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ohtobeleah · 7 months

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Flight Deck // Bob Floyd

-> Prologue: Conspiracy Theories

Summary: In an attempt to prevent Bob from running for the hills believing you’re a murderer. You sit him down to discuss your past.

Warnings: Mentions of Death of a loved one. Mentions of house fire. Bob Floyd x F!reader.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author Note: Day Twenty Four of Whumptober. Prompt I chose: Disowned by Family, Oxygen Deprivation, Silent Treatment. Thank you to @ailesswhumptober for the prompt list.

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The cafe was closed. The flashing open sign that signaled to patrons that premium coffee beans were ready to be freshly ground and a plethora of pastries, toasted sandwiches, crumbly but oh so gooey cookies and massive muffins were fresh and ready to be devoured, was switched off against the window.

The awkward silence that filled the atmosphere was almost too much to handle as Bob sat across from you in the book nook. There was a flat white with one sugar and a macaroon sitting on a small tea plate before him. He didn’t like macaroons, but there had only been a few items left to choose from come closing and his favourite apple and cinnamon muffins had all but vanished from the menu.

It was his fault really, he’d been caught up in his own insecurities for far too many weeks to realise the damage he’d unintentionally caused. You didn’t deserve to be ghosted like he ghosted you. The silent treatment was a poor representation of the man he wanted to be. He never should have believed you were capable of such things. The rumors he had heard about you had a nasty bite. They left a sour taste in Bob's mouth—sometimes he wished he’d never listened, and especially the Jake fucking Seresin of all people. What Hyde saw in him Bob would never truly know.

“You don't owe me an explanation—“ Bob began as he looked down at his hands that rested between his thighs under the table. He’d been picking at his cuticles for the past ten minutes as you shut the cafe down to other customers and locked the front door. It was one of those rare occasions where your son, five year old Oliver Lipscombe, was at after school vacation care.

“You’ve already heard the rumours.” You replied, there was a sadness in your voice Bob couldn’t miss. He knew he’d hurt you. It was never his intention, but his fight or flight response had kicked in and his immediate reaction was to avoid you at all costs. It was his brain's defense system telling him that he was in danger, to run as far away as he possibly could so that he wouldn’t be hurt.

He grew up doing that, running away from any situation that could have caused him any kind of pain. Emotionally or physically. Bob Floyd was a runner, a flight risk of you will.

And that’s exactly what the Weapons Systems Officer who had started to fall in love with you did, despite his heart screaming at him to stick around and just ask you what the hell was going on and why there was a rumour:

A rumour that you’d killed your fiancé and burned your house to its very foundation to hide the secrets you kept close to your chest.

“I've never talked about this with anyone besides my lawyers before.” The zucchini and corn fritter that sat on the tea plate in front of you had gone stone cold. Usually you looked forward to a treat after you closed up.

But sitting across from Robert Floyd, the first man you’d ever bothered to look at let alone entertain the idea of beginning a new chapter of your life with, since your entire life was turned upside down, you hardly had any appetite.

“It’s always stayed with me—and it’s taken me three years to push it back from this cortex part of my brain.” You point to your head, hopefully explaining what your therapist had told you to Bob. “To the frontal part of my brain, the memory.” Again, you pointed to your head—only this time your finger touched your forehead gently. “It took me three years to just put him somewhere else in my mind with the help of psychiatrists and the clinicians.” Bob could tell you were already becoming visibly upset, the teary look of numbness and pain lurked behind your gaze as you looked towards him, but not at him. It was like you were looking right past him as he sat before you. “They helped me move him around so that he wasn’t going to be in my mind's eye in the daytime or in the night time—or any time.”

Three years ago your entire life changed. Just shy off three months ago you thought the missing pieces to your very traumatic puzzle were coming together again. When you first met Bob you were a little weary, afraid to put yourself out there. But he lingered. His presence was welcome and soon enough you found yourself making unapologetic advances towards the reserved but gentle man who adored your apple and cinnamon muffins.

But six weeks ago, Robert Floyd took you and your son, Oliver, out for dinner at the Hard Deck and he never returned your texts after. He didn’t call or stop by. Your apple and cinnamon muffins began to rot and go stale in the display. Turns out you really were just making that particular recipe for him.

“The human body, or the human mind, Bob—isn’t perfectly equipped to deal with trauma despite our very need to believe it can handle everything life throws your way.” That’s what your therapist had told you when the nightmares wouldn’t go away. That’s what she had told you when you could smell the smoke in your room when you laid awake at night. That’s what your therapist had told you when you had been named a person of interest.

Bob sat quietly, watching and listening to you speak like you were on autopilot, like you were reciting an analysis done by some professional who had assessed your physiological state of mind. Still—your eyes remained trained on him, but you were looking right through him. It was eerie, to say the very least.

“The brain can't be positioned to deal with the tragedy of another human being being murdered, it just reminds you that it could’ve as easily have been you or someone you love, and when it is someone you love, when something like that happens to someone close to you—the brains just doesn’t know how to exist with that kind of trauma.”

“So—“ Bob spoke up in the lingering silence as you dropped your eyeline down to the cup of tea that was now lukewarm that sat beside your fritter. “What exactly does the mind do?”

You let the silence echo off the walls of your humble cafe. The Flight Deck as it was appropriately called for the Navy Town that had taken you in with open arms. Accepting the stray you were like you had done with your cat, Oreo, that was older than some of the Admirals that frequented your caffeine corner. You let the silence go for as long as you could—until it was thick and all consuming and you had to remind yourself to breathe again. It was always that burning feeling, your lungs igniting from a lake of oxygen that reminded you to breathe.

“It starts to play games.” You sighed as you tried to let go of the pressure that had built up in your jaw. Anxiety laced your nervous system as you spoke and Bob could practically smell it. “It starts trying its best to process the grief, the loss, the pain.”

It made sense in a way, Bob had truly never stopped and looked back at his own past, he’d never tried to process his sorrow or his own feelings about what had happened to him during his early childhood and teenage years. He just repressed the rage, the anger, the feelings of betrayal and despair that he felt and ran. He ran as far away as he could and never looked back.

Now? He was sitting in a small but beautifully designed coffee shop owned by the most beautiful woman on the planet, listening about how the mind isn’t equipped to deal with trauma. Ironic isn’t it?

“Sometimes if you’re lucky your brain just decides to block the memory all together, but sometimes it begins to create scenarios.” You reached out to rip a little bit of your fritter off as Bob remained still, he was just trying to soak up everything you were saying. “It starts to question the ‘who done it’s’ and the ‘how comes’ and the small intricate details that could have been avoided to avoid the disaster and the choices made that ultimately led to it.” You paused for a second, taking a small but satisfying bite of the cold fritter to stop your stomach from doing backflips. “And when none of that helps? It looks for a different angel, conspiracy theories are born, it’s the very reason why the whole ideology that the Bush administration was responsible for September Eleventh came about.”

In your book nook there sat a book that had always caught Bob's eyes. Ground Zero by Alan Gratz. He could see it behind you just off to the left, shoved between an array of true crime, fiction and biographies. The books were communal—like a library built on a trust system. You take a book, you bring it back and if you have any old books at home you’d like to share? They always have a spoke on the oak shelves.

“People need answers to help them process the utter magnitude of such a tragedy, and when they don’t find it internally, and still can’t process the facts laid out in front of them, the brain searches elsewhere.” Your sudden chuckle caught Bob by surprise as you wiped away tears that streamed down your cheeks. “And you always think conspiracy theories are wild and far-fetched and exactly what they are—theories designed to help people’s minds deal with trauma that their brains can’t comprehend.” That’s when you really took a deep breath in for a moment and looked up at Bob through watery lashes and deep sorrow.

“You always think that conspiracy theories are fake and aren’t grounded in any kind of truth or reality until you're suddenly in the middle of one and your brain is running a million miles an hour trying to understand what the hell is happening.”

Bob knew that your name was shrouded in rumors he never should have believed. He felt so guilty for allowing his own personal issues with trust and loyalty to alter his perception of you. As he sat across from you and watched your tears fall freely, he knew he should have just asked sooner, he never should have grown distant, tried to back away, he should have just asked what happened.

“My fiancé was murdered.” You explained as quickly and as calmly as you could. “We’d been arguing earlier that same day about some upcoming bills that were due to be paid towards our wedding.” It seemed so arbitrary the more you said it, whenever you did think about it you caught yourself wondering had things been less heated that morning, you wouldn’t be sitting here—defending yourself in front of a man that had broken your heart before he even got a chance to officially be anyone beyond the title of ‘Close, sometimes we have sex, my son thinks you’re his best friend, friends.’

“He decided that he was going to go for a run around the estate.” You had to pause for a moment as Bob raised an eyebrow your way. It wasn’t the mention of murder that got his attention—it had been the mention of an estate. “The Lipscombes are old money, estates, luxury homes, cars, hotels, restaurants, you name it.”

“What was his name?” You hadn’t been asked that question ever. It took you a moment to process as you just stared at Bob in shock. “Your fiancé? What was his name?”

“Harrison—“ A little over two years had passed since you had said his name out loud. “He liked Harry.” Bob saw a genuine smile creep itself across your face, he adored it. It was one of the many things he admired about you—your infectious smile. It didn’t last long however. “It was such a petty argument and I spent a lot of time wondering if we had just paid what the photographer wanted then he’d still be here.”

“Can I uh—“ Through a nervous croak Bob cleaned his throat and shifted in his position. “Sit next to you?” It was a simple question really, but the weight of it was truly something else.

Bob really did like you, he’d just made a horrible choice in judgment.

You nodded in response silently as your bottom lip trembled with a sorrow all consuming. Bob was quick to move from sitting across from you, to beside you with an arm slung up and around your shoulders to draw you into him for comfort.

“He never came back.” You continued explaining your past through tears that seeped into Bob's flight suit. He’d come straight from work to the cafe with another bunch of apology flowers. He was as unrelenting as he was endearing. “And I can still remember that feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, that feeling that something was wrong, Ollie was only young, he doesn’t know that his dad was killed, he just knows that he died.”

“What happened?” Bob asked tentatively as he held you, your face was pressed into the comfort of his shoulder and chest as you slid down the booth a little.

“It’s still unsolved.” It gave Bob the chills. “But after three days of searching the property we found his body in the shrubbery that led into the forest, beaten up, stabbed, he was unrecognisable.”

“Oh my gosh—“ It was pretty confronting to hear, but as Bob held you close and guided you through what he could only describe as remembering the worst day of your life, he knew that the more he knew, the more he understood, the easier it would be to move forward.

“Yeah, he was the love of my life.” You didn’t want it to be a secret. “Besides the odd argument, which just so happened to have happened before he died, we were good.” You could remember quite easily what it was like to be loved by someone. “We loved each other so much, there was no malice or spite or secrets.” That’s when you paused and sat up out of Bob's hold to take a sip of your tea. The lukewarm liquid soothed your throat, calmed your nerves and grounded you in reality.

“So when I was being asked to come in for questioning a few days after his body had been found I didn’t know what to think.”

“The police thought you were the one who killed him?”

“Them and the entire town.” You nodded as you pressed your lips together. “Trial by judgment doesn’t leave a hell of a lot of room for innocent until proven guilty.”

“What about his family?” Bob was invested now, not that he wasn’t before. But the more you spoke and the more you told your story the more Bob felt himself understanding. “What did they think?”

“Oh—“ You had to laugh through the painful memories, Bob just pulled you back into him when he saw you shake your head in defeat. “They were the first ones to point blame, someone killed their baby boy and the only possible person who could have done it was the soon to be wife.”

The Lipscombes were old money, which meant they had a hell of a lot of assets to protect. It made sense why they turned on you so quickly when their son turned up dead after an argument with his soon to be wife. But what didn’t make sense was how easily they portrayed you as a woman with ill intentions.

“I loved him so much, with all my heart for five beautiful years Bob, and those people who I considered family, who are my son’s family, decided without any hesitation that it was my doing, that I was capable of murder.”

But the worst part of all was still yet to be told. You had never spoken to anyone about the events that took place the night before you decided to run and never look back.

“Family isn’t always forever.” Bob understood better than most just how easy it could be for the people who were meant to love you the most could turn their backs on you. “And I gotta say, if they were so quick to ostracize you then they weren’t good enough to be a part of your life.”

“Little hypocritical coming from the man who thought he was going to be my next victim don’t you think?” Okay, Bob deserved that. He took the hit but instead of pulling away to sit in his own shame, he leaned in and gently tilted your chin up. For a second he hesitated, wondering if he was crossing some invisible line. But when your teary, water filled eyes trailed between his baby blue orbs and soft lips that tasted of spearmint gum, he knew that it was safe to gently press his lips against yours.

The kiss was fleeting, but was well received. You didn’t hesitate to kiss Bob back in your moment of weakness. Talking about your late fiancé’s death in your cafe with the man you so hoped would love you with all your baggage in toe seemed like something right out of an episode of the twilight zone. But, you pulled away and continued telling your story. You wanted everything laid out on the table for Bob to access and decide if he could handle it.

If he couldn’t? You wouldn’t blame him. You’d be all alone again but at least that meant no one could hurt you.

“Eventually the police dismissed me as a person of interest, they had no evidence to support that I was involved and the security footage from the front and back doors all showed I didn’t leave the house in the timeframe the coroner determined the time of death.”

You could smell it, the burning smell of smoke that deprives you of oxygen. It lingered in the air around you as much as it did in your memories. You hadnt smelt it in years—the smell of your entire life burning down around you.

“Logan, one of Harry’s best mates since high school had come over to help me clean up the house, he cooked dinner and I put Ollie to bed and said goodnight and I ended up just crashing on the lounge.” Bob knew what was coming next, he remembered Hangman telling him when he was on his high horse.

But knowing the rough outline never came close to the actual details.

“It was the smell.” You sobbed as Bob held you tight. “I couldn’t breathe.” Oxygen deprivation was something you’d never experienced to the degree you did that night. “The smoke was so thick and consuming, I woke up coughing and couldn’t see.”

“The house was on fire.” Bob mumbled against the top of your head, he was just trying to process everything you were telling him. And you were trying not to spiral back into that moment.

“HELP!!” The house was full of thick black smoke as everything went up in flames. “HELP ME! SOMEBODY?” You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face as you shot up from the couch. “OL—“ Allconsuming smoke filled your lungs as you coughed and splattered and tried to cover your mouth. “OLIVER!”

“I crawled my way over to where I thought the stairs were and raced up to grab Oliver from his room.” You remembered it all too well, the feeling of not being able to breathe, the smell, the fear of losing your child after losing his father. “I was practically hanging him out the window by the time the fire brigade arrived, the neighbours who owned the estate across the way were up and saw the orange flames.”

“Do you know what caused it, the fire?” Bob asked as you calmed a little in his warm embrace. The next two words that left your mouth sent chills down Bob's spine. He thought maybe you left a candle burning, that maybe the oven was on? That perhaps there was an electrical fault or lightning stuck somewhere.

While Bob was searching for an explanation, he could still smell the smoke. All the oxygen from your body had been absorbed and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see. It was like you were being totally consumed once again by that deprivation. That all consuming smoke that nearly killed you. But when you felt Bob's hands in yours? Suddenly—you could speak.

“It's still undetermined.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

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bibbityboppitybillyharvgrove · 4 months

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Always There - Twenty - S.Snape

Summary: Y/N Potter was left with a baby to care for after her brother and sister-in-law were murdered by Voldemort. One person was there for her, a person she didn’t expect but soon became her comfort person, Severus Snape. During Harry’s third year at Hogwarts and her third year as Herbology professor, a few old friends come around again. Y/N has to handle the feelings of these old friends being around again as well as handle her feelings for a certain potions master all while she tries to hide these things from her godson.

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Pairings: Severus Snape x Female Professor Reader, Potter!Reader x friend!Remus, Sister!Reader x James Potter, Potter!Reader x Friend!Sirius

Chapter Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader(No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, Harry growing up in a loving home, Voldemort, not proofread, Death Eater talk,

Series Warnings: Female Reader, Potter Reader (No physical description of reader) probably shitty writing, OOC Snape, Harry grows up in a loving environment, mentions of death and murder, poorly written angst, Remus is a shitty friend, poorly written pining,

Please let me know how I can improve my writing and being more inclusive to POC as I am whiter than white. Please also let me know if I have to add more to the warnings! My messages are open as well as my asks!

I am starting a taglist so leave either a comment or something in my asks if you would like to be tagged in any of my works or just this series!

Author's Note: I know this is short but I'm trying to get this set up for the end of the series. This is more of a filler than anything. I hope you guys enjoy!

Please let me know how I can improve or if you find any errors! Correct me, don't be afraid to! I want to improve my writing and become a better writer so any feedback or advise is welcomed!

Word Count: 1241

dividers are @firefly-graphics

My asks are open for questions, suggestions, requests and feedback!

Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

Enjoy!

True to his word, Severus had mentioned to the Dark Lord that she was interested in joining the death eaters. He requested that she come with Severus to meet him and tell him her true intentions. She was set to meet the dark lord later that day, she was somewhat nervous but kept wits about her. Severus knew that she was nervous, he knew that facing the man who murdered her brother was not going to be easy, facing the man that tried to kill her nephew wasn’t going to be easy.

He had been assured by Voldemort that he could stay with her, to ease his own nerves. The couple apparating to Malfoy Manor, walking hand in hand. Y/N’s grip tighter than usual, using his hand to keep herself grounded. “Do you need a moment, love? I can speak with him first, give you time to yourself,” Severus offered.

“I’m okay, the sooner we get this done the better. As long as I have you, I’ll be fine,” She replied, a shaky smile on her face.

“Severus, what a pleasant surprise! And Y/N Potter! Or is it Snape now?” Bellatrix’s ear piercing tone rang in her ears.

“Still Potter for now. It’s in the process of getting changed to Snape,” Y/N said politely.

“I heard you want to join us, how surprising! A Potter, wanting to become a death eater, may I ask why?”

“That’s for me to ask Bellatrix, Miss Potter, Severus, come, join me,” The dark lord interrupted the conversation. Severus let go of her hand only to wrap his arm around her waist, the two of them following the fraction of a man into one of the studies. “Take a seat, please.” The couple doing as they were told, sitting in the two chairs across from the big lounge chair. “So Severus tells me you wish to join our cause. May I ask why?”

“I am loyal to Severus and Severus is loyal to you, my lord. Anyone he is loyal to, I will be loyal to,” She told him, making eye contact with him the whole time.

“What of your nephew?”

“What of him, my lord?”

“What about him? If you are loyal to me, then that means you are no longer loyal to your family.”

“Severus is my family, my lord. My nephew will always have a special place in my heart but Severus is the one that owns it. Whatever he does, I will do.”

The dark lord contemplated for a second, he thought it odd that the woman would want to join now, knowing who her nephew was and that he was the man to murder her family. “Why now?”

“Pardon?”

“Why now? Why come to me now? You know what I did to your family, why choose now?”

“I need the protection to be frank, my lord. I know how loyal your followers are not only to you but each other. I can be a spy for you as well. The Order will have no idea that I am with you, it’s a perfect opportunity to get more information. They would never expect me to be with you,” She explained.

“Why do you need the protection?”

“We’re expecting, we need the protection not only for her but the baby as well, my lord. This will also give you the chance to have 2 spies working for you. I happen to be a bit biased but I believe she would be a great addition to our cause,” Severus chimed in.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes, my lord. We just found out about two months ago. Nobody knows, not even my nephew,” Y/N replied.

“Very well. I will allow you to join, Ms. Potter. If Severus believes that you’re a great addition, then I can’t help but agree. You will keep up your appearances with the Order but you must come to me or send a letter here after every meeting. Are we at an understanding?”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you!” She smiled at the man, grabbing Severus’ hand, feigning excitement.

The couple left the Malfoy Manor, returning to Hogwarts, Y/N promptly rushing to the bathroom to empty her stomach. She so desperately wanted to as she spoke face to face with the dark lord but she was able to keep up appearances. Severus was right beside her, rubbing her back and keeping her hair out of her face. “Godric, this is worse than puking slugs,” She complained as she caught her breath.

“You’ve thrown up slugs?” Severus asked, trying to distract her from the unease in her stomach.

“My third year, Sirius thought it was funny to try and jinx you but I stepped in front of his wand. I was throwing up slugs for hours,” She replied as she stood up slowly, she went over to the faucet, turning it on, cupping water into her hands and swishing the water around her mouth.

“Are you feeling better?” He questioned as she spit out the water.

“A little bit. It’s just a lot you know? Albus expects so much of me, expects me to put not only myself in danger but you and Harry just so he could have another spy, he wants me to pretend that he’s not dying, that Draco is supposed to kill him. A teenage boy is expected to kill Albus for the mistakes of his father. I just want this war to be over, we’ve lost enough people now.”

“I know, love. I want it to be over too. I’m tired of being a pawn to Albus and the dark lord. I just want to be with my family.”

The day had dragged on longer than it should have, Albus desperately wanting an update which was given. She had begun to see Albus for who he truly was, a master manipulator. She had finally gotten the chance to witness it head on when he asked her to become a spy. The man did whatever he could do to benefit him and she finally took note of it. She kept these thoughts to herself, however. Unwilling to mention them to anyone in fear of being judged or becoming a target for the order.

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As Halloween came and went, Christmas was quickly approaching. She was still able to keep her pregnancy concealed from the students, telling Harry the night she became a death eater. Her heart was heavy with guilt because she couldn’t say anything about her being a spy for the Order without the possibility of being figured out. Her bump was showing through her clothes now, her old potions professor taking note of this as well as Minerva. She was able to hide it with a cloak but during dinner, the other professors couldn’t help but notice that her usual glass of wine was replaced with water. Nobody dared say a word about it, letting the herbology professor come to them when she felt ready.

Severus and Y/N were two of the most private professors in the castle. The students only knew that the couple was together but they had no details about the relationship itself. The couple liked it better that way, the only ones who knew any details being Harry, his friends and a couple of the professors. Now there was an added darkness into their relationship, the added factor of Voldemort and trying to fool the man as a couple.

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haladrielficxch · 2 months

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Author Reveals are here! Read below the cut to see who wrote your favorite fics!

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The magic is always just there on the periphery of his lands, threatening to spill over. Sometimes he swears he can feel it in the earth beneath his feet, taste it in the water, clear and bright and so utterly unlike his own. The flowing currents of it had drawn him to these lands, led him to stake his own claim and build his fortress along the borders of the Golden Wood. He knows who resides within, hiding herself away amidst the forest’s glittering bowers.

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Love is heavy and light, bright and dark by lisenberry for @softlighter

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Many things had changed since then.

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“Noldor. A loner who thinks she’s above it all. Now there’s a challenge worthy of the highest of prizes.”

the only song i want to hear by MyrsineMezzo for @ichabodcranemills

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Set throughout the first season of Rings of Power.

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He is effortlessly charming—and everyone besides Galadriel seems to eat it right up—but something hiding just below the surface, coiled and restless, calls to her.

don't answer me (i'm calling just to hear you scream" by poeticmemory for @the-sweet-hibiscus

One year after her eldest brother‘s murder, Galadriel and her friends find themselves in the sights of a horror-film obsessed killer.

everything (except what it is) by softlight for @myrsinemezzo

“And what are you going to say?” “That I can be civil if you can."

Rival teachers Galadriel and Halbrand sign up to run the school show. Things do not go as expected.

the Curse of Linhir by TheSweetHibiscus for @justatinycollector

The morning of October 28th I, along with my unwilling companion, managed to flea the decrepit town of Linhir. I had ran, cloaked in nothing more than a t-shirt and the threadbare soles of my brother's old hiking boots, nearly twenty miles to the Regent's port home in Númenor. Each step was agony – the ill-timed impromptu marathon more than enough to cause my lungs and thighs to burn like coal cinders. Yet it was nothing compared to the sinking dread — a fear I hadn't gotten far enough away.

By the Moonlight by justatinycollector for @wyrd-syster

It would seem to Galadriel, in their first few encounters, that Halbrand would always leave her with something. Later, she’d come to learn that he never left a place empty-handed.

The Highwayman AU.

stones that move (and trees that speak) by Wyrd_Syster for @bad-surprise

Halbrand wants power and Galadriel wants her inheritance. There is no cost too high, no price too steep, to stop them from taking what they want.

A Macbeth AU with a dash of Sleep No More.

#haladriel #haladriel fic exchange #ao3 fic #galadriel x halbrand #fanfiction #haladriel fanfic #ao3 works #fanfic event #rop #sauron x galadriel

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onewhowantstobeunderstood · 5 months

Text

Current leftism is the Big Brother

This is a realization that I had five years ago.

I've never been a left-wing follower or a right-wing. I prefer to walk in the middle like Buddhism has always inspired me. No, more than that, I prefer to be a free thinker. Some left-wing ideas are awesome. Some right-wing ideas are good. Some left-wing ideas are wicked. Some right-wing ideas are cruel. But rooting for a political party, as if it's a sports team, will create a mob-like mentality.

Worse, cult-like mentality.

For some reason, the left has become an extreme cult of desperate progression without an ounce of care. In a period of two years, we've seen the trans acceptance movement (which was awesome) jump to the forced acceptance of a trans woman, guilty of rape, to be transferred to a female prison. What followed was the rape and violence against several female inmates. In a period of twenty years, we've seen the sexual liberation of women turn into the acceptance of nine-month pregnancy abortion (which is clear murder, given some people are born with seven, or eight months... Me included).

What's the final goal of this rushed progression?

What's a perfect world in the eyes of a leftist? Every time I asked, they never had a clear vision. They didn't know. The goal of the left is just the progression. But will they know the time to stop? Probably not. Because, if they lived in a utopia, they would do what their ideology tells them... to change the status quo for more progression.

The left was created from dissatisfaction. If that's the foundation of the ideology, the left will never be truly satisfied.

But what makes me think that the current (mostly US) leftism has unbalanced the world towards a 1984, by George Orwell, type of reality was the subtle use of doublethink, newspeak, and thoughtcrime. Let's go, one by one.

Doublethink: In the book, doublethink is the acceptance of opposing concepts by indoctrination. For example, Winston had to accept that 2+2 was both four and five. Because, if Big Brother says it's five, one cannot doubt the morals and good intentions of Big Brother. Now, applying doublethink to leftism, we have gender studies. Male and female chromosomes are the equivalent of 2+2 equal four. But the complex studies of genders as a social construct, non-binary, non-conforming, ever-changing, never-settling is the equivalent of 2+2 equals five. The indoctrination of gender studies has the goal of dissatisfaction. One, subjected to such, should never be satisfied with it's own body, self, and family ties (much like a cult, parting the individual from it's family). And if the individual is dissatisfied, it is pushed towards progression. Which, often, results in body modification. These victims (sometimes, as young as five years old) become live propaganda. And, despite all the changes, they end up still dissatisfied.

Newspeak: In the book, newspeak is the manipulation of language for the benefit of Big Brother. Some words, erased, like 'lovely', 'freedom', 'lie', 'love'. And some words, created and enforced, like 'upsub' that means the greatness in submitting to Big Brother. Or 'crimestop', that means not accepting ideas that go against Big Brother. The current leftism uses newspeak on a daily basis. And they shift or create more words daily too. Woke, equity, gender studies, pregnant people, latinx, systemic, structural, social justice, microaggression, problematic, cis, cultural appropriation, intersectionality, mansplain, trigger, theybies, maps (minor-attracted people, formerly known are pedophiles). All of these words have the goal of causing confusion. To describe something simple as if it's extremely hidden, new, and complex.

Thoughtcrime: In the book, thoughtcrime is any thought or belief that goes against the party Ingsoc (English Socialism) or Big Brother. Now, this is the most basic aspect of current leftism. No one is allowed to question abortion, or trans progression, or the lgbt change of name for inclusion (which certainly weakened the lgbt community's strength). No one is allowed to question feminism or racial arguments. No one is allowed to question left-wing leaders and misconduct. And, most important, no one is allowed to question progression. If anyone does so, they are immediately ostracized and shamed, being called transphobic, racist, homophobic, and misogynistic without committing said crime (which weakens the severity of the crime itself).

All the tactics used by Ingsoc and Big Brother in the books 1984, by George Orwell, are being currently used by the left. George Orwell, himself, was a democratic socialist, but he was also a free thinker. And he wrote 1984 and Animal Farm as criticisms against Stalinism and the Third Reich. He wrote the flaws of both right-wing and left-wing into a single book. The far left and the far right are so similar that they almost touch, like says the Horseshoe Theory.

Personally, I don't think this division of right-wing and left-wing is serving society anymore. Our political concepts need to evolve in union (and not sink deeper into hateful separation).

If a single person reads this post and realizes that they are free thinkers, I'll be happy. The left is not the moral ground that it claims to be. Because their morals are not open and honest. Their morals are constructed by repeated arguments. Much less, the left is a counter-culture. The left and its progressiveness, right now, is the status quo. They will walk society forward, without a care, even if straight into a cliff.

#anti leftist #anti leftism #anti woke #free thinker #antisemitism

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guav · 2 years

Note

Hello!☺️ Can you do a Yandere Rindou? So like Ayano is Rindou and the senpai is The reader, like the roles. The role of Rindou is Ayano but the role of senpai is The reader.

It's like Yandere simulator! :)

ᥫ᭡ for haitani rindou, OBJECT OF OBSESSION

⚠︎⠀yandere themes; explicit descriptions of murder, blood, obsession, stalking, all that. he's in his last year of high school for plot purposes

★ ⋆ . ⠀YANDERE! RINDOU, who starts acting weird

he says tenjiku rendezvous got tedious. swears up and down with a sneer that his time is precious, and there are more pressing matters to attend.

ran likes to think he knows his brother well-enough to know truth from lie. although it is pretty odd rindou’s bottom drawer now has a lock, or he rarely leaves his laptop in their living room anymore; doesn’t allow for prying eyes into his life.

perhaps it’s odd, but they’re old enough to not be joined at the hip twenty-four seven.

so the oldest haitani doesn’t think too much of it. it’s none of his business.

a little his business when he finds rindou to go missing for entire mornings and evenings. very much ran’s business when he starts showing up late to meetings and there’s a need to convince izana not to splat rindou’s brain matter on the sidewalk next time he shows his face.

ran makes the conscious decision to shrug his new behavior off.

whatever’s gotten into his younger brother can’t be worse than anything they get up to together. rindou much prefers to operate as a duo whenever there’s violence involved. his sudden change of attitude surely couldn't lead to anything that bad.

right?

⠀

★ ⋆ . ⠀YANDERE! RINDOU, who at first is convinced you’re a stalker.

let’s rewind a couple months back.

hard as he tried, rindou haitani is unable to pinpoint the exact moment you started to bleed into his days.

in the mornings your footsteps would be so loud outside his apartment. desperation was not a good look, there were better ways to get his attention (note, you were just walking to school, minding your own business).

on evenings your saccharine voice would always get his attention when walking to the liquor store (second note, you were just trying to power through your part-time job in that same street).

and during nights, after exhaustive hours of branding a uniform and doing the dirty jobs on occasions, your presence in his dreams would be very hard to ignore.

dreams where your lips would explore his own endlessly, charm forever sealed in his grasp. mewls that cried for each inch of skin he’d inspect. reveries where you’d be his. nightmares where rindou would be witness to someone else tasting what’s his.

you were stalking him, weren’t you? there’s no other explanation to your sudden prominent standing in his life.

the only sensible course of action was to tail you, too. just to make sure you’re not something he needs to be concerned about, of course.

⠀

★ ⋆ . ⠀YANDERE! RINDOU, who for the first time in years, sat through an entire lecture.

it took rindou about two hours to assemble all the pieces to his old uniform in one same place. some were under trash bags, others shoved deep inside his closet. a good clean later and he was ready to carry out an operation to find out what your true intentions are.

once upon a time the brothers had to enroll into a local high school to scope territory. never would rindou have guessed he’d be back doing rounds through the same halls, eyes scanning through each classroom.

it was nauseating. so many people breathing the same air as him. unforgivable.

barely a couple seconds before he snapped someone in half, rindou caught wind of it. your light footsteps, a cheery giggle, an imaginary trail of thorns and roses in your wake.

you.

rindou haitani was presented with two options. the schoolyard was spacious, so much to the point of a table having the perfect view to your classroom. staking out your every hour would be easy, and the risk of getting caught would be close to none.

“oh, are you new?” your voice tastes even sweeter when it’s directed to him. when your words belong to rindou the world feels right. “i didn’t know we could get transfers this late in the course—i can help you catch up if you’d like.”

the smile you flash at him is better than any bone he’s dislocated with his bare hands. better than anything he’s had.

everything about you is dangerous. from your clear intentions to captivate him, to the way you’re fucking good at it.

it’s a shame rindou’s better though. he’ll just have to stick around advanced calculus to have the upper hand and observe you from up close.

⠀

★ ⋆ . ⠀YANDERE! RINDOU, who surprisingly caught word of a confession before you did, and saw red.

rindou’s come to the conclusion you’re not a threat. perhaps it’s everyone else he should be concerned about.

the wake-up call comes as a letter with a red stamp, left behind by some forgettable classmate with unbelievably clammy hands.

a stupid move for an amateur. clearly someone who doesn’t even deserve five minutes of your time if he was unheeding to the point of not knowing thursdays are the days you’re around fifteen minutes late to first period. wednesdays are laundry days, leaving you in a frenzy to collect your unfolded laundry from the day before, consequently delaying your usual routine (wake up, shower with lukewarm water, hygiene, clothe, repeat).

only an idiot would also leave a confession letter behind when rindou haitani was present.

it’s bothersome having to stand and throw the piece of paper away. so much that rindou feels like he deserves to at least see what the idiot had to write. unfolding carefully wasn’t something that existed in his head. the letter is ripped open, if not to satiate his urge to do the same to your daft suitor.

the letter is emptier than he’d imagined, only a vague request to meet after class on the rooftop adorned the white sheet.

“rin?” the paper is quickly tucked away in his pocket, though you’re ever oblivious to the movement. “i know i said we could go over some stuff before class, i really didn’t mean to be late!”

rindou scoffs, fixing his glasses. “if i fail it’s on you.”

the annoyance in his tone enters one ear and leaves through the other, rindou’s sass no longer fazes you. “let me make it up to you, how about a study session at my place after school?”

“and your parents are okay with a criminal in your own house?”

they’re out of town.

you shrug, “they’re out of town, plus i’m sure they’d be fine since we’re gonna be working.”

“should you really be telling that to strangers?” rindou is convinced you’re a danger to yourself.

“you’re not a stranger,” and the way you say it makes him believe it for a moment. the invitation is all-too tempting. voice luring him like a starved man, eyes making him feel like he owns the world.

a grim reminder rests in his pocket. “i can’t, i have stuff to do after class.”

somehow the hurt flashing across your face is something he can’t get enough of. a new emotion to add to his catalog. “is it gonna take long?”

rindou grins, “you’re cute when you’re desperate.”

it doesn’t hurt when you smack his arm, or when you call him mean—doesn’t sting because he is, and because rindou already knows you don’t mean it.

“i’ll wait for you so we can go, okay?”

guess he’s gonna have to make it quick.

⠀

★ ⋆ . ⠀YANDERE! RINDOU, who knows everything’s fair game as long as you don’t get caught.

“pathetic,” screams are silenced by rindou’s hand, muffled before they could ever alert another wretched soul. fear-stricken, twisting, and writhing like an animal at a slaughterhouse.

“gross,” it’s a messy crime scene. blood, exposed cartilage, and bone. unrecognizable by the time rindou is done.

“stupid,” this morning there were two people after your heart. now, only one remains, along with a mangled sight of student and cruor.

rindou haitani doesn’t care much for the pained wheezing coming from your suitor. he doesn’t savor it like every other injury he inflicts. this wasn’t anything but an execution, it would be unrealistic to even call him competition.

there was never a rivalry. not even a chance for contesting an award rindou gained long before you came to meet him. it will be a cold day in hell before he allows anyone else to even indulge in such fantasy. kill count forever rising, roppongi home to bloodshed until there is an understanding that whatever he wants will inevitably he his, and only his.

an annoyed sigh is all that accompanies the dead. irritation overpowering the nonexistent guilt of taking a life. something primal begs rindou to leave the rooftop as is, it would be a good warning for anyone with underlying intentions to follow the same steps.

sadistic in nature, methodical in practice—he opts for cleaning instead.

two trash bags, a mop washing away sin, and spare change of clothes is enough erase all trace of murder. not a spot is left in his wake; nothing to indicate there was ever a dent or obstacle between the two of you.

forever forgotten are the days where he’d only allow himself to witness from afar. no longer will rindou have to do rounds through empty streets just to wait for your nightstand’s light to gift him your silhouette.

he won’t have to worry for getting caught, not when you’re waiting for him a couple floors down; and most certainly not when the other fool chasing after your heart doesn’t even have blood pumping to his own any longer.

⠀

★ ⋆ . ⠀YANDERE! RINDOU, who is gonna go mad.

“i thought you were gonna take longer.”

rindou rolls his eyes, mindlessly reaching for your bag to carry. sarcasm in his intonation: “surprise.”

as much as his impudence is unwarranted, you can’t be mad. tutoring rindou is learning rindou, and he speaks through actions. there’s no other option than to bite back a smile when he’s already at the door, barking at you to hurry up.

a small detail makes you stop dead in your tracks. rindou raises an eyebrow, you simply stare.

it’s a small stain. easy to overlook, yet suddenly so prominent from the corner of his eye. rindou has no explanation for his erratic heartbeat.

all evidence was carefully disposed of, how could he have missed blood on his glasses?

such an obvious mistake. he’s already blocking the entrance to cut your escape route short.

“oh, rin,” your innocence speaks volumes as you lean over, hands coming to grip his glasses. “let me clean them for you.”

he really, really can’t explain the tint crawling up his face.

your movements are delicate, gentle as they cup his face. soft as you blow on the glass. hypnotizing as you tug on your shirt; white, pure, to clean the red smudge. effectively ridding any proof rindou is a threat by your own volition.

rindou feels his sanity slipping, the line between a careful plan blurring with his buried urges.

victim to dimorphous expression, rindou slips.

your wrist meets his own hand, grip so vicious for a moment you fear it intends to harm. chin raised by a single finger with way more force than truly needed.

as if seeking an explanation as to why the distance between your back and the nearest wall was completely erased within seconds, all you find is rindou’s own eyes. you swear they’re twitching—fighting something you were previously blind to.

“rin?”

rindou is gonna go mad. you’re stupid, so, so incredibly naive. ingenuos to all his advances and ties to crime, so unaware of the decomposing inside different plastic bags. you’re addicting in the purest sense of the word.

so when he leans in to kiss you, and you meet him halfway, rindou swears he’s already gone insane.

⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀navi.⠀＆⠀m.list⠀＆⠀send me an ask!

#i have Never played yan sim so i hope this is ok!#rindou x reader #yandere #rindou haitani x reader #rindou haitani #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x reader #yandere x reader #ROGUEL1KE

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mageofseven · 11 months

Note

OH OH I'm so excited! Seeing at this new Meph stuff has me giddy bc he's a character that my MC would absolutely say fuck all about while hiding his hand.

Which leads me to a rq of him! I was thinking of him and MC who absolutely talk like they despise each other but MC is just. Sitting in his lap. Or the other way around Meoh is riding on their shoulders.

It's 3am here so sorry if this sounds weird-

Ok this is cute 🥰

I think I can make a nice little scene for these two based off of this prompt, but I am unsure how long it will turn out.

Let's see, shall we?~

•▪︎▪︎◇°●♡●°◇▪︎▪︎•

"This is so stupid..."

"You're stupid." The demon responded back to the human in his lap.

The two were in the newspaper club, sitting at his desk. The school day was over and the two were hanging out like they always did though no one could decipher why.

"Gee, don't you sound mature." MC responded sarcastically, laying back against him.

"Says the child." He scoffed, tightening his hug around them. "You've only been in this life for a literal twenty years; you are too ignorant and naïve to function."

"Why, because I'm not old as balls? Because I'm not like you and haven't been around since 'man make fire'." The human mocked him with a caveman tone.

"Why you--"

Suddenly, the Newspaper club door opened, revealing a member here for the club day.

The two at the desk scowled at him and the poor minor demon could practically feel murderous intentions radiate from the two before he slammed the door closed for his own safety.

"Rude."

"Completely rude."

"Who just does that sort of thing anyway?"

"Ill mannered plebians." Mephisto shook his head at the door before kissing the human's forehead. "I'll have to have a word with him later."

"Good." MC took one of his hands and hugged it to their chests. "I hate you."

"I hate you more."

Thirty seconds of silence passed before MC added.

"Hey, can you get the blanket out of the drawer? I'm cold."

"Of course."

And with that, the demon opened his desk drawer and pulled out the light blanket he stashed in there for them before covering MC in it.

"There you are, human."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"But I still hate you."

"The feeling is completely mutual."

This...'relationship', or whatever you call what is between these two weirdos, confuses anyone around who even for a second can compare their words to their actions.

What the the fuck is going on, no one knows, but the 'couple' is content and that counts for something, right?

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me mc #obey me mephistopheles #obey me mephisto x mc #obey me mephistopheles x mc #mephistopheles x mc

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adsosfraser · 8 months

Text

the witching hour and the healer's hands

everlark one shot; set between the hunger games and catching fire

I can’t sleep that first night.

The soft glow of contained fire flickers across the lace and thick white curtains. The window is open, letting the drafty chill of the night into the room and rustling the curtains weakly, however drafty the oppressive and stagnant heat of the late summer nights can be. With the blinking light of the candle, I breathe in and out, forming my lungs to force the oxygen through themselves in rhythm with the fading and strengthening circle illuminating the curtains as the flame breathes with me.

A choking sound sticks in my throat at his silhouette. Through the curtains and the flame, he distorts everything with his shadow and the sturdy presence of his body. He meticulously makes his way through his room, pausing to rip his prosthetic off and crawl into bed. I can just barely see him from the corner now, but I don’t take my eyes away from the window and the small slit made in the curtains. How the sight of even just the outline of his shape, twenty-five yards away, wraps me in the familiar safety I’ve only just begun to know in his arms, I don’t know.

He hates me now.

I have to content myself with only glimpses.

I take watch over him as he tosses and turns, only allowing my legs a break from standing for hours when my legs go completely numb and my foot twitches and feels more like a joint than anything actually attached to functioning bones and toes. I panic for a moment, truly feeling as though I’ve lost my lower limbs until I look down and shake them out. The cruel irony does not miss me as I stare across again at the boy with the bread again, keeping up the vigilant watch I haven’t been able to shake off since the Games. I pull the rocking chair out from the corner of my room and sit. There is no fire in the room or lights I bothered to flick on as I sulked upstairs to the last vacant room.

He settles down finally, when I know the sun will make itself known again soon with the predawn light and dimming stars. I hope he is able to sleep, if not at least for an hour. I can’t bring myself to, no matter how heavy my arms and eyes become. No matter how much I want to tuck myself in with Prim and go back to how things were before everything. Besides, I don’t want to disturb Prim or my mother, who has taken it upon herself to suddenly care about me now. I can’t sleep without the nightmares, without screaming, without thrashing in my bed and contorting my body with the sheets tangling and choking me. I wouldn’t want it to bother their peaceful sleep across the hall.

I’m glad Peeta doesn’t have the same reaction as me. Maybe his kindness, his selflessness, his inherent goodness combat against it. He doesn’t deserve what I go through every night since the Games. He shouldn’t need to feel the guilt and the shame I feel coupled with the horrors we’ve faced. He’s successfully escaped the Games without the Capitol changing him and I’m happy for it. He didn’t watch a twelve-year-old child get murdered before his eyes. He didn’t pull back his bow string to pierce a boy through the neck.. At least he was spared that. Someone good like him, like Prim, should be shut far away from that.

He wakes with the pre dawn glow, undoubtedly used to the hour he would wake to work the ovens. I watch as he stumbles out of bed and blows out the candle, pulling open the curtains to his room to squint outside. Electricity hums through the room as he putters about. I must not have noticed him flipping the switch for the light, some of his movements becoming a blur to my droopy eyes. My cheeks burn and I snap my body around to look at the intricate carvings on the wood chair holding me. Through the open window I saw too much before I realized his intent to shuck his clothes off to change into new ones.

After a minute or two I presume it’s safe to take a peek again. My heart races and I take in a sharp breath as everything inside me jostles around like the frantic rabbit bouncing around in one of my failed snares. Peeta isn’t in his room anymore. Every light in his house is off.

A sigh of relief escapes me when I hear his clomping steps as he hurries out of his front door. He is dressed sensibly for a day at the bakery with a button-up shirt and long pants in case something were to spill.

I frown as he comes down his steps. He’s clearly in pain, clutching his cane tightly in his hand. I hear a curse echo through Victor’s Village as he reaches down to massage and scratch where his prosthetic meets his leg.

He better come to my mother for a salve. Or else.

***

A week passes and I’m furious with him.

I can handle his distance. His indifference. His rational hatred and dislike of me. But he won’t even take care of himself. I worked hard to bring him home and so did he. The limp is now more pronounced than it was a week ago. It’s absolutely ridiculous that he is disregarding the effort we put in in that arena by throwing out his health not even a week out of the careful supervision of Capitol doctors.

I clomp downstairs in spirit, without actually stomping in case I wake the other inhabitants of the house. But my soul stamps its way through the house for me. I sort through the small cabinet of medicines and herbs my mother brought from our house in the Seam and frown when I find most of it bare, with jars awaiting a restock. I suppose they haven’t had a steady supply from their go-to forager in over a month. All of the nice new shiny Capitol medicine from the last train that shipped is locked away upstairs in my mother’s medicine cabinet.

I grumble as I pull my boots on at the front door and sling my game bag over my shoulder. My braid doesn’t thwack my neck or the middle of my back with a hard thunk and it’s strange to feel the short length hang from my head. It barely even fits in a braid with the formerly singed and newly cut strands.

The meadow is far enough for my needs and I don’t think I have it in me to venture into the woods for quite some time. I’ve had enough hunting to last a lifetime.

Lush green lies before me, dotted with yellow, and the rare blues and whites. I pluck the dandelions under the hot sun. There isn’t another soul around so I hum one of my father’s love songs under my breath. The warmth of the sun and the brush of the grass against my hands and calves soothes me into a state of near sleep. Soon though, I don’t like being alone, something I treasured with my freedom in the woods. As I pluck the bright yellow flowers they warp into blue. My hands run with the dark black juice of nightlock that turns to blood. Foxface stares up at me where my game bag is and groans. She turns to Peeta and he stares unblinking at me with Rue’s glossed over eyes. I did this to them. I rammed the berries down his gullet. Shaking, I crawl to my bunch of dandelions. I shove everything deep inside my bag and I run back home, shutting the door firmly behind me.

***

Another week passes and I’ve finally made a crude imitation of what a salve should be. Prim is busy off at school most days and my mother is surprisingly gone most days too, tending to the sick in the Seam. I’ve actually managed to sleep for two uninterrupted hours now since the Games. The deep dark bags under my eyes expand across my face everyday and I wouldn’t be surprised if they took it over entirely one day. I smile down at the finished product in my hands, suddenly giddy and light from the delirium that accompanies my lack of sleep.

It’s not perfect, but it has what’s necessary for Peeta inside of it. He’s the one with an eye for beautiful things, not me. Maybe decorative salve making would fall under his area of cake frosting expertise but I won’t ask him.

I don’t want to bother him after what was said between us on the train home.

Hopefully he thinks Prim made it. She has such a bright soul it’s no doubt she would be a prime suspect for making such a thing for him.

***

Without fanfare, I plop the small glass jar onto his porch and scurry away off into the woods for the first time to take a nap in a tree.

It’s gone from the porch within ten minutes.

***

His limp improves and I smile into my pillow. I don’t care if I’ll only just be woken again in an hour with a horrifically detailed nightmare now that Peeta has accepted my gift. I want to fall asleep at the same time he does, maybe our dreams will cross and we’ll protect each other in them that way. I cuddle deeper into my pillow and sigh.

My delivery today is neater and prettier. I use the head of a dandelion to imprint a little design into the top of the salve and wrap the jar in one of the yellow hair ribbons I haven’t used in years.

Peeta’s in his other upstairs room that he often frequents. But I’m not worried, the windows to that room are shut now and the curtains too. He won’t notice.

Prim is awake in the kitchen when I return and startles at my silent and sudden presence. She startles even more at my crazed smile and the colour under my eyes. With a yawn, she leans into the kitchen island. She smacks her lips together from sleep and walks over to me for a hug. It’s only now that she’s awake with me do I put the time in perspective. Four in the morning is normal for me, but definitely shouldn’t be for Prim. Who has an actual schedule and routine besides naps, nightmares, and stalking our neighbour, and those happen whenever they want to happen. I’m not their dictator. I’m at their whim.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

I brush back her loose hair, marvelling at how strong and silky it is now with a good few weeks of filling meals.

“Of course little duck.”

I settle in first, and hold out my arms to my sister who groggily slips into my bed. Our old quilt from our bed in the Seam just barely wraps around the two of us. Buttercup tries to squirm his way inside of the limited space and hisses when I kick him to the foot of the bed.

“You know you could just talk to him and have an actual conversation instead of plopping random things on his porch and running away. Even the boys in my grade don’t ding-dong ditch anymore.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mmhm. Sure.”

***

My heels silently pad across the creaky wood boards of Peeta’s porch. I didn’t feel like wearing shoes this time and the feel of grass squishing underneath my feet was pleasantly calming on my journey. But, the sharp pebbles and gravel that constitutes a narrow path between houses in the Victor’s Village were most definitely not.

The window to the left of his bedroom is bright and welcoming. I’m always curious what he does in there at this hour instead of dreaming in his bed but I have no place in asking him about it.

With a small smile, I squat down to offer my gift to his doorway. This time the green ribbon attached to it is tied in a clunky and uneven bow.

A jolt of fear pierces my heart as I feel a breeze. Not from outside with the stagnant and sticky air of the last days of summer clinging on, but from a fan. Inside.

Slowly, I raise my chin from the evidence below me and come face to face with the calming blue eyes that star in my nightmares every night. The shade changes in them with the shifting moods and plots of my dreams, and the feelings etched behind them as well, but they remain constantly his.

I freeze. Like a deer caught in the line of sight of my arrow. Maybe he won’t see me if I pretend I’m not here.

“You know you always say I’m impossibly loud in the forest but you’re not exactly subtle yourself either.”

“I was just-” I knock on a wooden beam to my left, “inspecting the integrity of the wood. Can’t be too careful.”

“Someone leaves me a salve on my porch at three in the morning every Tuesday like clockwork.”

I slowly rise from my squat, unfurling my back straight as I come level with him.

“Who knows what Prim does with her time.” I shake my head and smile. “Tweens.”

“Katniss.”

I worry my lip between my teeth but it’s no use, it’s been chewed raw already. I finally meet his gaze after the short flicks I sent his way after I was caught red handed.

“I know it’s you.” He offers me the first smile since the train home. Part of me hopes he’s shared his first genuine smile with me and only me since we’ve returned to 12 but that’s too selfish. He should be happy without me. “I’m always up Katniss I can never sleep. I’ve known it was you since you first started it. Why don’t you just knock on the door?”

I will blame the well of emotions on my lack of sleep. That makes the most sense.

To my embarrassment tears gather in my eyes and my vision becomes blurry. I pull my arms further into myself in a hug as my lip wobbles. I stab my nails that are bitten to the quick into the palms of my hands to push the tears down my throat.

“You hate me.” It’s hard to get the words out with the way my throat constructs painfully.

His furrowed brows smooth out across his forehead and his frown turns sad. His eyes clear before they too water with mine. They dart back and forth from my face, my eyes, my lips, and the rest of my body before he steadies his jaw. Before I know it, his arms wrap tight around me, nearly squeezing the air out of my lungs but I don’t mind. It’s comforting, the weight of him. I whine into his chest and it’s an ugly sound but he remains firm around me.

“Oh Katniss,” His strong and calloused hands brush the hair at the back of my head as he tucks me under his chin. “I could never hate you.”

#everlark #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #one shot #thg #the hunger games #catching fire #katniss takes care of peeta in her katnissy ways #everlark fanfiction #adsofraser writing #i suck at titles

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figmentof · 1 year

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A man crosses the desert that separates his ranch from the town of Bitter Creek on horseback. He is going to visit Sheriff Jake, a friend from his youth, when both worked as hired gunmen. The action takes place in 1910, and the two men are in their fifties. Silva (Pedro Pascal) is of Mexican origin, a solid guy, emotional, elusive, a cheat, if necessary, warm. It's been twenty-five years since he last saw Sheriff Jake (Ethan Hawke), blond, strict, cold, inscrutable, almost the opposite to Silva. That night, at the Sheriff's house, they eat a meat stew Jake has cooked, they drink, and they make love, all of it in abundance. The next morning, Silva wants the party to continue, but he finds a stony Jake, who is nothing like the man from the night before. (This was the first thing I wrote, the sequences that follow that orgiastic night in which both characters confront their past and their present in totally different ways.)

spoilers ahead!

This is the heart of the story: the argument while they get dressed the following morning. In this argument, the ulterior motives are revealed(as well as the passion that they lived when they were younger, and that is still beating within them, even though Jake doesn't want to admit it once they are sober). Jake has to go after a murderer who, according to an eyewitness, was Silva's son. And Silva has to intercede for him, trying to convince Jake that his son is innocent and that he should stop searching for him. All this, the sheriff’s duty as opposed to a father’s grief, mixed with reproaches and declarations of love from two lovers who haven’t seen each other in twenty-five years and who live their lives at opposite ends of the desert. These are the ten central minutes of the film, the first I wrote. I still didn’t know what the story would be, or if there would even be a story, but my first intention was to give voice to these two middle-aged, queer men who traditionally have remained silent in a genre like the western. I was attracted by the idea of breaking that silence. Brokeback Mountain by Ang Lee is the closest Hollywood has come to telling a story about two men who love each other and talk about it, but the lovers in Ang Lee’s film are shepherds, so I don’t include the film in the western genre.

There are westerns with gay characters, like Warlock by Edward Dmytryk. The script abounds in data about the passionate relationship between its two protagonists, Anthony Quinn and Henry Fonda, but no one talks about it even though their relationship is one of the axes of the film. This turns Dmytryk’s film into a strange western or one with a badly written script. The film is only understood if both of them are lovers, but that word is never mentioned.

Although I’m a great admirer of the genre, I never thought that I’d end up making a western. I greatly enjoyed this shoot, despite the unbearable temperatures of the hottest summer in our history. We filmed in a town built in Almeria for Sergio Leone as a set for his legendary dollar trilogy, with Clint Eastwood. (The Good, The Bad, The Ugly; For a Few Dollars More and A Fistful of Dollars). The passing of time, fifty years of it, has given authenticity to the place, today being dusty and old. The typical artifice of what had been a film set fifty years ago, built back then only weeks before shooting, had now disappeared.

It was also a thrilling experience to work with Ethan Hawke and Pedro Pascal, both extraordinary in their respective roles.

As for the décor, I have respected the rules of the genre without falling into any anachronistic temptation, except for the song at the beginning, with the voice of Caetano Veloso and the angelical face of Manu Ríos, which gives the film its title.

For the choice of paintings on the walls of the two most important sets, the interior of the sheriff’s house and the ranch where Silva lives, I have turned to artists of the time. In Sheriff Jake’s house there are several paintings by Maynard Dixon, one of the first artists, if not the first, to paint landscapes from the American West, with native Indians and cowboys. For me it has all been a discovery, his work possesses a coloring untypical of the time that brings it close to pop and at times to impressionism. There is also a portrait of the artist Lily Langtry, very famous at the start of the century, who actually made a silent film and whom Ava Gardner plays in The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean along with Paul Newman. The other great artist who appears on the walls of the ranch is Georgia O’Keefe, the Mexican landscape that hangs over Silva’s bed.

Saint Laurent by Anthony Vaccarello was in charge of the entire wardrobe. We took our inspiration not so much from the reality of the time but from cinema, how actors were dressed in westerns between 1900 and 1915. If anyone wonders about Pedro Pascal wearing a green jacket, I recommend watching Bend of the River by Anthony Mann, where James Stewart wears an identical green jacket. And I have a lot of respect for Anthony Mann and James Stewart.

We are also inspired by Veracruz (Robert Aldrich), specifically for the outfit worn by Silva's murderous son Joe. It is inspired by Burt Lancaster, all black.

And Sheriff Jake, he's in a suit, with a vest and bola tie, like almost all the sheriffs in the Westerns I have watched. Kirk Douglas is one of the models, whether playing a sheriff or a card player, Gun Fight at the OK Corral or in Last Train from Gun Hill, both by John Sturges. I have re-watched many westerns so as not to fall into anachronisms and the truth is that the male wardrobe has changed very little, the sheriff is always the most elegant, usually with a suit, waistcoat (the fabric of the waistcoat was the only thing that allowed you some fantasy, with shiny damasks), shirt and around the neck a bola tie.

The rest of the male characters always wear a scarf around their necks, in different colours and patterns, a checked shirt and a waistcoat. The dresses of the Mexican prostitutes are inspired by El Dorado (Howard Hawks). I have done my research with a multitude of westerns, especially Hawks, John Ford, John Sturges, Raoul Walsh, Anthony Mann, Peckinpah, Robert Aldrich, etc.

As for the narrative in general and the music, I have followed the classical canon. Despite the fact that in Spain we have a great tradition of spaghetti westerns, more than a hundred were filmed in the 60s and 70s. I have not been inspired by any of them and the composer Alberto Iglesias has avoided Ennio Morricone, who would have been the easiest reference.

Pedro Almodóvar

#Strange Way of Life #Extraña Forma de Vida #Pedro Pascal #Ethan Hawke #Pedro Almodóvar

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trixiegalaxy · 2 months

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#detective conan #detective conan anime #detective conan series #case closed #Ep 174 - The Twenty Year Old Murderous Intent: The Symphony Serial Murder Case #Detective Conan Special: The Twenty Year Old Murderous Intent - The Symphony Serial Murder Case #The Twenty Year Old Murderous Intent: The Symphony Serial Murder Case #The Truth of the 20th Year: The Symphony Serial Murder Case #The Twenty Year Old Murderous Intent #The Truth of the 20th Year #the symphony serial murder case #episode 174 #anime #anime series #anime tv show #mystery series #japanese tv show

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qcoded · 5 months

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SINS OF THE SON AU: Detectives Luz Noceda and Hunter Wittebane.

i finally got around to making proper refs for this au, starting off with these two :3

Synopsis: Luz Noceda and Hunter Wittebane are two amateur detectives in their mid-twenties, and are generally new regarding their cases. Around their 6/7th, they're tasked to investigate the murder of 8 year old Collin Santos.

Luz is the one that started off with the case and gathered evidence, but once she showed Hunter, he made the disturbing revelation that their main suspect was Philip Wittebane, his estranged uncle.

Philip seemed to be Collin's guardian, but they found out that there were no legal documents that could prove that. Hunter had a strained relationship with his uncle, so there was no way that even he knew the man had a whole kid in his care.

The two detectives try their hardest to uncover the disturbing mystery behind the case, and along the way discover the horrifically disturbing intentions from the murderer.

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #hunter wittebane #hunter noceda #luz toh #hunter toh #toh au #the owl house au #sins of son au #dream au!!!#I NEED MORE TOH AU DREAMS LIKE #What the fawk

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platform945 · 2 months

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Don’t let this darkness fool you (all lights turned off can be turned on) D.M

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hermione

Summary:

Draco has the perfect life, a beautiful fiancé, a huge mansion and a position as a head auror, but all of that is taken away from him when a building comes crumbling down on him and he looses use of his legs. He could deal with that, but the worst part? Hermione fucking Granger is his physical therapist.

A story in which Draco Malfoy finds hope in the form of a know it all swot.

Chapter Warning: Paralysis, Harsh Language, Hospitals.

Chapter 1

“She’s going to kill you when she finds out Malfoy.”

Potter was probably right, no matter how much Draco hated to admit it, what he was doing was extremely risky, and offensively fucking stupid. There had been a new dark object alert at a worn down, barely standing, house on the far edge of London and Draco was determined to get it before anyone else, it’s not like he had anything to prove as a former deatheater who may or may not have tried but failed at killing Dumbledore. The point was he had to come out of this house, which is rumored to have booby (haha) traps all over, without a scratch or else Astoria, his fiancé, will have his head on a stake.

The story between Draco and Astoria is a unconventionally romantic one. They were arranged by their mothers who would whisper and gossip about how “Oh they’ll have the cutest little babies” and “how do you think their wedding night is going to be spent?” and with that Draco promptly went to his room, locked his door, cast a silencing spell and screamed into his pillow. He was twenty one years old, he had no interest in settling down..that’s until he saw Astoria after all those years away from Hogwarts, he was star struck as soon as he saw her, now at twenty-three, he is planning (or more so his mother, while he gives the occasional “uh-huh”) a wedding, and praying that he doesn’t get murdered for going on the one mission he promised not to.

At least he had Potter with him.

“I mean seriously mate, she’s going to ban you from having sex with her for like a week”

Nevermind fuck Potter.

“Shut up potter” Draco hissed as they both enter a dimly lit room on the second floor of the barely standing house when he sees a journal with a vague green glow to it.

Harry puts his arm out which causes Draco to run into it with a “hmph” and sends him a deadly glare. The Harry sneaks over to the glowing object. It was very..peculiar, It reminded him of Tom Riddles diary but with less harmful intent, almost as if it was calling out his name. Harry’s fingers skim the cover of the journal and that’s when all shit hits the fan. The walls start trembling and little specks of debris falls upon their shoulders.

Now Draco would call himself a resourceful person, i mean that’s why he was in Slytherin right? self preservation and all that crap. But at that moment, all he could care about is getting the Boy Who Lived out of the house because if Draco came back and Harry didn’t..well that would raise some questions. Everything happened quickly, Draco grabbed Harry, Harry tried to grab the journal, Draco pulled him away and started running with him, down the stairs, through the hall, through the front door, Well harry made it through the front door, Draco had tripped over a loose floor plank and crashed into a weirdly placed coffee table.

“DRACO!!” Harry screamed and tried to push himself through the rubble that was all coming down at once, there was crashing, and dust, and noise, and then nothing. Harry couldn’t see Draco, and in that moment everything stopped. The reformed Deatheater was trapped under piles of walls and rubble, his legs successfully being crushed by pounds of brick, and his body not being at his own will..And yet the only think he could get himself to actually think about was if he’ll be home in time to get a good wank in. Priorities.

Everything went black.

—————————

Hospitals have always been Draco’s least favorite place, when he was ten he had fallen out of a tree after trying to save a baby bird who couldn’t yet fly, but instead stepped on a weak branch and fell down, landing on his arm resulting in a emergency to St. Mungos. He swore up and down that they were trying to break his arm even more with all of the poking and prodding that they were doing, and after that he swore to never set foot inside a hospital again. Ten year old Draco would be quite dissatisfied at this moment.

The blinding white lights override his senses as Draco slowly opens his eyes and blinks a couple of times, was he dead? surely not, his mother had promised him that when he died he would be greeted with all the sweets in the world and father promised that the most beautiful women would bow down at his feet.

He now realized that maybe that wasn’t the most normal thing to be telling your five year old. That’s besides the point.

Before anymore thoughts about his dysfunctional childhood could pop into his head he lays his eyes on his fiancé, his beautiful, amazing, murderous looking fiancé.

Astoria’s heels click across the shiny hospital room floor and as she reaches him he expects a kiss, or at least a loving embrace. Instead he gets quite a powerful slap to the shoulder. “What the HELL were you thinking Draco? you could’ve been killed! you could’ve died!”

“Merlin woman-“

“Don’t! i specifically told you not to go on this-“ Astoria’s voice cracks and she buries her face in her hands, it hurt draco deeply to see her like this, sure he’s impulsive and makes rash decisions but never with the intention of hurting her. His cold hand wraps around her small freshly manicured ones and sits up.

or at least he tries to sit up.

why can’t he sit up?

Eyebrows furrowed he lets go of the brunettes hand and slaps his legs a few times. Nothing. He tries to wiggle and move them. Nope. He looks down at his legs and shakes his head running his fingers through his hair. Why can’t he feel his legs? He sniffs and looks down his groin and hesitates before letting his fist come down on it. Yep. He can definitely feel that. Let’s hope Astoria didn’t want more than one kid.

Astoria jumps back and looks down before brushing hair from his face “Draco! have you gone mad-“

“Mr. Malfoy?”

A lady, probably in her mid fifties with salt and pepper shoulder length hair and dressed up in healer robes walks into the room with a soft smile as if everything is fine in this world. Must be nice.

“I’m Healer Brown, that was quite the accident you had there. You were stuck under the rubble for about three hours, though you blacked out after the first hour. It truly is a miracle you survived, you suffered a concussion along with a broken rib and some other sustained injuries”

Draco blinked at her before trying (and failing) to sit up again. He huffs and pushes himself up on his forearm and twists his upper body to face her more, about to ask why in the fuck knuckles he couldn’t feel his legs before he sees someone who he swore was a hallucination. He was hallucinating right? The mess of curls pulled back loosely into a high ponytail, a lilac blouse along with some muggle jeans (which didn’t annunciate her new founded curves at all, thank you very much) and a clipboard in hand.

“Granger?”

Apparently his tone wasn’t malice enough because she only responded with a soft smile before nodding. That fucking swot. he turns his head back to the healer and only then realizes that Astoria is sitting next to him and rubbing his back.

“So is he good to go home? we have a awful lot of planning to do for the wedding” Astoria all but spits out to the healer.

“Well we will have to make sure everything is-“

Draco cuts Healer Brown off almost immediately “Why did you numb my legs”

A look of confusion passed across the Healers face as she moves more to the bed, his eyes shifts to hermione only to see her face holds the same look of confusion with maybe a hint of curiosity. Draco notes that she had gotten tanner, her freckles more prominent, and her lips fuller. He looks back at the healer.

“Can you feel your legs Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco rolls his eyes “obviously fucking not”

If Healer Brown was offended by this, she made no move to show it. Instead she shoos Astoria off the bed and takes the sheets off of his lower body and squeezes his calf. “Can you feel this?”

“Nope” he says win a bored tone as he watches her.

She hits his knees with a little hammer looking thing “Here?”

“Nothing”

“What about here?”

“Nada”

Healer Brown promptly leaves the room, dragging granger with her, for what felt like hours before walking back in with a slightly more serious look on her face.

“Mr. Malfoy i’m sorry to tell you this but you’re paralyzed, you see when the rubble fell on-“

Draco couldn’t focus on what she was saying. Paralyzed? What does she mean paralyzed? He can’t be paralyzed. His job requires his legs, his mansion has at least a thousand stair cases and at least a dozen just to get to his and Astorias living quarters. And what about Astoria? Surely he wouldn’t be a suitable candidate as a husband if he has no use of his legs. no. he can’t be paralyzed. he simply refused to be.

He was brought back to reality to the sound of Astoria arguing with the Healer, something about how she was a “incompetent fucking saggy titted bird who didn’t know the first thing about Healing” and the Healer only looking mildly offended as she tried to calm his love down.

Draco interrupted their little squabble.

“Am i ever going to get use of them again”

Healer Brown looks at him with sad eyes. Fuck he hated pity.

“You must understand Mister Malfoy, the nerve damage done to your legs is incomprehensibly severe. There is a chance that you will recover but the truth of the matter is that if you ever do recover it will be a long hard and painful road. That is why i have assigned Miss Granger to be your personal Physical Therapist, she will work with you everyday on getting your strength back in your legs, as well as working in your chair”

Draco tuned her out for most of the part until he heard Granger and chair. His eyes shoot to Granger pushing a chair on two oversized wheels in and his jaw clenches. Sure he’s heard of wheelchairs before, but he had never actually seen anyone use one, he thought it was just a bloody muggle custom.

“I don’t understand” Astoria spits out as she stands up from the bed she had apparently sat back on without his knowledge. “He can’t be in a- whatever that is!”

This time Granger stepped in “Do you want someone to carry your fiancé everywhere? I understand this is less than suitable but until we figure out if we can regain enough strength in his legs, this is his only method of transportation”

There was silence.

Draco laid back down on his back and looked up.

There was silence before heels were clicking across the floor and out into a hall and a sobbed followed.

He turned his head ever so slightly to look at Granger who were giving her the same sad look Healer Brown did.

“don’t fucking look at me like that Granger, i don’t fucking need your pity nor do i need your help, get another Physical whatever and leave”

“I can’t exactly do that Malfoy” she expressed in a calm voice.

“And why not”

“Because i was the only healer out of the dozens asked, who actually agreed to work with you.”

And with that she left, Healer Brown following close behind, the only person left in the room was him with the wheelchair parked in the center of it, and on too of it sat a book, one he assumed Granger had forgotten was there. At this moment he wished life was like a book so he could sneak to the last pages, just like he did when he was younger and far too impatient, just to make sure everything would turn out okay.

#draco malfoy #dramione #hermione granger #harry potter #wattpad #fanfic #sassy draco #ron weasley #draco x hermione #draco lucius malfoy #draco fanfiction

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captainknell · 7 months

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*BOOK REPORT*

By Command of the Emperor, by SJ Watson

(my copy is plain and blue, but I'm guessing it once had a book jacket like the one on the right)

I initially did not know very much about Marshal Berthier but through @gabrielferaud I began to learn of the abuse he endured from Napoleon and I remembered I had this book.

I was surprised to learn that Berthier was 16 years older than our Emperor, and already had an accomplished life before Napoleon came into the picture.

In 1779,

Alexandre was now twenty-six years old. He had served as a topographical engineer, as a lieutenant in the infantry, and as a cavalry captain; and he was now on the personal staff of an army commander.

By the next year, he was serving overseas under General Rochambeau in the American Revolution alongside Washington and La Fayette! After three years in America, he returned to France.

And so Berthier - a cadet at the age of twelve, a general at thirty-nine and a private at forty - quietly resigned himself to the end of his military career, the more so because he had never held any personal ambitions other than to do his best.

Berthier would have been better off if he had retired at forty and had never met Napoleon Bonaparte. He would have disappeared into obscurity, but fate would have different plans. Alternately, Napoleon was very lucky to have found Berthier. I'm going to go out on a limb and say without Berthier, Napoleon wouldn't have been anywhere near as successful as he was. Yes, he was a great general, a great leader, a genius, but he needed someone who could understand his intentions and make sure his plans were executed with precision. That man was Alexandre Berthier.

For 18 years, Berthier served Napoleon. He was the chief of staff and the first to be made a Marshal of France under Napoleon. He endured Napoleon's temper and unjust scorn. Napoleon called him, "Uninteresting" and "no good" and "in the way". Napoleon hardly ever let Berthier take credit for his success but was quick to blame his own faults on Berthier. But Berthier was loyal through and through. When warned of Napoleon's temper early on, he said, "But remember that one day it will be a fine thing to be second to that man."

It was a very good book with only two things I thought were odd. 1) Napoleon forced Berthier to marry and it was later mentioned that he had two young sons. Nothing was mentioned about his wife being pregnant or the birth of his sons, or even their names. 2) Berthier died from a fall out of a window. The book implied that he was dizzy and fell out or that Caulaincourt (his friend!) had him murdered. I think he either fell or jumped on his own. I don't think anyone - especially Caulaincourt - had anything to do with it.

But all in all, it was a very good and informative book. I learned a lot about Marshal Berthier and saw another side of Napoleon that I am not used to seeing. Like with most books that aren't a general biography of Napoleon, I would definitely suggest having some background knowledge as things that are going on are not always explained fully.

#berthier #marshal berthier #louis alexandre berthier #alexandre berthier #by command of the emperor #a life of Marshal Berthier #sj Watson #book report #Napoleon #napoleon bonaparte

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romanoffsbish · 2 years

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Lessons Learned

Natasha Romanoff x FemWife!Reader

Maria Hill x Sister!Reader

Maria Hill x Carol Danvers

Unwelcome Surprise (Part 1)

Warnings‼️:

Jesus Christ, prepare yourself for a potentially broken heart, but a happy ending is promised ❤️

90% of this is Natasha unpacking her trauma, and being resistant to the feelings.

Murder, Violence, Trauma, Childhood innocence lost, feelings of inadequacy, possibly more (please let me know 🤷🏼‍♀️)

10k+ words ; Angsty with a happy ending, reader focused on herself and Nat's definitely put in the work as requested which is why it ended up being so long 😂.

Enjoy Part 3/4 of the Part 2 party palooza❤️

——————————————————————

One week, seven days, 10,080 minutes, and she didn't even want to consider the seconds.

If you were to ask the woman what was harder: "Single" Parenting or Avenging, she'd answer you before you could even mutter the second option. After now having dealt with a distraught toddler, and the six year old that's apparently going on sixteen she's absolutely besides herself.

You've barely said but three words to her since walking out on her the night of the party. Whenever you do call it's something along the lines of "Where're the kids," then you'd let Mason talk your ear off before sighing heavily as Lily says hardly a word before you're hanging up, leaving Natasha to deal with the even sadder toddler, and the brooding child.

When she'd arrived to Laura's without you, looking distraught herself she was met with an apologetic smile, then passed a crying toddler. Mason pulled his thumb from his mouth so that he could wrap his arms tightly around his mothers neck, then continued to lightly sob until he eventually cried himself to sleep. In contrast, Lily had greeted her with a beaming smile, and a hug that nearly toppled her over.

————

Natasha was currently drowning in a bottle of whiskey, kids finally down for the night, left wondering how in the hell everything had managed to get this bad. One day you're like giddy teenagers—crazy in love, the next you're fighting like those high school sweethearts who were bound by unwavering resentment and the accidents created in their early twenties.

The family she so desperately yearned for, then somehow against all the odds forged, is now broken, and she's fearful it's irreparably so. With no one else to blame but herself she can do no more than to wallow in her self pity. However, with the kids present she only has time to do so during the hours of 10pm to 2am, before she crashes on the couch—refusing to lay in the bed without you—for a measly four hours before the nightmare starts all over again at 6am.

——

You had spent that first night in the arms of your sister, crying all the tears you'd thought had already ran their course, but apparently that just wasn't the case.

"Let it all out little one."

"I'm not little." You'd grumbled through your pitiful sobs, feeling the way your sisters chest vibrated from beneath you as she laughed.

"You'll always be my little one Y/N/N..."

You scoff lightly, but betray your show of anger as you nuzzle impossibly closer to her for the much needed comfort, appreciative of the sporadic forehead kiss she bestows upon you.

Carol had tried to give the both of you space, but it was getting hard to do in their one bedroom apartment, and she honestly hurt the more she heard your sobs through the wall. With a light knock, and permission to enter granted she cracked the door open, juggling three mugs in her hand, and smiling at you.

Against their protests you'd crawled out of your sisters lap so they could cuddle; gratefully accepting the mug of chocolate goodness in return and cracking a faint smile at the intentional overload of whipped cream and marshmallows on your designated mug.

A curious silence fell in the room, your sisters head falling to her lovers shoulder while an arm wrapped loosely around her waist, the low drum of whatever late night comedy rerun that's on this early in the morning filling the room as you all sipped upon your drinks. Intrusive thoughts all flooding your mind once the surrounding silence seeped in.

"What did I do wrong?"

At the sound of your broken voice Maria was quick to settle both your mugs down on the side table, firmly grabbing your face to redirect your gaze to her as she gave you a firm glare. Having not seen you looking this small since your shared painful childhood, and just in this moment she could see herself pulling one over on the reformed assassin.

"Absolutely nothing. Romanoff is nothing more than an incapable idiot with the emotional maturity of a fruit fly, I told you that when you accepted the date, did I not?"

"Oh you hush..." You defeatedly groan, yanking your face out of her hands and dramatically flopping back onto their shared bed.

Maria jumps to fill the space next to you, jostling both yours and Carol's bodies as she touches down. Propping herself up onto her elbows so that she could stare down at you since you're laying flat on your back while Carol quietly grabs a blanket and slips out for her voluntary night on the couch.

"Seriously honey, you didn't do anything wrong. You've been an amazing mother to those beautiful children, and an even better wife to the woman who's left you high and dry more times than I can count."

Her thumb was quick to tug your lip from between your teeth, then to wipe away at the stray tears threatening to drip upon her sheets.

"It was so good you know... Before Mason was born we were doing so well, then somewhere between Lily's third birthday, and his birth something changed. After her mandatory three months off she returned to Shield, work had become her main priority, it was like she was moving on autopilot, she'd wake up, have her coffee, leave what felt like obligatory kisses to all of our foreheads as she exited, then she'd be gone all day, if not the rest of the week."

"Did something happen?"

"Not that I was made aware of, it wasn't even a gradual shift either; literally out of nowhere she became distant, then whenever I'd attempt to approach her it was a dismissive comment that led to a blowout fight. It was as if I wasn't even worth her time of day anymore, I just wanted to know what happened, so that I could try to fix it. What have I done that I am not deserving of at least that? I have given her ten years of my life, my twenties were hers, and I'll be damned if I'll waste my thirties miserable."

Maria releases a drawn out sigh, not entirely sure how to respond to you, but as your big sister she begins to work towards fixing things.

"I don't have the answers honey, only she would, but honestly I'm not sure she knows why either. I can however offer you what I do know. Natasha loves you a lot honey, even if her way of showing it is backwards, you can decide how you wish to take that information. Whatever you do Y/N/N, don't just go running back to her, but don't just throw in the towel either, not without at least one more attempt to fix things; don't be like our parents Y/N/N."

Maria watches you wincing at the mention of your late parents, but she feels the tough love angle is important, hopefully clarifying even.

"You've put in the work when it came to your trauma Y/N/N, you willingly sought out help, and you are the better one of us for it. You're two times the mother ours ever was, and that's a fact... Natasha, if we're being honest here didn't, and though incomparable hers runs a hell of a lot deeper than ours ever did. It seems to me that she only ever buried herself in you, willing your presence to make it all go away, and for awhile it probably did work for her."

It's true that Natasha had hardly spent anytime processing her trauma before she had met you. Freedom had never really meant free for her, she was able to "escape" the Red-Room with the help of Shield, and in turn she handed them her whole life until she found you, who she then passed the blazing torch to.

"From experience though we both know that's not how the healing process works, I think that something has potentially triggered her and without the resources to understand it's fair to assume she didn't even realize it. We both know she's too proud, afraid even to face the darkness that is her past, but I fear if she doesn't have the motivation to face it she'll just continue down this destructive path.."

Maria's words had struck a chord within you; running from your problems will get you nowhere, and throwing in the towel on your marriage isn't exactly your goal here either. Taking a step back sounded more like it, striking the fear of God into the redhead before you return to her with a list of ultimatums.

"Plus, she put in for a year off as soon as the undercover mission was forcibly extended, which we both know is huge. It's like the former assassin's equivalent to a root canal."

"Damn 'Ria, you should've been a shrink." You laugh out, then move to cuddle against her.

Your genuine laughter helped to soothe Maria's worried heart—you're going to be okay, it'll just take time...

—

The following morning you were off, not willing to stay in plain sight in case the redhead set off to find you. So, you did the next best thing by taking the offered jet—Maria's orders, and the accompanying black card from the millionaire's hand, his profuse apologies more than accepted since you'd now been given this freedom to travel the world as you'd always dreamed.

Taking off was rather liberating actually, first on your list was to travel within the states, and with the jet it made it a fairly easy conquest. Every sunrise, and sunset along with the designated meal times was spent within a new state, with the exception of California, Texas, Alaska and Hawaii being lucky enough to have full days. It took you exactly two weeks to travel to all the unseen spaces, and though it was exhausting at times you refused to miss it.

When you eventually arrived in California, you'd started with a walk along the Golden Gate bridge to catch the sunrise, feeling as free as can be once the ocean breeze hit your face. The way this one state had such a variety of climates had you in relative awe, viewing the snowy mountains off in the distance, while toes hesitantly dipped into Tahoe's crystal clear lakes. Quite the experience honestly, skipping the rocks while grubbing on some fantastic tacos from a truck. You'd enjoyed observing the entirety of the sunny state, forgoing Los Angeles for your children's sake, and honestly being grateful you weren't traveling by car, because the people here were truly reckless.

You were fortunate enough to catch a view of the Northern lights from quite a few states, you walked along the shores of beaches, and visited sights like the Space Needle, or "The Worlds Largest: Ketchup bottle, Cheese Wheel, Potato" and so much more that you'd never imagined needed to be memorialized.

After the states you traveled across the entirety of many contents, sightseeing at the forefront, but more so you'd been on a journey of self discovery. You'd seemingly forgotten yourself over the years after becoming a wife and then a mother, so you emerged yourself into a plethora of new worlds in search of clarity.

With every new adventure you'd found your soul feeling a tad bit lighter; even if your heart did hurt every time you heard your son shriek as you were hanging up, or your daughter's angry breathing on the other end of the line, and lest we forget the voicemails left in the middle of the night wearing you down just as much—you're not sure she even knew she was leaving them though.

The only clear problem ended up being how lonely you found yourself, it was so odd to you too because for as long as you can remember it'd always been just you. Sure, you had Maria, but with her climbing the ranks at Shield you were on your own a lot. Working on your undergraduate degree, which left you with so little time for fun, but full of hope for your prospective, bright future.

Then one day along while back Maria was invited to an event in which she refused to go alone, so she dragged your resisting form into a fancy venue against your will. Silently cursing her for having the upper hand of physical training on a regular basis over you. By the end of the event though you'd loosened up after having had your fill of champagne, and while dancing the night away you'd met the most gorgeous woman you'd ever laid eyes upon.

Natasha Romanoff, the woman you now call your wife, and the one who with one simple smirk, and a charming kiss to your hand had managed to reel you in. A whirlwind romance full of laughter, sex, and an abundance of love. Somewhere along the way though the laughter had died, and all you got were sparing moans, and loud screaming—not the good kind.

So, after two months of traveling, you shakily took the jet home to New York, then set off with your sister in tow towards the farmhouse. AirPods in playing your favorite podcast with your head leaning against the window to take in the New York skyline. Admiring the ways that the sun slowly rose, beams of light shining through the cracks between the skyscrapers. Maria sat beside you in her sunglasses, sipping upon her coffee while fulfilling her older sister duty of driving you through the city while Carol quietly sat in the back reading a book—you were starting to understand why she's such a good partner for your sister.

While you came to terms with a lot, and worked to understand your wife over blaming her you finally felt like you could breathe again. The last couple of months had been absolute hell for your wife though, your unwillingness to even share your location had been weighing heavily on the woman's heart, the possibilities for what you're doing were endless and that drove her mad.

Were you moving on?

Did someone else sweep you off your feet?

Is that why you haven't come back yet?

Did she really just ruin everything she spent years building up over her unresolved traumas?

The fear of losing you had always been her biggest, so she's not sure why she—entirely unprovoked, brought it to fruition.

Turns out your daughter was wondering much of the same... Lily had been hard on you, and had said some very mean things, but no matter what she could still depend on you to be there. Every time she would wake with a nightmare, even after treating you badly, she knew she could always climb into your bed at night. Without fail you'd pull her close, dry her cheeks, and sing to her until she was soothed.

Natasha sleeps on the couch though, and she's not getting much sleep as it is, so now she's left to face her fears on her own. The biggest one being that she somehow ran her mommy off.

Of course she did, she was cruel, and now you're just gone...

"Mama?"

"Hmm?" Natasha hummed, slowly peering over her third mug of coffee in under just an hour to see your daughter's distraught face.

"Oh lyubov', what's wrong?"

"I'm scared mama..." She cries, and Natasha rounds the counter, scooping the tiny girl up and into her tight embrace.

"Why are you scared angel?"

"I broke the family... I was mean to mommy, and now she's just gone... What if she never comes back? Mama, does she hate me? I-I. She's my mommy, she can't hate me... Right? I'd told her I hated her a day before she left, but I didn't mean it, I never meant it..." Lily says in a panic, her words incomprehensible near the end as she began to hyperventilate.

"Hey, slow down there angel... I need you to breathe for me baby, come on..."

Natasha is able to pull her out of the breathing fit, but her trembling body doesn't cease, Natasha just pulls her into her chest even tighter and rocks her tiny body.

"Oh Lily-bug... You have to know that your mommy doesn't hate you, she loves you so very much, don't you ever doubt that hunny. You also didn't break our family, I don't want to hear you saying that again."

"But—."

"No, you're the child here baby, you did not cause this. It was mama that messed up." Natasha firmly replies after taking a steadying breath, because admitting it out loud really hurt, but seeing her daughter riddled with guilt was somehow more painful.

"No, mama you didn't." Lily replies in a panic.

"Honey, I don't like saying it, but it's true. Mama made some really stupid choices, and now Mommy is just taking a little breather."

"What did you do?"

"I also wasn't very nice to mommy, I said some really mean things to her, and always ran away. Mommy did nothing wrong, but I still made her —."

Natasha pauses, decisively she reroutes the conversation, not really wanting to unload such heaviness onto the already fragile young girl in her arms.

"Honey, why were you mean to mommy, hm?"

"I thought when mommy yelled at you she was why you kept leaving, and that just made me so mad. You were always gone mama, and I just missed you so much... Yelling just made me feel so much better, but I know it didn't make mommy feel good, she cried a lot..."

"Me neither pumpkin, I do think it made her really sad, but she's smart—she knows you love her, I promise."

"Can you tell her sorry for me please? Maybe then she'll come home... I miss her, she's a good mommy... She also knows how to cook." She quietly asks over a yawn, her mother's light laughter and warm body lulling her into a much needed nap.

Your daughters confessions really weighs heavy on the former assassin, while barely being around she'd still managed to pass her anger issues off onto your daughter. Forcing her into such heavy feelings at such a young age; she'd always vowed to protect her family, but she knows now that she did the opposite here...

Failures never really been an option for her, and after talking things over with the innocent child she's aware that she'll need to work through a lot if she's ever going to fix this, which is the only option she's prepared for. She'd gone to text you for your daughter's sake, but then she decided that would be too cheap.

She'll call you later, hopefully you'll answer...

Little did she know you were currently stood behind the house, Maria headed towards the front door to enact her portion of the plan. Because had she known the house would be clean, and she would've showered as well.

Lily's quick to jolt up at the sound of the door, scrambling to her feet she runs over in the hopes that it's Lila, or Coop on the other side.

"AUNTIE MARIA!!" She shrieks, pleasantly surprised by her presence she all but jumps into her arms, then in a curious manner she looks over her shoulder hoping to see you.

"Hello there my favorite niece." She teasingly greets the young girl, eyes naturally taking in the mess of a woman on the couch before finally addressing her.

"Hey Nat, sorry for just dropping in, but would it be okay if Carol and I took the kids out for the day? Promise they'll be back by sunset."

"Of course. Let me just go get Mason up and dressed, then you'll be good to go."

"Ooh, can we go to the zoo? Oh, and maybe get ice cream?"

Natasha strides off towards your son's room, shoulders sagging as soon as Maria's no longer visible. For a brief moment her head falls against his door, a lone tear falls as she works to pull herself together just enough to send the kids off for their day of fun, and for her day of drinking to just start a bit earlier.

"Hey Mace, baby boy it's time to get up..." She coos, lightly shaking him awake, and just like clockwork he calls out for you, as he does every single morning.

"Mommy?!"

"No baby, it's just mama." She sighs in defeat, then lifts his body out of the dinosaur themed toddler bed to dress him.

She can't blame him, she misses you just the same, but it still stings for her to feel like she's not enough for him. It's her own fault, she's never been a consistent enough figure in his short life, and now he's only been left with her.

"Come on buddy, your auntie is here."

His face instantly lights up, and her heart breaks at the sight, knowing that he's bonded with his aunt in a way he still hasn't with her just hurts beyond measure.

"Auntie Riri?"

Natasha nods, then his hand drops from hers and he runs down the stairs to get to see for himself.

"No running down the stairs!" She shrieks, fear overcoming her at the possibility of him falling, but as she catches up to him all it did was make him hesitant to be near her.

Mason's not really used to yelling, he's always been a sensitive little one. Lily was a relatively quiet baby, her cries instantly soothed upon having her needs met. Mason was the opposite, crying regularly for more than the basic needs. Lily had been, and still is pretty independent, but Mason's always needed that extra bit of affection, and to accommodate him you'd taken the 'no need to shout' approach at parenting. Finding it for more beneficial in the long run anyways, as shouting was borderline barbaric, and emotionally harmful to any child.

"I'm sorry, mama just didn't want you to get hurt... Can I have a hug goodbye?"

He shook his head 'no' while hiding behind Maria's leg, but after he saw Lily hugging her he hesitantly made his way over too. Natasha heavily sighed at the contact grateful for even the most minor progress, then she placed a tender kiss to his temple before sending them both off with an 'I love you.'

Once they were out the door, and she heard the car had taken off she gasped as the immense, overwhelming sadness bubbled over into irrational rage, a framed family photo caught in the crossfire as she threw it against the wall. Crumbling to her knees at the same time the glass shattered across the floor, left to regret her actions the moment she had observed the scene before her.

Brushing the glass away she pulled the image into her trembling chest; it was a perfect photo.

Natasha and you had taken Lily to the secluded park up the road which was really just a tire swing, and a rickety metal slide. There you stood with a much younger Lily, her tiny arms wrapped around your throat, hanging off your back as tiny legs tried to wrap around your protruding belly—the left succeeded but the right was dangling. While you were fighting for your life Natasha had managed to run into the timed photo grabbing her leg, pushing her up and relieving the pressure upon your larynx. The photo captured as you took in an exaggerated breath, Lily's body towering above yours with a smirk to rival Natasha's, and Nat's other hand was on your stomach while her face was contorted fearfully. What a memory...

"That was a good day, one of our last ones actually." You suddenly said from behind her, causing Natasha to scramble to face you.

The sight of your normally put-together, fiercely strong wife stood before you as nothing but a shell of herself hurt you far more than you cared to admit. No matter how much damage or pain she inflicted upon the family you didn't necessarily intend for this response. Karma doesn't always do the job it's meant to, here it seems to have only broken her further.

"You're-you're really here..."

Natasha scuffled across the floor in a rush, paying no mind to the glass that's scratching up her exposed knees as her body's only goal is to reach you—to feel you.

"Yes, I think it's about time we talk..." You reply with an accompanying groan as her tear filled face slams against the fabric of your shirt, and your hand falls atop her head in a comforting way.

"Natasha... Get up..."

With all her strength she wills herself to let you go, then slowly she makes her way over to the couch where she sits with her bloodied knees pulled tightly into her chest.

Taking the moment to really observe her you see the distant look in her eye, and the olive complexion she once had has faded as if the sun just wasn't around anymore. It's more apparent than ever how much she truly needs some help. Three years of mostly being alone didn't do this to you, and she's only been here two months. Granted she didn't leave you fearing a divorce, but still, this is beyond a simple talk between two broken lovers.

With a familiar ease you had moved around the house, collecting the first aid kit and throwing the trash away as it littered the whole kitchen counters all while waiting on the tea kettle. Settling the mugs on the table you moved to sit beside Natasha, cautiously reaching out, but stopping once her hand wraps around your wrist.

"Leave it." She rasps, but you shake her hold and dab the gauze with antiseptic on the cuts.

"Natasha, I'm not going to leave you cut up."

"You left me..." Her words are merely a whisper, you continued to just work on her knees until you pulled your thoughts together.

The cuts were superficial, so after you slathered some ointment over them you left them uncovered then pulled back to finally acknowledge her heartbreak.

"Yes, I did do that, but I'm back now so that we can talk this out."

"I wanted to talk that night..."

"Natasha, this isn't going to work if we lie. You didn't try to talk, you tried to fuck me into submission, and it nearly worked—once again, but much like you I couldn't do this anymore. Going back to the way things were isn't an option for me."

"Detka, I promise we won't go back, but please don't leave again, I-I can't do this alone."

"Tasha, I'm back, but I'm not back as you want. I'm here to be a support system, to coparent our beautiful babies, and to make sure the house never looks like this again. I'll be staying in the guest room for now until we—."

"No-no... I don't want a fucking divorce, I want you Y/N/N, I want us—our family..." Natasha shouts while jumping to her feet and blocking you from leaving the couch.

"Then it's good we're on the same page then, because I want all of that too, desperately so. You have to stop interrupting me, stop jumping to conclusions, and stop making decisions for us. I don't see this marriage working if we just jump right back into it."

"Why can't we just be us now? I have ten months left of my time off, we can travel with the kids, we can be happy, I want to be happy."

"Being happy starts with you Nat, whatever it is you're holding onto you need to let it all go. You need to seek outside help, you're so angry, but deep down I know you're drowning in sorrow, and burying yourself in us clearly stopped working for you a long time ago."

"That's easy enough for you to say, how do I just let it all go? All that I've lived through, that I've done to others, I'm just meant to let it go?"

"Yeah, you need to let it fucking go, because the longer you hold on, the more you're going to continue to lose. I've never been a fan of ultimatums, but fuck, Natasha this is mine!"

"What are you saying?"

"You need to get help, or this won't work, and then divorce would be our only option. Our kids deserve two happy parents, I refuse to be to my children what my parents were to me. Maria and I survived by the skin of our teeth, and I'll be damned if Lily and Mason are made to do the same. We have a chance here to give our kids what we never had and we're fucking it up Natasha. Mason deserves to know his other mother, and Lily shouldn't have to hate me to love you."

Natasha's taken aback by your words, looking deeply into your eyes she sees this is truly it. Either she gets the "help", or you're gone for good, and two months without you was enough for her to never want that again, so she nods. Then taking tentative steps she moves forward until she straddles your lap, and buries her face into the crook of your neck.

"Natasha..."

"Please...? Just hold me, please..."

Your arms wrap around her waist, allowing her this moment of comfort, because in the end she's still your wife, and she's not a horrible person, she's the furthest thing from that.

"I promise to fix this Y/N/N... I can't lose you, I won't survive it."

"I know you will Tasha, and I promise to be here every step of the way, now get some rest."

You pulled the blanket from off the top of the couch to place over her, turning the TV on low to watch a random comedy rerun while you simultaneously soothed the body atop of yours until it fell slack. Then after she was in a deep sleep you placed a lingering kiss to her forehead before gently slipping her onto the couch and moving to clean up the disaster that is your shared home before getting started on dinner.

—

Maria came back three hours later with a sleeping toddler and an exhausted little girl. With her spare key she unlocked the door, and as soon as the smell of borscht hit Lily's nose her whole body perked up, dropping her aunts hand in favor of running into the kitchen.

"Mommy you're back!" She shouts excitedly, but you're quick to shush her while also dropping to your knees to fully embrace her.

Once you've got her in your arms you stand once more, stirring the soup when you feel her body start to tremble in your hold.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

You tried to set her down but her hold became unbearably tight and you realized she was indeed scared

"Put him with Nat, and stir the soup please. There's bowls for all of us." You instructed your older sister, ignoring the playful muttering of 'bossy' she throws your way as you make your way upstairs.

Once the both of you came back downstairs Natasha already had Mason in his seat, and was helping Maria to set the table. Maria noticed you first, sending up a sympathetic smile when your eyes instantly fell to the to go containers in her hand.

"Duty calls." She jests with the tupperware lifted in the air and arms wide open to say goodbye.

You'd walked around the corner, and while hugging her goodbye Mason began to squirm in his seat so you cut the embrace short and moved to pick him up, and for the third time today someone was clinging to you like a koala.

That night you went to sleep in the guest room with Mason already clinging to you, and by the time the clock struck one your bed was full. Though it wasn't part of your plan, you knew it would be an adjustment, so for the time being you let it be, and if you were being honest with yourself really it wasn't that hard to do.

——

Natasha was really starting to wonder if divorce was that bad as she sat in the waiting room to meet her therapist, the one designated for the Avengers, and all their extended members.

She's lived a whole life without you, she could easily do it... right?

"Natasha Romanoff? Miss Montague will see you now."

Natasha took a moment to collect herself, wringing her hands out a few times before switching a flip and confidently walking through the doors as the perplexed receptionist stood in wait.

Natasha entered the woman's office and the sight of the tidy, almost clinical environment had her stomach turning with uneasiness. Regardless of her feelings though she sat down, and for her entire session just sat there staring the woman down, the psychologist's gaze never wavering as she left the floor open to her.

"Well, Mrs. Romanoff that was a great first session, I'll see you again next week at the same time, thank you for coming in."

Natasha scoffs as she's practically shoved out of the office, but for some reason she can't fight the fact that she feels microscopically better.

—

The next session's a bit more involved as she introduces "herself" to the woman, barely scratching the surface when she mutters out:

"I'm Natasha, and I'm here to fix my marriage with Y/N, and then hopefully we'll be a happy family again."

Natasha felt incredibly brave for having even mentioned the problem at hand, but Miss Montague felt differently, as she chuckled inappropriately in response while closing her notebook and leaning onto her elbows that were flat on the desk separating them to hold her stare as she spoke.

"That might be your goal Natasha, but that's not why you're here, so how about we try to get passed this game of surface level deflection here and you can tell me exactly what I need to hear to get you to where your wife and kids need you to be, and where you deserve to be."

Natasha abruptly stood at the women's words, followed shortly by the slamming of her doors, and when she was about halfway home on her bike she pulled off onto the barren exit and burst into tears. Thirty minutes later she was back in the office, and angrier than ever.

"Listen, this is all so fucking pointless! Y/N deserves better than me, she always has. I'm nothing more than a trained killer, these hands were designed to inflict pain, not to show love. I was selfish, I wanted something I was never meant to have, and now they're suffering because I can't live up to it. My son won't even look at me now that Y/N's back home, and my daughter is still so angry because I taught her to be nothing more than that. Y/N's trying to fix me, but I don't think that's possible, why can't she fucking see that? She wants me to let go, but it would be so much easier if she was to do it instead, she should just let me go..."

"Well that's just not true Mrs. Romanoff, I'm sat here before you and I see so much more than what you are saying. You are a wife, and a mother, and just because you obviously feel undeserving doesn't change the fact that you've made these decisions that led to where you are. We also both know you wouldn't even be here if you wanted her to leave you. Something I'd said clearly upset you, and you're just trying to protect yourself. Self preservation can be just as detrimental as it can be beneficial."

Natasha's anger was slowly fading to sadness, feet moving of their own accord to have her sitting down before her therapist once more, her cracked heart somewhat ready to listen to reason.

"Here's what I'm going to offer you from this moment forward. You'll be honest, completely, because I'm here to help you out—not judge, and there's nothing you'll say that will scare me off either. I'm the Avengers shrink for Christ sake, none of you got here because you had normal upbringings. Honesty is the only way we get you healed Natasha, so if you're down to try, I'm here to help. If you're not then I fear you'll lose everything, and as much as you try to hide from me I can see the fear in your eyes at that very prospect. I'm not in the business of sugar coating—you won't survive this loss."

—

The next few sessions work much the same, Natasha tells partial truths, gets called out, and then after a moment of anger she reveals more of herself to the shrink, and little by little you begin to take notice of her at home.

The new effort she is putting forth is obvious, and you can easily tell it's organic and not some temporary forced fix to convince you. Without overstepping, or halting her progress you make a conscious effort to give her more. Subtle initiations of physical contact, late night walks as a family, and family movie nights with the Barton's where you sit beside her and allow your fingers to brush. Natasha appreciates the intimacy, but she'd be lying to say she doesn't want more, feeling like she's flirting with the idea of dating her wife is just strange to her.

—

"So, Natasha, it's been two months, and as great as this is going we've already reached a sort of plateau, I know somethings holding us back. How are things with Mason? Let's talk about him and what is it that changed be—."

"You know, Lily did this adorable thing when she was a baby. She'd purse her little lips, and just blow these little spit bubbles, Y/N thought it was so gross, but it was honestly really cute."

"Natasha, we're talking about Mason here."

"There's nothing to say, he's my son, but clearly I'm not his mama..." She snaps, a certain edge to her voice that shows she's uncomfortable, but is that not what therapy's meant for...?

"He's three, and you weren't exactly there, if I remember correctly you missed his last birthday."

"I was on a mission..." She weakly defends, but from previous sessions they both know it was an avoidable one.

"Doesn't change the fact that he has a right to be hesitant of you, but you however have no right to give up on him, so let's go through the days leading up to his birth. There has to be something we're missing here, or better yet something you're holding onto and refusing to let go."

"Everything was fine."

"Natasha, stop deflecting."

"No, it was, Y/N was so cuddly and needy just like when she was pregnant with Lily, it was perfect. Then she gave birth, and when we got home he just wouldn't stop crying, and I-I..."

Natasha can't exactly fight the tears as she is violently thrown into an unfavorable memory from her past, one that she'd suppressed with a bottle of vodka within the same night—perks of being the top widow at the time.

•~~~~~•~~~~~•—•~~~~~•~~~~~•

"Natalia, these are the targets, leave nothing behind. Are we clear?"

"Yes madam." Natasha monotonously responds, politely grabbing the file out of her hand then she's making her way to the weapons room to gather her collection.

She'd taken two trains and a bus, completely undetected, and she's just as efficient when she climbs into the German Townhouse to wait for her targets to return home. The file, as usual, proclaims these individuals to be traitors of the highest degree and she knows better than to ask for clarification. Harsh training had left her void of the will to ask, but it never left her without a deep pain in her chest.

She was observant as can be, the room she climbed into told her that she'd been sent to kill someone's parents, but the file didn't. Natasha was trained to kill, it was an effortless swan's dance at this point, but killing children was a hard concept for her, she'd never been made to kill one before, and she's not entirely sure she had it in her.

The sound of a door clicking announced to her of their return, she shook the fear from her heart and made her way through the halls. The parents knew immediately that this was it, the cold breeze in their house enough of a warning, but they knew better than to run. Instead they shoved their four year old into the specialty designed closet, texted a friend for his safe retrieval, then sat on the couch.

Natasha rounded the corner to see them, their pensive expression telling her that they're ready, so she makes it a quick process for them. Two silenced gunshots, one between his eyes, the other right through her chest, then she goes to head for the closet; mind on autopilot as she wills her body to kill the innocent child, after already killing the most likely just as innocent parents.

"Bitte tu ihm nichts, sie wissen nichts von ihm, lass ihn gehen. Er ist ein guter Junge"

(Please dont hurt him, they don't know about him, let him go. he's a good boy.)

Natasha hesitates with her hand over the closet doorknob, she could just go, her mission for all they know is completed, but she had express instructions to leave nothing behind, and nothing includes witnesses, but he had yet to see her face.

"Das verspreche ich." The dying mother pulls her from her internal debate as she pleads once more for her sons life.

(I promise)

Natasha sees the look in her eyes, the honesty jumping out as the life itself drains from them, and Natasha decides in the moment it is best to leave him be, so she wipes the gun to place in the husbands hands, then she disappears into the shadows.

"Mama.. Mama wake up.." He cries over the limp body, her green eyes notice his desperate pair of blue from the shadows she hides in.

His tears never stop, heartbreaking sobs continue to leave him as he lays his head over his mothers chest, her stilled heart beneath his ears. Her own guarded heart shattering as she watches the innocence slowly leaves him, the same way she'd watched it leave Yelena's, all the while ignoring the little girl that she once was. She finally leaves the scene after the boy's received safe passage, but his cries for his mama never once leave her mind, deeply etched into her heart, left there to remind her every day that she is the monster they set out to make her.

•~~~~~•~~~~~•—•~~~~~•~~~~~•

"Natasha, that wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was, why can't you see that?"

The shrink stops herself from interjecting, seeing this as a potential breaking point for the former assassin as she'd yet to tremble like this before.

"What's worse is that was my last mission before my deflection, the same one that left me to murder a little girl in the name of freedom. Couldn't kill him, but for an end to my own suffering I could kill her, and it turns out I didn't even do that right; I just disfigured her and left her and my little sister Yelena behind to fend for themselves against that vile man—I'm no better than he is, can't you see?"

Miss Montague takes cautious steps to kneel before Natasha who's sat on the couch, taking her hands into her own for the obvious needed comfort, and Natasha's teary eyes lift to meet her softened brown ones.

"How can I hold my crying baby, and try to soothe him and allow him to find comfort in calling me mama when that little boy never got to do the same?"

"Natasha, you didn't have any say in the matter, and when given the choice you actively spared him. Nothing you did is something that I can forgive you for, and it seems to me you're unwilling to forgive yourself. You have to stop torturing yourself for the things you were forced to do, you need to then seek forgiveness, and maybe then you can forgive yourself too."

"What? Am I just meant to find him and say 'Sorry for killing your parents?'" Natasha snaps at her shrink for what's probably the millionth time, but Montague isn't phased.

"No, that's too literal, and a bit morbid. Seek it out where you can actually get it."

"Please, stop speaking in riddles for once!!" She groans, hands yanked back to run down her face in frustration.

"Yelena—start there, you've made amends, but now go and say sorry again like you mean it. Next apologize to Y/N, share with her what you can, then say you're sorry for the last three years you couldn't be who she needed you to be. Then finally, look Mason in his eyes, and force yourself to feel the love he has for you. When Y/N left he trusted you enough to care for him, and when given no choice you were able to do it; it's honestly likely his hesitation is spurred on by your own to let him love you."

Natasha nods in sudden understanding, frantically jumping to her feet she bids her goodbye with the promise of seeing her next week, because they're far from done here. Leaving to race off to Yelena's, a pitstop for booze a necessity before she's then pounding on her sister's door.

"Natasha, what are you doing here? Did something happen to Y/N? The kids?"

"I'm sorry."

Yelena, though confused, closes the door as her frantic—seemingly unhinged—sister brushes past her to sit on the couch and pops open two entire bottles of vodka.

"Natasha, what are you—?"

"Sidet!"

Yelena sits, not entirely sure why she's taking orders from her sister in her own house but alas she does it, gratefully accepting the bottle of booze in temporary lieu of an explanation.

Natasha and Yelena drink silently for an hour before the redhead bleeds her heart out to her little sister, to which Yelena embraces her wholeheartedly, and repeatedly reassures her that she's more than forgiven. Truly, both of them needed this moment of brutal unpacking. Yelena feels far less alone in hearing her sister's struggles when compared to her very own, and Natasha never realized how much she needed the forgiveness of her mladshaya sestra until she genuinely had it.

"Natalia, I forgive you, and I love you so much..."

——

Natasha's appointment had been at 2PM, and seeing as how she missed the family movie night you were feeling a whole hell of a lot when she still hadn't shown at 10PM. An all too familiar pain reemerging in your chest as you start to think that all the progress had been an elaborate ruse, that your marriage was over.

The wine clouded your mind, and the tears readily fell as you began to come to terms with the end of all you'd ever wanted. Sounds, and visuals around you blurred, leaving you to miss the jingling keys, and the fast approaching steps, all that brings you out of it is the feel of rough hands holding your face.

"Detka, what's wrong?"

Her voice—deep, sexy, full of love and concern, but mostly infuriating.

"Don't touch me."

Natasha ignores you, quickly lifting your body up and carrying you out to the porch to avoid waking the kids.

"I thought you were getting better, but it appears to me it was a short lived fantasy." You seethe as soon as she settles you down.

"Detka..."

"No, I'll have all your stuff packed by tomorrow night, you can stay at the Barton's."

Natasha's hands firmly grip you by the shoulders, guiding your body into the pillar before she shouts in your face.

"I'm sorry!"

Natasha and apologies don't usually happen often, so your mouth shuts and your eyes widen, opening the floor for her to elaborate.

"We had a breakthrough today..."

Her trembling lip, and disheveled features finally catch in your visual, so without a second thought you pull her into your embrace and settle the both of you down in the swinging chair, hand over her own to comfort her.

"I went to see Lena, and we had a breakthrough of our own actually..."

Her fingers play with the rings on your fingers, head adjusting on your shoulder so that she could peer up at you when she spoke next.

"... I've done bad things Y/N/N, and I'm scared that if I tell you exactly what I've done you'll run, and that'll hurt me so much worse than you leaving because I pushed you to do it."

"Have a little more faith in me Nat, I didn't exactly enter this relationship lightly, nor did I bring children into the world with you without thinking it through. I know enough about your past to know you've been made to do some horrific things but that's neither her nor there. Your past changes nothing for me, because above all else I know your heart, and it's gold... After the last three years I wouldn't still be fighting for us if I didn't know that my Natty is still in there deep down."

Natasha sobs against your chest, but unlike the last few times it's obvious to you this isn't a pity party, or some ploy to get you to give in; this is raw, unadulterated pain and you can tell that much by the way her body violently shakes and how she has to work overtime just to breathe air into her lungs, her heaving chest without reprieve causes a panic to settle deep within your body.

Terrified you do just about everything you can to calm her down, but the only thing that ends up working is the shock of your lips firmly pressed to hers. Once she catches up she's desperately trying to kiss you back, hands linking around your neck to keep you planted there, and for just a moment you give into the euphoric feeling of having your wife's body flush against your own, arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

"Tasha, honey... Let's focus here..."

"I'm so sorry Y/N, I never meant to hurt you this badly, I was just so scared..."

"I get that honey, but what exactly happened?"

"Mason... He—."

Your heart twinges in anger at the mention of your beautiful son's name, but you hold back, allowing her the chance to explain before you prematurely lose it on her.

"He triggered something in me, I'd buried it for so long that I'd began to live my life like it never even happened, and that just makes it so much worse because I didn't deserve to forget. I deserved to feel miserable for what I did."

"Did you have a choice?"

"I don't know, it was my hands was it not?"

"Tasha, just tell me what you need to, help me to understand. I want to forgive you, and most of me already has, but you need to work with me. You can't just say Mason's the problem, then not tell me why, that's our son in there."

"That's not what I said, I said he triggered me, he's not the problem, he never was, I am." She huffs angrily, all her previous sadness from the painful memories crashing down on her again.

"None of that either Tasha, you're not the problem, you're just dealing with them. What do you need from me? A promise? I promise that I love you, and no matter what you say I still will."

"I-I love you too..." She quietly whispers as she takes a steadying breathe before sitting up straighter to finally open her heart to you in every way that she always should've.

Natasha candidly speaks, and you quietly listen while using your legs to get the chair to swing. Watching the pain swirling beneath her eyes and using your touch to soothe her as best you could, but your heart was absolutely breaking for the uncharacteristically fragile woman. Her words eventually died off once her twisted tales came to an end, she just resided in your lap, sniffling every once in awhile as she came down from her heightened storytelling and you got your thoughts together.

"Oh honey, my beautiful, sweet angel, none of that was your fault, and you shouldn't have to carry the burden of it either. You won't want to hear this but you were just as innocent as he was, you were just doing what you had to to survive, and the fact that you hesitated told me that boy was always safe with you. These hands of yours are built to love, and have been used to do so countless times, and I know they'll continue to do so as we navigate through this life together." You reason, your right hand rising, thumb slowly tracing over her features while wiping away at her tears, and pulling her lip from between her teeth before dropping to lift her hand up, and slowly linking your hands to provide emphasis to your words.

"I mean, look at you now. Everything they said you couldn't be you became it anyways in spite of them, you became a mother, you're my wife, and fuck Nat, you're even a superhero. So many little kids look up to you; for all the lives that you've been made to take you've made up for it tenfold with the one's you've saved." You reply, an obvious air of anger to your tone as you passionately do so, only really softening at the subtle flinching of her features.

"That little boy, as tragic as his story was is most likely doing just fine Nat. Children are so incredibly resilient, and he was so young that his brain most likely shielded him as he aged. The only ones to blame here are the redroom—Dreykov or Madam, shit—even his parents. They brought him into the world knowing the enemies they made, and instead of protecting him they left him open to a world of hurt. A parents love for their child is supposed to be strong enough to put them first, and they failed to do that, they were selfish and held onto him until their dying breath, and nearly cost him his own life."

Natasha's face twists as your hopeful words hit, she'd never imagined him as doing anything other than suffering, so to imagine he somehow overcame it and is thriving is a nice perspective, and she knows you're more than likely right.

"Forgive yourself for not being able to undo all the pain you've caused so that you can finally be free Natalia; Forgive yourself for not being the person we all needed you to be; Forgive your inner child for the life she never got to live, and learn to heal her through our kids; Forgive yourself so that we can love you fully, because that's all we all want to do."

Natasha's body began to tremble once again as your words permeated deep into her psyche, but then a soft sniffle from the left caught both of your attentions, the assassins head lifting and her bleary eyes settling on the petrified young boy. Stood there with a thumb in his mouth, a blanket and teddy clutched to his chest, and eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Mama, please no cry..." He himself sobbed, tiny empathetic body rushing to climb onto the swing, struggling as he does.

He forcefully squeezed into the space between the both of you, laying his blanket over his legs and delicately placing his teddy into her arms while twisting and throwing his tiny arms tightly around her neck and burying himself against her. Natasha's right arm stays behind your back, but her left desperately clings to his body, and once her eyes meet your adoring ones the dam breaks wide open, tears never stopping no matter how hard he pleaded with her through his own sobs to stop, both only ever ceasing to do so when the both of them fell asleep on your lap.

"Hey there, need some help?"

Your gaze slowly travels from the peaceful faces sat upon you over to Clint, and he sends you an easy smile.

"How'd you find us?" You tease the former spy, and he quirks his brow at you playfully before gesturing to the brunette who was stood in watch upon the porch next door.

He's quick to approach with buff arms at the ready to free you from your pretty comfortable confinement. He follows behind you with the mother son duo still fast asleep against his chest, and you open the door to your shared room for him to settle them down in the bed.

"You going to sleep in there with them tonight?" He quietly asks you as he leaves the door open just a crack, and judging by the inflection in his voice he's clearly aware of your sleeping schedule as of late.

"Mhm, I'm just going to get her some Tylenol, and water for the headache she's likely to have come morning, thanks for your help Clint." You politely reply, avoiding his attempt to snoop for his wife—the sneaky little minx she is, then you wish him a goodnight while locking the doors.

Shutting down the house you happily throw back the remainder of your wine glass before making your way to bed, nearly going into the guest on instinct before redirecting your feet. Upon entering the room you see Natasha had shifted to her back, and Mason was completely on top of her, then you noticed the slightly older child had found residence in your spot, so you gently shifted her slumped form over to crawl into the bed.

"Fuck... We're never almost divorcing again." You quietly groaned at the feel of the tempur-pedic mattress beneath your aching back.

"Please, can we not? The couch really sucks..." Natasha whispers back, and you peep open one eye to see her staring at you while her hand soothing runs down Mason's spine.

Both of you share a bittersweet chuckle, locked eyes conveying all the rest of the unspoken words, and though there's still a lot of work to do, you're more than content knowing that your Natasha's the one laying beside you.

——(Bonus)

"I go with mama!" Mason shrieks as you hold his wiggling form while waiting in the insanely long line for Dumbo, Lily stood beside you with a 'not this ride' face, and you feel rather giddy at the thought of having tricked her into thinking that 'Its A Small World' is the best ride yet, and that's what's up next.

"Yes, you will go with mama!" Natasha beams, with a proud smile when she looks to you, lightly pecking your lips while seamlessly passing the churro over to your hand in exchange for the toddler.

"Thank you honey." You cheer, followed by a moan as the flavors melt onto your tongue, and after only two bites in peace you reluctantly give all present parties a bite, to then losing the treat all together as Mason bats his eyes at you.

"You're welcome." She giggles, then your group is suddenly ushered into the fast pass lane when Natasha's recognized by a worker.

"Perks of being a superhero." You muse with a wink thrown her way as you lift Lily up and into the elephant.

After the initial jolt into the air you admit that flying through the sky is nice, your heart also soaring at the sight of your reluctant daughters subtle quirked lips, desperately trying to hide her satisfaction with the ride, and also at the way your wife and son are happily flying in front of you. Natasha's smile never once falls as he happily dances in the seat beside her, finger nonstop pointing out all the magical sights that Disneyland has to offer.

"Mommy..."

"Yes Lil?"

"I love you..."

"I love you too angel." You coo, placing a kiss to her forehead as the ride settles, along with all the residual tension this year had to bring.

Meeting your wife at the exit with a tired six year old on your hip you find she has the much more energetic three year old sat upon hers, naturally the both of you link your free hands and set off in search of your next big adventure.

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10,135 Words — Jesus this was definitely a lot.

Sorry if it hurts more than you expected, happy for you if it didn't hurt at all, either way enjoy.

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