#like girl what do you mean you were IN RUSSIA

[boycritter]

my mom will just drop the craziest lore ever and move on with her life

[racinggirl]

you always will be

a/n: As a dedication to our boy's FIRST FORMULA ONE WIN, here a story that hopefully will be appreciated and loved. It's very different from my usual stories, and it may need some sort of trigger warning or just a warning in general. We don't always get what we want, and life can really be a bitch. Everybody struggles, it might not always be seen. I'm here for you <3

Warnings: mentions of car accident, hospital, breakup, swearing, death, cemetery, and some fluff bc I'm not THAT cruel

Also, please leave a comment/reblog, anything that makes me feel like you absolutely loved this story. It can also be a tip, anything to make my writing better and more enjoyable for you, thank you

Enjoy 🧡

Winning a race was something he dreamt of. Winning a race meant all his worries disappeared like snow in the sun.

‘You can’t win, you always fuck up’

‘Russia 2021 was the closest you’d been to a win, you’ll never get that chance again’

‘You should have switched teams when you had the chance’

No more. He won, and he’d be damned if he would ever let any hate comment, any judging advice or any disrespectful tone push you further away from him than you already were. He won, but somehow it felt like he lost.

‘’Mate, I don’t get it. Help me understand, okay? You won your first Formula One race. You gave all of them haters a big fuck you. You proved them wrong. The team’s proud of you, everyone’s cheering you on.’’

It was true, everyone was proud of him, everyone cheered for him, chanting his name after the podium ceremony. Everyone. But one person.

‘’Hello? Lando?’’ Max seemed worried, he knew something was bothering his best friend, he knew him through and through. ‘’You’re confusing me, mate. What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy? You can’t be too hard on yourself now, mate, you wo-…’’

‘’It’s her!’’ He finally snapped, all the emotions he had bottled up and put in that jar, stashed away somewhere on the back shelf of his heart AND brain sneaked its way through and made a reappearance.

‘’I won! Yes, I fucking won! But at what cost?! I lost her mate! I won and she wasn’t here. That doesn’t mean I fucking won. I lost, I lost it all, I lost her…’’

Max let out a heavy sigh. He knew something was bothering his friend, and he had a slight feeling it would have had something to do with the girl that stole his heart. See, you and Lando go way back, and you’d always thought you’d end up together, whether it was in England, in Monaco, it didn’t matter, what mattered was that it’d always been the two of you together, till it wasn’t.

‘’Lando…’’ Here it was again, the 'I feel sorry for you, but you need to move on' speech, which sometimes Lando could appreciate, but not now, not at a moment like this. However, he remained silent.

‘’Look, mate, I know it’s hard, okay? You.. You’ve dreamt of this moment for years, and I’m sure she’d have been by your side in all those dreams, but…’’

‘’But reality is, she isn’t. I know Max, I know.’’ Lando ran his face through his hair, then over his face. ‘’I’m going to get a shower.’’

‘’Lando..’’

‘’I’m gonna shower, Max, I’d appreciate it if you’d leave and let me fucking shower!’’ Lando snapped, he never did, but today was full of too many emotions he couldn’t handle, too many mixed emotions that made the bucket spill over.

Raising his arms in defence, Max stepped back and nodded, slowly. He knew Lando needed time, but tonight was the after party, Zak had scheduled the flight for this evening back by a day, which meant they were planning on partying all night long.

‘’No, Lando, it’s not okay!’’ Your hands rose up in the air, toward your hair as you tugged on it, gently, but enough to let your frustrations out. ‘’It’s not okay, how is this okay?’’

‘’I… We’ll make it work, I promise you we’ll mak-‘’

‘’Stop trying to fix everything! Some things just can’t get fixed, okay?!’’

Lando and you were like two puzzle pieces that fit, perfectly fine. But what happens when one day, the piece that made those two pieces of the puzzle once a whole, disappeared. Broke off. Got thrown away which made it almost impossible for those two pieces to ever become whole again.

You loved him, more than anything in this whole entire world. You were determined to give up everything you ever had to be with him, to support him through thick and thin and you would never. Ever. Give up on each other...

‘’It’s been 4 months, give him some time.’’ Pietra’s reassuring hand made its way to Max’ shoulder.

It’d been 4 months since you and Lando broke up. You’d said your goodbyes at the airport after the two of you decided it was best to part ways. Lando tried almost everything to keep you at his side, but he knew that loving also meant letting go. That was the hardest part of a breakup, though, but he’d manage. Or so he thought.

You were lying when you said the breakup hadn’t torn your heart apart. It felt like it went through a shredder and every time you’d tried to pick up a piece and place it back, it didn’t fit. There were pieces missing, some things were upside down, backwards, or not even in the right place. It was heart-breaking.

Your breakup was something that nobody had seen coming, the fans, your friends, heck, not even the two of you saw it coming. You had always been different, but that didn’t stop you. Where you loved to stay at home and read a book, Lando loved to go out with his friends, plan his schedule full of events and parties. You’d join him, every now and then, but you preferred staying home.

Until you didn’t. But then it was too late.

‘’My parent’s need me back home.’’ You explained, the warm cup of tea in your hand preventing you from shivering. You and Lando were outside, watching the snow fall down the sky and onto the grass of his back yard in London.

‘’Alright, I can come if you want me to, I’m free till-..’’

‘’No, Lando, they need me back home, permanently.’’ You let out a shaky sigh, tears prickling behind your eyeballs as you kept your gaze focussed on your tea.

You had lived with Lando for almost 3 years now, the two of you dating for more than 5 years by the time you moved in together. Your parents knew his parents, and so the ball went rolling till it came to a stop in front of the two of you.

‘’What? But…’’

‘’I know.’’ Your voice was barely a whisper, the tears that you were desperately trying to hold back now made its appearance. Your parents were sick, both of them. You loved them more than anything, so leaving them and going to London, then to Monaco with the love of your life made you both happy and sad.

‘’No, Y/N, baby listen please, we can make it work. Okay? I’ll come over every month, we’ll do it together, I can…’’ But he knew everything he was saying was a lost cause. Your parents needed you, and as much as he wanted you to be with him, he knew you loved your parents. He’d never forgive himself if you staying with him meant you’d barely see your parents again.

‘’You know we can’t. We’ve been over this before.’’ Your voice was breaking more and more every word. ‘’It’s okay.’’ You whispered, the tea in your hands not being enough to keep you warm anymore. ‘’It’ll be okay…’’

‘’… on your win. And let’s make this party one to remember!’’ Cheers were hearable in the entire club, Lando being one of them. He laughed, partied, and celebrated. He won, he couldn’t ignore that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think of how it could have been.

His job was hectic, of course. Being a Formula One driver – a race winning Formula One driver – meant events, races, meetings, and mostly, fame. You knew that if Lando would have stayed with you, if you would have done what he wanted – which was coming over once every month, it would bring attention to you and indirectly, to your parents, who could not use the attention at all.

After you and your parents got in a horrific car accident a few years after you and Lando started dating, the media was all over it. You barely had a chance to recover before the media would send you emails; press would be in front of your house and Lando’s interviews were all about how you and your parents were doing. It wasn’t healthy, at all. The press that did those things soon got boycotted by his fans, but that wasn’t the point here. They were there, they took away that bit of privacy you’d loved and cherished even more when Lando got more well known in the racing industry. When he joined Formula One.

You recovered completely – thankfully – but your parents, that was a whole other story. Both in a coma, one worse than the other, and the survival chances were low. Miraculously though, they woke up. The first 6 months, they had to stay at the hospital. Their wishes were to go home, so after 6 months, the hospital arranged things here and there so they could recover at home.

However, 2 years after the accident, you got the worst news possible. The car accident you and your parents were in caused your parents to both have brain damage, severely. They would need 24/7 care, and they would not get better. It was the worst possible scenario, but Lando was always there for you.

You just couldn’t do it, not with his fame, his busy schedule, your work. You worked from home, something you rearranged the moment you recovered from the car accident. It was the best option; you’d be able to work whenever you wanted, you could join Lando for his races. You could work from Monaco, England, it didn’t matter. You could work at home whenever Lando had a triple header, so you could take care of your parents whilst working from your laptop.

‘’You know they need me, and I love you so much, I…’’ The tears were streaming down your face after you had finished packing everything from Lando’s apartment – you were leaving.

‘’Shh..’’ Lando’s tears had dried on his cheeks, the sight of seeing you pack all your clothes in suitcases was the worst thing he’d ever seen. ‘’I know, sunshine, I know, but it’s okay. We’ll be okay.’’ He mumbled with the sorest throat from crying. He knew there was no more ‘we’ after you stepped out of that door. It was a commitment you made to each other.

‘If I need to go back and take care of them, move on. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life waiting for me because I don’t know how long that’s going to take. I can’t expect you to put a hold on your life and come with me. You have a career, and I need you to put that on number one, be selfish, please.’

He always responded with the same thing. ‘’It doesn’t matter, you are my number one, you always will be.’’

‘’Lando Norris, your number one!’’ The music was pounding in his ears, the smile he had put on for this evening was fading slightly. When there was no camera around him, he’d let it drop, what was there to smile about?

Three months later

Moving on from a breakup was one thing, moving on from a breakup in which both individuals still loved each other but had to let go was another. Moving on from a breakup after finding out your parents had 2 more months to live, was impossible.

Your parents passed away 4 months ago, 3 months after you and Lando broke up. It was the hardest period of your life, and at some point, you weren’t even sure if you wanted to live the life you’d known for so long.

You’ve thought to yourself multiple times, why not go back to Lando? Tell him your parents passed away and everything would be okay. But that’s not the first thing that crosses your mind after your parents pass away. Especially not within the first four months of them being gone.

The number of times you’ve gotten close to pressing call on your ex-boyfriend’s number had been too many to count, but you couldn’t get yourself to do it. What were you going to say?

‘Hey Lando, yeah, my parents passed away, so I don’t have another thing to do, let’s get back together?’

Yeah, no. Not a chance.

You’ve watched his race win so many times it almost felt like you were there. You could imagine what it would have been like to be there, knowing the crew and drivers.

Why hadn’t you called him yet? Or why hadn’t you tried to congratulate him, reach out to his friends? No idea, you were still in that grieving state and you weren’t sure if you were going to break out of it.

That was until, one day, you saw this quote. It’s stupid to think one quote can change one’s perspective on things, but this one did.

‘If you don’t do it now, don’t regret it later.’

It was hard, doing the things you did, but not impossible. Impossible was getting over the death of your parents AND not having the one person you’ve loved more than anything not be there to help you through it.

So, you did it. You got in that car, which was something you’ve been avoiding after the accident, till Lando helped you get back into it. Your fingers dug into the leather of your father’s car, the one they left to you. Just like they left everything to you, the house, the money, the company.

A weak smile appeared on your face, so many memories in just one movement, one moment. The road was long, far, you had to stop at a hotel for a night of sleep before continuing your lonely road trip to London. Back to him. Because if you didn’t do it now, you would regret it later, and that’s something you couldn’t live with.

Another long day at the factory, more meetings, more shaking hands, interviews, you name it. His feet dragged him through the entire factory, not once, but three times already – and it was just lunch time. Things were better, he still missed you, but he was starting to accept it, just that, though, because moving on was impossible for him.

It wasn’t when one of the mechanics he always had lunch with called your name, that he turned his head so fast it would have almost gotten him a whiplash from the force and the speed. Your name, you were there, here.

A weak smile appeared on your lips. It wasn’t an easy choice, contacting Max, ignoring all his questions because you needed to see where he was, where the man you loved – and never stopped loving – was. It was bold, he might have moved on, gotten a new girlfriend, but you dug around the internet and didn’t see any signs of that being the case.

‘’Hey..’’

He was a race car driver, so he was fast, – very – fast. But the speed of which he got up and ran to you was another level. Your arms didn’t hesitate once. They found their way back around his neck, his positioned at your waist as always, and he looked into your eyes for a brief second, just to check, just to make sure that what he was about to do was okay. It was more than okay.

Your lips melted together instantly, his soft, warm lips immediately welcomed your slightly colder – due to the air-conditioning in the car – and even softer ones in a heartbeat. It felt good, it felt so good, you lost track of time, place and it was just the two of you in this moment. You did not regret it.

‘’Congratulations on your win, champ.’’ Your breath was a bit more rapid, your voice a lot hoarser than you would have liked it to be, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that you had found your way back to him, like you always would have.

4 years later

It was no longer impossible. It was hard, for sure, but the moment you stood in front of their gravestones, your hand intertwined with his and a weak smile on your lips, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

‘’Mom, dad..’’ You whispered, head resting against Lando’s chest as he pressed a delicate kiss to your temple. Your hand rested on top of Lando’s, who had a protected arm around you, his hand rubbing small circles on your stomach. You played with his ring for a few seconds before you swallowed the lump in your throat. You looked up at your husband, who gave you a reassuring smile as you placed the tiny shoes on top of their gravestones.

‘’You’re gonna be grandparents…’’

[bishopsbeloved]

the art of falling in love (part one)

natasha romanoff x fem reader (high school au)

You’ve been in love with your best friend’s sister ever since you first met her (who wouldn’t be?), and you were content to take these feelings to the grave. But when she begins to reciprocate, things get complicated, and you find yourself lying to almost everyone you know — including yourself.

best friend!yelena belova, aroace!yelena belova, internalised homophobia, found family trope, coming of age, angst, fluff (eventual happy ending)

part one (5k words) | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

read this fic on ao3!

You’ll never forget the fateful day that you laid eyes upon Natasha Romanoff for the first time. Even at the ripe age of seven, you knew you wanted her in your life forever.

Melina Vostokoff and Alexi Shostakov are your neighbours — they live right across the street, and they have done for as long as you can remember. On your fifth birthday, they came home from a trip to Russia with a daughter, Yelena. From the moment you laid eyes on one another, the two of you knew you were best friends. Neither sets of parents had any qualms on that (“oho, here comes trouble,” Alexi would say teasingly whenever the two of you came tearing into the room), and so even before Natasha’s arrival you spent more of your waking hours in their household than in your own.

One time, two years since Yelena entered your life and only a few weeks before Natasha’s arrival, you were playing in the sandy dirt down the back of Yelena’s house, and huffing in annoyance as it proved too fine to hold up as a sandcastle. You looked over at your best friend who was currently experiencing much more success in her own task, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as she carefully stacked twigs to build a bug hotel, and without even thinking you asked, “why did you pick me? To be your friend?”

Yelena blinked, surprised, but placed a leaf on top of her miniature structure to serve as a roof before responding. “What do you mean?”

“Weeeeell,” you narrowed your eyes in thought, trying to figure out what it was that you meant, “we’ve just always been friends. And I like it, but I was like, why?”

She was quiet for a good few moments, and if you didn’t know the girl any better then you would have missed the slight cleft between her brows that means she’s formulating her next words, and you would’ve thought she was ignoring you. But you did know better, because she was your best friend, and that thought filled your tiny frame with joy.

“Sometimes when you meet people, it’s special,” she said eventually. “Like a puzzle, you know when they fit together? Like — like that,” she mimed two things slotting together with her fingers, and you nodded. “It happened for us, I think. It happened when my mom and dad met, they tell me all the time that dad loved mom from the moment he met her,” she wrinkled her nose, and you giggled. “And it happened for me and my sister in Russia.”

With that last statement, she’d caught your interest. Often in passing she’d mention her sister from the orphanage in Russia, where she’d been before Melina and Alexi had sorted out her visa to bring her back to their home in Ohio. You never quite knew how to respond to it, and she never elaborated beyond throwaway comments such as these, so you were fairly certain that this sister wasn’t even real until the day she was brought home.

And what a day that was; one that turned your life upside down forever. As far as you knew, when you first woke up, it was a day like any other. Another sunny morning of summer vacation. You woke up as bright and early as children annoyingly do and rushed to get ready to spend another day at Yelena’s house, no doubt irritating the shit out of her parents (who, to their credit, were very tolerant of you and Yelena’s seven-year-old antics). But once you’d knocked and stood fidgeting eagerly on their front porch, it wasn’t Yelena, or her parents, who opened the door.

No, it was an unfamiliar girl you were faced with — only one year older as you were soon to learn, but already an entire head taller than you. She looked down at you, face stony, and you stared back in confusion. There was no way this was the wrong house, you’d been coming here every day for the last two years, and you saw it every time you looked out of your bedroom window. So what was going on?

You found yourself remembering a Slavic children’s story Alexi had told you and Yelena last winter, late at night when you were curled up by the fire together drinking hot chocolate, about an old lady who had a house with chicken legs. The Baba Yaga, Alexi had called her. During the night her house would stand up and run away, and be gone from its previous spot the next morning; you found yourself wondering if this had happened to Yelena’s house too. Could any house have legs, or just the Baba Yaga’s house? You’d have to ask Alexi — once you tracked down his runaway house, of course.

“Y/N,” a voice squealed from behind the unfamiliar girl, and Yelena’s face poked out from behind her. “Y/N this is my sister! From Russia, her name is Natasha.”

“You are Yelena’s best friend?” Natasha asked softly, a gentle Russian lilt to her words. “It’s nice to meet you.”

And just like Yelena had described to you, you looked up at Natasha and something just clicked. Something aligned; a puzzle piece you hadn’t even known you were missing slotted into place.

You knew even then that you wanted to be around her forever.

It’s been ten years now, since that day, and you’ve grown up alongside the two of them. You’re an only child with distant parents, and Alexi and Melina have taken you under your wing — so much in fact that Yelena’s room is referred to affectionately as the twins’ room, and you have your own bed in there. More of your stuff is at their house rather than your own these days.

But Natasha has always been just out of reach. Since the day you first met her there’s been this pit in your stomach whenever she’s been around, strange and foreign and somewhat scary to you, that has you reduced to a silent mess with trembling fingers whenever she’s around. It’s a feeling you’ve not always understood, but in more recent years you’ve come to accept you’re in love with her; something you will take to the grave.

You don’t stand a chance with her, of course. You’re her little sister’s best friend, a whole year younger than her, and where she’s popular in school you tend to stick to the shadows. You’re not really picked on, per se — no one dares to when Yelena Belova, who’s terrifying in her own right as well as the little sister of Natasha Romanoff, is constantly glued to your side — but you just don’t have the same social standing that Natasha does. Even if by some miracle you did, she’s your best friend’s sister. You know she’ll never see you that way.

So you’ve decided to yourself you’re going to keep these feelings under lock and key, and pray they’ll go away.

And it’s been going pretty good!… well, that is, until tonight.

Alexi and Melina have flown back to Russia for the New Year, leaving the household in the hands of you, Yelena and Natasha. You and Yelena were perfectly content with spending your days of freedom ordering takeout, bingeing awful reality TV shows and annoying the cat for hours on end, but Natasha was having none of that. The Starks can’t hold their New Year thrasher at their house like normal this year (something about a sick aunt on bedrest? You weren’t really listening, to be honest), so with her parents out of town, Natasha’s offered up her house.

“I don’t want a bunch of gross sweaty drunk people in our house,” Yelena had protested when it was proposed to her, nose wrinkling. “это отвратительно. No.”

“Aw come on, please,” Natasha groaned. “It’s just one night.”

“But it’s not just one night, because we will be cleaning up for days after,” retorted Yelena. “Last time there was vomit everywhere. That was a zero out of ten experience.”

Natasha snorted. “What are you, TripAdvisor?” Dodging Yelena’s half-hearted smack, she’d added, “See, why can’t you be like Y/N? They don’t mind. Right, Y/N?”

Sure, she’d probably played you, but with those eyes who could say no to her?

Well, evidently not you. And because of it, you and Yelena are stuck spending New Year’s Eve locked in her (your) bedroom, her TV on at max volume to even be vaguely heard over the music that shakes the bed with every beat.

“О мой Бог, it’s not even midnight,” Yelena whines, checking her clock for the sixth time in the last ten minutes. “We are going to be dealing with this for hours. Natalia owes us one.”

“She’ll feel guilty tomorrow and take us to a drive-thru,” you tell her, and she sticks her tongue out at you instead of admitting that you’re right.

She opens her mouth to say something else (something witty and uncalled for, you’re sure), but she’s cut off by an abysmally loud crash and scream from downstairs, followed by even louder cheering. The look that crosses her face next just makes you very glad you’re not on the receiving end of her anger tonight.

“Liho,” you remember suddenly, “where is he? Did we pick him up before the party started?”

She pauses. “Oh, shit.”

“He’s still down there?” you panic. “Fuck, Lena, you know how much he hates noise. I’m gonna go get him.”

“No, let me,” Yelena protests, but you wave her off.

“No, because you’ll come back with a kill list twice as long as it is now,” you retort and she scrunches up her face at you, because as always with her you’ve hit the nail on the head. You blow her a kiss before closing the door behind you.

Immediately, you’re hit by the overwhelming stench of sweat and alcohol. Okay, ew. You’d practically begged Natasha to dilute the jet fuel that the Russians call vodka before distributing it, but evidently she’s not taken your pleas into account tonight. (You’re all going to pay for it tomorrow morning come clean-up time.)

At least the universe isn’t totally against you right now, though — the household’s cat, Liho, has one place he will flee to without fail whenever he’s scared; the tiny gap between the washing machine and the wall, in the laundry room. With any luck, you can sneak in and out of there through Melina’s office without encountering too many partygoers.

Getting down the stairs proves a task in itself; they are absolutely soaking for some reason, something must have been spilled on them, so thank god they’re hardwood and not carpeted. It’s like a slip and slide on your way down, and you cling onto the banister for dear life, your task only made more difficult by the tens of other people who have no regard whatsoever for your Mission Impossible-level task currently at hand.

Miraculously, you somehow make it to the bottom of the stairs unscathed, and immediately wince as you straighten back up. The noise down here is even louder, the smell even stronger, and you want nothing more than to flee back upstairs and cower under the bedsheets with Yelena until everyone finally fucks off home. But you remind yourself that if this is the way you feel, tiny flighty Liho probably feels even worse, and as his self-appointed cat mother (which you have been ever since you and Yelena rescued him from the roadside and brought him home), it’s your duty to rescue him.

So you battle your way on through to the laundry room, which thank the lord is empty. You close the heavy wooden door behind you with relief, and lean back against it for a moment, panting to recollect yourself. Jesus fuck, do you hate parties. You’re not even trying to be difficult, it’s just something you’ll never understand — they’re so overstimulating, so overwhelming. You always leave them with such a depleted social battery that you won’t be seen again for the next week. How someone can enjoy these things, you’ll never fathom.

You’re distracted from your inner monologue by the sound of gentle scrabbling, coming from behind the washing machine. An involuntary smile spreads over your face as you instantly clock what that noise is, and you approach slowly, dropping to a crouch.

“Hey buddy,” you say softly to the black fur vaguely visible among the shadows. Its gentle movements freeze, and the scrabbling noise stops. “This sucks, doesn’t it? All alone down here.”

He blinks at you.

”Yeah, it does, huh?” you continue. “What do you say we get outta here? You can come upstairs with me and Lena. How’d you feel about that, bud, huh? It’ll be much nicer, I promise. It’s so lonely down here, isn’t it?”

Convinced, the kitten wriggles out of his hiding spot and trots into your waiting arms. You scoop him up, planting kisses on his head and giggling.

“Good boy. Sweet boy. We got snacks in our room. You just love Twizzlers, don’t you?”

“He does love Twizzlers,” says a raspy voice from behind you, scaring the absolute shit out of both you and Liho. He yelps in alarm, and alarm at your alarm, digging his claws into your shoulder in a way that makes you hiss out loud. You spin around to see none other than Natasha behind you (she must have been in here before you closed the door, you vaguely piece together in your state of gay panic), red beer pong cup in hand, looking fucking beautiful.

You’ve avoided her as much as you can today while she’s gotten ready for tonight, reasoning with yourself that you’re only torturing yourself if you keep admiring her from afar, but holy fuck you can’t believe you were depriving yourself of this. A pale pink, almost nude dress, with silver blossoms settled comfortably on her hips in the way that your hands itch to be, and eyeliner that could fucking cut someone. But she’s smiling at you so softly that even the knife-sharp eyeliner smiles with her, and even though she just gave you the fright of your life you’re almost shaking with the restraint it takes to not go absolutely feral. She looks so good.

Oh lord, you are hopeless.

“You and him are just as bad as each other,” she comments, still smiling, so you know she doesn’t really mean it. Desperately scrabbling to cover for your internal screaming, you fake a pout, dropping a kiss on Liho’s head (he rubs his forehead gratefully against your cheek in return).

“That’s so mean,” you grumble.

“You look really pretty tonight,” she tells you, and your heart actually stops at the compliment. It feels like a trick for a moment, that she’d say something like that, but she’s still smiling a smile that makes your insides go all woozy.

“I really don’t think,” you begin, looking down at your outfit, but then pause. What with the top secret CIA-level mission that retrieving Liho has become, you’ve almost forgotten that before all of this you and Yelena had been playing dress up — strictly within the confines of your bedroom, of course, but you’re wearing one of Mama Melina’s old college dresses and it doesn’t look half bad on you, even though it now probably has Liho hairs all over it. You vaguely recall Yelena begging you to let her do your makeup (“pleeeease, Y/N, I swear I’ll be serious this time no more penises I promise”) too, so maybe it’s not such a reach that Nat actually thinks you look pretty tonight. “Oh. Thank you. S- so do you, I —” You forcibly stop yourself there, for fear of real embarrassment.

Her lips twitch in amusement at your antics. “Thanks.”

There’s a lull in the conversation, a moment of silence, and you figure you’d best take your leave before you inevitably embarrass yourself in front of the love of your life. You step toward the door which she’s still stood in front of, mumbling something unintelligible, but Natasha remains firm and simply raises an eyebrow at you as she sips from her solo cup. Literally everything she does is so insanely attractive that you have to bury your face in Liho’s fur for a moment and inhale in order to ground yourself properly. How can one person be so lovely? It’s just not fair.

“I should go back upstairs, Liho doesn’t like the noise,” you tell Natasha.

“You know, it’s nearly midnight,” is all she replies. “They’re about to start the countdown.”

You nod, tight-lipped. Even when it’s muffled through the thick wood of the laundry room the noise is starting to get to you now, and Liho won’t sit still in your arms either, and you want to get back upstairs to the warm safety of your bed and Yelena’s company and the shit Kardashians show you were watching, away from the girl who it’s as torturous as it is wonderful to be around.

“It’s a romantic thing for a lot of people,” she continues, and you have to look away at that. It’s almost as though she, or the universe is dangling the fact that she’ll never be interested in you in front of your face tantalisingly — like a carrot on a stick. “To kiss the one you love when the clock hits midnight, and the New Year rolls in. You got anyone to kiss this year?”

Okay, wow. Ouch.

“Liho,” you reply with as much humour as you can muster. “He is my one true love. Aren’t you, bud,” you add a few octaves higher, and he perks up, recognising that voice that’s for him. When you look back up at Natasha she’s studying you with amusement in her eyes, as though she knows something you don’t. You can hear the chanting beginning outside of the laundry room now, preparing to ring in the New Year; twenty… nineteen…

Still, though, Natasha makes no move to let you leave.

“Do you have anyone to kiss at midnight?” you ask her pointedly. “Cause you should probably get back to them.”

She downs the rest of the contents of her solo cup in one before slamming it down on the counter beside her. “Don’t need to,” comes her gruff reply, “they’re right here.”

Your jaw actually fucking drops at that statement, and your brain shortcircuits. What? Even though your heart skips a hopeful beat, you shake your head quickly to clear it of the idea that she could reciprocate these crushing feelings you harbour for her. Instead, you hold Liho out to her, hands under his armpits so that his hind legs dangle below him and he stretches to look comically long — as though you’re giving him to her like a present (which he sends you a very unimpressed for). “O— oh,” you stutter, “well if he’s your midnight kiss, is that why you were in here? I don’t want to —” twelve, eleven…

She actually laughs out loud at that, and bats Liho away. “Not him, дурачок. You.”

Her hands are cupping at the side of your face, and despite the absolute bizarre circumstances you find yourself leaning into her touch, desperate to memorise the feel of her warm calloused fingertips against your skin — seven, six; she looks down at you, the blue-green outlining her wide dark pupils framing a silent question. You’re in absolute slack-jawed disbelief, this has got to be a prank, it’s got to be — four, three — but she holds your gaze with a kind of certainty that surely can’t be summoned to fool someone. You nod a trembling, single nod, and her lips press against yours just as the clock strikes midnight.

Her lips are so soft, so gentle against yours. Your eyelids flutter shut; you can’t help it. She feels like heaven. She’s tentative at first, but when she can feel you reciprocating, her hands begin to explore a little; one moving to tangle itself in your hair, the other to your back and pulling you in closer to her. One of your arms is busy still cradling Liho close to your chest, but the other is free to trace along Natasha’s skin wonderingly as she continues her ministrations. Her leg slides between yours, forcing you backwards against the wall, where her kisses trail down your jaw for a moment before creeping back up toward your lips and returning to kissing them instead. When she nips gently at your bottom lip, you let out a noise you’ve never heard yourself make before, a kind of high-pitched whine in the back of your throat that makes Natasha laugh quietly as she pulls away for air. Liho, who was nestled comfortably between the two of you throughout the exchange, is purring merrily (“talk, Valentina!” as your friend Darcy would say).

She looks down at you for a moment, eyes wide and dilated, hair a little less perfect than before, panting slightly. She’s always had a few inches on you, ever since you were kids, and that’s something she often teases you for but right now the way she’s towering over you is so fucking hot. None of this can be real, you think to yourself hazily as she leans back in to plant one more kiss, much more chaste this time, against your lips.

“Happy New Year,” she says lowly to you; her voice is a little more broken and raspy than it was pre-makeout and it actually sends a shiver down your spine. And then she’s waltzing out of the room, leaving you absolutely shaking against the wall she was just pressing you against; your legs give up on you as you slide down against it to the ground, trying to catch your breath and understand what just happened.

Because what? 

You wake up the next morning to a house that’s thankfully empty, aside from its usual residents. You’re absolutely terrified that last night was some kind of dream, or it was a drunk mistake. You’ve never felt so vulnerable in your life. You’re right in the palm of Natasha’s hand and she has all the power in the world to absolutely break you right now. She could shatter you into a thousand irreparable pieces and leave you in the dirt if she so wanted to, and that thought is one that had you tossing and turning last night.

Yelena can’t for the life of her fathom why you’re so jittery this morning. You’ve told her fuck all, of course. What were you meant to say? Hey, sorry, last night your sister who I’m kind of a little bit in love with cornered me and we made out? No fucking way. When you came back to the bedroom last night all shaken up and wordless, she just assumed that the party atmosphere had been that overwhelming. You were very grateful for her gentleness with you as you tried to figure out what the fuck was going on, and what you were meant to do now. You tried to Google it, but it would appear that not many other people can relate to the situation that you’ve found yourself in (the best thing you could find were some decade-old Quora threads about being in love with your straight best friend, and the idea of Yelena being straight was so funny to you that you had to close the tab before your laughing woke her up), and you ended up being so worried about Yelena somehow seeing your search history that you cleared the whole thing, which definitely is not suspicious. 

“Hey,” Yelena slaps the back of your head playfully as she passes you, knocking you out of your trance, “it is a new day. Party is over, the house is ours, leave the miserableness behind in yesterday, да?”

You nod as you follow her down the stairs.

Natasha, to your surprise, is already awake, and seemingly not even hungover as she bustles around the kitchen, preparing something.

Yelena seems to read your thoughts, as she often does, and nods in agreement. “What, you are not curled up in bed with four million painkillers?” she asks incredulously as she slides onto a stool at the kitchen island.

Natasha shakes her head good-naturedly at her sister’s greeting, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling like an idiot as she continues to cook. “No. I feel good this morning, actually. Really good.” The smile bleeds through her words and takes over her face again.

You and Yelena exchange a look. What is… happening?

“You are being weird,” Yelena tells her, and smacks her over the back of the head with a rolled-up newspaper as her older sister walks past her to grab the butter. “What have I missed, did you get laid last night or something?”

Your blood runs cold at that, and you have to look away from Yelena so she doesn’t see the way your face drops. Is that true? Did she kiss you and then sleep with someone else? No, she wouldn’t do that to you, surely.

Your thoughts (hopes) are confirmed when she snorts to herself and shakes her head, her back still to the both of you as she pours batter into a pan. “No. No, I just — I had a really good time last night. That’s all. Thanks for letting me have the party.”

You watch as Yelena’s eyebrows furrow, her eyes tracking every one of Natasha’s movements intently, and she tries to figure out what’s going on. You’re similarly perplexed. Natasha is the silent, stony older sibling, the watcher, the one who hears everything and knows everything but doesn’t often speak of her own accord. Last night in the laundry room was the longest exchange you’ve had with her in weeks (and that was before she kissed you). As a kid you would mistake this for shyness, but it eventually became clear that Natasha Romanoff is not shy. She’s very far from it, in fact. She’s just observant, and doesn’t feel the need to speak unless she has something to say. You have zero clue what she’s feeling or thinking half the time — her poker face is so good it’s unsettling. So this is a weird occurrence. You don’t think you’ve seen her as happy as this since… well, since the day she was brought home.

“Well, it is not as though we had much choice in the matter,” Yelena retorts humorously. “Don’t forget we are not cleaning up. That’s on you, сестра.”

“I know, I know,” Natasha grumbles playfully, placing a plate in front of each of you before sliding a pancake onto each of them, right out of the pan. “I owe you one.”

Yelena looks from the pancake to her sister, and back again. “What is this?”

“A chocolate chip pancake.”

“They’re heart-shaped,” you observe quietly.

“Well done for having eyes. If you don’t want them —”

“Nope, it’s good, thank you,” says Yelena thickly, and it’s already gone. You let out a noise of amusement as you eat in a more dignified manner, humming your approval. You don’t think Nat’s ever made you breakfast. It’s nice, though.

Yelena swallows, and leaps to her feet. “I think it’s a Kardashians marathon on TV today,” she informs you, pointedly ignoring the noise Natasha makes whenever that show is mentioned, and she dashes off into the living room. You are alone with Natasha, for the first time since last night.

The nerves from earlier are back, swelling up inside of you uncomfortably, and you do your best to casually avert your gaze from her as you continue to eat. You have no idea whether to bring up last night or to pretend it never happened. Just thinking of the latter makes your heart ache, but it’s becoming a more real possibility by the minute.

Seemingly indifferent to your internal struggling, Natasha slides a pancake onto her own plate and ruffles your hair as she passes you on her way to the fridge. You flinch at the touch, and she giggles.

“You okay?” she asks you teasingly as she pulls a container of raspberries out of the fridge.

You swallow, and nod, trying your best to not embarrass yourself this morning. “Y — yeah. Uh, can I have some?” You gesture at the tub of raspberries.

She pretends to think for a moment, taking slow steps back towards you, until she’s right in front of you — towering over you even more so than she usually does, since you’re still sat down. You look up at her, filled with something not dissimilar to awe. Even in the mornings, when she’s fresh out of bed and still half-asleep, she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. She places her spare hand on your thigh, with the other still holding the berries, and you think to yourself with absolute certainty that you could die happily in this moment.

“Mmm,” she says thoughtfully. “Beg me.”

Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, your jaw drops. You look up at her, pleadingly, not even sure what you’re pleading for. Pleading her to go easy on you? Pleading her to stop? To keep going? But she’s unrelenting.

“Please,” you say eventually, quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please can I have some.”

Almost too quickly for you to process, her lips are pressing against yours. You gasp against her, every single emotion from last night swelling back up, with the added concern that Yelena is in the next room over. But she pulls away after a moment, winking at you as she retreats to her own seat, and as you raise a hand to your lips you realise that in kissing you, she’s left a berry between your lips. She laughs gently when she sees you openly staring at her, and the sound sets your whole body alight, the feeling only amplified by the fact that you’re the cause of her laughter.

Well, you wanted an answer and there’s not many ways to interpret that one.

And so begins your scandalous affair with your best friend’s sister.

[softfem-dom]

more random x men+wade wilson headcanons!

✰ Logan is the type of guy to frown at you when you talk to him from more than 3 meters distance, not because he can't hear you but because he can't understand what you're saying.

✰ Cyclops the man that you ask something and goes "what?" but when you try to repeat yourself he stops you because he did hear you it's just that his brain was too slow to process it on time.

✰ I'm one hundred percent sure that when Wade first was told that Colossus' real name was Rasputin he went real '🙀' face and asked "like rasputin? like that dude that was banging the queen of russia? does that mean-" he didn't get to ask if his dick was 28 cm before someone was covering his mouth.

✰ Rogue and Bobby bought different color set pyjamas and exchanged the shirts to match.

✰ Logan says 'you ate' to Kitty and Rogue because they forced him to anytime they do well in a training session.

✰ Kurt can't, for the life of him, understand the slang of the new generetion like what do you mean he ate and left no crumbs??? rogue??? what are you trying to saying to him???

✰ Logan sleeps as if he was the girl from the exorcist, limbs everywhere, sheets in the floor, pillow lost in the bed. ^he snores real loud too.

✰ Jean is a huge mamma mia fan. ^Cyclops has been forced to sing along with her more than once.

✰ Storm likes to watch grease just to cuss out Danny for being a dick.

✰ Rogue and Kitty were forced to watch grease for 'cultural education' and ended up unironically fighting over who was better if Danny or Kenickie. ^Rogue was team nickie and Kitty was team zuko.

✰ Storm will hide the existence of grease 2 from everyone. for her, that movie doesn't exist.

✰ the kids once tried to pull a singing stunt, high school musical style, for Storm on teacher's day.

✰ Hank likes Elvis. I will not elaborate. ^he also likes to put on a fake deep voice to sing the low notes of his songs lol.

✰ Charles has nearly 170 vinyls stocked in boxes in the basement of the school. turns out he was an impulsive vinyl collector when he was younger (think dofp time)

✰ Kurt, Storm and Cyclops showed up in matching Wolverine merch (the most shitty, cheap, aliexpress material kind) ever just to fuck with Logan for a while. ^he got mad, he was amused, but still.

✰ then, Rogue and Kitty unironically got actual quality brand Wolverine merch and Logan was acting like a proud dad.

✰ Logan is a girl dad™. I will not elaborate.

[goodenoughformeee]

I told my mom I'm aroace but she unknowingly pulled an uno reverse card on me ( - v -)

Since it's still pride month, I thought I should share the moment I came out to my mom

I came out and told my mom I'm aroace, two year ago and thought I should talk about it's cuz it's kinda funny to me.

(Side note: my mom is a down to earth kinda person and sometimes can be a clueless or an airhead but she does have a resting bitch face and has a harshly type of voice)

So I told my mom I'm aroace when we were just walking in the balcony at night after we had dinner.It was summer so the cool breeze at night help us cool down. And then, we just started talking about stuff.

It was pretty random and somehow we (mostly I started) to talk about the LGBTQ+ community.(I've told my mom about the LGBT community before too when I was in 8th grade too,to see if she's homophobic of not which not to my surprise she was not?(She even told me if I liked a girl she's ok with it as long as I'm happy but I didn't tell her I'm aroace that time)

So then I just straight up told her I'm aroace. She obviously didn't know what aroace was. So I told her that aroace was the lack of feeling or not feeling romantic and sexual attraction and there is a spectrum to it.And that I don't feel romantic and sexual attraction towards other people. She kinda understood this but I tried to explain further.

(The conversation went like this)

Me: ok mom, so like you know how in when people talk about their feelings for their crushes? Ya I don't so that.

Mom:... people actually have crushes.

Me who is speechless :um ya mom people have crushes.

Mom: wanna know something funny? I didn't know people actually had crushes untill I went to Russia to get my degree.

Me: so, you mean to tell me your friends didn't talk about crushes?

Mom: they did tell me they like some celebrity, always thought they liked the celebrity cuz he/she was nice to look at.

Me: you mean like the celebrity was eye candy?

Mom: ya, like they are eye candy.

Me: so you mean to tell me that you never had the want to be in a relationship?

Mom: nope not at all.

Me: wait wait wait I need to make sure. So you mean to tell me that you've always thought that crushes or those lovely dovey thing bf gf do was like a joke or they they were acting like they were in a movie?

Mom: ya, doesn't everyone think that?

Me: mom... you're aroace like me.

Mom: oh ok...

Me:MOM WHAT KIND OF REACTION IS THAT!?

And like that is how my mom knew she was aroace.

Funny thing about all this is that I got the vibes that my mom was aroace for the longest time and my guess was correct lol.

So this was a win-win situation for me and my mom, I told her I was aroace and she now knew she was aroace.

Funny interaction between mother and daughter if you think about it loI.

I still laugh about it when I think about it.

[kujousgf]

BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS. mdni. 18+.

pairings: dark ! natasha romanoff + f ! reader

summary: natasha has always liked to hunt, and it's even better when her prey is a pretty girl

warnings: violence, abuse, bear trap, injury, established kidnapping/established relationship, almost outdoor sex, public indecency, hair pulling, impact play, groping, guns, daddy kink

wc: 3.2k~

“Natasha, please.” You whimper, grabbing at her wrist to try and ease some of the strain on your hair as she drags you out of the house and through the yard. “Stop, I don’t want to do this.” Tears are rolling down your cheeks now from the pain in your scalp and your face from the previous punches Natasha threw your way. 

“Really? Could’ve fuckin’ fooled me.” Natasha growls, tugging harder and making you trip over your own feet before she hauls you up, only to push you to the ground afterwards, glaring at your shaking form on the ground. 

This was your fault, you shouldn’t have tried to run. It was stupid, you know that now. You just wished you had more freedom, that’s all. 

You were naked save for the panties and bra she allowed you to keep on, having forced you to strip about ten minutes prior. Your body trembled in the chilly autumn air of whatever part of Russia Natasha inhabited, one of the Oblasts you think, it was the most likely, but you weren’t sure. She didn’t like to keep you conscious while she was traveling, so you were never quite sure where you were. But you know you’ve been in this specific place for a while now, at her out of place house, in the middle of nowhere, in the Russian wilderness. 

You startle when you hear a knife make a soft thud on the grass next to you and you look up at Natasha, sniffling and trying to wipe your tears away. You know she doesn’t like it when you cry over nothing like this. “Tasha, I’m sorry, I promise. Please, I’ll be good, I don’t want to do this again.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you try to keep your voice even, but it trembles and you know Natasha heard. 

“Don’t ‘Tasha’ me.” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Pick up the knife. Get up.” And when you don’t make any moves to get up, still hoping she’ll change her mind, she lands a harsh kick to your thigh and you whimper. “Now! Don’t make me say it again.”

You squeak involuntarily, tears starting to spill down your cheeks again. You don’t like when Natasha yells at you, even more than you don’t like when she hits you like this and treats you like a ragdoll. ‘If you don’t like it, then don’t do anything to deserve it’ you can hear her voice in the back of your head. You shouldn’t have done anything to upset her. Everything that happens from now on is your fault, you know that, but still, you can’t help but wish Natasha would be just a little nicer. 

You grab the hunting knife with a shaky hand, gripping the handle and starting to stand up. “You want to be a good girl?” She asks and you nod hesitantly, you know where this is going. “Then you can be a good girl by getting out of my sight. You wanted so badly to leave this morning, so go on then.”

“But Tasha, I’m not– I’m–”

“What the fuck did I just say? Go!”

The loudness of her voice is enough to have your body moving before your brain even registers what she said, scrambling away like a scared animal. You’ve always hated when Natasha got like this, you don’t like this game. You’ve never played it like this, but it’s never been fun either way.

The game is really quite simple, Natasha is the predator and you are her prey. She gives you five minutes to run– ten minutes if she’s feeling particularly nice, before she comes after you. The knife is because she’s not that cruel, she doesn’t want some wild animal to be the reason you die. You are in the Russian wilderness, afterall. All of the previous times she’s done this you’ve been fully clothed, though, and you wish she had let you keep your clothes on this time, too.

She must have been feeling particularly mean to make you do this in the current weather. It’s not horribly windy, but the air is not still either, and the wind that blows past is bitter and cold. You think the time on the clock read 4:26pm when Natasha dragged you through the living room, which meant you had about two hours before the sun would set. 

Natasha had never really let you outside late enough for the sun to set, and you weren’t entirely sure you wanted your first time out past sunset to be in the forest, but you also didn’t know what exactly she would do when she found you. Natasha was unpredictable. Some days she was soft and gentle, like she was when you first got together, and other days she was mean and cold, treating you as if you were nothing but a burden she had to drag around with her. You knew she didn’t mean it, though. If that’s what she really thought then she would have dropped you off in the middle of nowhere months ago, maybe even left you years ago, and drove off without so much as a look back. 

Your feet are sore as you run across the ground, rocks and dirt sticking to your bare feet, twigs scattered everywhere, some sharp and some not, digging into your flesh harshly. You know you’ll be cleaning cuts when you get back to the house, but you try not to focus on the pain so you can focus on where you’re going instead. You know that the closest village is about 15 miles away, an impossible distance even when you’re running your fastest.

It would take around two hours to get there and Natasha would never let that happen anyway, the longest she’d ever taken in her little hunt was 45 minutes because you’d somehow managed to climb a tree. You never did that again after how terrifying it was to have her climb up after you and practically throw you down from it. 

You could never go into the village in your state of undress anyway, something Natasha was counting on. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been running for when you stop to catch your breath, if it’s been less than or more than ten minutes– the maximum amount of time Natasha would have given you to get a headstart. Not that it really mattered, the outcome would be the same no matter how long you’d been running. That, at least, was predictable. 

You hear a gunshot in the distance and you bolt. You didn’t know she had that with her, you didn’t see it before back at the cabin. She’d never used it on you, only to scare you, but that doesn’t mean today won’t be the day that changes. She did seem rather volatile today. You look behind you and you can’t see her anywhere, not even a glimpse of her red hair. 

Is she using her gun to signal that it's been five minutes? Ten minutes? That would be new. But what else would she possibly be wasting a bullet for? …Is there someone else out here? No, there couldn’t be, there’s never been before. Who would have found their way all the way out here? You don’t even know where here is, so why would anyone who isn’t Natasha know where you are?

And if there is someone else out here, was that Natasha’s gun firing or theirs? Your heart is beating faster now, moreso out of genuine fear rather than nervousness like before. Sure, Natasha could be scary, but she’d never evoked this kind of fear out of you before. You’re conflicted now. Should you keep running or should you go back to see if Natasha is okay? You have a knife, surely you could help? But what good is a knife against a gun?

Your mind is going so fast you can barely keep up. You hadn’t felt this anxious since you thought Natasha was going to die in the hands of Ultron all those years ago. 

Your feet are moving on their own and with your constant glances behind, you aren’t paying any attention to where you’re running. You even climbed… something, but you weren’t paying enough attention even to that. Usually, you’d be more vigilant, you know that Natasha likes to set traps sometimes, keep you nervous about what’s out there and give you a reason not to try and escape.

But you’re not paying any attention to the ground below you as you run, too focused on the gun shot you had heard that you don’t see the trap in front of you. You had never been up here anyway, you never would have known about it. You barely even feel yourself stepping on the pan in the middle until the two steel jaws clamp around your ankle and you let out a blood curdling scream. 

Bear traps aren’t supposed to hurt like this, they’re not supposed to be this sharp. Natasha was just cruel.

You instantly drop to the ground, on your knees first and then sitting as you uselessly try to pry the trap off of your leg. Your hands are trembling and covered in blood as you cry. Just the sight of all your blood is almost enough to make you pass out. You hiccup on your own sobs, trying to figure out how you could possibly get this trap off. You wish Natasha were here. 

Natasha grunts as she pulls herself up onto the top of a rock face. How you had strayed so far from your usual path, she had no idea. Well, she had a little bit of an idea. She did fire her gun just to make you jump. She can tell you’d been here, though, if the fresh blood on the sharp rock was any indication. Her poor baby, you must have cut yourself, why didn’t you just choose another direction?

Once she’s on her feet again, she looks around for any other signs of you. The grass is flattened to the east and she narrows her eyes as she looks further in that direction. She knows that climbing must have slowed you down a lot, and if she knows her girl, then the pain from whatever cuts you have will have you whining and complaining to yourself the whole time. If she listens close enough, she’d probably just be able to hear you, so she walks in the direction of the flattened grass. 

She pauses for a second and then crouches down to get a closer look at the ground. Yes, you were running away from the rock face, not towards it. And it looks like you have a few cuts on the bottom of your feet if the dark maroon stains on some of the blades of grass meant anything. Natasha supposes she could have been a little less cruel and given you shoes, but it’s a little too late for that now. 

She stands again and begins walking further, she’s not running, no longer worried about how far ahead you may have gotten. You’d be tired by now even without any injuries, and Natasha was much faster than you even on your best days, it didn’t matter if she ran or walked now. She was in the home stretch.

She looks down at the watch on her wrist and hums. It had been 20 minutes since she’d set you free, and that was more than enough time for her to simmer down at least a little bit and for you to trap yourself in your thoughts of her being mad at you. Ones that would have you pleading at her feet, she’s sure, begging her to forgive you more than you were before. 

And she has simmered down, realized that perhaps her reaction to the fear of you wanting to leave her wasn’t quite appropriate. But really, when were any of her reactions appropriate? This was an okay approach, she reasons, making you realize you never wanted to be without her.

And then she hears it. A scream in the distance. 

Natasha’s fingers twitch and she wonders if she should fire another blank or not. She slows her breathing and does her best to create minimal noise as she walks towards the source of the sound. She knows it’s you, but she doesn’t know what has you screaming like that. If it’s an animal, she can sneak up and kill it before it hurts you. And if it’s not, well, she might be in for a little treat. 

She’s not disappointed when she sees you sitting down and leaning against a tree, sniffling as you look down at your leg. Your very bloody leg, actually. And then Natasha’s eyes focus properly and she sees the trap clamped tightly around your leg, the teeth from the jaws sunk into your flesh. Poor thing, you’ll never see her coming. Unless…

She considers having a little mercy, but once she knows she’s close enough to be in your eye sight and for you to panic, she reaches into her back pocket for her gun and fires it into the air. 

She watches as you practically jump out of your skin, and a pained whimper slips past your lips, looking around with wide eyes until you spot her. You’re like a deer caught in headlights and you know there’s nothing you can do now, you can’t run and even if you tried, you wouldn’t get very far, the trap is chained somewhere to a chain fence stake somewhere in the ground. 

Natasha stalks towards you, eyes hungry as she takes in the sight in front of her. “Run into a little trouble, did you?” She grins, wolf-like, and crouches in front of you. “This looks like it hurts, baby. You poor thing.” And you know she’s going to do something bad when she reaches out, but you don’t expect her to start poking and prodding at the injury. 

You whimper and your fists clench at your sides, “T–Tasha, please.” Your teeth clench, “Stop… Yes, it hurts, ah!”

She chuckles and grants you a little mercy. She presses down on the springs on both sides, using her strength to open the jaws, “Move your leg.” She instructs when your leg is finally free of the metal, the dislodging causing a pained whine to escape your lips. When all you do is sniffle and look at her she sighs, “Now or I will let it go and we both know you don’t want that.”

Hesitantly, you move your leg out of the trap, wincing when you feel a jolt of pain shoot up your leg. Natasha lets go and the trap snaps shut before she picks it up and tosses it somewhere behind her, you hear it hit the ground with a dull thud. “There. Aren't things always better when you listen to me?”

She takes a second to properly examine the injury you’ve sustained. The wounds aren’t too deep and they’ll definitely need some cleaning and they’ll take time to heal, but that is something she’ll worry about later. For now…

“You didn’t lose my good hunting knife, did you?” she tilts her head to the side and you shrink a little under her gaze. “W– Well, I didn’t really lose it, I promise, b– but I didn’t have anywhere to put it and I needed my hands and–”

Natasha cuts you off with a kiss and your eyes widen in surprise. You thought she’d be mad at you, not kissing you, but maybe this means you’re forgiven. “Don’t care, I’ll find it later. Seeing you like this… We might have to do this more often.” Her hands roughly grope at your breasts and you whine before she rips your bra off of you entirely, it’s times like this where you’re reminded of just how strong she actually is.

You want to cry at her words, yell and tell her you don’t want to do this again, you don’t like this. Tears well up in your eyes at just the thought of having to do this again, especially in a state of undress like this and you wish you could tell her to stop, that you don’t want this anymore, you can’t take it, but you know you can’t. After all, what would you do without her? Even if being with her means you get hurt like this sometimes, you don’t think you could really ever live without her. You just wish she’d go back to being sweet Natasha all the time.

Natasha interrupts your thoughts with another kiss, this one a little more hungry and insistent. You wish she would at least take you back to the house, but it seems that she wants you now and she’s unwilling to wait. You could try to convince her to at least tend to your injury first, but you doubt that she would listen. 

“Tash–” You start and she moves to start kissing at your neck because of the interruption, “Tasha, please, let’s go home first. I’m filthy, don’t you want to clean up first?” 

She groans as she pulls away from your neck, taking the time to examine you properly. Her heart skips and she growls, the sight of you like this excites her, even if you’re covered in dirt and blood. “No, you want to go home and clean up first, but I don’t remember asking.” And that’s all you get before she’s back to kissing and biting at your neck. 

One of her hands moves down to toy with the waistband of your panties as the other gropes at your chest. You let your head fall back against the tree and you wish you could focus more on Natasha, she always makes you feel so good and it’s not like you’ve never let her fuck you while injured before, but your leg is throbbing and the whimper that falls from your lips is more from pain than pleasure.

You push at her shoulder weakly and the look she gives you when you make her pull away for the second time is deadly. But you know she cares, you know she does, you just have to hit the right spot when you speak next and so you go for a weak point, “I–It hurts a lot, Daddy, please. I’ll be good and we can do whatever you want, just please can we go home first?”

Her expression softens a fraction and you know you’ve won. Natasha may be unpredictable, but there is always one thing that stays the same: her need to protect you.

“...Fine.” You’re surprised she’s not actually pouting as she grabs your bra and shoves it partially into her back pocket before standing up. She cracks her knuckles before leaning down and picking you up bridal style, making sure your injured leg is the one furthest away from her body. “I think we still have those pink bandages you liked so much.”

Yes, you were definitely forgiven.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

So I've seen a lot of 'Hop actively dislikes and distrusts Steve', 'Hop tolerates Steve because he's useful during UD shenanigans but doesn't like him', and the big swing to 'Hop has adopted Steve as his own and treats him the same/almost the same as he does El'

BUT, I present:

Hop pseudo adopts Steve because when he and Owens were trying to get the Harringtons to make any decisions about their teenager who saw some sketchy shit and may need government testing they legally gave Hop the rights to act in loco parentis and he takes that seriously because he doesn't want another Will Byers and he's pretty sure the Harrington kid has a concussion.

Hop who stays involved just enough in Steve's life season 1-3 that we the audience see Steve is getting attached. But Hop just sees an annoying kid who won't leave him alone when he's trying to deal with a rebellious psychic and her insane little friends and keeps asking stupid questions about highschool romance and teenage rivalry drama. Knows Joyce Byers doesn't like the kid but won't give a lot of reason why but he's mostly learned to trust that woman's judgement about people. Still gets him the job at Scoops when the kid's dad makes a stink about college and tells him if he survives a few months there he'll consider bringing him on the force, makes sense to keep him close and in a position to help should shit hit the fan again.

Hop who doesn't get it when Steve is one of the most relieved when he 'comes back to life' after Joyce and Murray bring him back from Russia. When Steve introduces him as "My Hop," (something he'd taken to calling him just before season 2 shenanigans) to his sarcastic, fidgety little friend like it means something. The girl, Robin, looks between the two of them and gets this sad look on her face for a second before smiling and shaking his hand and saying something about "Dingus has told me all about you".

Hop who complains to Murray one of the times The Party and assorted teens and adults are over at his renovated and expanded cabin (courtesy of Owens and shady government organizations recognizing these people are worth investing in, heavily if omens are to be believed) when the bald annoyance asks about what's up on there. Complains about having annoying teenagers who have nothing better to do but pester him legally put under his supervision cause their parents can't be assed to care and are spoiled little shits who are slightly more bearable versions of said parents cause he can stand toe to toe with one of those monsters they faced and the kids kind of listen to him. Complains about barely being able to breathe cause of regular visits and check-ins like Hop was still responsible for him. Says at least the extra hands are useful around the cabin what with the still healing up and El pacing herself after the showdown with Creel and still trying to find Max and the Byers not quite moved back to Hawkins yet.

Hop who doesn't realize that Steve hears every word cause he had gone looking for the older man when he disappeared for more than a few minutes, when he couldn't see him to make sure he was here and safe and alive. Steve who thought Hop actually had come to care for him in his own gruff way and had confessed to Robin that in a lot of ways the way Hop has taken care of him makes him the closest thing to the father figure he's always wanted but never thought he'd get to have. Steve who hears Murray hum and recollect a visit from Nancy and Jonathan where their romance officially started (he vaguely knows about the visit, didn't realize that's what happened, didn't realize she couldn't be bothered to even do the decent/considerate thing before moving on to something better) because it seemed it was a pattern he was seeing 'people liked Steve, but people didn't love Steve'.

Hop who hears a choked sound like someone taking a claw to the gut and turns to see Harrington. Steve Harrington his bandages just peeking out from the collar of his shirt and the opening of his sleeves. (He never did get the stories behind those, too busy being fussed over and being told about the kids and how they were doing as Harrington played babysitter) Steve Harrington a kid who went through hell and still managed to smile and laugh and stand tall and unyielding looking at him with a blank face his eyes misty and his shoulders starting to curl in on himself before he clears his throat, chokes out that he just wanted to make sure Hop was alright but looks like Murray had everything under control. He'd go now, get out of his hair, let him rest, let him breathe. Steve Harrington who walks away with purpose like a man on a mission and doesn't acknowledge the kids calling out asking if he's alright, make sure he has his walkie talkie on him.

Hop, who realizes maybe he left behind two kids who missed (needed) him. Who wonders who took care of Harrington's paperwork when he was concussed and sedated because he was bleeding out and feverish from infection and Hop was busy at the cabin reveling in the comfort and warmth of his daughter and the woman he loved and her two sons who were fast becoming like his own. Hop, who realizes too late that maybe if he'd given the kid half a chance he could have had 3 sons to sit with him and his daughter and the woman he loved as they basked in surviving another end-of-the-world. Hop who has spent years barely giving a damn about Steve Harrington and realizes that he's no better than the kid's own parents.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4.1

Part 4.2

Part 5

[itsagrimm]

What is a Russian Character and How to write them

As @sarapaprikas-blog and I were working on this post, we noticed a gap of knowledge and public perception that we want to address. Plenty of characters get labelled as Russian in media without necessarily being Russian. On the other hand the Archetypal ”Russian” character often does not mirror the realities of being Russian. We are to talk about that.

What is Russia?

Russia is a country. It is the largest country in the world with over 140 million inhabitants, stretching over 11 time zones. It is often seen as the successor state to the Soviet Union, which in itself was the successor state of the Russian Empire. The Soviet Union and Russia do not have the same borders or government. However, modern Russia draws a lot from its history as the largest and dominant part of the Soviet Union. Before the Soviet Union, the area was governed by the Russian Empire. The Russian Empire, as the name already indicates, was imperialist. The history as an Empire with massive expansion, colonies and conquering different people, is arguably the biggest reason why modern Russia is as big as it is today.

What is Russian?

There is a difference between the language Russian, the ethnicity Russian, and the nationality Russian. In English the difference can be made out only by context. 

Who is Russian?

As aforementioned, there is a difference between Russian (Россиянин) meaning citizen of Russia, and ethnically Russian (Русские). The term Russian (Русские) usually refers to ethnicity, indicating a person who has Russian roots. Russian (Россиянин) implies Russian citizenship, regardless of ethnicity. Thus, a Russian can be someone with Russian citizenship, but not all Russian citizens are Russians in the ethnic sense. Also, not all ethnic Russians have Russian citizenship or live within Russia.

Ethnic-Russians are an East Slavic people. Obviously, they mainly live in Russia. But there are also large communities in Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Belarus, Latvia, Lithuania, and other countries. The traditional religion among Russians is Orthodox Christianity. The main language is Russian.

The country Russia is home to more than 190 ethnicities, including indigenous and autochthonous people, leading to a variety of languages, religions and practiced cultures. So, someone who holds a Russian citizenship, has ethnic Russian heritage and / or speaks Russian, can look very different than the cliche Russian bond girl or evil-doer indicates. That also means that those who get labelled Russian can live very different lives. Writing a Russian character gives you a lot of room outside of the prevalent stereotyped depictions.

Who is not Russian?

Simple - those who say they are not Russian, are not Russian.

Who are Slavs? What is Slavic? 

The slavic people are a variety of people, ethnically Russian people are part of that group. However, there are a lot of other ethnic groups that are Slavs without being Russian e.g. Poles, Sorbs, Czech, Ukrainians, and many more. Slavic is the corresponding adjective to Slavs. It is often used to describe the indo-Slavic language group. Slavic is also often used to describe the collectively perceived similarities of Slavic peoples' culture. However, that can be misleading and get’s often orientalised as not everything from Eastern-Europe or Russia is slavic.

Russian vocabulary Да - Yes Нет - No Привет - Hi Здравствуйте - Hello Как дела ? - How are you? Хорошо - Good Пожалуйста - Please Не за что - my pleasure  До свидания - Goodbye Пока - bye  Увидимся - See you later Хорошего дня - Have a nice day Простите - I'm sorry. (Plural or honoured addressee) Помогите, пожалуйста. - Help me please. (Plural or honoured addressee) Доброе утро - Good morning Доброй ночи - Good night. Добрый день - Good day / afternoon.

Pet names in Russian About pet names. They are either masculine of feminine . Please don't use words like darling, kitten, baby, pretty, sweetie, little one, little fox, etc. as they sound really strange in translation to native speakers. Pet names are common for close ones (family, close friends, spouses). Sometimes primary school teachers call students by affectionate names. Also sweet old lady may call you ( Дорогой/ Дорогая). But outside of that nobody calls each other by pet names, only using names because Russians are very reserved and private people in general. Gender neutral pet names: жизнь моя - my life солнце мое - my sun or my sunshine  ты мое все - you my everything. лучик - sunray. мое сокровище - my treasure.  мое золотце - my gold or sweetheart. моя любовь - my love. ты моя радость - you are my joy. ангелочек - Angel. прелесть моя - my precious.

Queerness and gender-neutral speech in Russian Being queer in Russia is hard as queers face oppression. Because of that, there is limited to no public discourse on how to adapt and diversify the language to include queer and especially non-binary identities. This is a problem as the Russian language is extremely gendered and expresses a gender binary in near default. While gender neutral pronouns in Russian exist, it's harder to use them in real life as the neutral pronoun “оно” is mostly associated with things or animals and not living humans, similar to the English “it”. Often words generally do not have gender neutral alternatives.  However, one way we suggest for a more gender neutral speech is to avoid most explicit gendering as the flexible syntax in combination with using plural pronouns in Russian allow for more gender neutral speech. For Example: Я люблю их всем моих сердцем - I love them with all my heart. Расскажи мне о них! - Tell me about them.  Дай им время- give them time. Я горжусь ими - I'm proud of them.  Они сделает это сами  -  they do it themselves. Read more about queerness in Russia here: one two three four

Russian swearing                             In Russia, swearing is considered a sign of rudeness and poor manners. Use accordingly. Also, as mentioned here, Russian syntax and inflection are different from English. Meaning one word can be a whole sentence. We punctuated every swearing that is technically a whole sentence and therefore can stand on its own grammatically. Блять - fuck Пошел нахуй. - fuck you  Хуй - dick Пизда - cunt Мы в пизде. - we are fucked / “We are stuck in the cunt.” Ебать - fuck Ахуел. - are you/they crazy?! Это пиздец. - this fucked up Мудак - asshole  Завали ебало. - shut the fuck up Сука - bitch Черт - damn Непизди. - stop fucking lying. / Cut your bullshit. Пиздобол - Person who lies a lot/ Don't lie  Мамку твою ебал. - i fucked your mom (mostly used by middle schoolers, here in grammatically masculine gender.) Заебись. - holy shit (could be bad or good depend on situation) Похуй! - I don't fucking care. Навешать пиздюлей - to beat up someone. Срать тебе в рот -  To crap in your mouth. Ты ебанулся. - Are you batshit crazy. Заебал. - I'm sick of you. Жопа - ass. Иди в баню. - soft version of Иди нахуй.

Explanation of the Russian Naming System & Patronyms

The Russian naming system consists of three main elements: first name, patronymic and last name. Name: This is the first name given to a child at birth. In Russia, the names are chosen by the parents or relatives of the child. Names can be both traditional (Alexander, Anna, Ekaterina) and modern (Sofia, Victoria, Yaroslav). Patronymic: this is the second name, which reflects the child's origin from his father. Some cultures in Russia also use the mothers name. The patronymic name among Russian people arose in the 10th - 11th centuries and was used infrequently at first, but became widespread around the 16th century. It is formed by adding the suffix "-ovich" or "-aries" to the father's name. For example, if the father's name is Ivan, then his child Ivan or Ivanna will be called Ivan Ivanovich or Ivanna Ivanovna. Last name: This is a family surname that is passed down from generation to generation. It is usually assigned at birth and does not change without special circumstances. Surnames can come from various sources, such as profession, place of residence, origin, or personal characteristics. As a result, a person's full name consists of a first name, a patronymic (if applicable) and a last name, for example: Ivan Ivanovich Petrov.

How to respectfully address a person in Russian. In Russian there are two ways to address someone. Using the polite you (Вы) amd using the formal you (Ты). The choice of mode depends on how well you know the other person and whether you are superior or inferior in terms of age and social position. If you know the person's first name you refer to them by first name and patronymic. For examples: Борис Юрьевич, Ваши рабочие отлично справились с ремонтом- Boris Yurievich, your workers did a great job with repairs. Adults never address a person by name, only by surname or patronymic unless the addressee gives permission to address them in an informal manner. Regulations of most military require their members address each other in formal you( Вы ); subordinates address commanders as товарищ (comrade) + rank , while higher ups address subordinates by military rank and surname. Example: [Colonel to Sgt. Sidorov] Сержант Сидоров, ко мне! Sergeant Sidorov, front and center! [sgt. Sidorov to colonel] По вашему приказанию прибыл, товарищ полковник! Reporting for duty [lit. arrived at your (pl.) request], comrade colonel! Military men sometimes use same forms of address, albeit in singular, in friendly conversation. Example: Сержант, дай сигарету. - Give (sing.) me a cigarette, Sarge. Military hierarchy in Russia You can find useful links here. One Two

[dira333]

Of Tremors and believing in Love - Yaku x Reader

Yaku’s not sure what he expected. 

Maybe some buff Russian guy like they show in action movies, or an elderly gentleman that makes him feel like a Celebrity with a private driver.

Not you. 

You’re gorgeous, even in the unforgiving light of the airport exit area, holding up a sign that spells his name in bright red Kanji. 

He swallows nervously, hands clammy with sweat as he approaches.

He hadn’t been that nervous, he thinks, leaving Japan for an unfamiliar country. It was Volleyball and he knew Volleyball. He could rely on his talent if everything else failed, and on his iron stomach to handle whatever the Russian kitchen was going to throw at him - Lev’s tales hadn’t left him with much hope.

But he’s never been that good at talking to girls and his perpetually single status is either a symptom or the cause of this predicament.

“Hi,” he greets you, voice breaking over that one-syllable word.

“Hi,” you smile and bow in greeting. “How was your flight? Are you hungry, tired, or anything else?”

Your Japanese is perfect. He can even hear hints of a Kansai dialect hidden somewhere in between.

“A little hungry,” he admits, “I… uh… I’m Yaku, by the way. Morisuke.”

He wants to facepalm so badly. Where’s his usual coolness? Where’s his confident tone?

“Sorry,” you apologize immediately, offering your name. “I got caught up in the moment. How about we grab something to eat and get to know each other?”

Yaku nods, glad that’s something he can answer without opening his mouth and making a fool of himself.

As it turns out, he was right.

You grew up in the Kansai region, moved to Russia with your parents when you were a young teen. 

He can’t help but search for familiarity in your features, half expecting to be reminded of Lev, or Alisa. He berates himself immediately. Just because you’re Japanese-Russian too doesn’t mean you have to look like everyone else who’s Japanese-Russian.

“How did they find you?” Yaku asks as he slips into the booth, “The agency, I mean.”

“Oh, I work for Tigr Ekaterinburg. I handled your contracts. They asked me if I would be willing to show you around and be a helping hand the first few months and I agreed. Japanese players are often polite and easy to work with. Do you think you’ll be able to handle the Russians though? They can be pretty rough.”

Yaku laughs. “I do think I can. I’ve played in quite a few different teams. My classmates called me Demon-Senpai.” He laughs again at the memory, fondness washing over him.

“Tell me more about that,” you ask, your question so unusually direct for the polite tone you’re using. You flip open the Menu. “I’ll be ordering. Any allergies?”

-

“So you’re the Mom-friend of the Group,” you summarize, popping the last tiny pancake, or Syrniki, as they are called, into your mouth. You chew slowly, not letting him out of your sight.

“That’s interesting. I’ve never met a male Mom-friend.”

“I’m not-” he tries to defend himself, even though he’s heard it often enough from Kenma and Kuroo, Kai and Lev. “You really think so?”

“There’s an easy test,” you tell him with a smile. “Did you know I have actually a headache? It’s been bothering me all day.”

Worry washes over him. “Really? God, why didn’t you say so? You should rest then. Did you drink enough water?”

You laugh, the sound tinkling around him like droplets of silver.

“You failed the test. Mom-Friend detected.”

He pouts and you still. For a moment, no one speaks.

Eventually, you move again, clear your throat, and take a sip of your drink.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended.”

“Good.” You nod, your voice calm and distant. “If you want, I can show you you’re apartment now.”

- - -

Yaku’s not the first guy you get to drive around town nor will he be the last, probably.

You drop him off at his apartment, show him the few things he could have trouble with - no rice cooker in the kitchen and the bathroom works a little different over here - and leave for the office, determined to finish that project you’d been working on all week.

Hopefully, work will flush out whatever’s bothering your heart, causing it to race at the adorable little pout on Yaku’s lips.

You told him you’d pick him up later for a night out, so you leave a little early - still not done with that damned project - to put on something fancier, add some smoke to your make-up.

Yaku’s waiting in the lobby when you step in and you swallow thickly at his sight.

Most athletes like to dress as casually as they can in their free time. Jeans and a shirt are often the most you get to see. Yaku, however, is dressed in an expensive suit, hair combed back. 

You can tell he’s not a stranger to wearing suits, moving just as easily in it as he did in his tracksuit earlier.

He gets up before you can call out his name, cheeks turning a soft pink at your sight. 

That eases your nerves a little, knowing you still have at least some effect on him.

“Ready to go?” You ask, trying to ignore the way he takes you in. There’s a warmth in his eyes that’s a little unnerving. 

-

He’s even prettier under the twinkling lights of the city, leaning in when you explain something, expensive Cologne wafting around you.

“Do you want to dance?” You ask, after you’ve wandered through the city center. “Or something to eat?”

Yaku ponders the question for a moment.

“How about a bite first? I’d love to take you out to dance, though.”

His words leave you flushed and angry. That’s not what you meant, but correcting him would sound weird. 

When you suddenly have to weave through a group of tourists, his hand presses against the small of your back, warm and steady, and in way you don’t want it to. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him off, nor to move away from his touch.

-

“First year was tough”, he remembers over a bowl of Pelmeni, “Kuroo and I didn’t get along.”

“Who was Kuroo again?” You ask, offering him one of your Pirozhki.

He swipes his thumb over his phone and turns it, so you can see a picture of his old Volleyball team. Yaku’s easy to find, almost the smallest of the group. He’s grown since then, though not much, if you had to guess.

“That’s Kuroo. I know his hair looks awful, but he claims he can’t do anything about it and that it’s natural. He was our Captain in our third year. The pudding head next to him is Kenma, our genius setter. These two have been best friends since childhood.” 

He tells you each name, warmth in his voice as he remembers. It’s not hard to tell that they were close.

“Are you still in contact?” You ask, surprised when he nods. 

“With all of them?” His eyebrows wander up.

“Yes, why? Is that surprising to you?”

You feel caught and look away, but you’re unable to escape his eyes, it seems.

“A little,” you admit finally and hope that he drops it. 

Thankfully, he does.

.

Yaku’s easy to talk to. 

All too soon you find yourself walking out of that restaurant and into a nightclub, his head so close as he listens to your explanation that you could kiss him, if you wanted to, without even having to move much.

But you don’t. Because it would be weird, right? And unprofessional.

His hand is warm in yours as a new song starts and he pulls you in.

It’s a slow one and you can’t tell if that’s good or bad. 

The dance floor is packed and you’re soon pressed against him, your own heartbeat echoing in your stomach. There’s a tilt to his mouth that makes you wonder how it would taste and before you know you’re leaning in a little and he’s leaning in too.

His lips are soft and warm and he tastes like the wine you shared earlier.

His teeth graze your lower lip, just the faintest touch, but it shakes you out of your dream-like state better than a bucket of ice water ever could.

You snap back and purse your lips like they’ve offended you personally.

“I…” You hesitate, your voice breathless, “I’ll wait for you at the bar.”

.

There’s a tremor hiding in your bones.

You check your hands in the seconds it takes him to catch up to you, but you can’t tell from the outside. Good.

“I-”

“You can dance with someone else,” you tell him, voice as polite as can be. “I am only your guide, after all.”

“I don’t want to dance with anyone else.” He reaches for you but you step out of reach.

“Please,” you ask, but he shakes his head.

“Very well. Do you want to take a walk?”

.

The sky is clear above you, though it’s hard to see the stars beyond the glow of street lamps. 

Your hands are buried in the pockets of your jacket in case he tries to take one.

“Do you believe in love?” You ask after a minute when the street clears and you’re on your own. “Not in general, but in like… love for yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“Makes sense.”

“It does?” Yaku looks over, confusion written all over his face.

“Sure. You’re good-looking, smart, easy to talk to. It makes sense.”

He smiles, but your stomach churns violently.

“Yaku-san,” you stop, address him in the politest way you can. “I don’t believe in love. I am sorry I just kissed you. But I cannot offer you anything of that kind.”

Yaku’s quiet for a while. His face does not give anything away. 

Eventually, he nods.

“I understand. But we can be friends, right?”

“Friends as in you’re waiting for me to change my mind about it?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Friends as in friends. I quite like your company, but I can deal with a rejection.”

You hesitate for a second before you nod.

“Friends would be nice.

- - - xxx - - -

“Have you eaten yet?” Yaku’s standing in the doorway to your office, two identical looking Bento Boxes in his hands.

“Eh?” You look up from your Desk. “No, but what are you doing here?”

“I figured. Want to share?”

You’re just about to decline when your stomach grumbles loudly. 

Yaku grins and steps closer. “I think that was a confirmation.”

-

“Hey,” Yaku’s grin is warm and inviting, his hair dripping wet. “We just finished training and the boys want to hit the city. Do you want to come along? I heard they have great Syrniki.”

He absolutely butchers the name and you can’t help but correct him.

“So?” He cocks his head to the side, waiting. “It’s just a hangout with the guys. You know at least one of them, well, besides me, I mean.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll come.”

-

“Are you coming to the game this weekend?” Yaku asks as you meet him in the lobby. He always comes in early for extra training and while you haven’t yet figured out at what time he arrives, he’s already got your schedule memorized, waiting for you with a coffee and a pastry.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you admit, “My parents are coming into town. They’ve moved into the countryside a few years back.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” He nods. “I hope you’re having a great time together.”

“We will.” You take a sip of coffee and can’t help the teasing comment slipping through your lips. “Aren’t you going to tell me that you’re going to play much worse now that I’m not there to cheer you on?”

“Your presence or lack thereof isn’t going to affect my game,” he tells you, voice serious, confidence so deeply laced into his tone it catches your breath, “But I prefer to celebrate my wins and losses with the people I care about.”

“O-oh…” you stammer, suddenly overwhelmed, “I… guess that makes sense. W-we can celebrate on Monday.”

-

“Girl, I don’t know how you do it,” your best friend comments and you can almost smell the alcohol on her breath - through the phone. “You decline every offer to have a relationship yet you have these fine men running after you? Why does this never work for me?”

“You can’t say no.”

“True.” She chuckles dryly. “But it’s a shame you didn’t get to watch that game. He was looking fine. I might not have understood all that much but he was doing well. At least if you believe the commentators.”

“I’m sure he did his best,” you tell her calmly, yet unable to keep from biting down on your fingernail. 

“Don’t worry, I recorded it. I’m sending the file over now.”

Your home computer dings with an incoming mail and you heave a sigh. 

“I don’t have time to watch it tonight. My parents just left and I’m exhausted.”

“Don’t tell me they asked you about grandchildren…”

You sigh again and she laughs. 

“Go, take a nap. The world will look better in the morning.”

And it will… but you can’t help yourself, press play instead of going to bed as you intended.

And your friend is right. 

Yaku looks good. He moves with the calm confidence of a professional.

If you could convince yourself that attraction is all it takes to lead a healthy relationship, you might have taken a leap of faith. 

-

Staying up late comes back to bite you in the butt.

No amount of concealer can cover the dark rings under your eyes.

“Long weekend,” Yaku asks when he meets you in the Lobby, coffee and a pastry in hand.

“Mhm,” you nod and take a large sip of coffee, hoping for it to fuel you. It doesn’t.

You chat for a bit but you need to get going and so does he, so you part with the quickest of hugs.

There are only a few steps leading down to the elevators, steps you’ve taken day after day after day for years, but today, you miss the last one.

Your right foot lands wrong, pain shoots through your ankle and you yelp. Your half-empty coffee cup goes flying, just like your pastry and you can see the mess you’ve made but all you can do is cower and clutch your ankle.

“Are you okay?” Yaku’s voice cuts through the ringing in your ears. There’s worry in his eyes. It lights the cold fire of shame in your veins. God, you just rolled your ankle, there’s no reason to make a big fuss about it.

“Sure, yeah, all fine!” You tell him, grinding your teeth as you get up. Nausea wells up inside you but you swallow it down. 

“We should get it looked at,” Yaku insists, hands hovering just a few inches above your skin.

“Stop worrying!” You bite out, tone harsher than necessary. But he doesn’t flinch.

“I know it’s a lot, but it will only take a minute, okay?” He insists, voice warm and soft and calming, like hot cocoa on a cold day. You can feel the tremor coming back, want nothing more than to sink into him.

“I’m fine,” you insist, taking one cautious step. It hurts, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Yeah, for now.” He follows you, bends faster than you to pick up the coffee cup and the pastry. Someone’s going to have to mop the floor, but Yaku’s already waving at the receptionist and you’re too focused on grinding your teeth against the pain to complain.

“Stop worrying about me, okay?! We’re not that close.”

Hurt flickers over his face like candlelight. 

“I’d do this for everyone,” he insists. “I don’t mess with accidents. Please? It’s only a short trip down the hall for a first check-up. If our doc thinks it’s nothing I won’t bother you anymore.”

You agree, mostly just to get this over with.

But it’s not nothing. 

.

You must have fallen asleep, face pressed against the window of his car, because his hand is warm against your cheek and your name falls softly from his lips.

“Yaku?” You ask and he nods. 

“We’re at the hospital. Can you walk?”

“Sure,” you insist, grind your teeth through the pain. Yaku must have seen through your lies, though, getting a wheeling chair at the next chance.

He’s with you through the whole ordeal and you hate it but you don’t ask him to leave you alone. His warm hand on your shoulder is the only thing that keeps you from crying.

He’s there until the very end when they plaster up your leg up to your knee and you can’t help but laugh at the fact that you’ve made it so far in life without a broken bone, yet a single missed step has changed it all.

“I’ll take you home now,” Yaku insists as soon as you’re back in his car. “Are you hungry? We can stop and get some food on the way.”

“I just want to sleep,” you admit. “Forget this happened.”

“I think that’s going to take some time. The plaster stays one for the three weeks.”

“Don’t remind me.”

.

It’s only when he parks in front of your apartment block that you realize.

You live on the fifth level. No elevator. 

Stubbornly you grab your crutches and move toward the first step when Yaku stops you. 

“Do you want to carry me up?”

“No!”

“Okay,” he nods. “But you can’t make that trek. Not today for sure, and not every day for the next three weeks. Do you have any friends you could stay at where that’s not a problem?

You hesitate. Most of your friends have similar apartments and if they don’t, they can’t offer more than an air-mattress on the floor for you to sleep on.

“You can sleep on my couch,” Yaku’s voice is low, soft, and casual. This is nothing big to him, not like it is to you.

“Or I carry you up and you have to take the next three weeks off because you cannot get up and down here without help.”

He’s right. 

And it’s not that you have to work, you’re pretty sure you classify for sick leave at this point, not to mention that you have enough vacation days saved to take off half of the time without a problem. 

In the end, you oblige. And because you want to pack your own things, you agree to a piggyback ride up the stairs.

If Yaku notices how your face is pressed into his neck, your tears soaking his shirt, he doesn’t mention it. His hands are warm and steady around your thighs and he carries you up without breaking a sweat, telling you a funny story to distract you all the way.

-

It’s weird. It’s cozy. It’s everything at the same time.

You get to go through his list watchlist - which feels more personal than going through his underwear drawer - and watch him prepare Dinner for the two of you. 

You sit naked in his bathtub - door closed of course - and open the bottles of shower gel and shampoo to sniff at them like the crazy person you are but when the door opens and you limp outside he’s sitting at his desk practicing Russian, not even sparing your scrubbed clean form a glance.

Yaku’s switched his routine without a second thought, makes breakfast at home now and drives you to work.

He’s the best friend one could ask for, a man so good you wouldn’t believe he existed without the proof you have. But he has a hissy fit in front of you when his friend from school makes a joke about his size. 

And maybe that’s the last straw, the last proof you needed. 

Because people aren’t just always good. People are people, human and fallible, and there’s always something that makes them break their perfect facade.

For you, it’s the pain of having to rely on someone else.

For Yaku, it’s the pain of being looked down on.

-

Tomorrow your cast will come off.

Tomorrow you will move back into your own apartment.

You’re not sure how things between the two of you will be then.

But since there’s no way to turn back time, to go back to how things were before, you can try and find out how things could be instead.

“Yaku?” You ask into the silence of an early night.

“Yeah?” His voice is scratchy and sluggish like he’s just on the border of sleep.

“Are you still awake?”

“Am now.”

“What if I changed my mind?”

“About what?”

“Love.”

Silence. Then, the rustling of sheets and soft steps on the floor.

“Are you being serious?” He asks and his voice sounds so warm and excited, so young and full of anticipation. 

“Yeah.”

“Well,” he clears his throat awkwardly, now only two steps away. “It depends if you mean me with that change of my mind. If you mean someone else I think I’ll have to get a lawyer before I answer.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I meant you.”

He giggles and there’s a slap as if he’s clamped a hand over his mouth urgently. 

You turn a little on the Couch, try to make him out in the dark.

“Do you want to cuddle?” You ask and there’s the swoosh of quick movement as he leaps onto the Couch.

“Boy, do I ever!”

- - - xxx - - -

The air smells the same, but maybe it’s just the airport. 

Yaku’s hand takes yours, warm and safe and well-known.

“Excited?” He asks, laughs when you pull a face.

“They’ll love you,” he insists and leans in to kiss you, not caring about all the people around you, or the fact that Kuroo’s going to be here any second to pick you up, or that your hair is a mess and you’re not wearing any make-up.

His lips are soft and warm, just like they were on that first night. 

You sink into the touch and when his teeth graze your lower lip and the tremors come, you embrace them.

Even if you shiver, you’ll never freeze.

You’ve got Yaku there to warm you, after all.

[ageofevermore]

ITS BRIGHTER NOW

SUMMARY — until you met your girls, you once believed love would be burning red, but it turns out, it’s everything in between, and that couldn’t be more golden. i wanna be defined by the things that i love, not the things i hate, not the things that i’m afraid of, not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night, i just think that you are what you love

PROMPTS — “sorry, we didn’t mean to wake you” & “will you stay with me?”

WARNINGS — mentions of battle, injury, anxiety, overall just fluff and comfort for arguably the best avengers and their girlfriend

Like every relationship, yours has its ups and downs. Although most times, you’re met with nothing but outstanding partners who try their absolute hardest to maintain open communication and boundaries, they’re still human, and Avengers, and while some consider that a fairytale circumstance, not many stop to think about how challenging it can be at its worst moments. Not many people, or any at all who aren’t in the lifestyle or one similar, think about how they’re gone for days at a time, sometimes weeks or months if it’s an undercover mission, and how when they finally do get back, they’re never the same as how they left. But honestly, how could they be? They’ve done things no average citizen would ever be expected to do, seen things and handled situations that are dangerous and traumatizing, and just like anyone else, those things haunt them. Wanda is better about unpacking those skeletons in her closet then Natasha is, but the both of them take things personally, and if things go south, it’s never good.

Both of your girlfriends had been gone from the compound for days. They’d been called out to an active Hydra base in Russia, and three days later, things had gone south and they’d been in active combat since. You didn’t talk to them much, with battles and timezones and everything else that got in your way, but you had heard through the grapevine that Wanda was pretty banged up and Natasha had been left with no choice but to shoot to kill after a particularly gruesome fight. Hearing that never got any easier, especially when they were halfway across the world and had no idea when they’d return. It was missions like these that made you yearn for a simpler life. One where Wanda was an artist, Natasha probably took up something flexible like tattooing, and you did literally anything else to just have some peace and quiet and promised safety.

You had met Natasha first, after Maria recruited you to join Shield. She had been skeptical of you, as she was of everyone, but you broke down her walls as easily as you’d picked the lock to Clint’s farm the one time you were placed on a strike mission together. She had been hurt pretty badly, and his farm was the closest place to land. That had been an interesting day, no thanks to your girlfriend who was draped across your arm with a shallow bullet wound and a startled Laura who was screeching about blood on her new couch. Things with Clint were still chaotic as ever, but he eventually got over you busting his brand new lock, and the two of you joked about it now, although now you had a key so no locks had to be busted in the event of an unplanned visit happening again. When you met Wanda, she fell into your dynamic easily, and at first, neither you nor Natasha had realized that you’d kind of adopted her as a third girlfriend until a drunken night when she ended up in your bed and never left. Now, sleeping without them is hard, but you’re forced to manage as best as you can, seeing as you don't really have much of a choice.

It was going onto the sixth night without them home when you finally retired from the couch, and decided to head to bed, figuring that at two in the morning there was no chance of them coming back until the next morning at the earliest. It was hard enough when one of them was on an active mission with no return date, but when both of them were gone, it truly felt like your heart was missing from your chest and you were just going through the motions and holding your breath until they got back. Most people only had one person to worry about, but having two people to lose, with jobs in this line of work, you felt like you were always looking over your shoulder and expecting the worst. As often as they could, your girlfriends declined missions together, even though they felt comfortable on the battlefield together and it was a comfort to not be alone, but neither one of them wanted to risk not coming home to you. They didn’t have a choice this time, so reluctantly they packed up their duffles and headed for the quinjet, with a kiss on your head and a promise that they would fight to come home to you, that they would try to make it back. There were still two mugs of tea on the countertop in the mini kitchen, and although it was disgusting and the tea had gone bad, you couldn’t bring yourself to clean them up. If that was the last thing they ever touched with you, when they were just Wanda and Natasha and not Avengers, you wanted the picture of mismatched mugs burned into your eyelids for the rest of your life. They deserved to be remembered as real, genuine, soft and stubborn, sometimes infuriating but lovable and loved people, not just heroes who had a cause when things went south.

You tossed and turned for probably an hour, groaning in annoyance for how empty your bed felt without them. How had you gotten so attached? That was the one thing you’d tried your hardest not to do when you got into this, and yet here you are, in Natasha’s t-shirt and Wanda’s panties, unable to sleep because the bed feels too cold and the walls feel too big and the room feels too empty and your heart feels misplaced. You’d heard somebody say love is golden once, not burning red, and you’d never understood that until a moment like this a few years ago, when Natasha left for the first time and you were utterly alone in the tower. They were golden, they were light, they were pouring rain in the middle of the day with the sun shining and not a cloud in sight, and they are the best moments of your life that you wish you could frame in a moving picture, because no, a picture can’t say a million words when it’s them. You need every word in the dictionary and then some. You will never be able to elaborate on how much you love them without falling short, and feeling like there's still so much you could’ve said. Everything felt so gray without them. It had to be after three in the morning when you finally fell asleep, probably closer to four, but you didn’t think about how long you’d been waiting up for them, just flopped onto your back and sprawled out like a starfish, and let sleep take over so you could have a few hours without consciously missing them. Missing them was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

You’re pulled from your sleep by hushed voices and a door closing, convinced that the hinges are louder at inappropriate times just to spite you. You try to ignore it at first, finally in a comfortable position and getting some rest after a long day of running trials with Cho, but the noises persist despite your displeasure. A sound between a groan and a whine is extracted from your chest when something bumps into the bed, and any thought of going back to sleep leaves your mind. Unlike your girlfriends who can sleep through a natural disaster and fall asleep again if god forbid it wakes them up, once your eyes open you’re awake for the day, and it seems like this is where your day starts.

Although with blurred vision from the very few hours of sleep in your eyes, you’re able make out Wanda hunched over the bed, grasping at her side that is noticeably bloody, while Natasha is digging through the drawers to your left probably attempting to find a loose fitting top for Wanda to change into. All exhaustion leaves your body at the sight of them, and you spring up, rubbing your eyes with a wince as they burn in disagreement with your current state of consciousness. Wanda’s head snaps up, on high alert, but she forces her shoulders to relax when she realizes that it’s just you and not a threat.

“Sorry, we didn’t want to wake you.” She apologizes weakly, through clenched teeth and apparent sleepiness. You wonder when the last time they got a decent amount of rest, when they weren’t looking over their shoulders in paranoia or tossing and turning in pain from an injury that couldn’t be properly treated, but you force yourself to not dwell on it too much. You can’t change the past, and neither can they, all that matters is how they recover, and how they need you to help them heal from everything they were exposed to while in Russia. You’re the clean up, another factor that nobody considers while talking about how romantic and protected you must feel having two superheroes as partners. If anything, you feel more exposed. Like all eyes are on you and a monster is always lurking in the room over.

“No, no that’s okay. I only went to sleep a few hours ago, anyway. Here.” You know that the shirt Natasha is probably looking for is the one currently on your body, and you offer it to Wanda with no hesitation, already making a b-line for her when she just barely has the strength to reach for it herself. You pull the bloodied top over her head gently, thankful that the blood it’s soaked with is dry, and her wound is covered in gauze, meaning they’d probably stopped by the medbay before they made their way in here. “A little banged up, aren’t you?” You comment, although it's rhetorical and you know she won’t tell you how it happened just yet. That usually comes a few days after the mission, when the trauma isn’t so fresh and they’re not still on edge that something else is coming for them. You help her out of her pants as well, thanking Natasha when she hands you a fresh pair of undergarments to pull up Wanda’s legs before you even have to ask.

“We’re still in one piece.” Natasha promises, coming up behind you and wrapping her arms around your waist. She’s tense all over, but she does her best to relax as she holds you, grounding herself in the moment and not the nightmares that have been going around in circles in her mind since getting on the quinjet to come home. “We missed you.” She kisses the skin beneath your ear, lingering for a few seconds before she untangles herself completely and gets ready for bed herself.

“That’s all that matters.” You reassure her, pecking Wanda’s lips gently, knowing she doesn’t have the energy or the strength to match any moment of passion right now. It’s not something that bothers you, maybe it used to, just the slightest bit, but it’s a routine you’re used to now. “I missed you too.”

“I told Steve we’re not taking any missions for a while. Especially not together.” Natasha hands you another one of her tops to slip into, and watches you throw Wanda’s bloodied one into the garbage beside your vanity. She won’t wear it again, not when it’s got so much history now, even if you could get the blood stain out. Again, it’s a routine you’ve found comfort in. The clothes they return home in almost always end up in the garbage, no time for working through PTSD that’s stitched into the fabric when you can just get something new to start fresh in.

“That’s good. I heard from Maria how tough this one was. I don’t know if I slept much the first few days.” You hate to worry them, or make them feel bad, but they hate when you’re not honest with them, and there’s nothing any of you can do about them being sent out on missions, so it’s not like you’re haroboring negative feelings toward them directly, which they understand, but your girlfriends do a great job of beating themselves up about certain things out of their control, this being one of them.

“Or at all. We still have cameras, you know.” Natasha muses, thoroughly amused when you turn a deep shade of crimson and kick Wanda’s discarded pants up toward her. Your other girlfriend, who has been noticeably quiet through the entire exchange, is curled up in bed, looking unbothered by the conversation but intent on finally getting some sleep in her own bed without the possibility of being blown to bits by the enemy.

“Spying on me, are you Romanoff?” You tease, shutting all the drawers Natasha left open and picking up all of her discarded clothes to throw them in the bin as well. She thanks you silently with her eyes that are practically bleeding with pain and adoration, but you don’t say anything. This is the least you can do for them right now.

“Gotta keep an eye on my girl.” Although it’s an easy statement, you know that it’s riddled with nothing but genuine anxiety. Both of your girlfriends are worrywarts when it comes to leaving you alone, for any amount of time but especially undetermined chunks like this mission, and although its heartwarming to be so cared for, it breaks your heart to know that they have valid reasons to be afraid. Another thing nobody even considers when they make comments toward your relationship. Wanda makes a huffing sound beside Natasha and both of your lips twitch in amusement, “On one of my girls, sorry, malysh.”

“You both should get some rest.” You comment, seeing that almost an hour has passed since they stumbled in. You won’t be able to fall asleep again, and even if you could, you’re apprehensive to crawl into bed with Wanda and accidentally hurt her more, so you have all intentions of wishing them a goodnight and going to finally clean up the mugs of tea that are resting on the counter.

“Where are you going?” Natasha wonders, watching you closely, like she’s scared that you’re going to fall apart right in front of her. You hate these moments, when they’re first getting back and they still feel like they’re stranded in a battlefield. It takes days to get back to some kind of normalcy without walking on eggshells, and by that time, they’re usually cleared to start training again and working their strength up for the next mission. One day, you just want to be done, but they’re not ready yet and that's okay.

“To clean up the tea mugs you left before you went. I didn’t have the heart to clean them up, in case…” You train off, but Natasha knows what you’re going to say and her face sinks even deeper.

“In case we didn’t come back.” She finishes your thought, hand rubbing Wanda’s back now that the woman is on her belly, seeking pressure against her wound that’s probably aching beneath the gauze. She shouldn’t be putting any pressure on it, but you’re not about to scold her right now. She needs to be comfortable, any torn stitches can easily be mended tomorrow morning when she’s well rested.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, releasing the tension that gathered in your shoulders at the simple thought of losing them. They’re okay this time, you can let go of all that pent up anxiety and dread for the time being. But it crosses your mind that there's always next time, and they might not get so lucky.

“Will you stay with me? Please?” Wanda asks, voice muffled by the pillow her face is pressed into, her arms beneath her head as she gives Natasha full access to her back, and the aching muscles that have probably been pulled a couple thousand times since leaving. Natasha works harder at releasing some of that tension, looking at you with broken eyes that you can’t say no too. Your worries are squandered when Wanda speaks again, lifting her head just enough to be able to see your face, peering into your eyes with a passion and seriousness that burns you inside. “You won’t hurt me, stop thinking that. I just want to hold my girl.”

“Ahem.” Natasha clears her throat, and Wanda lets the slightest smile pull her tired lips upward.

“One of my girls, sorry, detka.” She apologies before dropping her face back into the pillow, tightening her grip on it when Natasha hits a sore spot in her back. The redhead keeps at it, knowing how easily the Sokovian can pull her muscles when she’s lifting heavy things with just her tendrils.

“Are my thoughts that loud?” You ask meekly, abandoning your intention of straightening up the kitchen and instead coming closer to the end bed, still without pants and just Natasha’s shirt that hangs to your mid thigh.

Natasha stops rubbing Wanda’s back in order to grab at your thighs and pull you closer, rubbing the skin of your legs the same way she had been rubbing Wanda’s back. Though she’ll never admit it, you and Wanda have a sneaking suspicion her love language is physical touch, and that just maybe, physically feeling you both silences her anxieties over you just disappearing from her. Whatever her reason, neither of you protest, and admittedly crave her touch by the end of the night when you crawl into bed.

“Mhmm, I promise I’m okay. Doesn’t really hurt anymore, s’just sore.” She promised, sounding half asleep the longer she lays, adjusting her head so her neck is turned toward both you and Natasha, but her eyes are closed, a content smirk on her lips that only grows bigger when she hears you sigh your agreeance and then feels the bed dip with your weight as you climb into bed.

“Lay your ass down, or I’m gonna fall asleep sitting up.” Natasha scolds, playfully slapping your ass as you crawl over her and into the center of the bed, which is no longer warm from your body. You settle in between them, humming contently when Wanda loops an arm around your waist and then Natasha pulled you into her chest, your legs intertangling messily beneath the sheets.

“I missed this. I can’t sleep when you’re gone, everything feels so empty.” You admit, letting your eyes close even if you’re going to have a few hours of painful silence and stillness before you can even consider actually falling asleep.

Natasha presses her lips into your head and Wanda tightens her arm around your middle, neither saying anything, but not having to as their words and their presence says it all. Surprisingly, you fall asleep in minutes, and not a single one of you wakes up for the next ten hours, desperately needing the rest all together again.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Ok so I can't screenshot so I'm putting this in the asks but people are talking about netanyahu because he's getting the attention right now. And that's because he's genociding Gaza right now and nothing else of that scale happened since. So of course he's the it girl rn.

Like I wholeheartedly agree with you, we shouldn't be saying people "deserve to die", I just want to point out that I don't like it whenever people go "but why are people talking about this figure (who's getting all the attention right now) and not these other figures? (Who aren't getting attention)"

But TLDR netanyahu's doing some fuck shit that's getting reported on so obviously he's getting talked about the most generally.

To bring it back to the original conversation, people were talking about Putin when the Russo Ukraine war was going on. I saw people get excited at the idea that he might have cancer when that lump on his face showed up. Putin was the it girl and now it's netanyahu.

Look I'm sure you don't mean it this way, but the original comment I was responding to was antisemitic and your comments excusing it are microaggressions.

[Original post for reference]

There are a few things going on here:

1. People are giving a hugely disproportionate amount of attention to Israel's military response to the October 7th massacre in Gaza because they are antisemitic. There have been plenty of humanitarian crises affecting Palestinians in Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and Egypt, yet the world literally only cares about them if they can use it as a cudgel against Jews. Obviously it's a humanitarian crisis and it deserves attention, and Israel deserves scrutiny and accountability for its actions. But the laser focus on Israel and only Israel belies the true motivation.

2. There are numerous other humanitarian crises happening right now that affect substantially more people, and which are unquestionably genocide. Can you name them? Can you tell me the relevant major players by name? Can you tell me the number of people murdered? Why or why not?

3. Specifically naming Bibi out of every possible vile human one could name, to me, specifically, a Jew - that's extra sus. Taken in combination with the previous points? Yeah, it's antisemitic.

4. The genocide of Ukraine by Russia is still ongoing, and ignorance about it is leading to dwindling support to such an extent that Ukrainians are having to ration bullets to defend themselves with. This one isn't meant as a scold, by the way — the plight of Ukraine is getting intentionally buried. Please don't stop talking about Ukraine, they need all the help they can get.

[And in b4 someone thinks I'm trying to say you shouldn't pay attention to what is happening in Gaza: please DO keep paying attention to Gaza and keep holding Bibi's feet to the fire. He's awful, his policies are awful, and he's encouraging the absolute worst members of Israeli society for his own selfish reasons. The people of Gaza are going through hell and need our help. Just please, for the love of G-d fact check things first and make sure you're not "supporting Palestine" by being antisemitic. Also make sure you are holding Hamas responsible for its part in the humanitarian crisis.]

[hikarry]

Girl, sit down. I'm about to slap you with another imagine

*claps hands*

Ready?

Imagine: 1802, Russia. Czar Alexander I in power

Crowley infiltrated the palace as a war General.

A maid just handed him an envelope while he was walking around the gardens, and he was quick to open it with his finger. It was Aziraphale's, from Soho, London. A long one, as they usually were.

He scanned it quickly, just taking the general idea - he would read more calmly when he was home, by himself, and not feeling like he was being watched.

At the end of the second page, finally, something actually caught his attention. Aziraphale was going to Krasnaya Polyana, around a day away from Moscow. Apparently, there had been a spike of demonic activity there, and Heaven had sent him to investigate. He was asking if Crowley had anything to do with it, but he clearly didn't. He had been stuck in Moscow for 7 months now. But, alas, he also had no idea who it could be. He was not informed that another demon was topside in this region. And, for some reason, the angel going to the encounter of an unknown demon was not sitting well with him. He folded the letter and hid it in his jacket's pocket.

Aziraphale was a big angel. He could look out for himself... yet that did not mean Crowley couldn't try and find out who was causing mayhem in Krasnaya Polyana, did it?

As soon as Crowley got home that night, he wrote a quick note to one of his contacts in Hell, asking for information and readied himself to wait for at least 3 days before he got an answer. Surprisingly, it took only a night. When he woke up, there was a small note on his bedside table. He picked it up and turned it around, reading quickly. He sucked in a sharp breath before re-reading the note, just to make sure he was understanding correctly.

Asmodeus was topside. Along with Vine. A Prince and a Duke of Hell, and Aziraphale was walking right to the lion's mouth by himself.

Right. Okay.

Crowley read it one last time before burning it in his hands.

He had to find an excuse to get himself sent to Krasnaya Polyana as soon as possible, preferably before Asmodeus and Vine caught Aziraphale's scent around. The angel might be an ex-cherubim, but Satan knew what a real Prince of Hell could do to him and Crowley was surely not going to sit in the sidelines to find out.

A week and a half later - way way later than he expected - he got himself in Krasnaya Polyana. As soon as he got out of the train, he was hit with the smell of sulfur and a heavy feeling of evil all around.

With no bags to carry or to worry about, he just closed his eyes and reached out for Aziraphale's essence. He could feel it, barely. If his senses weren't mistaken, he was somewhere in the mountain.

Could Crowley help it, he wanted to avoid meeting both the Prince and the Duke. He only hoped Aziraphale was still off their tracks.

It was snowing heavily. The mountain was covered in ice, and the wind was frigid and white, somehow. It made it very, very hard to see or even focus enough to grasp Aziraphale's essence and keep following it.

His boots sank in the snow, and it didn't take long for his legs to start hurting and his insides to feel raw from the cold.

At the peripheral of his vision, he could also feel two very distinguishable demonic essences. The stronger one was in the city, which Crowley had already left behind, and the other was barely visible, somewhere on the top of the mountain, but considerably far away from Aziraphale.

The angel was alright. Probably he was in one of those ski places slightly up the mountain. And, confident in that thought, Crowley forced himself to stop and enter a bar nearby. Exhausting himself would not help the angel, so he needed a little break to recover and be able to continue to climb the bloody mountain.

He was sitting at a table, half full glass of vodka between his hands, when a loud groan was heard outside and the whole building shook, all the lights going out. People around him gasped and yelled, holding themselves to the furniture and each other until the tremor stopped.

"Oh goodness, what was that?" A woman asked near the bar with a very heavy French accent, both her arms around a man that held her just as close.

"An avalanche." The bartender answered, walking around to light up some candles. "And a strong one at that. There might be replicas, so everyone should stay put for at least an hour or-"

Yeah...so, Crowley didn't exactly hear the rest. He just tossed the vodka down in a single swing and got up from his seat, slithering around the people in the bar until he reached the door. He felt a hand on his arm, trying to pull him back when he reached for the doorknob, but he shook it away, finally getting outside.

The layer of snow outside was so thick now that his boots didn't dig into it. So he ran. Which didn't help with his respiratory system and, consequently, the rest of his body feeling raw and frozen all at the same time in less than few seconds. It took longer for his legs to get tired, but he was already tired, regardless. Still, he soldiered on, all riding on adrenaline and low-key panic.

"Aziraphale!" When Crowley started feeling his essence more clearly he started calling out for him, trying to see through the fog and the snow still falling. Not even his demonic eyes were helping on that task.

Eventually, he got to a spot where he could feel the essence so strongly that he actually felt its warmth, so he stopped and looked around, his heart hammering against his chest and his breath rasp and heavy.

"Aziraphale?" He turned on himself. There was no sign of Aziraphale anywhere... but he could swear the angel should be right here... and suddenly, it clicked. "No..." He was under the snow, wasn't he? "Fuck. Aziraphale!"

Crowley took a few steps to the left and fell to his knees, his trousers getting ice cold soaked as he dig the snow as fast as he could. He had no idea how much time had passed, but finally, he found some cream fabric under the snow.

"No, no, no, no. For fucks sake, Aziraphale!" Still digging, he started talking to himself, mainly not to let the panic spiral and keep himself grounded. "Why is it always you?! Don't those wanker archangels have any other angel to throw into a frozen nightmare after their bloody death?!"

From there, it was rather easy to dig his torso and his face from under the snow.

Aziraphale was frozen to the touch, his lips were an awful shade of bluish-purple and his corporation was not breathing.

Okay. Crowley. Just. Don't. Panic.

He held Aziraphale by the shoulders and pulled him the rest of the way out of the snow.

"Angel?" At some point he had thrown his gloves to the side to make digging easier, so now he placed his equally frozen, wet and trembling hands on Aziraphale's cheeks. With his demonic essence, he tried to reach out for Aziraphale's and the angel's essence reached back instantly like a cougar attacking its unattentive prey, surprising the demon, who staggered back, hands away from the angel, snapping his essence back inside his own corporation.

Alright. Aziraphale was quite clearly still here, and he was either so out of his mind he pounced on Crowley with the default intent to smite him, or he was just plainly terrified.

Carefully, both his hands once again on the angel's face, he slowly reached out, this time more prepared for when Aziraphale's essence jumped on him.

Aziraphale wasn't trying to smite him. He was reaching for warmth.

Crowley's corporation shallowed as he sat back and pulled Aziraphale to his lap, upping his body heat as much as he possibly could. It didn't feel great. In fact, it felt like he was having a very bad fever, and his mind swam a bit with the sudden difference in temperature, but he had to try and keep the angel warm. On a metaphysical level, Crowley's True Form surrounded Aziraphale's, as tight as metaphysically possible, trying to keep him stable. Keep him here. His essence was flickering a bit, and Crowley wasn't having any of it.

"Don't you dare discorporate, you bastard."

Crowley looked around. There was nowhere warm where he could take the angel close enough. Try as he might, this was only a temporary solution. One that wasn't doing much at that.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention as he felt a demonic presence getting closer.

Fucking Heavens, that was exactly the last thing he needed right now. There was nowhere to hide, and even if he found some place, the Duke would feel Aziraphale's essence and hunt like a starved dog.

Right. Think. Preferably before Aziraphale fucking discoporates in your arms.

The only idea that came to mind was miracling a small cabin or whatnot into existence right then and there. It would be a big ass miracle, and he would be exhausted afterward, but his priority was keeping Aziraphale here. So he took a long breath and snapped his fingers, a small wooden cabin showing up right behind them.

Gently, Crowley got up and took Aziraphale in his arms, walking them both into the cabin. At least inside there was no more wind or snow, and whatever body heat his body produced would remain trapped between the four walls.

Sitting Aziraphale on the floor with his back against the wall, Crowley detached his cape from his shoulders and wrapped it around the angel before turning his attention to the door.

Vine would find a cabin in the middle of a bloody mountain suspicious, as he should.

Crowley was tired, both physically, mentally and metaphysically, and his miracle reservoir was quite affected by that and the big ass miracle he just performed, but he had to put up wards around this place that not only masked the cabin, but both his and Aziraphale's essences from the Duke's radar. It was easier said than done, but he had no time to dilly dally. With each snap, he felt his mind go foggy, and his vision tilt to the side. Yet, he kept going until everything was more or less in place. All he could do for now was pray. Or not pray. He was a demon. Demons didn't pray

He sat on the floor next to Aziraphale and pulled him into his lap, hugging him against his chest and upping his body temperature once again. This time, he was invaded by a sudden nausea, and his eyes unfocused, but he kept it up, trapping Aziraphale's True Form with his own once again.

"Stay with me, angel." It was more a wordless request than a whisper.

There they stayed, Crowley with his head leaned against the wall and Aziraphale unconscious on his arms.

Slowly but surely, Aziraphale's skin started warming up, and his lips changed to a very pale pink, but pink nonetheless.

Crowley was exhausted. Part of him was begging him to close his eyes and sleep, but if he did his body temperature would go back down to normal and his essence would spring back to his corporation, letting go of Aziraphale and that wasn't an option. Not until he was concious.

In the back of his mind, he noticed when the demonic presence got dangerously close to where they were. Instinctively, he hugged Aziraphale more tightly, holding his breath. He felt truly frozen in place while the Duke slowly walked by them and only allowed himself to somewhat relax again when he was far away enough. Yet, he didn't put down the wards. They were consuming a lot of his energy, and his body was growing somewhat numb, but he refused to let go.

Aziraphale's corporation took a deep breath and slowly started shaking.

Good. That was good. He was coming back to himself.

It was a slow process, but when the night fell outside, Aziraphale finally stirred, opening his eyes with quite the effort.

"Crowley...?" His voice was sluggish, but Satan was it good to hear it. The demon was too weak to answer with words, so he only hummed, gripping him more strongly. "What happened...?"

Gradually, Crowley let his body heat fall to its normal temperature, and he let the ward hidding the cabin fall. It was like someone had taken a boulder off his chest, but his mind was still somewhat slow. He looked down at Aziraphale, his sunglasses lost somewhere in the snow outside while he had been digging.

"There's was an avalanche. You got trapped in it. Buried yourself 7 feet under a block of ice."

Aziraphale moved slightly on his lap, straightening himself up so he was actually sitting.

"You're supposed to be in Moscow."

"Observant."

"What are you even doing here, Crowley?"

He thought about dropping his arms from around Aziraphale, but he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Saving your arse once again, obviously. If I had stayed in Moscow, right now your corporation would be a popsicle and you would be upstairs getting an earful from Gabriel or that wanker Michael. So, you're welcome."

The angel didn't say anything else. Instead, he let his head fall on Crowley's shoulder, and both of them stayed in silence, only their ragged breathes and the wind outside making themselves heard.

"You need to leave Russia. Or, at least, Krasnaya Polyana."

"I can't." His hand was gripping the front of Crowley's jacket, the demon wasn't sure he was aware of that. "I have an assignment to complete."

"It's completed." Aziraphale's head snapped up, looking the demon in the eye. "You came here to figure out why there was a spike of demonic energy here, yes? There's a Prince and a Duke of Hell. Asmodeus and Vine. That's why."

"I can't just leave these people in the hands of two demons! I have to find out whatever it is they are trying to do!"

"That's not part of your assignment. You had to know the cause, now you know. You will write your report as soon as you can and get the heavens out of here before they sniff you out."

"Crowley, you're being ridic-"

"You are leaving, Aziraphale." Now it was his turn to look the angel in the eye, his voice as cold as the ice outside. "You've never dealt with a Duke of Hell, much less a Prince. You've mainly dealt with me and, let's be honest with ourselves, I give you little to no trouble. You are not prepared to face either of them. Asmodeus could easily discorporate you on sight. Or kill you. Actually kill you. Destroy your essence. They are not some random demons you can waltz to and have a polite conversation with." Aziraphale stayed quiet, unmoving. "You are leaving and that's final."

"You can't order me around."

"I'm trying to save your bloody life, Aziraphale!" His arms let go of the angel, and his hands came up to grab his shoulders, shaking him slightly. "This is not a joke. They will not stop by to have tea and biscuits and discuss the weather while you convince them to leave. Stop being fucking stubborn for once in your damn life! You did what you came to do. Just tell Gabriel that they are here and leave." Aziraphale looks down to his hands. "I'm serious, angel." He held the angel's chin, pushing him to look up at him again. "I'm not leaving you here with them. You either come with me to Moscow or go straight back to London to the bookshop."

Crowley feels the vibrations of Aziraphale humming on his fingers.

"Very well, my dear. Whatever you say." The angel got up from his lap and the demon followed him, swaying on his feet. Aziraphale held his arm, stabilizing him. "Are you quite alright?"

He kept his eyes closed for a few moments until his mind stopped feeling sluggish. Probably because he took too long answer, Crowley felt Aziraphale's fingers brushing his. He finally let down the two last wards and took the deepest breath.

"I'm fine. Just. A lot of big miracles. And you grabbing at my essence and True Form like a dehydrated man in the desert." Aziraphale's hand flinched away and he was about to open his mouth to say something, but Crowley cut it, holding his hand, squeezing it. "I said I'm fine. Let's go back to civilization, shall we?"

They did go back to civilization. To Moscow in the first train out from Krasnaya Polyana, to be more precise.

Aziraphale stayed with Crowley in his flat at the capital for 3 days. He wrote the report as soon as they arrived, and both waited to hear something from Gabriel in the next few days, but silence was all they got. On the 3rd day, when Aziraphale had his train back to Paris and then to London, Crowley insisted on seeing him out, so he had to leave the palace in quite the hurry, with no chance to switch out his uniform.

"Thank you for seeing me out, dear. Or should I say..." Aziraphale tapped Crowley's hat. ", General?"

Crowley rolled his eyes fondly, smiling in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm not jesting. You've always looked rather... fetching in a uniform. When was the last time you wore one? American Revolution?"

"I believe so."

Aziraphale hummed, fixing Crowley's left shoulder pad.

"You always wore them much better than I did."

"Usually you are at the hospitals saving lives, angel. Not in the battlefield."

The angel snorted.

"Not like you are in the battlefield actually fighting yourself."

"Oi! I have fought!"

"Mmh. I've never seen you holding a gun. And the last time I saw you brandishing a sword was back in the Gallic Wars, back in 58 BCE."

"Ngk."

Aziraphale chuckled, taking a step back, grabbing his suitcase.

"Will you be back in London?"

"Myeah. Should be done here in another year or so."

"Shall I keep watering your plants?"

"You've got the key, don't you?"

"Indeed." They heard the train making the last call and both looked towards the noise before looking back at each other. "Do try to not get yourself discorporated."

"Likewise. I'll see you in a year, angel."

Aziraphale nodded and started walking away, dragging his suitcase behind him. Before stepping through the train's entrance, he looked back, spotting the demon exactly where he left him, still watching him. Crowley winked and saluted him, pulling a chuckle out of Aziraphale's throat.

Crowley was ridiculous.

And so the angel went back to London. Alive. And out of the rather of any demonic entity, apart from the one he wanted to stay in the radar of.

[itsblasttothepast]

Hey I know this is random af but I just recently found your deep-dive lore of Checo as his fan, if you don't mind me asking is there any deeper relationship between Lewis and Checo as driver since they never really become teammate to begin with? As new checo fans I feel like I missed a lot of his lore

Oh anon, you have no idea what you've done. You opened the door to a rambling from ages ago, so fasten your seatbelt, because it will be a wild ride my friend, as I'm getting into this mode:

Checo and Lewis' story started with the first podium of my adorable Mexican: Malaysia 2012. He was P2, Fernando Alonso won, and Lewis was P3.

Look how happy my boy was, so excited for his first podium, next to the big honcho (Alonso back then). As Checo was just starting in F1, honestly I didn't know much about Lewis before that moment, but he always looked reserved and aloof, too cool for this bunch (nothing against Lewis, I like him, but he gives me that vibe even now).

In the press room, we all noticed Lewis looking at Checo like this, it was like 'what is this guy even doing here, with a SAUBER?' (Sauber was a middle-low table team).

We thought then that we would hate Lewis forever and ever for giving the evil eye to our boy, but to our surprise, they seemed to get along just fine... even more than just fine, if you get my drift.

They always seemed to gossip in the interviews and press conferences, and to be honest, they were fairly touchy feely to each other.

But the year I feel they were the closest, and I can't say if they had something bigger than a friendship because of course we cannot know that, but they were close for sure, maybe good friends, was 2015... oh, 2015...

They shared a few podiums, and they were so smiley and touchy, like in Russia:

Or... the thing that BROKE US back then (and still, honestly), México 2015 Grand Prix... a video of Lewis being a DJ in a club, with Checo next to him.... I'll let the pictures speak for themselves, alrighty?

Happy and relaxed (and Checo was drunk as a skunk. Lewis apparently doesn't drink, or he does not drink excessively, that's why he made a non-alcoholic tequila, a sacrilege for me, as mexican) (also, I must admit that Checo parties hard, making him super idiotic and sleazy. I mean, I love the man, but he has his flaws). Anyways, here's the video if you want to check it out:

Sorry anon, I didn't find it on youtube.

So, naturally, all the fangirls (I'm a girl, BTW, too old for this DTS croud) were making crazy stories about a bromance-romance, that increased because we remembered this tweet:

Roscoe is Lewis' pet, so adorable and famous like his dad. He jumped into Checo's car, and Checo took this picture and tagged Lewis. Something usual between them, tagging each other with things. So as other fans had pointed out, not only Roscoe knew Checo and his car, but felt comfortable enough to jump into it and chill there.

Also, in a team dynamic with Max, Checo remembered the tweet and clarified that Roscoe doesn't travel that far when Max suggested the picture was taken in Australia, and also knows that Roscoe is vegetarian.

This was the moment when we felt like this:

We thought they were going to be the BFF of the F1, they seemed to be chillin' outside the grid and they seemed closer... but then... brocedes happened.

Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton were besties, we all know that (therefore the ship/frienship name). When they became teammates at Mercedes... oh boy, things got ugly. I believe that their friendship being in decline was something that influenced the closeness between Checo and Lewis, but that's just my opinion.

2016 was the year that decided everything. Lewis focused all his energy in beating Britney (sorry, I had to use that nickname at least once, I know Nico hated it, but I couldn't resist), and his friendship/whatever else was going on with Checo faded away.

Nico won the championship (but honestly, it was brutal, it destroyed their friendship), and he retired, and Lewis seemed to regain balance and focus again. But it was never the same with Checo, and if we hoped for something to revive, 2021 ended those dreams, when Checo was brought to RedBull to help Max win the championship, and that meant blocking Lewis path as long as he could. I don't want to enter to the whole 'Lewis was robbed' discussion, but it was a riot.

Additionally, on a side note, Checo also had a good relationship with Nico Rosberg, so it was like he was in the middle of their breakup.

Still, they seem friendly nowadays, Checo keeps making small talk with Lewis, and honestly, and I clarify, IN MY OPINION, Lewis always looks very fond of Checo, and he smiles differently with him. Again, in my delusional opinion.

Like for example:

So, in conclussion anon, even when they WERE close back then, now they seem friendly and fine with each other. When they get together in the interviews, they always gossip and smile, and Canada 2024 gave us little Chewis crumbs (this was the ship name, until Charles Leclerc joined the party and now is also the name of the Charles/Lewis pairing).

Phewww, sorry anon, I know you didn't expected this rambling, but I hope you made it this far and I could answer your question.

And I'm glad to see more Checo fans around here, I was feeling like this all the time.

Oh, and please, pleaseeeee, consider this my take on things, my opinion and fangirl delusions, if you don't agree and you think I'm crazy, that's fair, but no need to be nasty about it or call me names.

Who wants me to ramble about Checo/Nico next? O Checo/Esteban? Ohhh, that would be wild!

[anurst]

Girl Bradshaw

Summary: jake makes the first move and now you've got a date for tomorrow night. But for tonight, you're spending the night with your therapist.

Pairing(s): jake seresinx (fem)(bradshaw) reader

Warning(s): language, therapy, self-esteem/self-doubt issues

Part 4: Gorgeous dirty blond, green-eyed, southern babe

So, training hadn't gone as well as you expected it to. Jensen had the time of his life knocking you on your ass more than once. To make up for it though, you had taken down Carlos more times than you could count.

You moaned as you pushed your chest towards the ground in between your spread leg. Stretching was always great after training.

"You feeling better?" Ethan asked as he sits down next to you, beginning his own stretches. You and Ethan have been friends for years, much like everyone on your team, but there was always this polite distance between you. While everyone felt comfortable asking personal question, Ethan never did. He'd wait for you to tell him what was bothering you. Which is why it made you frown when he asked how you were feeling.

"Uh—better, I guess. My body doesn't feel all tense now. My ass actually hurts a lot since Jen slammed down like a billion times."

Ethan chuckles, "Yeah, well now you know how the rest of us feel when we're paired with him for sparing."

You raise a brow, "What are you talking about?"

Rolling his eyes, Ethan his upper body towards his right leg, "Jensen's always takes it easier on you. Has been since Russia." You scoff at his comment. Ethan also had a tendency to be blunt. Not a bad thing, but it could be when he said something weird, like now. He could tell that his comment rubbed you the wrong way, so he changes the subject. "She's here."

"Who is?"

"The girl—the pilot that ghosted me."

You snort and Ethan glares at you. "Sorry! What you gonna do?" He shrugs and stands. You follow his movement and stand with him.

"Wasn't gonna do anything, really. I think she's into the blond with glasses on her team." You both begin walking to the locker rooms.

"Need me to fight her?" Ethan smiles at your words.

"As entertaining as that would be, I don't think the raiders would find it as funny as I do." You shrug.

You're talking with Amy and leaving the women's locker room when you see Jake. He's leaning against the wall, seemingly waiting for someone. Waiting for you.

Amy grins as she pulls your arm, "Your prince charming's waiting!"

You grimace at her words. "I don't know about that." Amy visibly deflates.

"(y/n), I love you. I think you are one of the best humans on this planet. But, you are goddamn stupid. There is a gorgeous dirty-blond, green-eyed, southern babe standing right over, who is clearly interested in you!" Your cheeks start to warm up as you stare at Jake. "If you don't talk to him, I will," Amy threatens before taking off in the opposite direction. You take a deep breath in and walk towards Jake.

"You make it a habit of waiting outside of women's locker rooms?" you tease, your heart beginning to beat faster. Jake shakes his head at your question and smiles at you.

"Only for you."

"Oh, I'm flattered," you joke. You reach up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear and you panic. You didn't shower after training since you wanted to in the comforts of your own apartment. Does Jake think you smell bad? That would ruin any chance you have with the dirty blond.

"How was training?" It's an innocent question but makes you panic.

"I don't smell!"

Jake raises an eyebrow with an amused smirk, "No, you don't. You hit your head too hard or somethin'?" Oh shit, his slight southern drawl makes your knees go weak.

"Well, Jensen did knock me on my ass a couple hundred times. He's the best at hand-to-hand in the first battalion, so basically all of the raiders."

Something shifts on Jake's face, but you don't notice it. "Is he your boyfriend?" You frantically shake your head.

"No! God, no! He's like my brother!" You both cringe at your words and you sigh. "I mean— he's my best friend. Has been for the past fifteen years. He's my rock, my person, you know better half or whatever." Jake nods as he smiles again.

"Good. I won't feel bad for asking you on a date then." You let out a shaky chuckle.

"Date?"

"Yep," he replies, popping the 'p'.

"And this isn't some set up?" you ask, doubt beginning to form in your heart. Jake's cute, gorgeous even, but he's friends with Bradley. What if Bradley put him up to this? Would Bradley do that?

"If you're thinking that Rooster put me up to this, you're wrong. So wrong, darling."

"Rooster?" you question.

"Bradshaw— uh Bradley's callsign."

"Really? He went with Rooster?"

"He sounds like one when he snores." Jake laughs with you before he bites his lip. "So, that date?" You struggle to answer.

"Jake. I'm sure you're a great guy, an amazing guy even. But you—"

"Work with my brother and Maverick," Jake finishes. He nods in acceptance, disappointment clear on his face. "It's alright. I get it." He begins to walk away and your stomach flips.

"Wait!" You grab his wrist. "What do you like more pancakes, waffles, or french toast?" Jake looks at you with face full of confusion and you laugh. "No jokes. Just which one do you like more?"

"Waffles," he answers and you grin. He's a waffles guy. Of course, he is.

"There's this place called Casita Ruiz. I've got a hot date with my therapist tonight, so tomorrow night. At 6. If you're late, I know how to break every bone in the human body, just so you know." Jake's smiling wide, and so are you.

"I'll show up at 5:30 then." Before you know what's happening, Jake lean forward and presses a kiss against your cheek. Your face burns up even more. "I'll see you tomorrow, Braidy."

"Call me (y/n). It's my middle name. The only people who call me Braidy are the ones I don't like."

"You like me?"

"Don't push your luck, cowboy."

No matter how many times you've sat on this sofa, you'll never get use to it. Ava's staring at you with her dark, brown eyes and you shift uncomfortably. Sighing, you decided to just lay on the sofa, even though your feet hang over.

"(y/n)," Ava begins and you groan. "You called me and said you needed to talk to me right away." You cover your eyes with your arm and lick your lips.

"Bradley and Pete are here," you finally say. Ava's eyes widen and she sits a little straighter. She's heard about them many times from you. They're the main topic you talk about. Them, and the nightmares that you get from your countless assignments.

"And, how does that make you feel?" Ava asks, her voice soft and comforting. But, it doesn't have the effect she wants because you sit right up.

"How does it make me feel?" you scoff, venom clear in your voice. "They've been stationed in Miramar for the past two year together! Miramar! 45 fucking minutes away me! You know, I bet they were having the goddamn time of their lives there! As if nothing fucking happened!" You run a hand through your hair.

Ava bits her lips. "45 minutes, huh."

"Yeah," you whisper, voice broken and Ava frowns. You've been seeing her for the past seven years, and you've made a lot of progress. But now? It seems it's all gone down the drain at the appearance of your estranged brother and godfather.

"Braidy," she says, voice now firm, and you glare.

"Don't call me that."

"They call you that."

"Well, Bradley and Pete can go fuck themselves for all I care."

"You do care. You care a lot. That's why we're sitting here," she says and you roll your eyes. You've gone back to lay down and turn your head to look at Ava.

"I don't want to care," you say, your eyes becoming watery.

"But, you do. You care so much that you're hurting yourself." You turn away from Ava's eyes and look at the ceiling. "Have you ever thought about talking to them."

"I'd end up yelling at them if I did."

"Maybe that's what you need. To yell them. Tell them everything and anything." You nod and press your lips into a thin line, debating whether you should tell Ava about Jake.

"There's this guy. His name's Jake and he's a naval aviator," you let out a humourless chuckle, "He works with Bradley and Pete. Before coming here, he asked me out and I said yes."

"That's good. It's been a while since you've been on a date," Ava teases. You snort and look at her.

"You making fun of me, Doc?"

"Just an observation." Your eyes go back to the ceiling. "I can tell there's a but coming."

"But, I'm not sure going out with him is a good idea."

Ava nods, "You think Bradley has something to do with him asking you out."

"Yes and no."

"Do you wanna talk about your doubts?"

You sigh, "Aside from the fact that I'm Bradley's sister, there's nothing interesting about me. I mean, he could have gone for Amy. She's brighter, smiles more, and guys love that. So, why me?" There it is. The self-doubt. It's one of the issues that you've been working on in the past seven year.

"(y/n)" your eyes don't stray from the ceiling, "You're not unloveable."

"I know."

Ava sighs, "Have you given more thought to my suggestion?"

"About the dog?"

"Mhmm, you've always said you wanted one."

"I work too much," you clear your throat. "I wouldn't be around enough to take care of it. It's cruel. To give someone hope that you'll be around and them drop off the face of the earth."

Taglist: @potato-girl99981 @winterrebel04 @caitsymichelle13 @darhk-angel @madkill44 @cherrycola27 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @clockworkballerina  @krismdavis @phantomxoxo @piceous21 @laneyspaulding19 @multifandomfangirll @moron-says-what @rhirhikingston @startrekfangirl2233 @mightiestheroes @awesomebooklover17 @gizmodear @meritxellao @adaydreamaway088 @letsgomamas @midnightzonzz @iamaslytherin0 @thesewordsxlibrary @shawnsblue @theficthatwaspromised

[tiredwitchplant]

Everything You Need to Know About Crystals: Amethyst

Amethyst (“The World’s Most Popular Purple Gem”)

Color: Dark Vivid Purple to Pale Lilac

Hardness: 7

Rarity: Easy to Acquire

Type: Quartz

Chakra Association: Third Eye, Crown

Deities: Buddha, Dionysus, Diana, Artemis

Birthstone: February

Astrological Signs: Pisces, Aries and Aquarius

Element: Air

Planet: Jupiter

Origin: USA, Britain, Canada, Brazil, Mexico, Russia, Sri Lanka, Uruguay, East Africa, Siberia, India

Powers: Pride, Sobriety, Peace, Spirit World, Protection, Celibacy, Luck, and Homesickness

Crystals It Works Well With: Ametrine, Citrine, and Moonstone

How It Is Created: Amethyst receives its color beginning at the crystal’s growth. At the first stage, trace amounts of iron are incorporated into the crystal as it starts to grow. After the crystallization starts, gamma rays are emitted by radioactive materials within the host rock and the irradiated iron gives the amethyst its beautiful purple color.

History: One of the earliest references to amethyst is in the Old Testament book of Exodus as it is mentioned that one of the stones in the breastplate of Aaron the High Priest was an amethyst. There is not a clear indication to where the name comes from but it is said that it is derived from the Greek word “amethyst” which means “not drunk”. Despite this, it is associated with the god, Dionysus, because the purple hue of the crystal looks like delicious grape wine. Wine goblets were carved of this stone to prevent drunkenness. There is also a Greek lore involving Dionysus with a young girl named Amethyst. The lore reads:

“Dionysus was angry one day and swore that he would exact his revenge on the next mortal that came by. He created several tigers, informed him of their mission and went his way. As it would happen, a lovely young girl named Amethyst was the next to come by, on her way to pay homage to Artemis and was attacked. Artemis quickly changed the girl into a statue of solid quartz. When Dionysus returned to see what he had wrought, he was overcome with remorse and wept tears of purple wine which flowed over the statue, staining it permanently.”

The color was also in demand throughout history since the color purple is associated with royalty and was worn by royals in Egypt and Europe. In some traditions, Catholic Bishops wear amethyst rings to symbolize their piety and celibacy, and rosaries are still fashioned with this stone.

What It Can Do:

Excellent focal point for meditation and scrying

Used to unlock mysteries and figure out spiritual matters, such as death and rebirth

Helps cleanses, purify and heal the body, spirit, and mind

Balances emotions and prevents nightmares

Useful for spells to help let go of addictions

Uses on the tip of wands for healing and can produce high spiritual energy

Brings a sense of calm and clarity

Helps with decision making

Can open your third eye and connect to the crown chakra

Protects the mind from dark magic

A gateway stone to connecting with the spirit world

Helps with transmitting energies to a specific point

How to Get the Best Out of Amethyst: Wearing it on your person with a bracelet or necklace. Putting amethyst on bare skin invites the stone to release its vibrations directly into the body, amplifying its power.

How to Cleanse and Charge Amethyst:

To cleanse: Leave your Amethyst stone placed under the light of the full Moon for a whole night, that is, about 8 hours

To charge: It can also be recharge via the moon so just leaving it in the moonlight can do double duty.

Crystal Grid:

Protection and Cleansing (Hexagram)

Amethyst

Selenite

Snow Quartz

Hold your crystals in your hands and state your intention for the grid.

Lay the first triangle, placing clearing crystals on each point.

Join up the points and spray the grid with clearing essence.

Lay the light-bringing crystals in an overlocking triangle over the top of the first. Join up the points, starting with the first crystal you laid.

Place your keystone in the center, stating your intention once more.

Sources

[ayyko-rona-yoo]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐑!𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none. ����𝐨𝐭𝐞: Remember that the Soviet Union is not only Russia. 𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐒𝐨 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰.

First, let’s figure out how someone from the USSR could have ended up in the States. There were only two options: either you were stripped of your citizenship or you fled the country. Let’s take the first one - suppose your father was a writer and he was stripped of his citizenship because he was writing literature that was against the country’s ideology (I won’t go into details because in reality things were more complicated and scary). You don’t know how your father had connections there, but pretty soon your family got invited to the United States. The person who invited you was Mr. Noel. He also allowed you to stay at his house until you find a place to live.

He’ll probably see you for the first time when he goes to Chris with Knox to give him moral support, and if he’s hesitant, kick his ass.

You didn’t go to any school because you didn’t have the proper documents for enrollment yet, but every morning you walked Chris to her school.

"Where is she?" Charlie asked.

Knox looks at the crowd for a few seconds and points to Chris walking next to you. You stop at the entrance and she goes inside. You wave your hand at her and turn around to walk away. And Charlie stunned.

"Well, this is… Chris? You certainly have less chance than Denburry."

"I know… wait, who are you looking at?"

The next day he’ll try to get to know you. Like… It’s Charlie. I don’t think he’d wait long if he was up to something. The only reason he didn’t do it yesterday was because he didn’t want to hurt Knox’s feelings. He was quite sure that charm you would be as easily as possible. However, he did not expect that you would not be very talkative. And one more thing. Obviously, your English isn’t the best at the moment, and that complicates things, too. But the other problem is that his manner of speech and his behavior… scared you off a bit.

'I’m not serious at all, and I pass no skirt by' - that’s what you’d expect from a guy like that. In the society you grew up in that kind of behavior was discouraged and considered suspicious.

So the only thing you could say when a guy you didn’t know stopped you on the street with a playful grin was quick 'Sorry, I have to go'.

And now Charlie stunned again. How is that even possible? Back at Wellton, he didn't say a word when the poets asked him how it had gone. He told them so confidently that you won't be able to resist him. So how can he now admit that you ignored him?

Of course he’ll be teased about it, especially by Cameron. "Our Nuwanda can’t pick up a girl, huh?"

"Just shut up."

Again, this is Charlie. I believe he wouldn’t give up so easily. So now you meet him almost every time you walk Chris to school. And honestly, it was pretty creepy.

But then again, he didn’t do anything… outrageous, right? He wasn’t stalking you, you two were always out in public, so if you needed help… I think it’s clear what I mean.

At first, he just said hello and asked how you were doing. Then, when you didn’t answer, he said something about himself, about how his day was, complaining about Mr. Nolan. And even though you didn’t understand half of what he was saying, over time, you got used to his company. It took a long time, but Charlie was on cloud nine when you first answered him, "Not too bad… You?"

He was so proud of himself, so that night he wouldn’t shut up. Even after Cameron threw something at him for the third time in a row, so that he would stop talking and let him sleep.

Charlie finally got your name. You’ve had no contact with any of the locals other than the Noel family, so you’re not sure how anyone would react if they knew who you are and where are you from. What’s your name got to do with it? Well, it sounds unusual at least, so… easy to guess. Anyway, Charlie only knows your first name. So far.

Before you knew it, you were waiting for him to show up. Soon you even began to answer him with short simple phrases and laugh with his jokes, if you understood them.

Poems. Well. It’d be weird if he didn’t come up with a few poems about you, right? But you’re not used to the sound of English poetry. Although it’s better to say poetry in English.

I’m not sure how to describe it, but poems in Russian are very rhythmic, they hold a permanent rhyme. They sound different. So when Charlie first read you a poem, you didn’t even get what it was. Congratulations, this is the second time you’ve broken his heart.

One day you offered to walk you home. You’ve known each other for almost two months, and you’re in a good mood today. Why not spend more time with him? And, of course, Charlie could not refuse such an offer. While you were walking, you were talking about yourself more than usual, and even though you were still afraid to tell Charlie the details, you were very eager to give him a hint.

"Was it a poem again?" you said, standing at the front door.

"God, don’t say that, you’re making my heart bleed!"

"The only thing that bleeds is my passport," you opened the door and entered the house. "See you tomorrow, Nuwanda."

The next day he’d walk you home again. You said you had to hurry somewhere, but he insisted. Actually, Mr. Noel was supposed to be taking your family to the embassy today, so when you came, everyone was getting in the car.

You wanted to say goodbye to him, but he asked, "What you meant by 'the only thing that bleeds is your passport'?"

Should you tell him now? You looked him in the eyes for a few seconds, then sighed and took your passport out of your purse and handed it to him.

"I guess now you see what I meant," you muttered with a shy smile.

Its cover is red. Yellow letters, two words – 'СССР ПАСПОРТ' (In fact, red passports were introduced only in the 1970s, but it's not an archive document and I’m not here to teach a full history lesson. So let’s pretend that in 1959 it was already red, not gray).

"Are you coming with us, miss?"

"Yeah, I’m coming." You grabbed your passport out of his hand and went to Mr. Noel’s car, waving goodbye to Charlie.

Well. When you’re a guy from a wealthy American family who goes to a prestigious private school and lives a quiet life, the chance that you meet someone from the USSR… Is there even a chance?

Anyone would be shocked, maybe scared even. But Charlie… Of course he didn’t expect it and he’s surprised. But given his personality and character, I think he would rather be pleasantly surprised. Perhaps even excited.

Now it all makes sense. That's why you avoided him at first, why you spoke rarely and why you seemed to have a slight accent. Turns out he was right about the last one.

He’s definitely gonna be proud that he’s the one who got such an unusual girl like you. He’ll tell the dead poets about it as soon as he gets back to Welton. Cameron will be the only one who won’t believe him.

After that, you became more open with him. You’re still embarrassed by your poor English, which Charlie secretly likes. You told him why you live in the Noel house and about your friendship with Chris. You didn’t tell him the details of how you got here. He asked you a lot of questions, so you had to say it is very painful memories and you’re not ready to talk about it.

Charlie wouldn’t be Charlie if he didn’t ask you to teach him Slavic swearing. He literally begged you to, so you had to give up. Now it's the best way to shut Richard up when he does something annoying. He also mutters the curses under his breath when Mr. Nolan gives a speech.

You grew up in the Soviet Union, where a working woman was a normal thing (it's a myth that there was full equality of men and women in the USSR; but again – it's not a history class). So when the question arose of how to renew your visa, you immediately began to think about how to get a job. And Charlie sincerely does not understand this. You can just get married, can’t you? It’s the simplest and seemingly obvious option.

He’ll ask you to marry him. Many times. Every time you start talking about how hard to find a way to stay in the States is. Maybe it’ll sound like a joke at first. But the embassy continues to reject your application, so he starts talking about it more seriously.

© 𝐚𝐲𝐲𝐤𝐨-𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐚-𝐲𝐨𝐨 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. 𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 ���𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝. 𝐌𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝.