were not the same as the expectations others had for me. Mostly I just saw the negatives in this. It took me time (and lots of communication and experiences with my partner and others) to recognize the root of this was more fucked up socialization. 

“Girlfriends, mothers, and in some cases sisters were the most common confidants of the boys I met. While it’s wonderful to know they have someone to talk to—and I’m sure mothers, in particular, savor the role—teaching boys that women are responsible for emotional labor, for processing men’s emotional lives in ways that would be emasculating for them to do themselves, comes at a price for both sexes. Among other things, that dependence can leave men unable to identify or express their own emotions, and ill-equipped to form caring, lasting adult relationships.”

Read this carefully. Nobody is responsible for your emotional well being but you. If you are a male/man this is especially true - females/women are not responsible for managing your emotions and your reliance on them to take care of this is a form of abuse. They are not responsible for your emotions. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN EMOTIONS.

It can be really hard to see this. It was a blind spot for me for way too long. Don’t let it be one for you. Connecting with and taking responsibility for your emotions is one of the biggest things you can do to improve yourself as a human being. If you are sad you can cry. If you are happy you can laugh. You have a wide range of emotions and they don’t all lead to frustration or anger.

“As someone who, by virtue of my sex, has always had permission to weep, I didn’t initially understand this. Only after multiple interviews did I realize that when boys confided in me about crying—or, even more so, when they teared up right in front of me—they were taking a risk, trusting me with something private and precious: evidence of vulnerability, or a desire for it.“

---

Okay so putting aside all of the reinforcement we get from our parents and institutions and our lack of emotional vulnerability why do we all buy into this dumb shit? Who convinced us all this is what masculinity is? And why do we listen?

“What the longtime sportswriter Robert Lipsyte calls “jock culture” (or what the boys I talked with more often referred to as “bro culture”) is the dark underbelly of male-dominated enclaves, whether or not they formally involve athletics: all-boys’ schools, fraternity houses, Wall Street, Silicon Valley, Hollywood, the military. Even as such groups promote bonding, even as they preach honor, pride, and integrity, they tend to condition young men to treat anyone who is not “on the team” as the enemy (the only women who ordinarily make the cut are blood relatives— bros before hos!), justifying any hostility toward them. Loyalty is paramount, and masculinity is habitually established through misogynist language and homophobia.”

Sounds familiar right guys? Don’t kid yourself. This is what being a man looks like in almost all situations in which we feel “safe” to express our self right? You are either with us or against us. Anything different or anyone questioning this behavior must be “othered” as they are clearly not “on the team”. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

This was my entire experience as a youth. As someone who did not fit into this group (nor wanted to) I was immediately “othered” and deemed a “pussy” or “fag” or “homo” or “weirdo”. My friend group reflected this - mostly others who also were “not on the team” like women, gays and lesbians, and men who also did not identify with this version of masculinity. Which just made it easier to group us all together and identify us as the enemy. 

“Just because some young men now draw the line at referring to someone who is openly gay as a fag doesn’t mean, by the way, that gay men (or men with traits that read as gay) are suddenly safe. If anything, the gay guys I met were more conscious of the rules of manhood than their straight peers were. They had to be—and because of that, they were like spies in the house of hypermasculinity.” Without the ability to connect with and express my emotions I often reacted in anger. I started fights. I got violent (with words and writing mostly). I returned this “othering” and treated them all as the enemy. I had other reasons for this (being abused by men as a boy) but at the crux of the issue I had no trust for men. This helped me connect with women and my gay friends as they also experienced this distrust in similar (and different) ways. 

Years later I found myself in a job where I managed a group of men (100 or more at any time) working as a team (video game industry) and totally unable to connect with any of them as a human let alone a man. It was at this time that I realized this was a problem beyond my own experiences and when I started to understand my own participation in this system. 

I tried to question things as they came up. I tried to hear my teammates and help them navigate this murky sea of masculinity to find their own place in it. Most people didn’t want to participate. They learned to keep their mouth shut if I was within earshot of their typical “bro talk”. They learned to act differently around me so as not to incur my wrath (using my anger and position of power to punish them for being sexist, racist, or intolerant). I felt powerful and I tricked myself into thinking I was making a difference. I was wrong. 

---

“Recently, Pascoe turned her attention to no homo, a phrase that gained traction in the 1990s. She sifted through more than 1,000 tweets, primarily by young men, that included the phrase. Most were expressing a positive emotion, sometimes as innocuous as “I love chocolate ice cream, #nohomo” or “I loved the movie The Day After Tomorrow, #nohomo.” “A lot of times they were saying things like ‘I miss you’ to a friend or ‘We should hang out soon,’ ” she said. “Just normal expressions of joy or connection.” No homo is a form of inoculation against insults from other guys, Pascoe concluded, a “shield that allows boys to be fully human.”

It wasn’t long before my “making a difference” spread into our hiring, training, and management of the team. I brought in women who wanted to work in the game industry. I tried to shut down any of the bro culture bullshit that came up and used it as an opportunity to teach other men why it was fucked up. It worked for some (maybe 5-6 people out of hundreds) but the majority either quit or tried to get me fired. Most did not change their behavior in any way. 

The women said they knew what they were getting into. I don’t believe they knew what it was like to actually be in the middle of the situation. I assume women in the military probably have a lot of experience like this. In short - it’s fucking toxic and disgusting. Like other males/men they too have to fall in line and “become one of the boys” or risk being antagonized and ostracized for being “different”. It’s Lord of the Flies. It’s fucking mob mentality. It’s masculinity at it’s absolute worst. And this was in a “progressive” creative city working for a small company with a woman CEO. Men simply don’t give a fuck and it’s almost always easier to go with the flow. FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

My first experience with a trans individual in a work setting occurred was while I was managing this team. One of our long term employees made the transition and I had to watch how they were treated by the “bros’. Jokes were made, memes were shared, snickering and fucked up behavior was rampant. I had to talk to, discipline, and fire many individuals. These were men I thought were “on the team” and working to be good examples of masculinity. I should have known that was just part of the act - their way of surviving and showing subservience to me as a man in a position of power over them. My trust was further eroded in masculinity. 

Putting yourself over others is not power. It is dehumanization and it stems from hate. We can be different without being better or worse than someone else regardless of who they are. Not everything has to be a competition. It took me way too long to undo the damage done to me by these ideal of toxic masculinity. You can do it too - you just have to start today. 

---

Beyond the negative effects this version of masculinity has on us as males/men it also fucks up our interaction with women and sexual partners and it’s certainly done so to me. I’m actively working on unfucking my fucking and aware that many of my heterosexual ideals of sex stem from the same shit I have been actively fighting against most of my life. Connecting emotionally with your sexual partner takes things to a completely different level.

“It’s not like I imagined boys would gush about making sweet, sweet love to the ladies, but why was their language so weaponized ? The answer, I came to believe, was that locker-room talk isn’t about sex at all, which is why guys were ashamed to discuss it openly with me. The (often clearly exaggerated) stories boys tell are really about power: using aggression toward women to connect and to validate one another as heterosexual, or to claim top spots in the adolescent sexual hierarchy. Dismissing that as “banter” denies the ways that language can desensitize—abrade boys’ ability to see girls as people deserving of respect and dignity in sexual encounters.”  

This is the first thing that comes to my mind when I hear the term “rape culture”. As men we are taught that to be masculine is to claim “wins” in sexual conquest. Sex is property and we can collect it. Even if it’s with our long term partners or spouses. Ever tried talking to men about this? Ever questioned others on how it’s fucked up? You probably heard about how it’s all in jest. Just a joke! I’m just joking!  “When called out, boys typically claim that they thought they were just being “funny.” And in a way that makes sense—when left unexamined, such “humor” may seem like an extension of the gross-out comedy of childhood. Little boys are famous for their fart jokes, booger jokes, poop jokes. It’s how they test boundaries, understand the human body, gain a little cred among their peers. But, as can happen with sports, their glee in that can both enable and camouflage sexism. The boy who, at age 10, asks his friends the difference between a dead baby and a bowling ball may or may not find it equally uproarious, at 16, to share what a woman and a bowling ball have in common (you can Google it). He may or may not post ever-escalating “jokes” about women, or African Americans, or homosexuals, or disabled people on a group Snapchat. He may or may not send “funny” texts to friends about “girls who need to be raped,” or think it’s hysterical to surprise a buddy with a meme in which a woman is being gagged by a penis, her mascara mixed with her tears. He may or may not, at 18, scrawl the names of his hookups on a wall in his all-male dorm, as part of a year-long competition to see who can “pull” the most. Perfectly nice, bright, polite boys I interviewed had done one or another of these things.”

Let me be clear in case you are confused. This shit isn’t funny. Laughing at other people’s misfortune is a long standing human tradition yes - and it still dehumanizes everyone involved. That doesn’t make me laugh but maybe you are still amused? Why?

“At the most disturbing end of the continuum, “funny” and “hilarious” become a defense against charges of sexual harassment or assault. To cite just one example, a boy from Steubenville, Ohio, was captured on video joking about the repeated violation of an unconscious girl at a party by a couple of high-school football players. “She is so raped,” he said, laughing. “They raped her quicker than Mike Tyson.” When someone off camera suggested that rape wasn’t funny, he retorted, “It isn’t funny—it’s hilarious!”

The classic toxic masculinity force field present in my life has been the “just joking” phrase with the ultimate no consequence phrase “it’s hilarious!”. Say something you don’t want to manage the consequences for? Just a joke! People still question you or your morals after saying some heinous shit? No.. it’s cool... it’s hilarious! You just gotta laugh! FUCK. THIS. SHIT.

“Hilarious” is another way, under the pretext of horseplay or group bonding, that boys learn to disregard others’ feelings as well as their own. “Hilarious” is a haven, offering distance when something is inappropriate, confusing, depressing, unnerving, or horrifying; when something defies boys’ ethics. It allows them to subvert a more compassionate response that could be read as unmasculine—and makes sexism and misogyny feel transgressive rather than supportive of an age-old status quo. Boys may know when something is wrong; they may even know that true manhood—or maybe just common decency—compels them to speak up. Yet, too often, they fear that if they do, they’ll be marginalized or, worse, themselves become the target of derision from other boys. Masculinity, then, becomes not only about what boys do say, but about what they don’t—or won’t, or can’t—say, even when they wish they could. The psychologists Dan Kindlon and Michael Thompson, the authors of Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys, have pointed out that silence in the face of cruelty or sexism is how too many boys become men. 

I feel like I may have already gone too far into this dark hole of shit that fucks me up around toxic masculinity. I hope I didn’t lose you. I hope you have questions and thoughts about how this impacts your life. Perhaps ways that you make a change today to fight against this bullshit. You may be asking yourself “what can we do!?” At the end of the day its up to males/men to change this culture. It’s not about self-hate or self-abuse. We gotta name this and own it. We need more men to step up and say ‘It doesn’t have to be like this”. Our collective mental health requires us to be more flexible and connected to ourselves and emotions. We need to find ways to deal with our anger, frustration, and desires in ways that don’t hurt ourselves and others. We need to teach ourselves (especially youth) that it isn’t enough to only talk about things we shouldn’t (and hopefully won’t) do. 

If this shit fucks you too you can do something about it. Start with yourself. Question these things when they come up. And not only when you feel “safe” to do so. Do it consistently in ways that are non-confrontational (they will probably lead to confrontations with most men anyway - sorry). Be okay with not always “winning’ in these situations. You’ll be surprised who you might connect with in the process. Hopefully one of those people will be yourself. 

[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.

[number9robotic]

9-24-19 Update

 The long-awaited sequel to my 9-22-19 Update!

(plugging my newest pic as an artist tax)

Short version: I’m in physical danger right now.

Long version: My relationship with my parents are breaking down significantly because changes to plans of my living situation, my inability to cope with my depression, anxiety, and other mental/emotional compromises, and the resulting inability to do anything outside my comfort zone like finding a proper job/source of income or going to school. 

As a result, my mom over the course of a few days have been physically threatening me (in public, no less) to send me back to my home in Vancouver while also shaming me for ruining their lives, and I feel legitimately unsafe being in my own home because I don’t know what they’re gonna do to me. All while this happens, my ability to stay motivated as a creator is really being tested.

Fuller version is below this line because I don’t wanna flood the feed and my account with walls of unpleasant text:

Please read my 9-22-19 Update for full context and backstory, there’s a lot of text and I don’t wanna retype it all.

1. THE REAL-LIFE CIRCUMSTANCES GOT WORSE

Yesterday as I was in my weekly therapy appointment, my parents had a renegotiation with each other about that plan I mentioned for my dad to come here and basically repeat the process of my legal anchoring to LA away from my home in Vancouver. Even though I responded with a (resigned) “sure, I’ll do it for you,” suddenly my dad made a conscience decision and told my mom that he changed his mind, because he’s really concerned about my mental well-being and the complete stagnation of my life because of my time here in LA.

This... didn’t go well with my mom, because as usual, this is ultimately about her, I guess. Later that evening, she took me to a Starbucks because she wanted to talk with me about something important, partially as a result of her indeed getting her travel permit document that day. She told me she also talked to her lawyer earlier that day, who said that as it stands, while the case isn’t expected to be finished until April 2020 at the earliest, I’ve technically done all I need to do to be declared a resident of the US, and my job is effectively done. Combined with my dad’s newfound desire to not keep me here any longer, I was told that I could return home.

buuuuuuuuuuuut

She was VERY clearly not happy about this. Despite being the one who decided to talk about this publicly, she had a very loud meltdown as she was explaining this and decided to erupt all of her frustrations not just with herself, but also of me. 

To summarize her very long and confusing tirade, she started to outright force at me “JUST GO BACK TO VANCOUVER! GET A TICKET AND MOVE BACK TOMORROW! JUST GO!!!!”, yet was simultaneously also venting about how much damage this would do to HER and her career; that my lack of presence is a sign of failure on her part as a parent, because she hasn’t been able to get me to go to school or a “real” job or even learn how to drive. Keep this one little bit of info in mind. 

A third argument she was trying to convince me of is that the return to Vancouver for me is only going to fuck ME up, because she doesn’t believe that me returning back to a comfortable place where I’m familiar with and am actually able to get around using public transit (which is so much better than LA, it’s not even a fair comparison) would be better for me and my personal health. She also said that Vancouver’s ability to help me with my mental health is so much worse than that of LA... which... that’s incredibly laughable on so many levels, the least of which is the fact that we spent a several-month assessment process to apply for job assistance because of my autism, only for the result to me to deem me and my autism diagnosis as invalid, but whatever, I guess... 

I responded by telling how incredibly irrational she was acting in her hysterical state (again, in a very public area) with her a bunch about what I felt would help me through this, which I’ll talk about later. Reason not now is because she promptly forgot about it and this morning, SHE DID THE SAME THING AGAIN. This time she invited me to talk at a different Starbucks, asked me about my future, and then had ANOTHER very public meltdown screaming about her and my life problems, but this time it was at a time before McDonald’s stopped serving its breakfast menu.

Once again, she slammed me in my inability/refusal to try anything that would apparently help justify me being here in LA, me ruining her life no matter where I go in the world, and also threatening to send me away to Vancouver. This time I just had to outright leave the conversation because she was getting violent this time; I’m currently typing this in a library and she hasn’t found me yet. This isn’t an entirely new feeling, but currently I am legitimately scared for my future and physical safety.

2. EMOTIONAL HEALTH AND PARENTING

I (re-)explained to her that my problem with all of these personal development hurdles -- my inability to try anything where it feels like the failure of which will be utterly emotionally devastating -- is because I flat-out do not have the ability to deal with it. The entirety of grade school and post-secondary have collectively been the most emotionally devastating times of my life to me, I failed my written exam that’s the first step to get a driver’s licence 5 TIMES, and I have a smattering of emotional, communicative, mental, and physical hinderances preventing me from finding work.

And here’s why that affects me so much: my parents are not emotionally supportive. Mom and dad have outright admitted that due to “Chinese parenting”, “it’s just not my personality”, “I don’t know how to help reassure you” they don’t wish to help me with my emotional problems directly, often times finding it to be the job of others they can then shunt that duty off to, such as therapists, psychologists, counselors, or others. This ignores the fact that my meetings with them are weekly, whereas my greatest exposure to other people come from them, my supposed “loved ones”. I feel like I should be able to go to them for emotional strength. I do not, either because they aren’t capable of or just simply don’t want to be that.

Just to note how little they care about my feelings, I came out to them as nonbinary a few months ago, explained to them what that actually means, that I don’t like my pronouns or birth name at all, and asked for them to respect that. They have yet to comply despite me broadcasting my discomfort constantly, because they simply won’t “get it”.

Yknow... as someone who’s failed a lot in life... I can safely say that the resulting emotional wreckage isn’t fun. 

The thing about being emotionally wrecked is that without any reliable source to go to like family or friends, my only solution is to just wait for my depression to pass... which if anyone knows anything about it, you’d know it’s super-unreliable and can take either a week or a month for me to feel better again, and is incredibly destructive. What I’ve recently realized is how much it utterly fucks with my perception of time and continuity -- depression cuts off my ability to feel anything significant or optimistic, including my ability to perceive a future worth looking up to. As a result, I feel like I’ve wasted A LOT of time in the last few years because nobody has been able to help me with that, at least in my actual time of need.

I’ve made this point to my parents many times throughout the year, and I’ve been desperately trying to communicate to them that the easiest solution to my mental trauma? To actually be there emotionally as loved ones; to help me through that potential sense of failure that I’m so afraid of experiencing again, and for them to comfort me as their child.

This request has pissed off my mom on multiple levels: the first I established already is that she’s constantly claiming she doesn’t know how to/isn’t capable of doing it because “it’s just not me” or “I’m not white mom” or some other crap. The second however is where things got super-confusing: she was also offended that I would ever think that she doesn’t support me on that level, and shared me a bunch of wechats to our extended family supporting my minor hobbies, even though they’ve been sucking really bad (again, please consider my patreon, this is a super-hard time to be motivated as a creator)

So I was like... “You ARE capable of being emotionally reassuring! I want to actually hear it myself!” because she almost never expresses positive emotions; it’s either complete ambivalence or negative frustration. She continued to express negative frustration at this, and at that point I just gave up because at this point it struck me that she just outright doesn’t want to help me with it because she felt like she can shunt the duty to someone else... even though she’s pissed about having to pay them therapy bills to do so. Ugh...

3. EVERYTHING BITES

To summarize: this entire breakdown and my future is emotionally fueled not about my needs like my dad wished, but about my mom’s, who believes that it is far more simple for me to be sent back to Vancouver at her blatant behest, and for me to just “get over” my depression and anxiety to do all the shit she expects me to do which she also believes me to be incapable of doing, than to just... be a caring parent who expresses positive feelings.

And during all of this, she’s also shaming me as a failure who ruins her life no matter what I do.

I am... so exhausted... and it’s super-difficult to stay motivated as a creator these days as a result of it. Fuck, I barely feel safe returning home either in LA or in Vancouver, because I know my mom hates me for it.

I still don’t have friends, and I still have depression and anxiety... and I can’t even ask my mom to be there for me in my time of emotional distress... thanks.

[i-want-to-be-manhandled]

also, dumb shit i’ve learned during my first year on t

-i can pass most of the time except for when i’m at work. i think that’s because customer service voice at my old job plus carryover work anxiety to my new job (i was borderline sexually harassed at my old job because i am trans, so i’m stealth at my new one, very anxious about anyone finding out, and VERY defensive when i get misgendered. perhaps to my detriment, but i always explain that it was the “running joke” at my old job that i “looked like a girl,” which is as true of a story as i can make it without telling my coworkers i’m trans. similarly, they think i’m having back surgery in december.)

-the only people who misgender me now are clueless people who see me without my binder on in like dining halls or some shit and adult women. actually, the amount of time i get misgendered by women between 30 and 60 has caused me so much anxiety around that demographic that my anxiety voice has probably increased the percentage of times they misgender me. even the bro-iest of broskis apologize profusely and turn red when they misgender me. (thanks nick ur a bro, i won’t drink 14 beers with u tho. maybe 2.) women between 30 and 60, or at the very least ones at my job seeing my customer-service persona? they just don’t seem to care, or can’t seem to remember. they either get defensive or give me the “oh you’re one of THOSE” stare. i can’t fucking stand it.

-on that note, i am tired of being called kira and karen. open your goddamn ears. kieran is not THAT uncommon of a name where you insist to your dull minds that a man is called kira or karen, 30-to-60-year-old-female-coworkers. jesus fucking christ on a bike. please. i am whole-ass begging you. when i spell or sound out my name for you, and you continually insist it’s karen, i have every right to be angry at you. i am very apprehensive around middle-aged women at my job now, which i am aware could be interpreted by them as sexist without the context for my anxiety, but the anxiety is there, despite me actively realizing it’s shitty and yikes-worthy. i need a fucking beard please.

-contrary to the last points, women in my own age demographic are much better than men at reading me as male. i predict that it’s because i’m not actively trying to get in their pants like most guys they interact with on a daily basis, they actually remember what the fuck my name is, and i’m less anxious around people my own age anyways so my voice is deeper. men my age may read me as female more because i don’t have facial hair and i make “i hate men” jokes with my female friends all the time. this is all theoretical, but it’s interesting to realize that the gender who misgenders me more is different for different generations. is there a study on this? should i do one myself?

-on the beard note, i gave in and bought minoxidil. will it work? possibly not. do i just need facial hair like yesterday to make up for my slight bone structure and small head? yes, so i am willing to drop $23 on a six-month supply of that shit for the gamble that it will work. i frankly don’t care if i’m out $23 because of it later, at least i tried. and considering all the results i’ve seem from trans guys (even those who are pre-t!!) with minoxidil beards, i have faith that it will work at least somewhat well. besides, i need an excuse to take better care of my skin and stop scratching my zits open during the day. this will probably have multiple benefits.

-you know, i don’t even WANT a beard, i just feel like i NEED one. ideally i want like a 5 o’clock shadow but i’ll probably end up having a beard for a bit just to enforce that i’m male whenever my fucking facial hair grows in. i don’t like how this means i’m conforming to societal standards of masculinity, but you know what? sometimes, you ahve to do what you have to do in order to feel safe and comfortable in your own skin. being trans is like walking a tightrope sometimes. i think in general most of the trans people i know agree that gender roles are stupid, but there are enough radical “fuck gender roles entirely i’ll do what i want who cares if i pass” people and enough “i can’t understand why amab trans people would want to keep their facial hair/penis or why afab trans people would still want to wear makeup and dresses” that i feel like i’m an odd one out for not agreeing with either side entirely. i’ll never be caught dead in makeup or a dress, but i also wear neon pink cat socks and don’t bind all the time. i feel like no matter what i do it’s still problematic to SOME trans person somewhere, and most of me doesn’t really care but some part of me thinks it’s stupid that me desiring to pass is problematic to some people or that me owning neon pink cat socks is problematic to some people. i’ve been distancing myself from the online trans community because of it.

-my mother and i had a talk about how she treated me during my transition, and it was a lot to handle. i don’t really wanna write out a whole paragraph about it right now because it’s still a lot to process, but i am in the process of deciding how much i want to let her back into my life or if i want to continue to keep her at a distance. i think i’ll have a better idea about that after thanksgiving or christmas break (she’ll be taking care of me post-surgery, and she was hurt that i was afraid to ask her to - but it made sense to be afraid considering she had such awful reactions to things as simple as my name change, you know?) idk. we’ll see where that ends up. we’re never going to be close, but we may end up being less far apart.

-i’ve been in a depressive/executive dysfunction episode for the past like month, and not only am i failing my classes but i’ve been wearing the same like 6 shirts and 1 baggy sweatshirt and 4 pairs of basketball shorts. i regularly wear my shower shoes out (they’re just flip flops, but still) because putting on socks takes more energy than i have. the plus side is they make me look masculine, the downside is i look like literal shit almost 24/7 and someone should really force me to do laundry. if you’re reading this and you know me irl, actually please text me/fb message me and yell at me to do laundry.

-all the negative experiences i’ve had being trans no longer make me want true trans soul rebel tattooed over my top surgery scars. sorry, laura jane grace, your music saved my life and i have failed you because i am weak and want to be stealth. maybe i’ll incorporate it into the t-shot date tattoo that i’m getting on my left thigh where i had my first t-shot. 

-that being said, i can’t be stealth ~yet~ outside of work because too many people already know, so i’m still wearing the iconic “i have no tits” shirt i got from wish for a whole 71 cents plus shipping to pride next time i go. (i wear it now for fun too and it makes a pretty excellent sports bra for under The Baggy Hoodie, believe it or not lmao.)

-THAT being said, i live with three men. my roommate definitely knows i’m trans bc he’s one of the first people i came out to irl, my one suitemate might know i’m trans but i can’t remember if he remembers, and my third suitemate (who is terrible and gross and i hate living with him because he leaves rotting food in the bathroom sink) does NOT know i’m trans. i was in the bathroom literally topless, with a towel around my waist and a towel over my neck/shoulders (and therefore covering my titties), and he didn’t bat an eye. my roommate saw the two of us silently coexisting in the bathroom and tried very, very hard to stifle his laughter at the situation. next semester after i have surgery, i’ll probably continue doing that for a while till i heal more, but eventually just be like “oh yeah i had ugly scars and now look at them they’re baby” lmao

-yeah that’s it for now i’ll add more if i think some

[beardyallen]

Here we go... (Part 2 of 3)

Alright, so let's talk about April.

[Warning: This is mostly just about my mental health. It’s not super interesting. You won’t learn anything about Beijing. Many of you will probably read this and imagine me sitting here whining. I prefer to call it venting. Feel free to skip this and go directly to Here we go... (Part 3 of 3). It’s where most of the fun stuff is. But...there’s a pretty dope comic about halfway down, so if you also suffer from depression, you should check it out. It’s a good comic. And it makes me smile when everything is gray.]

I generally only talk about my depression with a few people, but I think we could all benefit by having more open discussions about how it affects us. Too many people struggle with this illness, it's stigmatized, and future generations need to know that what they experience is more common than they think. Plus, I imagine that making this beast something that we can talk about will reduce its power and prevalence.

I'm not going to try to talk about the root cause of my issues as I'm not entirely sure where to even start, so I'll just share how it all manifests. And how that's changed over the years. If my mental illness is in fact something that I've been struggling with my entire life, I imagine that it manifested as anger when I was child, usually in response to anxiety around my social situation, exacerbated by end-of-the-semester stress. Why do I think this? Because it seems that I only really got in trouble for acting out in early December or late April/early May. And I was usually retaliating towards a feeling of isolation, invisibility, or worthlessness. It's a pretty strong pattern.

I'm not gonna share any sob stories about how I didn't fit in as a kid, or how moving into a tight-knit community in fifth grade led to a strong feeling of isolation that persisted through middle school and high school. I'm not going to talk about the bullying or harassment. These are things that happened, but they aren't the point. And I'm just as much, if not more, to blame for my circumstances as anyone else.

The anxiety is the point. The feeling that I've had at every stage of my life that I don't matter to the people around me if I'm not always around. That they don't think about me. That if I vanished from their life, they wouldn't notice. That I was replaceable. Or that I was a burden that they would rather shirk off. As far as I can tell, I've felt this way since kindergarten, and all of the anger I felt as a child was in response to stimuli that reinforced this notion.

And in April, the intrusive, invasive thoughts started up again. Yes, of course there were people who wanted to know what was going on with me. There were people who frequently checked in with me to see how I was doing in China. I had every reason to believe that I matter, that my presence was missed, and that I'm still important to people. And in spite of that, it's not how I felt. It even led me to start questioning whether or not my best friend cared about me, which is absurd because of course he does. Life happens. But the voice in my head is a prick.

On top of that, every source of stress in my life spiked. Complications with my teaching assignment manifested, including (but not limited to) issues with my paychecks. Financial reimbursements for my health insurance policy have not been disbursed despite repeated messages to those responsible. Since I'm currently not enrolled in any course credit, my student status was revoked and now those entities which own my student loan debt are looking for payments. My dissertation research stagnated as my collaborator has other super important grad school obligations to deal with, and my Masters Project has been put on hold again for reasons outside my control. It also seems to just get bigger every time I try to make progress. There's also a nagging voice in the back of my head constantly whining about how much more complex my project seems to be in comparison to other Masters projects I've seen from the department. But when the voice pops up, I do what I can to pummel it into submission. I can't live my life in comparison to others.

Beyond that, I randomly wound up with a case of insomnia. For three nights in a row, I laid in bed for hours staring at the inside of my eyelids, watching imaginary scenarios play out as my consciousness jumped from random topic to random topic. In spite of how exhausted I was, I just couldn't get my brain to turn off for more than 30 minutes at a time; during the one or two brief naps, I was privy to some of the most vivid dreams and nightmares that I've had, and my baseline dream/nightmare is already more vivid than most.

So work sucked, minor frustrations related to living in Beijing, no sleep, missing my friends, trying to not freak out about the fact that I'll be effectively homeless all summer (insomuch as I won't have an apartment that I'm officially renting or anything), worrying about the fact that I'm not making as much money as I projected, and just being sick and tired of being sick and tired. April was super fun, guys. Can't you tell?

Mental illness blows. Depression blows. Intrusive thoughts blow.

So I spent an absurd amount of time doing very little. Laying in bed. Reading comic books and rewatching Community. Not writing. Not researching. Being pathetic.

Wondering if I should reconsider my stance on medication. So let's talk about that.

From a philosophical standpoint, I don't much care for the idea of needing a medication to get myself on track. My mental illness is a part of who I am just as much as my intellect and sense of humor are a part of who I am. I'm no genius, but let's consider those individuals who have been described as such and think about just how many of them are suspected to have been depressed or grappling with some sort of mental illness. I'm not going down in history as anyone whose mind is something to admire, but I know that I'm smarter than your average bear. I'm a PhD student studing theoretical mathematics, probability and statistics. I'm simulataneously working on a dissertation related to subgraph density problems and a masters project centered around reconstructing familial networks in forensic databases. These topics are not related, nor has the coursework had very much overlap. Balancing two different graduate degrees is not common among people in my department, but I know that I can handle it.

So if I seek out medication as a means to balance my life, what sort of unforeseen impact will that have on my studies? It is not uncommon for the process of finding "the right medication" to take months, and as your life changes, so too does "the right medication." I have one year left in my program (maybe two if I'm unlucky, and that seems to be how my life goes), my diet is fucked, my sleep schedule has been jacked up for the last few months, and I haven't had regular physical activity excepting the 2 mile walks to and back from Wudaokou several times a week. My work life is tumultuous at the best of times, and all of this is changing in the not-so-distant future. I have been in academia my entire life, living on the same stress-rhythm for the past 24 years. What happens when I'm suddenly a research or data scientist?

Medication is off the table for the time being. I had bi-weekly counseling last semester which seemed to help with my stress levels, but at some point I would like some sort of diagnosis. But before I can seek therapy, I need to be back in the States, with some sort of stable life. That means August of September at the earliest. Probably September. In the meantime, I bounce between feeling like I've got everything figured out and feeling like I'm holding my sanity together with scotch tape. All the while, I question all of the things I thought I knew about how I wanted my life to look as I see more clearly every day just how messed up the world is. Ignorance definitely wasn't bliss, but knowing doesn't feel much better.

------------------------------------

Damn. That was pretty bleak. But I needed to get it out of my head.

Enjoy this dope little comic that I think about every Sunday to help me get through the week.

------------------------------------

Now back to it. I'm open to therapy, I know that it will help. It's part of my long-term plan for mental stability. And I'm open to talking about medication with my future therapist, once the "big issues" in my life that I can control are worked out.

In the meantime, I'm okay. Or at least that's what I'll say whenever someone asks.

Of course I'm not okay. For some reason that I haven't yet worked out, my brain focuses on the negatives waaaaay too much. I do my best to combat it, but generally I've just managed to make this work to my advantage throughout my life, planning for worst-case scenarios, being comfortable with failing when I try to solve a problem, being the skeptic in my research groups. It's made me a better mathematician. It's made me push myself further towards excellence. But it's also inherently held me back.

Before I really had a grasp on my mental illness, I would have periods of numbness. I would get absorbed by these intrusive thoughts and mistake them for my authentic voice. I would see everything around me as gray and conclude that my friendships weren't as wonderful and remarkable as they are, that my relationship is doomed to fail because I don't feel a spark or magnetism anymore, that I'm not actually supposed to be a graduate student and that I'm not good enough and that I've only made it this far as a fluke and eventually everyone will figure out that I'm a fraud. And I've made mistakes because of it. I've let friendships die, relationships fail, and...alright, so I've pretty much been kicking ass at the grad school thing, but I guess my response to feeling like a fraud is usually to push myself super hard until I start burning out. This actually happened last school year when I was preparing for my comprehensive exam, which led to my oral exam, which led right into the end of the semester, with several conferences that I was running and attending, and then a research workshop and then...my seizures came back. Maybe "seizure" isn't quite correct, but I'm not sure what else to call it when my body has a stress-induced reaction that feels like someone swinging an icepick in the back of my skull.

So I'm not okay. But for the time being, that's just going to have to be okay. [Queue i'm ok. by Judah and the Lion]

I could use a nap.

[personalcoachingcenter]

Solid Methods For Boosting Your Personal Development

New Post has been published on https://personalcoachingcenter.com/solid-methods-for-boosting-your-personal-development/

Solid Methods For Boosting Your Personal Development

The Next 5 Things To Immediately Do About PERSONAL DEVELOPMENT

In the world of self-help, there are plenty of great resources available to people like you who want to improve their lives. There are many programs, e-guides, books, videos, and other resources available. This set of tips contains some of the best advice for helping you make positive changes to your life.

Part of any successful personal development program is finding your passion. Your goals in both the short- and long-term should be selected with this in mind. The personal satisfaction and fulfillment that comes from doing work you love should be a goal in and of itself. A goal that calls for work you hate, though, may be too hard to achieve.

Personal development is a process of setting goals and working hard to achieve them. Some goals are their own rewards. Other goals could use a more tangible reward, though. Rewards for success should be set in advance, so they can be used for motivation. Treating yourself to a reward for a goal achieved also reinforces the success of the personal development process and encourages you to stick with it.

One way to help yourself is by making your mind more open. An open mind allows you to fully experience the world in a way that you could not if you were more narrow or closed-minded. Be curious. Ask questions and broaden your horizons. If you don’t try to find out about life outside your scope, you are really missing out and only looking at the world through a “bubble.”

Don’t allow procrastination to keep you from reaching your goals.

It is all too easy to find reasons to put off taking the first step toward success. Also, the longer you wait, the harder it will be to get motivated. The truth is, if you start right now, you will quickly build momentum, allowing you to achieve your goals faster than you ever imagined possible.

If you have both a doctor and a therapist, make sure that they are on the same page. Your doctor and your therapist do not necessarily have to communicate with each other. You might, ; however, want to keep one abreast of what the other is doing with you. It can avoid later confusion and complication.

One way you can instantly boost your mood or views on a troubling/stressful situation you may find yourself dealing with is to take a brisk walk. It can be around your block or further if you so choose. Exercise is an important part of keeping your mind and body active, which will, in turn, assist with your other personal developmental goals and aspirations.

In all aspects of the self-help process, it is extremely important not to get too discouraged with yourself. Your road to improvement is a marathon, not a short-distance race. You would do well to remind yourself of this fact every once in a while. Understand that there are going to be bumps along the road.

If you find yourself experiencing an unusually high number of worrisome thoughts or anxiety attacks, step back and try to assess variables in your life that may be to blame. You may be able to trace the thoughts to a certain person in your life. Does he or she insist on bringing up a particular incendiary topic whenever you meet? If so, make your feelings clear: stop bringing up the subject or stop spending time in my company.

When you are trying to improve a new skill, start a new diet, or even a new course, it is important to try and make it something you enjoy. If you are constantly dreading the new part of your life, you will quickly lose motivation and find ways to give yourself excuses.

Figure out what is really important to you and focus on those things in your life. You will find an increased inner peace if you do not dwell on the past or negative encounters, and choose instead to think and act on positive experiences.

If you are in a terrible mood, maybe even angry, take some time to exercise. One of the most effective ways to battle with anger is by getting a heavy bag and beating on it when you are stressed out. It will release endorphins that will make you feel much better about life.

It is important to understand that the beliefs you have are critically important when it comes to personal development. The type of beliefs you hold affect the thoughts you have, the way you live, how you view other people and how other people view you. Beliefs affect every aspect of your life and if you want to develop to your fullest potential, you must recognize and change the beliefs you hold which are harmful to your life.

After reading these tips, you can begin to understand what it takes to help yourself live a better life. There is a lot of information to be had, and you need to know how to apply it. With this in mind, you can refine your own methods, strategies, and goals to live happier and healthier.