#sadly i think this store has closed for good since then

[russellsppttemplates]

Did you lose her? (Lando Norris)

Maybe it was never a change of heart

Note: english is not my first language. It's angsty with a happy ending, and it's also the first piece that's I've written that's based of a song, Stick Season by Noah Kahan. I hope I did it well enough! 🫶 also, it has smut, and if you have followed me for long enough, you know I don't usually do it, but I think it's these AUS pics 😮‍💨😌🥵

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: curse words, previous break-up and themes related to that, smut (mentions protected sex, hormonal contraception, praise kink if you squint at the whole thing)

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

And I saw your mom, she forgot that I existed

Doing the food shop was one one of the mundane adult life tasks you actually enjoyed doing. You had some music on your ears and walked along the supermarket, making sure you weren't buying too much outside of your list.

Tomato sauce and two packets of the instant noodles for when you didn't feel like cooking or were in a rush, you told yourself as you browsed through the aisle.

The scent should've been the first give away, but lots of people wore the same perfume. However, not all of them had the characteristic underlying scent that to this day meant comfort.

"Y/N! I wasn't expecting to see you", Cisca said as he placed the item she took from the shelf on her shopping cart, "goodness, how long has it been since we've seen you?", she smiled sadly.

Five months, you thought. One hundred and fifty two days since you and Lando parted ways and you shipped your belongings back to England. You told yourselves it was amicable and that you'd still be there for eachother, but you had published your first article and he had started his season without the other by your side.

"It's been some time, yes. How are you?", you wondered, "we've been good, you know how busy it gets around this time of year. But Savannah had their little girl, Athena - let me show you a picture!", she scrambled her phone out of her bag.

"Oh, how cute!", you cooed at the little baby bundled up in a pink blanket, "Mila is such a good big sister, too!", she showed you a picture with the two of them in Lando's lap, the baby tucked safely into his chest as Mila seemed to be showing him one of her toys.

Gulping and swallowing the tears that threatened to fall, you looked up at her and smiled, "I'm glad everyone is doing good - send Oliver and Sav my congratulations!", you nodded, hoping she would get the hint.

Storing her phone back in her bag, Cisca smiled, resembling the smile that you woke up many times to, "I will, darling. All the best for you, hopefully we'll see you around", she said before rubbing your back soothingly.

You found an aisle without people and allowed yourself to cry. Just for a little bit before you had to go back to pretend it didn't hurt still.

And I'll dream each night of some version of you

That I might not have, but I did not lose

"I'm on the podium, dad!", Lando yelled as he hugged Adam, cackling in excitement as he hugged the team who were there to celebrate and congratulate him.

"Congratulations, baby!", you yelled as Lando turned to hug you, arms going around your waist and pulling you as close as the safety barriers allowed, clicking open his visor so you could look at your favourite eyes in the world.

"I love you so much, Y/N!", he yelled back, winking before he went up to get weighed in.

On the podium, he looked at you like you two were the only people there, smiling up at him as he blew you a kiss.

"I knew you'd be on the podium, baby", you smiled once you were back in his driver's room, "How are you so sure?", he wondered, kissing your neck soflty.

"The development they're doing, your talent, Lando, I knew it was going to happen, and from now on, you better get used to being up there every single weekend", you smirked, kissing from his throat to his jaw and up to his lips, humming when his tongue poked at your lips begging for entrance.

It was hot and he was sweaty. His phone read 4:30am as he stood up against the headboard, finding the light switch so he wouldn't walk around the hotel room in complete darkness.

It was the third night in a row you showed up in his dreams. The first time, it was subtle as he dreamed about flying on plane and he was sure you were there. The past two, however, had you in there as a main character. He dreamed of walking in the paddock with you, of having you there to comfort him and knock some sense in his head when his P4 in qualifying didn't feel enough, and now you were celebrating his podium.

It's weird how his brain went there, how his arms and face felt like they had truly been holding you despite not having done it in months. Muscle memory betrayed, he thought as he poured himself some water and took little sips of it as he looked outside the window.

Fuck, he missed you. And not just for these big moments where he was on a high and wanted to share it with you or when he was do low you were the only person that could make him crawl out of the dark hole he snuck himself into. It's when he's making his bed back home and the other pillow remains fluffed because no one's using it, it's the mug you left behind and he doesn't have the courage to send back to you or give to someone else or when he sees something that reminds him of you and he gets it, hoping one day he can get them to you.

You once called me forever, now you still can't call me back

Lando sighed again as the call went to voicemail. It was the third time it happened in the last couple of hours. It was media day at Suzuka and they were having lunch.

"You know it's 3 am back in England, right?", Oscar asked bluntly, "when we were having breakfast, sure, you might have got hold of her if she was doing a late night, but I think you should wait", he reasoned.

Oscar was right. He didn't want to risk it waking you up even though he was sure your phone was on silent since you loved your sleep dearly.

"I hate this", Lando muttered, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. Oscar was aware of some of what had happened between Lando and you. The start of the season always came with new gossip and this one's was filled with rumours and conspiracy theories about the paddock's sweetheart and young couple.

Lando started driving in Formula One when he was nineteen, so they had seen his grow up through the years along with your relationship. At first, you were pinned down as his sister, then a best friend when they realised you didn't share genetics, and then you were his girlfriend. The lingering touches and big smiles they caught never rushed you to admit your feelings or put a label on your relationship, but everyone was there when you walked hand in hand on the paddock and confirmed the suspicions they had for months. Lando Norris and his best friend were in love and they all felt like proud parents as they watched you support him unconditionally every time you could.

"Did you lose her?", Oscar quesioned his team-mate as he picked on the food on his plate.

"I don't have her with me, have I?", Lando snapped and regretted it almost immediately.

Oscar put it down to tiredness, jet lag and the fact that he seemed a bit lost on how he was navigating the situation, "What I'm saying is, did you lose her? Did you do your absolute best to keep her with you?", he said sternly, "Used all of the options and possibilities and it still didn't work out? You don't lose someone because things fell apart in a stressful situation", he reasoned.

He was young but not dumb, truly.

"Feels like I have though", Lando added.

"What I'm saying is if you really want to know how she is and if you want to have an honest conversation with her, you have to make an effort. Not just calling and asking your mother to see if she's spotted her lately, or your sisters to check in your circle of friends whether or not she has moved on", Oscar lectured.

"Do you think I can do it? Do I have what it takes?", Lando confessed his doubts out loud. One of the reasons he had yet to act on it was because having a second chance wasn't for everyone and he needed to make sure it went perfect. You deserved that.

"You're a Formula One driver with deep pockets and a massive heart that still belongs to someone. What can't you do?", the young australian driver mused before he got up, taking his plate with him and leaving Lando pondering about what to do next.

I hope this pain's just passin' through

You sang loudly as you dusted the living room shelves, windows open to let the autumn air in. While cleaning wasn't your favourite thing to do, you had woken up with an urge to clean and given that it happened very rarely, you were taking it in stride.

So far, you found a receipt of a pair of jeans you were meant to return but gave your friends instead, a concert ticket and a bigger amount of dust than you'd like to admit. When you pulled the fabric strap, though, you knew that you wouldn't want to get rid of it. The lanyard belonged to one of the passes for one of the Grand Prix weekend you went to see Lando. Inspecting it closer, you realised it was his second home race, the Polaroid picture attached to it confirming the date.

It started with you joking about the fact that the pass was not the prettiest, so Lando hunted down the paddock to find a Polaroid camera, snapping a picture of you two and pinching a hole on it so you could carry it around and cover the supposed ugly pass. The photo was still intact, just a little dusty as you wiped it with your sleeve. Lando was kissing your cheek as you smiled impossibly big, eyes squinty and smile beaming because of the guy whose lips were on your cheek.

A single teardrop fell on the plastic covered paper before a few more followed as you sat down, looking at what you had once been and how things were right now. The missed calls on your phone led you to believe that maybe he still felt something too, but the potential heartache of trying again and it not working would hurt more than it already does.

The vibration from watch caught your attention as you read the two notifications. One from your e-mail with Qatar Airways written in bold and a text from Lando.

Qatar Airways

Thank you for choosing to fly with Qatar Airways!

Lando ✨️

I need you here with me, Y/N, please

I made the flight reservation for you, they will hold the ticket until two hours before the flight leaves, you just have to confirm with your passport ❤️

You promised me that I was more than all the miles combined

Heathrow Airport, 7th October 2023, 6:30 am.

You couldn't back out now, that would mean Lando would lose the money he spent to get you here in the first place. It wasn't by all means quiet, but your thoughts were loud enough.

You shouldn't be here. Why were you here? Why did you accept this, Y/N?

Because Lando needed you there.

Simple as that.

Boarding the flight, you smiled and thanked as the flight attendant pointed to the area where your seat was and where you would spend the next six hours and a half.

"I'm sorry, our seats are by the window", a woman in her thirties said as she bounced a little girl on her hip, making you get up so she could get to it, "thank you", she smiled, sitting down and buclking herself and her daughter to her body.

"Lyla, you can't go pulling on other people's clothes - I'm so sorry", she apoligised as the little girl pulled on your shirt's detailed button buckle.

"No worries, I know how restless they can get. You do the best for your baby. You're only responsible for yours and her emotions, no one else's on this plane", you offered her, remembering the times you would take flights and fully grown adults would go up to a stressed parent to let them know they could hear their crying child as if the parents themselves didn't know.

"My husband is somewhere in there, too", she chuckled, sometimes I feel I'm responsible for his too - accountantable in a way at least", she chuckled.

"You weren't able to sit together?", you wondered.

"My husband planned the weekend to go watch a race and come back, but we found some holiday days and we decided on a spontaneous trip. This was the only seat left they had", she explained.

"I can change seats if you want", you offered, "I'm flying on my own and I'll get to the destination all the same", you giggled.

"You wouldn't mind?", she asked, relief settling over her as she tried to see her husband, waving at him to come closer as you touched the button to call the flight attendant as the passengers were all sat down on your section.

"This lovely young woman says she doesn't mind switching seats with you", she said to her husband as you spoke to the flight attendant.

"No, there's no problem with that if you both agree", the flight attendant smiled as you got up, ignoring the frown on the man next to you who had to get up so you could swap, "bye bye, Lyla!", you waved at the little girl before her parents thanked you once again.

Finding your new seat, you put your bag under the seat in front and sat down, excusing yourself to the older couple next to you, "I just swapped seats with the gentleman that was here, I'm sorry", you smiled, hoping they wouldn't be too mad.

"Oh, he was able to sit with his family after all - I told you, Harold!", the lady winked at her husband, "I'm Francesca, you can call me Fran", she said sweetly.

Despite the early flight, they both seemed to be full of energy as they started telling you stories of their life and family, showing pictures of their kids and grandkids.

"One day you'll have all of that with the person you love, darling - if that's something you want, of course!", Harold peeped in, "our granddaughters are always telling me not everyone wants the same things!", he chuckled softly.

"It's okay - I would like that, actually", you smiled sadly as Francesca landed her hand on top of yours.

"Why does that sound like a confused heart, dear?", she commented, reading you like a book. The flight was closer to be three quarters of the way to the destination, so you still had some time to kill.

"A little bit; I'm actually flying over to see the person who still has this confused heart", you mumbled.

"Your eyes sparkle when you talk about him, dear - something tells me he's going to 'unconfuse' your heart", she smiled, "tell me about him".

"Godness", you chuckled, "He's kind, respectful, honest, goofy, cute, charming, loving, he's all that is good. We just lost our way, I think", you recalled, smiling at the thought of him.

"You'll find it back, dear. Life has mysterious ways but it has the right ways - I like to believe it does, anyway", the older lady assured, squeezing your hand in hers.

Waving goodbye to Harold and Francesca when you found the taxi bay, you requested to be taken to the paddock.

When you got there, you payed the kind driver before he helped you take your suitcase from the boot, "enjoy the race!", he smiled.

You were thankful all eyes were on the track already, making you cross the whole paddock and step into McLaren's hospitality quickly after collecting your pass.

"Y/N!", Zak said as he was the first person to spot you, "you're here, you came!", he smiled, hugging you tightly, "we're all very happy you're here", he said as he asked one of the team members to store your suitcases somewhere appropriate before leading you to the corridor to the drivers' rooms.

"Lando is inside, and the race starts in less than ninety minutes, so you won't talk all you need to, but it's a good start", he said, knocking on the door before he left.

When Lando heard the knock, he hoped it was you. Sophie and Oscar were great people, but in the last hour, everytime he opened the door, theirs were the faces he saw instead of yours.

"Y/N", he welcomed you into his room before closing the door, "I hope it's okay that I flew you here, thank you for coming", he said as he hesitated on giving you a hug.

Taking a step forward, you laced your arms around his waist as he did the same around your shoulders, inhaling eachother's scent and feeling like a weight was lifted off both of you, "I missed you so much, Y/N", he whispered before you pulled apart.

"It's not the first time you've done that for me", you fumbled with your hands, "although I was very surprised. We haven't spoken to eachother in some time, Lando", you sterned.

"Not because I didn't try", he bit bat with an ironic chuckle, "Why did you come here then?", he defended, taking your words as immediate offense and not taking a second to process them properly.

"Because even though we're not together anymore, you matter to me. I care about you! I'm not sure what monster you depict me as or that you imagine I've turned into, but I wouldn't dream of wishing you misery! If you call me and tell me you need me here, I'll be here because I care about you!", you snapped, "you have no idea how many times I wanted to give up and cancel this! Why am I here, Lando?", you asked.

You didn't expect him to react that way, not that you had a much better reaction anyway.

"Fuck, this is not how we do this", you took a deep breath as Lando held your hands in his, mimicking your movements as he did the same. Three long deep breaths, in and out, in and out, in and out.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that", Lando began, hands laced on yours still, "thank you for bring here, I needed you here because there's no one else in the world that can make me feel comfortable like you do, and I need that. I need to feel like myself - and I know it's a selfish ask to make you get up and drop your things to be here with me but-", you interrupted him.

"It's okay, Lando, you're okay", you cooed, searching for his eyes and hoping you'd get the message your mouth was failing to say through.

You pulled him to sit in front of you in the massage table, "I've been seeing all the podiums you've been getting - the team have done such a great job developing, and your talent and skills have brought it to the podium", you tried a lighter subject even though you were 99% sure of his worries.

"Oscar still qualified above me", he began, "He's a rookie and he's managed to do in months what I haven't done in five years", he allowed himself to express his feelings. After all, it was you.

"Oscar is not driving a tractor like you were", you shrugged your shoulders as Lando laughed.

"For someone who was invited last minute and got a pretty good pass, I'm not sure how the team would feel about you talking like that", he smirked, hand finding your own as he rubbed his thumb on your palm.

"I'm only telling the truth", you smiled, "and I mean it. I know how this sport works, but you shouldn't compare yourself to your teammate when the circumstances are so different", you mused.

"The team have been great and they still haven't said anything", he reasoned.

"Of course they haven't because it's something that happens, Lando. I was watching the highlights and so many drivers went over the limits because that's how this track goes", you stated, "there's only so much you can do and you shouldn't put all that pressure on yourself", you tsked, "I know you do, but you shouldn't", you smiled.

"You always know what to say, don't you?", he chuckled, "I have an inkling on how this here works", you winked and tapped his head with your free hand.

A knock on the door interrupted your moment as Jon opened it right after, "Lando, we need to start prepping for the sprint", he said before he turned to you, "Hi Y/N, good to have you back!", he smiled before he let you finish what you were doing.

"I should go, then", Lando trailed off, "are you going to browse around the paddock? I bet a lot of people miss you and your face here", he nudged.

"I came here for you, I don't care about anyone else", you smiled as you leaned over to press a kiss on his cheek for a few seconds, smiling against his warm skin before grabbing your bag and walking out.

Most of the team must've known you were coming since not many of them took a second look whenever you greeted them or entered a different area.

One of the media girls got you a set of headphones as she stood next to you, Oscar and Lando getting ready to go to the track.

His routine hadn't changed as your eyes followed him while he got dressed appropriately and safely for the race.

Before Lando put his helmet on he looked back at you, winking and smiling when you winked back.

When the gap wasn't closing in, you knew Lando would be disappointed with P3, not because of the place itself but because his team-mate had done better.

As you moved to a better spot to watch the interviews on the media pen, your heart felt like someone was using it like a trampoline, jumping and stomping on it as Lando spoke about himself with such a negative tone.

Surely, the interviewers were fishing for answers with biased questions and his mind took him there.

As you waited for him to be back to the hospitality, you got yourself something to eat, realising you hadn't done it since the plane.

Lando was beating himself up and he couldn't shake the bad mood he was in even when he thought you had travelled to see him and be there for him.

As Sophie gave him a quick debrief about his interviews, he stepped into his driver's room so he could have a quick shower and then head to the team debrief.

"It wouldn't hurt going up to her, you know?", Jon told him, ready to take any harsh words first if it meant you didn't hear them.

"I know it wouldn't, I'm just going to eat something and then I'll join the debrief with the rest of the team", Lando mumbled as he walked up to you.

"Hey", he said sitting down on the sofa next to you.

"Hey, Lando", you said, testing the waters and approaching his body until you rested your head on his shoulder.

"You are going to get your win, Lando. It's going to be an amazing weekend and it's going to be your first. Surely important, but you'll be a race winner and go on to the next race", you said as he seemed to be unsure of the tone you were going for, "as that will be a big moment in a long career - because it won't define it - this doesn't define you either, as a person and as a driver", you concluded, hoping to bring a little bit of his confidence and self-esteem back up a little.

"And you're going to be there?", he asked. He was feeling like shit and needed to know. It wasn't fair, but he needed to know.

"I can't make promises like that, not before we speak properly", you remarked, looking up at him from where you were, kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand in yours, "do you want me to stay here or should I go back to the hotel?", you asked. It wasn't the right time or the right place to talk about it.

"Could you stay here, please?", he said as you took your book out of your bag, knowing it would run long and you'd need some entertainment as there was only so much catching up you could do with the team when they're suppose to be working.

"I will, then", you said as Lando took the plunge and kissed the top of your head.

Ten chapters and a tea later, Lando tapped your shoulders, "I'm finished, are we ready to go?", he asked as you got up accepting his hand to hold as you walked out of the hospitality, grabbing your suitcase from the storage room and bidding goodbye to the team.

"I couldn't get a separate room for you, but the room I'm staying in has this living room area and the sofa opens into a bed, they said it's really comfy and they also left an extra mattress topper and some blankets", Lando said as he drove, "in case you didn't feel comfortable, I- I just want you to feel comfortable", he emphasised nervously.

"Lando, you don't need to walk on eggshells, okay? It's me", you smiled reassuringly as he stole a quick look at you before focusing back on the road, "sounds like a nice solution, fine by me", you reassured him.

Leaving the car to the valet and taking the lift up with you, you stayed silent until you were inside the hotel room, "That's the bedroom area, bathroom's here - and it has a double sink - and then the living room", Lando patted the extra linen folded on the sofa.

"Thank you", you assented, "would you like to talk now or is it bad timing? You must be tired f,-".

"Yes, please", he agreed immediately sitting on the sofa and making room for you to sit in front of him.

"I don't know where to begin", you observed after a while, "it's been tough being without you - I have been so used to having you there for me and to be there for you that nothing quite has the same meaning. I can live without you - barely, but I can -, that's not the question, but I don't want to", you manifested.

"We ended things because we had to, and it did us both well to see from another perspective - that's what it felt for me anyway -, but I want to be with you and to have you with me", he elaborated, "I don't care if you have to spend more time back home because of the distance, or come with me to the races because of the distance, too, I-".

"It was never about the distance, Lando", you interjected. You both used that excuse way too many times but deep down you knew it wasn't because of it.

"We'll work it out then", Lando suggested, "we'll work on us because knowing eachother doesn't mean we don't have to put ourselves first and keep investing on our relationship. I value you so much Y/N, I love you so much and I want to do this right", he whispered as if he spoke any louder would disturb the moment.

"I love you too", you smiled as you laced your hands together, "we'll work on it, together".

It was already late so Lando offered you the bathroom so you could shower and do your night routine first and then make the sofa bed to your liking while he did his night routine.

"Good night, angel", Lando said after you hugged him goodnight, kissing the top of your head before letting you lie down first since the light on his bedside table was the only one illuminating the room.

After you cocooned yourself in the sheets comfortably, you spoke up, "Lando, I'm sorry I didn't answer back sooner", you apoligised.

"It's okay, love, you don't have to worry about that", he cooed softly and you could hear the smile on his voice.

"I know it's not, but thank you for making me feel better about it, goodnight", you smiled, feeling hopeful about it.

The next morning, you were woken up by the noise coming from the bathroom, assuming Lando was showering inside as you stretched, surprised at how well you slept. Maybe the bedding was genuinely nice, the sofa bed wasn't bad to begin with, especially considering the hotel you were staying in, or maybe it was the fact that for the first time in months, you fell asleep knowing the person who your heart belonged to was more than happy to let you keep his, too, and he was in the same space as you.

"Good morning, beautiful", Lando smiled as he noticed you were awake already, "did you sleep well?".

"Good morning, Lan", you yawned, "I did, really well, actually. At what time do we have to be at the track?", you wondered. It was a night race, so the call up was later than usual.

"I'm leaving after breakfast, but you can stay and head there later if you want", Lando declared as you walked up to him, "I just need to freshen up and get ready", you smiled, kissing his cheek and heading for the bathroom with your clothes.

As soon as you arrived at the track, you took one of the back entrances as you knew Lando would spend some time with the fans and other drivers he bumped into, finding a nice spot on the lounge and going back to your book.

"I'm going to start race prep", Lando stopped by you in the lounge after a quick meeting, "I probably won't talk to you much until afterwards so I just came to check on you", he reasoned.

Getting up, you moved to one of the corridors, leaning up to kiss his forehead softly, "Good luck, my love, you're going to do so well, I know it", you smiled against his skin.

"I have my lucky charm with me", he smirked, kissing the top of your head before he got back to Jon.

From P10 to P3, Lando had an eventful race. Fortunately, and compared to the rest of the grid, he seemed to be doing fairly well as he stood in front of AC Units while replenishing the water he lost during the fifty-seven laps.

"I'm so proud of you!", you cooed as he got back to the garage, shaking hands with all the mechanics and engineers before he got to you. You hugged his sweaty body, not caring about it as long as you felt his close to you.

"They're postponing race debrief so I'm going to shower quickly and then we can get going, beautiful", he smiled, kissing a spot on your cheek very close to your lips.

Smiling giddily, you went to the bar area to get a bottle of water for yourself as Sophie walked last you, "seems like we will be seeing a lot more of you again soon - maybe Zak can also hire you as our lucky charm!", she winked as you shook your head, blood rushing to your cheeks at her words.

Back in the hotel room, it was your turn to freshen up and get ready to sleep. The spirits were high and you were feeling like the wait time was over. Your heart was healed enough as you sat on Lando's bed, "I'm so proud of you, you had an incredible drive tonight", you smiled as you moved closer to him as he sat on the edge, back against the headboard and one leg on the mattress while the other hung beside the mattress.

"It felt so good", he smiled, "thank you for supporting me", he cupped your cheek as he silently asked you for permission to kiss your lips. Lando couldn't waste anymore time as he pulled you to him so he could kiss you properly, your legs on either side of his as you straddled him, revelling in the feeling of being in eachother's hold as your hands played with his hair while his held your waist.

"As much as I'd love to continue this, I'm exhausted, baby", he rubbed your thighs, "it's okay, my love, I wasn't thinking of letting you do anything else anyway", you smiled, kissing his nose softly before you got on one knee so you could flop to the side and land on the mattress.

"Sleep here, yes?", he mused and you nodded, undoing the bed and getting under the sheets, his arm holding you to him and making sure he didn't let go.

As if you'd leave anyway.

4.30am and Lando woke up again. This time however, the sight he longed to see was right there. The you he had and had got back, cuddled up to his chest as your leg was hoisted up on top of his own and very close to his aching cock.

As he tried to change the angle so every time you moved, your smooth skin wouldn't pratically tease him, you stirred in your sleep, eyes opening as he tried to adjust your knee.

"Is everything alright, baby? Am I hurting you?", you said as you recoiled from his body.

"No, angel, no!", he quickly guaranteed, "I'm sorry I woke you up, it's just that your knee was very close to me and I was having a hard time dealing with it".

"A hard time indeed", you snickered as you felt his hard-on strained on his Calvin Kleins. Dating after being friends for so long brought an easy joking side to your relationship so much easier and funnier as you wouldn't get offended with most of what you said to eachother, "need help with that?", you smirked.

"But I wanted to treat you", Lando pouted, "Can I, gorgeous girl?", he whispered as he kissed up your neck once you whispered "yes", hands roaming on your body as he pulled up your nightshirt, finding your nipples and twisting them slightly to work your body up the way you did with his.

Your sighs and whimpers let him know he was doing a good job as undressed your torso, littering small kissed from your throat to your tummy, "you're so gorgeous, Y/N, I can't believe you're mine", he said as he blew a raspberry on your tummy, earning giggles from you before he licked up a stripe near your panties line.

"You know how much I like it when you wear your pink panties", he voiced as he touched you over the cotton fabric, feeling you pulsate already, "Do you like it when I tease you over your pink panties, baby?".

"Yes", you scrambled out betwen moans and deep breaths, "Oh my Goodness, princess", he cooed as you squirmed, "You want me to fill this pussy up?", he wondered as you let out a yes followed but a deep mewling sound.

"Let me take a little peek, then", as his fingers pushed the fabric down, a string of wetness caught in the material as he smiled, "Oh my Goodness, look at this pretty little pink pussy", he kisses your clit, "all of you, you're se beautiful, baby".

Rubbing the inside of your thighs with his thumbs, pressing the soft skin as he got rid of your underwear, "Are you going to let me fill you up?", he asked as he wouldn't do it without consent.

"Yes, please do it, Lan", you moaned, hand looking for his own to hold.

"You don't need to say please, my love - here", he whispered as he laced your hands together, "you'll always have me, you hear me? I'm yours, sweet girl", he smiled.

His hand that wasn't securely laced in yours helped you take his underwear off before he came back up to kiss your lips softly.

"Does it feel good when I tease your clit like that, gorgeous?", he smirked as he ran the tip of his cock in your sensitive bud, "Yes - uhg, baby", you gasped, looking into his eyes and swearing you could get lost in them had you not been in such a state of arousal as you were.

"You look so pretty like this, my beautiful, sweet girl", he praised as he saw your twitches and heard your moans at his words, "we need protection, though", he stated.

"I'm good, didn't see anyone else - you?", you wondered as he shook his head, "didn't see anyone else either - condom?", he asked, making you nod and separate so he could get it from his toiletries bag. Hormonal contraception left you feeling worse that it made your life easier, so you and Lando always used condoms.

Rolling it down his shaft, Lando climbed back in the bed and kissed your lips, adjusting himself before he entered you.

You whimpered as Lando slid inside you, a low groan escaping from his throat as he gently slid, taking your hand back in his and resting them next to your head on the pillow.

"You feel so good for me, sweet girl, so wet so warm, so good - aah", he breathed out, "so tight, my sweet sweet girl", he squeezed his eyes shut at the feeling of your walls squeezing him.

You stretched your arm out enough to pull his face closer to yours, kissing his jaw and then his lips before whispering "you can move, love".

Lando pulled back slowly, thrusting in gently to begin with and savouring how you felt around him.

"I love you", you muttered into his neck between moans as he picked up the pace, thrusting into you faster, harder and deeper.

"I'm close", Lando groaned as he felt your walls clench around him, his hand crawling between your bodies and drawing lazy circles on your clit to get you to your release.

"Me too, feels so good, I feel so good", you moaned out, a high pitch one particularly when you felt the band was about to snap.

“My sweet girl, my beautiful sweet girl, are you going to come for me?”, Lando worked you up as your body started to show signs of it, "let go, my love, I'm here, I've got you”, he soothed, still gently rubbing your clit with one hand and keeping hold of the other.

Your back arched, sensitive nipples rubbing against his skin, as you came with a high-pitched whine, nuzzling your face on his thick neck as you came undone around him. Lando came soon after, his hand that was not holding yours groping your waist as he groaned.

“Good, sweet girl, that was good, you did so well for me. I’ve got you, it's okay", he assured as he felt you flutter around him, probably from overstimulation considering neither of you had been with anyone else and you hadn't slept a full night yet, the tiredness he felt also a cause for how quickly he finished.

Lando kissed your forehead sweetly before he pulled out, getting up and throwing out the condom on the bathroom bin before he cane back to you on the bed.

"Let's put this on, yeah?", he whispered soflty as he helped you put on his linen shirt, buttoning it enough to let you breathe but still feel hugged by the fabric, and then a clean pair of underwear he got from your suitcase.

Before he laid in bed with you again, he put on his own underwear, pulling you to his arms and then pulling the crisp white covers over you.

"Do you feel good, baby?", he asked once you were cuddled up to him, "yes, I do", you smiled, a mixture of post sex glow and being back in his arms.

"Thank you for not giving up on us, I love you, sweet girl", Lando said as he played with your fingers, bringing them up to his mouth so he could kiss every single one of them, "you're the best thing in my life", he mumbled, letting you drift off to sleep.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Summary: Eddie's guard is back up after overhearing people gossiping about a secret that only you would know about. When he lets his animosity take over, the damage may be too great to repair.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 3.7k

Chapter 4/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

Eddie is still fuming when he pulls into the music store’s parking lot. He’s opening today, and his hands tremble as he fumbles with the keys. All of those parents are going to know that he’s a failure of a father.  The Munson reputation clung to him like a bloodsucking leech, regardless of his numerous attempts to shed it. He’s destined to be an outcast at best and a monster at worst. 

Finally managing to unlock the door, Eddie flicks on the lights, blanketing the shop in a hazy glow. The silence is deafening, and he swears that his brain will implode if he doesn’t get some background noise. He walks to the section labeled ‘METAL’ as if on autopilot, grabbing Metallica’s Master of Puppets and shoving the cassette into the player. Ash insists that they play classic rock over the crummy little sound system; something about it being ‘palatable’ for the customers, but she’s not here to scold him. 

He thinks back to when this album was released, towards the end of his third senior year. The good ol’ days, when I only worried about passing O’Donnell’s class and planning Hellfire campaigns, he thinks wryly. But, no; that isn’t quite true. He’d had to worry about the trailer getting repo’d, or whether he and Wayne could stretch their food stamp budget enough to feed two grown men. Concerns that his uncle had tried to hide from him until he no longer could. 

“Ed, you’re eighteen now,” Wayne had said, just one month after Eddie’s birthday, “and I’m gonna need you to start payin’ some bills around here.”

At the time, Eddie thought he was just being a bastard. It wasn’t until a few days later when he’d spotted the envelope marked PAST DUE in bold, red letters that he realized it wasn’t a punishment, but a necessity. 

He’d been selling for Rick ever since. Well, until now. 

“Battery” fades out to “Master of Puppets,” and Eddie flips the CLOSED sign to read OPEN. He glances at the calluses on his hands and smiles sadly, thinking of all the hours he spent learning the chords in his room. After weeks of non-stop practicing—Hetfield’s solo was a bitch—he’d raced down to Gareth’s garage and played all eight minutes straight through. Watched as his friends’ jaws dropped in awe. Gave him a standing ovation. Told him he was a fucking rockstar. 

“You’re a rockstar, all right,” Eddie sarcastically grumbles now, clanging a roll of pennies against the counter before dumping them into the till. “Getting ready to drop your new hit single: Do you want a receipt with that?”

His morning has been nothing short of monotonous: help the customer find what they want, ring them up and make small talk, and then organize (or, in his case, pretend to organize) the store when it’s not busy. 

There’s too much down time for him to be left alone with his thoughts. As soon as he has a moment to himself, he’s ruminating on his regrets of the past. He turns up the music volume in a half-hearted attempt to drown them out, but they manage to worm their way into every nook and cranny of his brain. 

Eight years ago, a twenty-two year old Eddie Munson left his podunk town of Hawkins, Indiana to pursue rock stardom. He’d driven to Chicago with only the pocket change he’d saved up and his guitar on his back. A big city for a man with even bigger dreams. 

It didn’t take him long to realize that being Eddie Munson meant next to nothing in a place that was bursting with musicians desperate for the chance to become famous. He appreciated the anonymity at first; he could blend in without being chased by taunts of Freak or Loser. But after nearly a full year of auditions where he was just another guitarist who could carry a tune, he’d started to lose hope. Prepared to return to Hawkins with his tail between his legs, he’d stopped at the nearby bar for one last drink. 

“We can’t go on without a lead singer and guitarist!”

A frantic voice captured his attention, drawing his gaze from the pint of beer in front of him. 

“Well, Sam bailed. Again,” another man points out, tone heavy with irritation. “So either we go on without him, or we don’t go on at all.”

Eddie finds himself standing up and walking into a conversation where he was never invited. “I, um, play guitar. And sing?” He winces as it comes out like a question. “I can show you, if you want.” What was he doing? He couldn’t line up a gig to save his life, and now he’s offering to play for some band he doesn’t even know?

The two guys, both about his age, exchange a dubious look. “All right,” says one with shaggy dark hair. “Let’s hear what you got, Guitar Boy.” He hands him his own guitar, and Eddie adjusts the strap before diving headfirst into the chorus of the first song that comes to mind:

If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by You're thinkin' like a fool 'cause it's a case of do or die Out there is a fortune waitin' to be had You think I'll let it go you're mad You've got another thing comin'

The other guy cocks his head, a delighted smirk spreading across his face. “Judas Priest. Solid choice.” He paces a bit, twirling a drumstick between his fingers. You got a name, Guitar Boy?” he asks.

Eddie nods. “Eddie Munson.” He sticks out his hand, silently willing it to stop trembling, and shakes theirs.

“I’m Marcus,” the shaggy-haired man says. “This is Bryan. I play backup guitar; he’s on drums. Our bassist should be here soon; his name’s Pete.”

“And Sam was our lead guitarist and singer, but he’s a fucking asshole,” Bryan quips, and Eddie chortles at his brazen attitude. “Anyway, we mostly do covers…check out the setlist and see what you know.” He hands Eddie a crumpled piece of paper, filled with familiar songs and artists.

“I can do any of these,” Eddie says, a satisfied warmth filling his chest as he watches the guys grin even wider.  

“Tell ya what,” Bryan says, plopping behind a drum set plastered with a logo reading Hard Knox. “If you don’t suck tonight, you can play with us permanently.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agrees. “We’re gonna be big, man. We just need someone to help us get there.”

“Let me run back to my place and grab my ax,” Eddie tells them, adrenaline propelling him to his apartment. This was it. This was the break he needed. Just as he was about to give up, God or fate or destiny or whoever was finally giving him a chance to prove himself.

The show went off without a hitch; Eddie’s guitar skills bringing a normally quiet audience to their feet. Bryan clapped him on the back as he looked at Pete and Marcus; the three nodding at each other. “Welcome to Hard Knox!” he announced.

“Sam leaving was the best thing to happen to us,” Pete laughs in agreement. A bartender in a tight skirt and fishnet stockings brings over a round of shots, and the four men clink glasses.

“Fuck Sam!” Eddie shouts before taking the drink. The tequila burns as it coats his throat, but he doesn’t dare reach for the lime. No, he has something to prove.

“Fuck Sam!” the rest of the band echoes enthusiastically. Their choral response reminds Eddie of the way Corroded Coffin used to be before he’d left: when he’d say something, Jeff, Gareth, and Danny would listen. He was born to be a leader.

Things started to fall into place. His one night endeavor with Hard Knox turned into a biweekly gig at the bar, which eventually turned into shows almost every night at various venues across the city. He’d even convinced the guys to play some original work of his, reminding them that cover bands don’t get record deals. 

He had a steady income. A group of friends who appreciated him and his music. Beautiful women who eagerly threw themselves at him at the end of the show. And then it would repeat the following night in a new place. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Last night’s chaos has you all disheveled; it wasn’t until you got to work this morning that you realized you hadn’t even packed your lunch. You try to convince yourself that you can wait until you get home to eat, but about fifteen minutes before your break, your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“I’m gonna run to the deli and grab something,” you tell Will, throwing your jacket over your shoulders and digging out your car keys. “Want me to pick up anything for you?”

“Uh, Tylenol?” he grimaces, rubbing his temples. The kids had music class today, and the sounds of ten preschoolers singing off-key combined with their clashing tambourines served as a recipe for a pounding headache. “And maybe a bag of sour cream and onion chips?”

“You got it.” You shoot him a thumbs-up as you make your way to the parking lot as quickly as possible, determined to get your food before the lunch rush starts.

You manage to just beat out the crowd of hungry nine-to-fivers, grabbing a veggie wrap to-go. Crunching on a cucumber slice as you take a big bite, you start back towards your car, but the music store next door catches your eye.

A check of your watch confirms that you have a few minutes to peruse, maybe grab a copy of the new Toni Braxton cassette you’d been wanting. If there was ever a day to treat yourself to a little gift, it’s today. Your mind is foggy and your body feels like it’s dragging sandbags as you make your way over. You knew that taking care of an ailing relative would be physically demanding, but you weren’t prepared for the emotional toll it would take. Seeing your grandma helplessly laying on the bathroom floor scared drew all of the oxygen from your lungs, filling your body with worry. And just a few hours later, she was furiously swearing at you, claiming to hate you. She’s an ever-swinging pendulum, and you’re downright exhausted.

A small glob of hummus lands on your lower lip, and your tongue licks it off haphazardly as you push open the door to the music store. The jingle of the bell is meant to alert the employees that a customer has entered, but when you look around, there’s no one there to help you.

You walk towards the aisle labeled R&B, starting by thumbing through the “B” section–nothing. Perplexed, you make your way to the “T” section, still with no luck. Was Toni Braxton so popular amongst Hawkins residents that they’d bought out every copy of Secrets?

“You can’t eat in here,” a terse voice calls out. You’re so startled, you nearly drop your sandwich. A piece of tomato flies out of the tortilla when you jump, hitting the linoleum flooring, and the irritated person sighs. “Aaand this is why.”

You pick up the fallen vegetable and turn around to see Eddie Munson standing before you. “You scared me!” you say, but your body visibly relaxes. Twenty-four hours ago, you never would have guessed that he would have a calming effect on you. How quickly things can change, you muse silently. “Can you help me find the new Toni Braxton? The Secrets cassette?”

Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Can you follow simple instructions? No. Eating. In. The. Store.” He rolls his eyes. “Just because you teach preschoolers doesn’t mean you get to act like one.”

The smile that briefly danced across your lips slips into a frown. What the hell happened in the few hours since he’d dropped Harris off at school? Did you imagine that you two had gotten along?

“Are you okay?” you ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I-I can put the wrap in my car, just give me a sec…”

He shakes his head. “No, actually, I’m not okay,” he sneers. “But I bet you knew that already.” He shifts his posture so he’s standing a bit taller. “Y’know, you have some fuckin’ nerve, coming in here after what you did.”

“Did I miss something?” Your voice gets smaller with the gnawing feeling of brewing confrontation acting as a brick on your chest. “I thought–”

“Tell me what you thought,” he interrupts, leaning on a box of tapes. “Wait, no; let me guess. You thought that because I rejected you, you could go around blabbing my personal business around the school.” He scrunches up his face, biting his lip as he looks at you. “Did I get it right?”

“Your personal business?” 

“Mhm,” he answers pointedly, spinning a skull ring around his finger. “Is that not it? Was it because you were embarrassed that I heard your grandma say that she hates you? I don’t blame her, by the way.”

Your force your gaze to remain trained on him, staring into his brown eyes that have hardened with fury. “She doesn’t hate me,” you breathe out, “she just can’t remember me anymore. When she knew who I was, she loved me. A lot.”

“Yeah, whatever you say,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “That doesn’t take away from the fact that everyone and their goddamn dog knows about the CPS report.” 

“What CPS report?” you ask, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. “Is Harris okay?”

He takes one look at your puzzled expression and barks out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Seriously? You can drop the innocent act.”

“I seriously have no idea what you’re talking about!” you snap, frustrated at his unwillingness to hear you out and your own lack of understanding. “All I know is that this morning, you didn’t hate me–or maybe just hated me a little less–and now you’re back to being the worst human being I’ve ever met.”

Eddie scratches at the shadow of a beard that’s formed on his jawline; an itchy reminder that he didn’t get to shave last night. “You should consider yourself lucky if I’m the worst person you’ve ever met. Tell me, what have I done? Thrown some insults your way?” He claps his palm to his chest exaggeratedly. “How ever did you survive?”

“Mock me and my teaching skills, pretend like you’re going to call when you knew damn well that you weren’t, call me a bitch, and your latest and greatest,” you counter, ticking off the instances on your fingers, “accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

He considers this for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “So you’re trying to tell me,” he starts, gritting his teeth, “that we were in the same wing of the same hospital at the same time, but you weren’t the one who told people about the CPS case they opened on me?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” you hiss. 

“Then how the fuck did Carol Perkins find out about it?!” His volume raises to a roar, and you wince at the sting it leaves echoing in your eardrums. “Because I fucking heard her talking about it with Steve Harrington! So if you, the person who was there, didn’t open your mouth and tell her, who did? The CPS fairy?”

“I don’t fucking know!” you shout, swallowing thickly in a meager attempt to bide time before the tears inevitably leak from your eyes. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

Eddie rakes a hand through his frizzy curls, smacking the other on top of the nearby box. “Just…just get out,” he mutters. “I can’t listen to any more of your bullshit.” He starts back towards a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY before turning back around, eyes narrowed. 

“Y’know, I wouldn’t have hooked up with you that night if I knew that this is how you handle a one-night stand,” he says, pursing his lips as he steps closer to you. “And I never should’ve let Harris step foot in your classroom. I would drive him to a school in goddamn Timbuktu if it meant having you out of my life.” He pauses, scraping his teeth across his lower lip and exhaling a terse laugh. “It’s too bad I can’t forget about you like your grandma did.”

The words knock the wind out of your lungs. Your knees buckle slightly, and you have to steady yourself on the closest shelf. Tears blur your vision as your legs carry you out of the store; you feel yourself walking, but it’s like an external force has control of your body. The words fuck you sit on the tip of your tongue, or maybe you say them—it’s too hazy to tell. The world is covered in a shiny layer of cellophane; you can see everything, but you can’t touch. 

You’re crying too hard to drive, so you sit behind the wheel, seatbelt clicked in place, letting out sobs that leave your whole body shuddering. It’s all too much, and though you logically know that Grandma didn’t want to forget you, his comment hit a raw nerve.

It wasn’t a straight path; Alzheimer’s never is. A few months ago, she could remember you in the morning but forgot you by the afternoon. She would call you by name at 9 AM but ask who you were at 2 PM. One day you were her granddaughter; the next, you were a total stranger. You thought it couldn’t hurt more than it already did, but the repeated reminders that she no longer recognizes you at all is a constant knife through the heart.

You’ll be late if you don’t start driving back to work now, so you turn the key in the ignition and adjust the gear shift to reverse. As you look up to glance in the rearview mirror, you catch sight of him. He’s dumbfounded, and you could laugh at how ridiculous it is that it took him seeing you bawling in your car to realize that he went too far this time.

Unable to stomach the thought of further confrontation, you take a deep breath and drive away, leaving him to mull over what just happened.

He’d assumed you’d left already when he’d walked outside for a smoke break, placing a cigarette between trembling fingers before he’d even left the store. He almost drops the lighter on his scuffed sneaker when he sees you hunched over, resting your arms on the wheel as your body heaves. He’s not sure how long he’s been staring when you lift your head, exposing tear-streaked cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. Your gazes lock for just a millisecond, but it tells him everything he needs to know. 

It wasn’t you.

When Eddie arrives at the school for pick-up, he scours the crowd of impatient parents for Carol. He finds her talking with another mom; no doubt spreading more gossip about him. Maybe he shouldn’t have pretended that their Satanic cult rumors didn’t bother him when they were back in high school. Maybe if they knew, they would understand that he’s just a goddamn person trying his best, just like everyone else.

“Hey,” he starts, pushing the fear from his voice and willing his strength to remain unwavering. “Who told you about the CPS stuff?”

Carol plasters an obviously fake smile on her face as she responds. “I don’t know what you mean,” she says simply. Her carefree tone pushes Eddie to his limit. 

“Cut the bullshit,” Eddie growls, quickly losing his temper. “I heard you talking to Steve Harrington about it. So either you tell me now, or I’ll make sure your husband knows about that guy I saw you with at the Hideout a couple of months ago.”

Her face blanches, color draining from her cheeks. “It was Jason Carver,” she mumbles, biting her thumbnail. “His wife, Chrissy, is a nurse at the hospital and saw the report. She told him, and he’s been telling, well, everyone else.”

Eddie swears that steam is billowing out of his ears. Everything is coated in a red haze, and he finds himself unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fists. “Where is that sonofabitch? I’m gonna punch him in his smug little–”

“Mr. Munson?” you cut through his rant. His head snaps in your direction. You’ve fixed your makeup; if Eddie hadn’t seen you crying earlier, he would’ve been none the wiser. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

“Y-Yeah,” he stammers, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. “Actually, I needed to tell you someth–”

“I think you’ve said enough today,” you say, voice calm but firm. “I just wanted to give this to you before Harris comes out.” You hand him a pink piece of paper. “It’s a transfer slip. Starting next week, Harris will be in Ms. Marion’s class. I didn’t tell him anything about it, so you can say whatever you want. I don’t care anymore.” That’s not quite true; the idea of Eddie feeding Harris lies about you makes your stomach curdle, but there’s only so much you can control. 

Eddie’s, usually quick with a retort, is uncharacteristically quiet. “I, um, I thought…the secretary told me that all of the classes were full.” It’s a cop-out, but he can’t push himself to tell you what he knows now. Not when you’re already bruised. 

“They made an exception because I was the one who requested it this time,” you explain, clenching your jaw. “Looks like you got your wish. You can forget about me now.”

He takes the paper and shoves it in his back pocket. The confession is on the tip of his tongue, an apology not far behind. Say it, he berates himself. Just fucking say it. You might be able to fix this if you just—

“I’ll go get Harris,” you tell him, breaking into his thoughts. “Good-bye, Mr. Munson.”

--

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[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Words of Wisdom

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Synopsis: After years of having feelings for your lieutenant, Soap convices you to confess how you feel.

Warnings: none

You and the 141 had just gotten back from a rather tough mission. The mission itself was a success, but you had seen things within the intel you recovered you wish you could unsee. You were investigating a gang that was notorious for killing and torturing perceived enemies. The things on the tapes you recovered showed just how much pleasure the members took when doing such things. 

The boys had seemed rather undisturbed by the images, or rather they hid their emotions better than you had. You were shaken to the core, and silent on the plane ride home. The boys had tried their best to comfort you, to no avail. 

It was a few days later when Soap had approached you with the idea of joining him and the team at the local bar. Figuring it would be a great way to let off some steam, you obliged. 

You and Soap were sitting at a table at the local bar, watching Price, Gaz, and Ghost take turns at darts. You found your eyes lingering on Ghost. You had grown quite fond of the man since you two had started working together. The two of you just "clicked." Often finding yourselves in each other's company and enjoying each other's humor. You'd daresay the two of you were good friends.

"You know, you should just tell L.T. how you feel. Might be more effective than making googly eyes at him all the time." Soap chided, grinning from ear to ear as he finished off his beer. The Scotsman knew of your feelings for Ghost and had for some time. He swore to keep the information to himself, but that didn't mean he wouldn't nudge you from time to time to spill the beans to the masked man.

"I can't." You groaned, throwing your head in your hands. "Not only is it not ethical, as he's my lieutenant, but what if he rejects me? Johnny, I don't know how we'd come back from that."

"Never know until you try Lassie. Who knows, he may return your feelings." 

"I don't know." You huffed.

"Look, all I'm saying is what's the harm in putting yourself out there. The two of you deserve to be happy. Worst case, if he happens to reject you, I doubt he'd treat you any different. Man can be an arse, but it's clear he has some sort of soft spot for you." Soap said as he squeezed your shoulder gently. 

"I just think maybe he feels like he doesn't deserve anyone to care about him. He barely lets us get close to him as is. It's taken me years to get a fraction of the walls he has up, down." 

"True, I think possibly he just doesn't know how not to be "Ghost." Soap smiled sadly. "Maybe he needs someone to show him how to be himself again, in a way a friend can't."

You chuckled slightly, "Who knew you had so much wisdom in you, Johnny? Perhaps I should get you some more beers. Who knows what other words of wisdom the great Soap McTavish has in store."

"Oh you have no idea." Soap laughed. 

"I'm gonna go grab some air, I'll be back." You said, standing up to stretch. The air had gotten too stuffy, and you knew if you stared at Ghost any longer it would become too obvious. 

You made your way past the rowdy patrons of the bar, toward the steps for the roof access. As you opened the door the gust of cold wind hit your face, making you shiver.

You stared out into the night sky, watching your breath evaporate into the cold air. You stood there for a while, letting your thoughts wander, distracting yourself to the point you didn't hear the door open and shut behind you.

"Bloody freezing out here." You turned at the voice and saw Ghost walking toward you, rubbing his hands together. His usual skull mask was replaced with a simple black balaclava while donning a loose black hoodie and jeans. 

"That it is. Feels nice, though. That bar was stuffy as hell." You chuckled. 

Ghost said nothing in reply, just nodded his head as he came to stand next to you. 

The two of you stood in silence for a short while before he spoke up. "Wanted to make sure you were okay. Still seem pretty shaken up after that mission."

"Yeah, I'm good. Was a rough one, so I had a few drinks to shake it off." You stated plainly, picking at the chipped paint of the roof's railing. "Just was weighing on my mind more than I should've let it."

"You seem to have more on your mind than just the mission, Sergeant. You've been quiet tonight." Simon's gaze on you was intense. You could feel it burning into the side of your head.

"Alcohol has a tendency to run my brain a mile a minute. Came up here to try and quiet out my thoughts." You admitted, turning to meet his gaze. As your eyes met, you could see his expression soften. "And you? Doing okay?"

"Another day on the job." He grunted in response. "I'm willing to provide an ear if you need someone to talk to. Not always the best at advice, but my ears work wonders."

You found yourself staring at each other for a few moments. His expression still softened from before. You weren't sure if it was the alcohol or the look he held in his eyes, but you found yourself growing confident, so you decided to go for it. You would go crazy if it had gone on any longer without him knowing. 

"Can I speak freely then? And not to my lieutenant, to Simon."

"Course?" Simon looked perplexed at your request, but waited for you to continue. To say he was nervous about what you were going to say was an understatement.

"I want you to know that I see you. I really see you." You started nervously. There was no turning back now for you. Thinking of the words Johnny had said, you knew what you wanted to say. The question was, how would Simon take it? 

"Pardon?" Simon was even more perplexed at this.

"What I mean is… you have this facade that you carry around, making people believe that you're just some cold, distant man. I see through that. I see past Ghost, and I see Simon. Someone who is so worthy of being loved and cared for, someone who deserves happiness. I worry that perhaps you lost sight of him. I just want you to know that even though you may not see yourself as worthy, I do." 

Simon tensed at your words as they replayed over and over in his head. What exactly was it that you were trying to tell him? You were right, though, he didn't see himself as worthy of anything. After all he's lost in his life, he doesn't think he deserves having anyone close to him. 

Sensing his internal struggle, you continued. "I'm trying, poorly, to tell you that I care for you more than just as a friend. I have for a while. I was always too nervous to tell you because I didn't know how you'd react. And, frankly, I didn't want to lose you as a friend. I'd rather have that than not have you in my life at all." Your confidence was starting to falter. You knew he may not have much to say in reply, but you weren't expecting total silence. 

Simon only continued to stare at you, his dark eyes scanning your face, betraying none of the emotions he was actually feeling inside. He did care for you as more than just a friend. He's loved you for years, but believed he never deserved to have you like that. He had always been okay just being friends, as that's all he thought he deserved. There were so many things he wanted to say, but no words could convey what he was thinking, and all he could do was watch as your face fell. 

"I um. I'm sorry. Perhaps that was highly inappropriate of me. I shouldn't have said anything. We can just forget this happened, yeah? I'll catch you in the morning, sir." You whispered out, your emotions now hitting you like a truck. You didn't want to cry in front of Simon and make an even bigger fool of yourself. You wished you hadn't said anything, fearing now that things would never be the same for the two of you. 

You turned to start walking toward the door when his voice grabbed your attention. "Y/N."

You turned back to look at him, only to see that he had removed his balaclava. You'd never seen him without his mask before, and you couldn't help the small gasp that emitted from your mouth. 

You walked slowly toward him, admiring his features. His eyes were even more vibrant without the hindrance of his mask. You could see the freckles dusting his skin and the redness in his cheeks from the cold. To you, he was the most beautiful man you'd ever laid eyes on. 

Simon remained still, his eyes watching your reactions carefully. He was nervous how you'd react to seeing his face, but he figured this gesture was the only way he could show you how he felt.

A small smile was growing on your lips as you reached your hand out slowly toward his face, waiting for a sign from him that it was okay to touch him. He gave you a curt nod, so you placed your hand softly on the side of his cheek. His skin was warm and softer than you had expected. He closed his eyes at your touch and leaned into your palm slightly. 

"You are so handsome, Simon Riley." You breathed, stroking his cheek lightly. 

He opened his eyes at your words and looked down at you. You had both stood there staring intently at one another until Simon leaned forward to place his lips on yours. You sighed at the contact, pressing yourself into him further as you reciprocated the kiss.

He pulled away moments later with a hint of a smile on his face. "What do you say I take you back to base, make you a cup of tea? Too bloody cold out here."

"After you, sir." You beamed up at him, your cheeks now burning red from not only the cold but from Simon's kiss. 

He took your hand before placing his balaclava back on, and led you back down to the exit of the bar. As you passed Soap, you could see him wink at you, while throwing you a thumbs up. 

~~~~

A/N: I'm not sure if I wanted to turn this into a smutty part two as well or just leave as is. Hope you all enjoyed it!

[bishopsbeloved]

the art of falling in love (part five)

natasha romanoff x fem reader

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

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five (16.3k words) | epilogue

read this fic on ao3!

Death was first explained to you and Yelena when you were six; Yelena’s favourite of her mother’s pigs passed away, and you were both called in from playing outside to be sat down gravely.

“Girls… Wilbur the piggy has, ah, passed away,” Alexi told you. You stared back at him blankly.

“Do you know what that means?” added Melina more gently.

“Uh… Peter from class said his mom and dad passed away,” Yelena offered after a few moments. “And it means that, like, he can’t see them ever again, so he lives with his aunt now.”

“Yes!” said Alexi enthusiastically, before catching himself and adding in a much more solemn tone, “I mean, ah, yes… very sad. Not good.”

Melina looked at him sternly and he fell silent. “You are right, Yelena. When someone passes away, it means they are no longer with us.”

“Like when you go to the store?”

“No. When I go to the store I am always coming back, да? Passing away is permanent, and it means you never see them again.”

“Oh. But I like Wilbur,” said Yelena sadly, and you nodded in agreement.

“That is what makes life all the more precious,” Melina told you gently. “You never know when someone may pass away — only that everybody will, someday. So you must enjoy the time you have with them, my darlings, and never take it for granted.”

As the years went on and the two of you began to understand what death actually means, that first introduction to it became somewhat of a running joke between you and Yelena (because how else can humans deal with such a terrifying concept as death? You can choose to either laugh or cry, and Yelena will always choose to laugh); the idea of someone passing away will often be referred to as going to the store. For example, Alexi is probably the sole man responsible for the entirety of Ohio state’s roadkill — neither you nor Yelena can remember a car journey with him in the wheel during which some unfortunate creature has not stumbled into his path and suffered fatally for that mistake. Every time it happens, without fail, Yelena will turn around eagerly in her seat or poke her head out of the window and assess the damage before gravely announcing, “That one is definitely not coming back from store.”

It’s a euphemism that can be used in any situation — and often is, actually. Whenever the TV signal packs up (as it often does in such a rural town as your own) and the Kardashians begin to cut out awkwardly, Yelena will throw down the remote and shout in frustration “Ma! The fork thingy on the roof has gone store again,” and Melina will know exactly what she means. Or whenever your history teacher Mr Fury hobbles into class, who is so old he looks like he’s witnessed half the events he teaches you, Yelena will nudge you and whisper “he is close to store’s doorstep now, eh?” Et cetera, et cetera. The phrase gets used often.

You feel silly for your mind wandering to those words, given the circumstances. But all you can think of right now is your overwhelming hopes and prayers that Liho has not gone to the store — and that neither has your bond with Yelena. As for Natasha… well, recent times have been a cruel wake-up call.

It’s been a few hours since Melina left with the cat, and the only text you’ve gotten from her since then says cat in surgery now. Yelena has barricaded herself in your shared room — her room now, you think miserably to yourself. You have never, ever seen her so upset, not in your whole life. You don’t think you’ve ever even argued with her, outside of your usual half-hearted play wrestles. But now she’s shouted at you through your thick heavy door, a solid wall between you, putting miles between the two of you but still not enough distance to lessen the brutality of the words she hurls at you from the other side of it. Words you can’t think of for too long or tears will begin to brim in your eyes all over again. Words which you know you deserve, but ones you never thought you’d hear your best friend say to you.

Now you sit uncomfortably stiff on the couch, feeling like a stranger in the home you’ve grown up in, the silence threatening to suffocate you. You feel almost like a prisoner in your body, unable to move as you relieve the last few hours over and over in your head. There’s no doubt in your mind that Yelena is right. You are an awful person. If you weren’t, if you were better, maybe Natasha would still want you, instead of casting you aside once you began to bore her. Maybe if you were better you’d have been sensible or strong enough to not sneak around with her at all. But you’re not, and now you’ve broken apart a family you weren’t even worthy of in the first place.

Natasha is sat in the armchair opposite you, legs curled beneath her, nursing her bloody nose. Her gaze has been fixed on you for the indeterminable amount of time you’ve both been sat here, but you are too exhausted to care. For once, you have much, much bigger problems than her feelings.

Eventually, she speaks, more subdued than usual. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Your voice doesn’t sound like yours. It’s somewhere else, someone else’s, far away.

“For…” She hesitates. Like there’s something she doesn’t want to say out loud. “For not, uh. For treating you badly.”

Well, that’s not really what you expected her to say.

Your silence prompts her to flounder further. “I just— I don’t, well, I can’t really explain a lot, but I— I know I messed up. You deserved better. And I’m sorry.”

And you’re so done with her, and so little of yourself is left now that you simply stand up and walk away.

Natasha doesn’t even call after you, just kind of makes this sad and defeated little noise that makes your heart hurt. You know it would just ache even more if you turned around again, though. So you don’t. You walk the hall for a few aimless moments before your feet carry you to the only person currently home who you still have a dependable relationship with — Alexi.

His workshop, as he calls it, is adjoined to the kitchen; a tiny wooden door which he has to bend himself double to fit through, leading to the garage. This has been his space for as long as you can remember. You have no idea how he moves with such ease through it when it’s like a maze to you — huge chunks of greasy half-repaired machinery everywhere, cluttered workbenches and racks of tools and shelves of liquids labelled in his indecipherable Russian scrawl. He often has the tiny tin portable perched on a shelf squeaking out radio shows in his mothertongue which he guffaws merrily at, but as you enter now the room is peacefully quiet, save for Alexi’s disjointed hums of a thousand songs in one and the little chink noises the piece of metal he’s working on makes every time he hits it, slowly bending it into shape.

“Ah, привет! Good evening, daughter,” he says cheerfully, without even turning around as you creep up barefoot behind him. He doesn’t say anything more, and neither do you, for a while; you opt to simply sink down onto one of the wooden stools littered about the place and watch Alexi absently while he works. This doesn’t faze him at all. On the occasions where Yelena was busy without you as a kid, you would do this very thing. Alexi would simply chuckle at you and ruffle your hair with a large bearish hand, oftentimes leaving behind little smudges of black motor oil in it. You’re still in your prom outfit, though, with your hair done up intricately, so tonight he stops himself in time.

“Do you think Liho will be okay?” you ask after a while, in a very small voice.

“Oh, да,” he replies, without hesitation. Even with his back to you as he tinkers busily you can hear the sincerity in his tone. “Yes, yes. Think of what that kitty has been through already, eh? When you found him he was doing worse than that. He is, uh, tough meat. A fighter.”

Seeing Alexi so placid and unshaken in the face of tonight’s events is strangely calming and you nod, soothed by his words, before another thought strikes you. “Oh… but the vet bills.”

Alexi lets out a low but not unkind laugh. “Ah, не будь глупым, you worry so much. We will figure those out. Melina is a sly fox, has money tucked away in hidey-holes, eh?”

“But— I mean —” You twitch uncomfortably, and Alexi seems to finally cotton onto what it is that you’re really worried about. He sets down his tools with his usual gentleness, which never fails to look foreign on such a giant of a man, and turns to look at you.

“You are member of this family,” he tells you. “No matter what Yelena say. She is angry, sure, but it will blow over, eh? You love the silly little fur man, and we do too. So if these bills will help him of course we will pay it. There is no need for worry.”

“But I ruined everything,” you say quietly.

He laughs again. “Nonsense. You have not ruined any of the things, голубка.”

“But… your date night. And— Natasha,” you hiccup.

“We have date nights all the time, подсолнух, there will be others. And Natasha… well, me and your mama are knowing this for long time. Yelena will be coming round also, eventually. We will figure this all out, we are a family. She is your sister. All of the things will be okay. None of them are ruined.”

And you can’t help but cry at that, at his earnest sincerity, his certainty that things will work out — and because you love him, and he is your family. You tell him so through choked sobs, and he just looks at you softly before wrapping you into a petrol-scented bear hug, prom outfit be damned.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything will be okay.

Yelena sinks into another episode over the following days. She does nothing much but sit, a vacant look in her eyes, devoid of any feeling, and stare for hours at a time as though seeing something that the rest of you cannot. She has no words left to give, and drifts around on autopilot, only performing basic functional tasks when prompted to — as if they’re an afterthought. Seeing her like this wracks you with guilt in a way none of her episodes have before, because for the first time you know with a crushing certainty that this is because of you. You offer countless times to return to your parents’ house across the road, the residents of which you haven’t conversed with in months, but Alexi and Melina dismiss this as if it’s the silliest idea in the world.

“You are family,” Melina tells you firmly. “Fights happen, да? You stay.”

Even if you’re still welcome in the house you’re certainly not welcome in your usual room. Natasha offers to put you up in hers but drops this very quickly after the look that you give her, so instead a section of the loft is cleared for you. You and Alexi spend a merry Sunday together in his workshop assembling a bedframe for your new space, only to discover once you’ve made it upstairs that it’s actually too large to fit through the attic hatch, so you have to take it to bits to get it up there and then rebuild it all over again. (It doesn’t really matter though, because Alexi is so bemused by the whole thing and his own oversights that it’s impossible to be frustrated at the setback. He just grins so goofily.) When Yelena is in the shower you sneak back into her room to gather as many of your belongings as you can and begin to turn the little space into yours. Melina brings home some fairy lights from the store, you order some posters online and within a week or so you’ve organised yourself a very cozy nest amongst the mess of the loft.

Even now you’ve moved in, over half of the room is still piled high with boxes of various things and piles of junk and the distinct, cloth-draped, dust-gathering shapes of Alexi’s abandoned projects (which he insists on keeping on the basis that he might need them someday, much to Melina’s theatrical chagrin). The various artefacts throughout the room create a kind of ever-changing maze, and you remember playing up here with Yelena when the two of you were kids and it was too cold to play outside — for you, anyway, being someone who’s grown up in a relatively warm American state. To this day Yelena often scorns you for your inability to tolerate any kind of cold, and reminds you of the climates the rest of the family has lived in.

Thinking of her makes your heart involuntarily twinge, and you wince, standing from your perch on the end of your new bed in the vain hopes of shaking it off. As you do so something in the opposite corner of the room catches your eye; the neat pile of scrapbooks Melina worked on for years when you were kids. “I’m going full American mama,” she would quip, spending hours of an evening painstakingly prettying the pages laden with pictures that Alexi had taken throughout the day. You find yourself warmed by these memories, and drift over to the pile of books, settling before it. The newest scrapbooks are naturally at the top, so you shuffle through the pile until you reach the very first scrapbook Mama Melina ever made, which begins the day Yelena came home. You settle down comfortably on the floor, cross-legged like you’re a kid again, and begin to flip through its pages; the very first are adorned with pictures of Melina and Alexi in their youth, and then on their wedding day. After that is the day Yelena came home, absolutely unfazed by this strange new country and its drawling people. Every single photo has the date it was taken written beneath it in perfect cursive, and through the timeline shown you can see that it was barely two weeks into Yelena’s residency here before you and her properly met, and became firm friends. Things progress like that for two years, from when you were five until when you were seven; regular entries are made in the scrapbooks documenting road trips and school plays and lost teeth, all of which you smile upon fondly.

Halfway through the third scrapbook, Natasha comes home. You recognise one of the many pictures documenting this milestone as one that hangs large and framed with pride downstairs above the fire; a stunned, still blue-haired Natalia swathed in thermals, huddled in the corner of Alexi’s rickety old fighter jet on the journey back from the motherland, beaming widely up at whoever’s taking the photo. Despite the fact that you see it every day, seeing it alongside so many others in which she’s so bewildered but so, so happy makes your heart feel so strongly that you have to flip ahead.

You pore over the pages of the main scrapbooks with interest for a while longer, until the main timeline ends and divulges into you, Yelena and Natasha each having your own dedicated scrapbooks. You have no interest in studying your own baby photos, and given all that’s going on reliving Yelena’s would be unbearable right now, so instead you find yourself picking up Natasha’s, and pushing the others aside.

Seeing her grow up before your eyes like this is surreal. In reality you were by her side every day, and most of these changes happen so gradually that you barely even noticed them, but here are immortalised stills from throughout the years which show how she’s grown. When she first came home she hadn’t had her growth spurt yet, and still had her gentle Russian lilt which the rest of her family retains to this day. As she starts attending public school and socialising with her peers you can see that something changes very hastily within her; a light kind of fades from her eyes. The blue is bleached from her hair, and as the red fades back in its place she seems to fade a little too — into the quiet, observant Natasha that you know today. She doesn’t seem unhappy, as such, but… uncertain, and it dredges up a kind of sadness in your chest that forces you to push the book away, lest the tears in your eyes follow through with their threat to overspill.

You’ve always seen Natasha as someone so secure and sure of herself — so much so that she doesn’t feel the need to speak over anyone else in the room in order to get her opinions across. When she does speak it’s usually a quick, cutting remark that earns laughs and leaves everyone eager to hear more out of her. When she walks into a room heads turn to look at her, no matter where she goes. She knows that. She’s someone worth paying attention to. It’s never occurred to you, not once in your life, that her behaviours aren’t the result of something different. But looking at these pictures has stirred up something in you which you can’t quite describe. A deep sadness at the fact that you’ve probably never known her at all, aside from the parts of the real her that have slipped through the cracks; her Russian accent and sleepy kisses first thing in the morning, her goodnight texts, the way she doesn’t need to ask your order at drive-thrus or coffee shops, the notes she’d leave under your pillow. That’s Natasha. Not whoever this is who’s pushed you away. Not this girl who has bleached the childhood from her hair and taught herself how to be from another place.

You pile the scrapbooks back in the neat and tidy order in which you found them and crawl back to your bed, flopping into it, utterly emotionally exhausted by this trip down memory lane. You think it’s dark outside… you’re certainly tired enough to rest now, anyway, and you do; drifting in and out of an uneasy slumber, visited by vague and twisted recollections from your childhood which disappear upon your waking again, before you can grasp them properly, like the sand of your youth slipping through your fingers.

Mama Melina is a woman of science. She’s always considered herself a grounded person. She doesn’t concern herself with what she doesn’t understand, or care for (namely whatever she cannot see for certain with her own two eyes) to the extent that this is the path her career has taken, and is now what feeds her children. She is, objectively, an intellectual woman. Her analytical methods of thinking have led to scientific breakthroughs in her area of expertise, and she is renowned as an expert at her job. She did not reach this point through belief in the spiritual, or abstract. Hell, being raised in an orphanage herself, she didn’t even really believe in true romantic love until Alexi bore his whole earnest heart to her.

One day, when you were young, you came home from school and, with frightening nonchalance, came home and asked if one of your classmates had been correct in saying that people who kissed others of the same gender were hell-headed sinners. Melina abruptly halted her mundane household task and sat you down, taking one of your hands in hers.

“Sin is a fairytale,” she told you, as delicately as she could. “Nobody knows for certain whether sin or God or heaven or hell are real. To believe that is a choice, a leap of faith which certain people make. But all we know for certain is what’s here now, да? Like I am real, you are real,” she cupped your little face between her warm hands and squeezed gently, making you wrinkle your nose and wriggle happily, “Baba and Yelena are real. But sin is thing you choose to believe in. It is made up stories to make us feel better about death but it does not matter, малыш. What matters is what we do now, when we are alive, not what we do to secure a place in an afterlife that might not exist, eh? We are kind to each other now while we live because we know it to be true that we’re alive. To tell someone else who to kiss was wrong and unkind of that boy at school. Worry about the afterlife once you get there, да? If you want to kiss girls, kiss girls. No one who is kind or worth your time will care.”

She kissed the top of your head before standing back up and returning to her cleaning. No more words were exchanged on the prospect, but from that day onward it has appeared to be common knowledge in the household that you like girls, and that Melina is not a fan of religion justifying bigotry.

In all honesty, she is not a fan of anything that’s not an irrefutable truth. Science is her preferred method of explanation for any problem that may occur. But as her relationship with Alexi has blossomed, and then in turn the ones she shares with her daughters too, she’s learned that facts and feelings do not have to be mutually exclusive. Some of the complexities of the human mind are far beyond her understanding, or indeed any of us — and yet this is a truth which ought to be embraced, not feared. The greatest joys in Melina’s life are its mysteries.

And so Mama Melina has never questioned the dynamic you and Natasha share; at least to her, it’s seemed crystal clear since day one that the two of you harbour affections for one another — admittedly for reasons beyond her comprehension, but it’s nonetheless undeniable to anyone who knows you like she does. She’s watched you grow all of your lives, delicately inching closer to one another like two flowers craning their necks to reach the sun. Melina long ago accepted she’ll never in this lifetime know what higher power reigns as a puppeteer over her, or understand the complexities of love, but she knows better than to pretend as if some things in this world aren’t inexplicably and cosmically connected. You and Natasha only prove this point. If she looks hard enough, Melina can see the red thread that runs from your body to her daughter’s.

Alexi, by far the romantic, wholeheartedly agrees with her, which only furthers Melina’s convictions (he would know better than her, she reasons) — although admittedly the events of the last few months have blindsided the both of them. Melina appears to be more concerned by it than her husband, though; so much so that one night she actually sits him down to ask if he even knows what’s going on, and why there’s this big gaping gulf between her daughters, tearing her family apart.

Alexi just guffaws, so full of mirth that Melina is startled. “Ah Боже мой, my love. Do not be silly, I would have to be blind to miss those daggers over dinner, no? No, do not worry, I’m understand. But love is not easy, ah? Its course has never run so smooth. Remember when I first asked out you? You were so… skittish, like little kitten, for weeks,” he recalls with shining eyes. “And look where we ended up now, ah? These are silly babies. They’ll make mistakes. They need the time that you did.”

His words soothe her, in the way that they always do. She relaxes into his comforting embrace with the knowledge that even if she’s the intellectual (and financial) breadwinner in this relationship, Alexi always knows what to say in the face of the heart’s unpredictability. Maybe he is right. Maybe everyone just needs some time.

So, despite her doubts, time is what Melina gives.

Two weeks after that conversation, Liho comes home. His fur is patchy where it’s been shorn off and started to grow back again, and one of his legs is still bound tightly, but he’s back and he’s yours. He leaps happily into your arms when he sees you (despite the yelp of alarm Melina makes) and it’s like he never left. Yelena comes the closest to you that she’s been in weeks to pet his head while he’s curled up against your chest, and she even allows a smile to escape. You can’t help but smile back, like the beginning of spring after a long harsh winter, hope blossoming in your chest once again.

In the time that it’s taken him to come home, other things have happened too. Natasha’s nose, displaced by the punch Yelena successfully laid on her, heals quickly. Your relationship does not. Something unspoken festers between the two of you, hardening and shrinking and blackening into a sickening nothingness. You can’t look at her now without the taste of something bitter filling your mouth — and yet that boiling hot liquid rage still fills your chest when you think of her with someone else. How is it possible to love someone so much but hate them at the same time? You wish, more than anything, that none of this happened. You wish she would just let you love her without having to ruin it for the both of you.

It’s such an indescribably lonely feeling that the two of you are like this now, when only a short time ago the two of you bore open hearts to one another — well, you gave yours to Natasha, anyway. The more you think about it the less of her you have ever known. She’s a stranger to you. Quite a few times since prom night she’s tried to speak to you — offering another half-assed apology, no doubt — but you’ve only ever shut her down. What is there left to say? Nothing that you want to hear, for sure.

(And maybe the things that still hang heavy in the air between you are better left unsaid.)

A few days after Liho comes home you’re laid on your bed in the attic, with your baby boy himself curled comfortably on your chest, purring away merrily as you scratch at his head. There’s some soft music on in the background but neither of you are really doing much. You’re just trying to enjoy his company, (and he’s evidently enjoying yours,) now that you know not to take it for granted.

The scare you’ve had with him has shifted your perspective on a lot, actually — it’s been a rude but much-needed wake up call. Yelena, just like Liho, is your family, and you want to make up with her. Who knows how long either of you have left, or what might happen?

Yes, you absolutely want to be her sister again. You’re just not sure where to even start.

The knock that comes at your door is unexpected, though, and only more unexpected when you see who your mystery visitor actually is. Yelena stands in your doorway, eyes fixed on Liho on your chest. He mews happily when he sees her.

“Кот,” she says hoarsely, holding out her arms and making grabby hands. You blink, stunned for a moment at the fact that she is talking at all, let alone talking to you. This would usually be a good sign, one that she’s coming back into herself, but these naturally are unprecedented circumstances, and you can’t really be certain what anything means anymore.

Yelena steps forward, jerking you out of your trance; you shoot to your feet and kiss Liho on the forehead before holding him out to her with your hands beneath his armpits so that his legs dangle underneath him, rendering him comically long and thin. Lena scoops him up and curls him against her chest; he purrs contentedly and her eyes crinkle in quiet gratitude before she leaves, humming her song to herself.

You almost call out to her, but your body freezes. The door closes behind her you scold yourself for not reaching out, for trying to close this rift between you, but maybe you’ve not given her long enough yet.

What Yelena needs is time, you know. Her whole world has been turned upside down and she has to rebuild it piece by piece. But how much time is enough?

Well, as it turns out, you won’t have to wait much longer.

It’s the last week of school, just over five weeks now since your catastrophic prom night, and you’ve just walked out of your last final. Sam Wilson is waiting for you outside the doors with your favourite flavour of popsicle in his hand, and is already busily consuming his own. When he spots you he waves a broad hand merrily, and you make your way over to him.

“I’m sure you aced it, squirt,” he says before you can even open your mouth, and offers you the popsicle. Unfortunately you’re all too familiar to Ohio’s stifling summer air, making every thought or movement damp and groggy. You accept it gratefully.

Your core friendship group, which you’ve been in for years now, has been pretty turbulent since things went down between you and Yelena. Pairing that with finals and early graduations, you can feel a permanent shift occurring, and it’s frightening. Everyone’s still making  effort to maintain contact with you, but this change on top of everything else has you feeling like you’re drowning when you think too long about it.  It seems like you never know what are the golden days until they’re gone. (You got twelve golden years with Yelena, but is that where it ends? Will she ever tolerate your presence in her life again?)

Someone who you couldn’t be more grateful for throughout all of this is Sam. One day not long after everything happened you came to him crying, and confessed everything. He patted your back with an aura of awkward concern until your sobs subsided, at which point all he had to offer was, “Huh. Well, I guess that explains why prom night went to shit.”

You can’t help but admire the way that he takes everything in his stride. Nothing fazes him. It’s welcome after spending so long around Natasha, who’s constantly on edge, worried someone else might see her with you. Sam is so unbothered, just being in his presence is calming. He’s become a good and valued friend to you.

“That was your last final,” he reminds you, bringing you back to the present moment. “You’re free now for the whole summer.”

“Oh fuck yeah, man,” you say as the realisation dawns on you.

“How’d you want to celebrate?”

You look up at him and a toothy grin takes root on his face as he realises what you’re about to say.

“Arcade,” you say and he nods fervently in agreement. In recent times you’ve become its most loyal patrons; you retreat there often after classes, whether it’s to recuperate from a bad day or celebrate a good one. Today, thankfully, appears to be the latter.

“Arcade,” he repeats happily, and the two of you amble off out of the school gates and down the hill toward the centre of town, where the Boulevard housing the arcade is located. You chat happily for a little while, about your plans for the summer and what you might do together.

“And, uh… any updates on your… anything?” he asks delicately. It’s a vague question but of course you know what he means.

“Not really.” You deflate a little. “I’m not sure Lena wants me around anymore, to be honest.”

“I’m sure she does,” Sam consoles with a startling certainty. “Seriously. What about Natasha?”

You just shake your head. “I don’t want to… I can’t. Not until Lena…”

“Gives you the okay,” he nods understandingly.

“Yeah, I guess. But until she’s sorry, too. She was really mean,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, I get that. It’ll be okay, man.”

You’re not so sure about that, but before you can express this you cross the road and the two of you have reached the arcade, where your troubles are promptly forgotten.

Sam’s words are very quickly proven correct, though — within only a few hours. You arrive home from your arcade trip with some silly winnings tucked under your arm and a smile on your face. It is Friday night, date night for Melina and Alexi, so a car is missing from the driveway and the kitchen is empty as you enter.

Perfect, you think to yourself, and begin to fix yourself some food. These days you’re very careful not to venture into the communal areas of the house unless you’re sure you won’t be treading on anyone else’s toes. You kind of feel like a burden as it is — you’re not a proper part of this family anyway, not in the way that everyone else is — and you don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable in their own home. So you’ve moved bedrooms and now you meticulously strategise what times you’ll make an expedition down to the kitchen. (Sometimes, when you’ve not had a chance to eat yet, you’ll open your bedroom door to a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of you. Everyone in the house denies knowledge when asked but you have your suspicions of who’s behind it.)

Sometimes you think about moving back to the place where you were born, but you’re not sure if you could stomach that. That feels like a forever choice. There’s no going back from that.

Liho pads up to you, excited that you’re home and even more excited that you’re making food. Unable to help yourself, you indulge him with some chin scratches and scraps. Life’s too short, you say. Why shouldn’t you make a fuss of your boy?

He winds himself around your legs contentedly while you cook. It is just you and him and school has finished and you have the whole summer to do what you want, and you are cooking, and for the first time in a while you are able to shut off and experience a moment of complete peace.

Naturally, with the trajectory of your life at the minute, this peace does not last long.

“Is Sam Wilson your new best friend?” says a cool voice behind you. You actually yelp in alarm, and very ungracefully fumble with the piping hot utensils you’re using, burning your hand in the process. Liho hisses, and you do too, making a beeline for the sink.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” you mutter half-heartedly. Yelena, now moving to stand fully in the light, just makes a noise in the back of her throat as she opens the cupboard above your head and reaches for the first-aid kit. Her face is carefully unbothered.

“I only asked a question,” she says, moving your food off of the heat. Liho claws at your ankles worriedly. You struggle to process Yelena’s words, much less the fact that she is talking to you. Did you blink and miss a chapter?

“Uh,” you rub at the back of your neck with your hand not under running water, “n-no. No, he’s not my new best friend. I don’t,” your voice drops, and you look away, “I don’t think I have one anymore.”

“You do,” she informs you matter-of-factly, hopping up onto the counter beside you and swinging her legs while you continue to bathe your hand. “If you still want one. But she is very mad at you.”

Your voice catches in your throat.

“She does love you,” Lena continues, “but she is wondering why you did things in the way you did.”

There’s a moment of quiet. You gather your thoughts. You weren’t expecting to have this talk tonight.

“I was scared,” you tell her.

“Of what?”

“Of,” you gesture between the two of you, “this. Of making things bad. I always figured it would be like a,” you tilt your head back to keep from crying, because now would be a stupid time to cry, “a stupid schoolgirl crush, you know? She never even spoke to me, I was just her little sister’s dumb best friend, but then things happened and it was so fast and I was so scared. And I wanted to tell you but she… didn’t. She only wanted me when no one else could see. I guess I hoped that she would — come around, eventually, and then I wouldn’t be lying anymore.” You’re heaving with the effort to not cry. “I was wrong.”

“All this time the mystery girl was treating you like shit, you could have told me who it was,” Yelena implores. “I love my sister but she makes me sad also. She can be a dick, absolutely. She’s the worst. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“She’s your family,” you choke. “I couldn’t cause a— a rift or a problem like that. And what if you believed her over me? And it kept getting worse, and —”

“Сестра,” she leans over, cupping your damp face between her hands and forcing you to look at her, “I would always believe you. Always. Never before have you given reason to not.”

You nod tearfully, and she lets go. The only noise is the running water for a few moments.

“That is probably long enough under tap,” Lena murmurs, turning it off and taking your injured hand in her lap. Opening the first aid kit, she begins to dress the burn. “I am sorry for making you jump.”

“I am sorry for everything else,” you reply honestly. “I was stupid.”

“Yes,” she agrees bluntly. Then, “Natalia was stupider.” When you look up in open surprise, she rolls her eyes. “Close your mouth, you will catch flies. Of course she was stupid, she has fumbled so hard. You,” she pinches your cheek affectionately, “are a catch. I am not even into all of this, but if I was a dater we would be together and I would treat you like four million times better than she does.”

“You already do,” you say quietly, looking down at your hand in her lap as she continues to bandage it.

“Oh absolutely, I am the best.”

Another, much longer, pause. She finishes wrapping your hand, and pats it three times to notify you that she’s done, the exact same way that Mama Melina does. The action makes your heart swell and eyes fill with unexpected tears.

“Do you know why I was so upset by all of it?” she asks unexpectedly. You blink in surprise. This feels like a trick question.

“Because… I lied?”

“Because you picked Natasha over me,” she tells you.

“No I didn’t— what?”

“Yes, you did,” she says, and she’s a little choked all of a sudden. “All of my life Natasha has been the one who everyone looks at first. She is the special one. You are the only one I had first, who was mine. My близнец. And then I find out that for months you have been lying and picking her over me instead. When she is mean, she is so mean sometimes, yes I love her but she is not much like when we were kids anymore, she is so mean. But everyone likes her more than me. Even you.” She turns away.

“No, no I don’t,” you rush to her side, unable to help it now, scooping her close to you. “No I don’t. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. It was stupid to think she’d ever love me, I shouldn’t have— and I shouldn’t have left you out of it. I think I was trying to protect you? I don’t know. You’re always the one to protect me and punch everyone else, I think I was trying to stop you from getting hurt. And her? But it was dumb. Very dumb.”

“Very, very dumb,” Yelena agrees.

“The dumbest.”

“You have broken world record, кролик.”

You laugh a little tearfully, and while Yelena’s arms are wrapped around you she feels it throughout her body. She revels in the feeling of you holding her and loving her again, after the longest time.

“So we are back from the store?” she asks hopefully after a moment. It takes you a moment to process what she means.

“Oh,” you laugh, “we were never there. You will always be my favourite person, Yelena Belova-Shostakov.”

“Okay.” She exhales in relief. “Good. Just, because — well, you know, we have not spoke in so long and you didn’t think you had a best friend, and—”

“No— what? No,” you frown, “that was me giving you space to process and heal. I wasn’t sure you’d want me back,” you laugh. “I wasn’t ignoring you. I promise.”

“I will always want you back,” she says in a small, content voice. “I will always want you home. With me. Not at store.”

“Not at the store,” you repeat.

And just like that, you have your best friend again.

One familial bond repaired doesn’t mean all of them, though — and Yelena’s relationship with her sister has been patchy recently, to put it mildly. In your eyes it’s a plus that they haven’t outright fistfought in the way that they absolutely would if they were any younger, but Mama Melina doesn’t seem to see things that way.

A few days after you and Yelena make up, the two of you along with your parents are sat around the dinner table. At the very least Melina is able to fuss over her twins again, and Alexi is able to once again boom “here comes trouble” whenever the two of you enter a room together. They both take great pleasure in it,  much to Yelena’s entertainment and your endearment. You love your parents.

The conversation halts when the front door slams, though. Natasha appears in the kitchen doorway for a second before processing the scene in front of her and slowly backing away, back out of sight.

“What is this about?” Alexi calls after her through a mouthful of food. “Come eat, love.”

There is no response, only footsteps on the stairs.

“Our daughters hate each other,” Melina sighs heavily. When you and Yelena look up at her, she clarifies, “no, not you two. You and Natasha.” She pinches Lena’s cheek.

“We do not hate each other,” Yelena says placidly, much to everyone’s surprise. “I am just angry at her. We will be fine.”

Natasha, who is still within earshot at the top of the stairs, feels her heart skip a beat at this and thinks to herself that just maybe Yelena is ready to be receptive to her attempts at reconnection. Her only issue is she has no idea how to facilitate it. She’s done all the things she can think of, aside from straight up cornering her younger sister — she leaves offerings of food at her door and texts  her when the Kardashians are on the TV — but all of it has been treated with nonchalance that’s left her bewildered as to what her next step should be.

Yelena’s got her covered, though.

It’s her turn to strike, she knows, and again she chooses to do it when her sister will least expect it. Nat traipses home late one night, exhausted from cheer practice that overran. (Their next game is the last of the season, and her last cheer match ever considering she’s graduating this summer, so this semester’s team captain Sharon is determined they go out with a bang — even if that bang is a cheerleader toppling from the pyramid out of sheer exhaustion.) She mumbles her greetings and goodnights to Melina and Alexi, who are huddled around a decanter of whiskey in the study with Liho, and stumbles upstairs. All the lights are off up here, and she figures you and Yelena are probably settling down for the night. With a long, wistful look up the spiral staircase towards your firmly closed door, she trudges into her own (pitch-black) room. When she flicks on the light, though, she shrieks in horror. Sat expectantly at the foot of her bed is a long-limbed and blonde-headed figure, with hands folded neatly in its lap.

“Good evening, сестра,” greets the figure, sometimes known as Yelena Belova, with vaguely ominous nonchalance.

Natasha leans back against the door and closes her eyes in a desperate attempt to revert her heart rate to normal. Her first instinct as an older sister is to yell at her to get the fuck out, but in light of recent events this probably wouldn’t be the wisest of choices. Instead, she clamps her mouth tightly shut as she attempts to regain herself.

“I don’t,” she pants after a moment, “I haven’t— what? Hi. What?”

“You should really get a better lock,” Yelena says amusedly. “Very easy to pick.”

“You don’t have to break in,” Natasha grumbles, letting her bag slide to the floor and flopping backwards onto the bed. “Just knock.”

“No fun.” Yelena pokes Nat’s thigh with her toe just like she would when they were kids and for a moment they’re both young again. But she blinks, and the moment is gone, and now they’re two almost-adults with an entire universe between them.

Natasha just groans and flops back to stare up at her ceiling. A few years back you and Yelena helped her paint it blue and now it looks like the sky. It makes her smile when she’s sad sometimes. Yelena joins her, and the two cloudgaze for a moment.

“Why are you in my room?” Natasha asks quietly.

“To annoy you,” Lena quips.

“Success.”

“And to talk,” she continues.

“Also success. We are talking.”

The blonde lunges for her, and Natasha rolls away playfully. “No, I’m serious. Real talking.”

“Alright, I’m all ears.” Nat puts her hands behind her ears and pushes them forward to emphasise her point — again, like they would when they were kids.

“I want to know what you were intending when you started dating Y/N,” Yelena says, and Nat’s stomach drops. She knew this was coming, she knew this was where the conversation would lead, but she was still hoping to stall it for as long as possible just for the joy that her sister is talking to her again. The excitement is short-lived, though.

“We were never dating,” she reminds her quietly.

“Why not?”

The bluntness of the question makes Natasha stop short.

“Because it just, didn’t work out like that, I guess,” she tries. Yelena remains eerily stony.

“It’s not nice to lie to your baby sister, Natalia.”

Natasha deflates. “Because w— because I’m a fucking idiot. I don’t know what you want me to say. I know I messed up.”

“Step one is awareness,” Yelena nods sagely, while Nat grits her teeth. “So what are you going to do about it?”

She shrugs. “Graduate, and leave town, I guess. You and Y/N are twins again now, and I caused all these problems, so once I leave things should be fixed.”

“Untrue and false,” the blonde interrupts sharply. “That is lie. Y/N/N is crushed. This will not magically be fix if you take off for college.”

“But it will help,” Natasha insists.

“No it won’t,” Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, “oh my god, how are you so stupid. She is in love with you, and she is so patient with you, she is not even angry. Which I would be, by the way, but she’s not. She’s only sure you don’t want her.”

“Huh? But I do.”

“No, like wanting her,” Yelena says gently. “As a whole. Like… unity, ah? Влюбленный. She feels so not good enough for you, and every day you are prove her right. You take only what you want from her and leave the rest. That is not what love is. She feels not loved by you, and that you only like her for the things she can offer you.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mean to,” Natasha says tearfully. Suddenly she is very small, and she draws her knees up to her chest. “I was only… Lena, маленький, I didn’t know what to do.”

“The answer seems pretty simple,” the blonde observes astutely, “all you had to do was either tell her you love her and want to be with her, or tell her it is over. You can’t keep having things in your way forever. She has feelings too, and the relationship cannot be on just your terms. She is not a doll, or toy.”

“I do,” she says hoarsely. “I do, t- the first one. It’s- I do. But I’m so…” She raises a pale trembling palm to run a hand through her hair, inhaling shakily, and with a blink of surprise Yelena realised how scared her older sister truly is.

“What is so terrifying?” she asks tenderly.

“Y/N is a girl.”

Yelena almost laughs at the confession but is able to refrain, and is proud of her capability to do so upon seeing just how agitated her company is over the subject. “Is this all that holds you back? Nobody would care. Ma and Daddy wouldn’t. This is not end of the world.”

“No, you don’t get it,” says Natasha fiercely. “Ever since I came to America... you were here first, you and Y/N, and you just get to be you. You have who you are. But I don’t know who I am, so I have to — do all the American girl things. I have to fit in. I don’t have a Y/N. And American girls don’t kiss girls.”

Yelena stops to consider this. It’s true that Natasha has always put far, far more effort into fitting in and Westernising herself more than she or their parents ever did. Yelena is perfectly content with her slightly broken English and her raspy accent and her life of in-betweenness. She’s okay with being from two places. To her, when she looks in the mirror, that is Yelena Belova. They’re just parts of who she is. She’s never even stopped to consider those as potential insecurities — not when she had other things and feelings (or lack thereof) to worry about. How could something so unchangeable be a source of doubt? And yet here she now sits, struggling to wrap her head around this invisible binary which has suffocated her sister for so many years.

“But you are not… what?” she says confusedly. “You did have a Y/N. All of this… you’re being someone else. I knew something felt strange. I do not understand why? I like who you are before. It wasn’t bad. I like Natalia.”

This seems to break Nat, who buries her face in her hands. Yelena lets out a motherly cluck of sympathy and scoots closer to loop a gangly arm around her sister.

“I just want to be normal,” breathes Natasha.

“But it is not worth all this,” Yelena says, squeezing her sister tightly to her chest. “What does normal even mean? Being cool is not the most important, Natalia. Everybody liking you doesn’t… fix you not liking yourself.” She cringes at her own words, reminding herself a little too much of Darcy’s Pinterest feed, but the words seem to ring true with Nat, at least.

“I am just so scared,” Nat says in a small voice. “And I think I’ve made this so bad it can’t be fixed.”

Yelena pulls away to look her sternly in the eyes. “Things can always be fixed. Maybe not in ideal way you want them to be, but we can always make amends. But you have to be sorry.”

“I am,” Natasha cries, “I am sorry.”

Yelena holds her. “I know.”

She’s not so sure you know it, though.

Maybe somewhere deep down, you do. You see it in the saddened smiles Nat offers you whenever she steps out of your way or leaves a room so you can use it. You see it in the way she brings your favourite snacks home and leaves them in the pantry without word or question, like she doesn’t even expect you to notice. You see it even in the absence of her; in the way that she gives you space, quietly leaving rooms when you enter them so you can use them despite the fact that you can feel in the air how much she wants to stop and talk to you. Sure, you can tell that she’s sorry. But you’re not sure that she knows what she’s sorry for.

You’re not sure she knows how badly she’s really hurt you, with her every move stabbing into you repeatedly over a course of months. Now that the knife is turned on her and she’s the one in exile, a selfish part of you wants to leave her there, just so she knows what it’s like. You guess that’s kind of what you’re doing now. You know this can’t go on forever though. In a couple of months Natasha leaves for out-of-state college, which she announced over dinner a few nights ago. You had to excuse yourself from the table to process that information. Your time is limited, you know, and it’s clear what Natasha wants (to kiss and make up) — but what do you want? To leave this wound untreated, festering for the next eternity? Or to allow yourself peace and let this go?

“Why do I have to be the bigger person?” you half-heartedly complain to Yelena one night as the two of you wash the dishes. “It’s not fair.”

“Because you are the bigger person,” Yelena laughs. “Natalia has given you the control. The next move is on you. That’s just the way it is, if it’s fair or no.” She whips you playfully with her tea towel, and the conversation moves on without further incident.

The issue plays on your mind long after the words are spoken, though. Whether you like it or not, Yelena is right. The next move’s on you. But how are you meant to make that call? What is the right move to make?

Well, one of Natasha’s friends appears very opinionated on the subject. 

On a particularly warm afternoon, you and Yelena stroll into town, and stop off at May Parker’s ice cream parlour — the best in town.

“Ah,” Yelena grimaces, as you draw close to its glass windows, “it is so busy in there. I go in, you wait out here?” 

You smile at her gratefully, and she disappears inside. 

“Y/L/N!” a voice calls out behind you, and you turn around to see Bucky Barnes making a beeline for you. He’s about twice your size in every way imaginable, and you gulp. 

“Hi?” you say uncertainly. You don’t think you’ve ever spoken to him in your life.

“What’s up with you and Romanov?” Well, he’s straight to the point. 

You flounder, mouth opening and shutting, and he’s gracious enough to continue, “look, I know you and her are a thing. Were. I don’t know, she’s being so weird about it. It’s okay, it’s okay, I was her beard. And she was mine,” he adds, gesturing over at Steve Rogers, who’s stood on the other side of the road waiting patiently for his boyfriend. He smiles and waves amiably on cue. 

You blink. “And no one thought to inform me?” 

He shrugs. “Not my place. I think it is my place, though, to ask what’s got her so torn up. You and her fallen out? I’ve never seen her like this. I’on know what to do.”

He may not mean it menacingly, but he’s towering over you and you’re finding it hard to breathe. “She was an asshole, dude,” you say, perhaps a little more defensively than you envisioned. “She wasn’t nice to me and we weren’t even together, because she didn’t see me like that. So yeah, I guess we fell out.”

He frowns, deeply, and takes a moment to process this. “Oh. That… but she does feel that way about you.”

“It’d be nice if she’d show it,” you say bitterly. 

His face softens. “Maybe… Look, even if the two of you don’t work it out proper, wouldn’t it be easier to at least clear the air? She likes you so much. She just wants you in her life, I think.”

You look at him uncertainly for a moment, but he holds your gaze earnestly. You know him and Natasha are relatively close, and you don’t see why he’d lie about something like this. It’s definitely tempting to believe.

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll bear that in mind.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but you feel a hand on your shoulder and instantly recognise Yelena’s presence just behind you. “What is going on?”

“Just talking,” says Bucky smoothly, but it seems apparent that the moment is over. “See you around, kid.” He crosses the road back to Steve.

“Kid,” you mutter, “he’s one grade older than me.” 

“What did he want?” Yelena asks you, and you relay your strange interaction to her. “Oh. Well, he is probably right, but I’m not sure how much it means coming from Natasha’s ex.”

“Were they really together?” you ask, your stomach turning at the thought. Wouldn’t that co-occur with your and her relationship? “He said he was her beard.”

She shrugs. “Not my expertise. Come on, the ice cream will melt.”

You don’t see Bucky Barnes again for the weeks that follow, although you can’t help but wonder what he meant, and what he was trying to achieve. (And a little part inside of you thinks that maybe he could be right.)

“Ma?” says Natasha suddenly. “How did you know you loved Alexi?”

It’s late at night, and the two of them are on the car ride home from Nat’s last cheer game of the season. (At her request it was not a family affair, despite Alexi’s insistence that it was his right to make a fuss of his talented daughter’s performance at her last high school cheer game.) The roads are empty and the towns are sleepy, but Natasha’s question has Melina wide awake.

“Eeh… it was not like a revelation. I did not wake up one day with new clarity. It came to me over time. It took me long time to accept, though. Your father is very patient man.”

“But was there anything specific?” Natasha persists.

Melina purses her lips in thought. “Well, when I met him I was not trusting person. One time when we were in the kind of in between bit right before being proper couple, ah —”

“The talking stage,” Nat supplies helpfully.

“— yes, да. We were in that, nothing proper but something, and he went to touch me and I had a… panic? I shut down. Achh, моя любовь, I was still figuring out who I was and what I did and didn’t like and… still growing up and healing from when I was kid. I was scared.”

Natasha nods solemnly. There are some childhood experiences which, despite unspoken, bind she and her mother at the soul.

“So I freak out, and I expected him to… belittle or leave, or something. But he stays and he is so patient, he apologise for making me jump and fetch me tea, and I thought like wow, he is so gentle. And he is not like the other men I known.”

Again, Natasha nods. Gentle is the perfect descriptor for her father. He’s the most wonderful man she’s ever met.

“So we spent more time together, he was patient with me and always caring. That was the time that I knew I would fall in love with him. But I’m not really know when it happened. Maybe by then it already had, ah? I have only ever had eyes for him. He make me feel… valued, and worthy.”

Natasha just hums in response, for she’s suddenly and embarrassingly on the verge of violent sobbing. She blames Ma and Baba and their beautiful relationship. Nothing else.

“Is this about Y/N?” Melina asks quietly. Natasha opens her mouth to reply and there it is, just as she feared, the waterworks are unleashed. Ma sighs heavily and pulls over.

“Идите сюда,” she says, holding her arms out, and Natasha crawls into them. She rocks her daughter back and forth, exactly how she used to so many years ago when the girl was half this size, while Nat’s face is buried in her mother’s neck. They stay like that for a while, until Natasha’s tears begin to die down.

“Do you want to go and get milkshakes?” Melina breaks the silence. Natasha hums her assent.

The 24-hour diner isn’t far from where they’ve pulled over, and it’s almost empty at this time of night. With no words exchanged Melina orders Natasha’s usual, or what was her usual when she was a kid — a strawberry milkshake and fries. A young Natasha decided strawberry was her favourite as soon as she found out that pink was a girl’s colour. Thinking about that now, especially with the hindsight of her conversation with Yelena, has her stomach turning a little. How long has she been letting her view of the world colour every single choice that she makes? Which parts of her are really her, and which are the ones she’s willed into existence?

It’s a scary line of questioning, and Natasha can feel herself beginning to spiral. No more, she tells herself. Yelena was probably right about needing to get to know herself — and learning her real favourite flavour of milkshake seems a manageable starting point.

“Can I have the caramel one?” she asks Melina gruffly, pointing at the menu. Her mama just nods and alters their order accordingly.

They sit at their usual booth and eat in a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional “pass the ketchup”s. Once they’ve finished, though, and Melina can sense her daughter has calmed enough to leave, she turns and says to her, “Love isn’t easy thing to admit. But it’s… not something to be ashamed of. When it comes, just let it happen. It’s scary, but it does not make you weaker, ah? It will do you no good to push it away.” She hesitates, but then seems satisfied with what she’s said. She turns on her heel and heads back out to the car. Natasha, dumbfounded, follows her.

When they finally make it home, Alexi is snoring away upstairs and you’re on the sofa with Yelena sprawled on top of you, fast asleep. You’re wide awake, though, and look up as the two of them come in.

“Night, ma,” Natasha murmurs to her mother, kissing her cheek before tiptoeing off to bed. Melina hums at the action and pads into the living room toward her twins.

“Hi ma,” you chirp, voice a little husky. “Everything okay?”

Your mama nods, and holds out a brown paper bag. “We stopped at diner. Got your favourite. Some for Lena too.”

Your eyes crinkle up into half-moons as you smile at her in gratitude, and Melina smiles back fondly, her chest filling with warmth. “Thank you.”

She kisses Yelena’s forehead, who does not stir, and then yours, lingering for a moment.

“I love you,” she tells you sincerely, and a fierceness glimmers in her gaze that you’re not quite sure what to do with. “We all do.”

“I love you too,” you tell her honestly. You only hope you’re matching her intensity. She holds your gaze for a moment longer as if searching for something within it,  then nods, seemingly satisfied, and retreats upstairs to join Alexi, leaving you alone with a meal to demolish, a slumbering blonde pinning you to the sofa and many, many thoughts.

A few days after that conversation, you wander into the backyard (Melina’s carefully pruned pride and joy) to pet Liho, who’s basking peacefully in the summer evening sun.

“Careful of the flowerbed,” you warn as he flexes his claws and kicks his legs happily. “Someone will suffer if Ma’s roses are ruined.”

He huffs in what could be agreement, and you toe absently at the sandy dirt you and Yelena used to play in.

A gentle creaking sounds from somewhere nearby. It’s a noise that makes you feel ten years younger, and curiously, you rise to your feet.

At the far end of the backyard, nestled among the pines and pratia, is the swing set Alexi built a little while after Yelena first moved in. It’s a little haggard-looking, as when Natasha came to America Alexi bodged a third swing so all of you could play together, but to his credit it’s still held up all these years. Sure, it doesn’t get so much use anymore, but sometimes when one of you is feeling a little down you’ll revisit the simpler times of your childhood.

This seems to be what you’ve stumbled upon Natasha doing now. She’s sat on the middle swing (which in times gone by was your swing, as the middle spot often was when you were a kid, so both siblings got to be next to you), rocking back and forth gently as she cradles something small in her hands, turning it over. She’s lost in thought. Wondering if you’ve intruded on something private, you begin to slowly pace away. When you catch sight of what it is in her hands, though, your stomach turns; a small and glistening pink rock, rubbed smooth by years of love.

“You kept that?” you ask quietly. Natasha’s head shoots up and she takes note of your appearance in the same way that a deer takes note of rapidly approaching headlights. Her mouth opens as she fumbles for words, but she just settles for nodding vigorously before lowering her gaze to her lap again.

You don’t really know what to think, or do. You hesitate for a moment, and find yourself thinking of Bucky’s advice — wouldn’t it be easier to clear the air? This tension is suffocating. With this on your mind, you seem to surprise Natasha as much as yourself when your feet march you over to the swing on your left, and your knees bend to seat you. Her entire body tenses as yours nears her. You can tell that, since you’ve gone to great lengths to escape her company recently, this is the last thing she expected. (In all honesty you weren’t really expecting this either. What now?)

“You know that I’m in love with you, right?” Natasha says suddenly, and you freeze. Your chest tightens, and it’s like she’s wrapped herself around it, claiming your breath as her own.

“That’s not funny,” you reply in a small voice. “Don’t— don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Play with me like that.”

Her stomach lurches. “I’m being serious.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Were you and Bucky ever actually together?”

“What?”

“Bucky Barnes. Were you with him when you were with me, too?” 

“N- no,” she says with vehement certainty. “I was — well, I guess it doesn’t really matter now, but when him and Steve were a secret I was his cover story. And I guess he was mine, so that I could… yeah.” She gestures towards you, pressing her lips together. 

“But even after they came out I was still a secret.”

“I—” Natasha says, and buries her face in her hands for a moment, because this is not how she hoped this would go. “Yes. And that was wrong of me. I’m sorry. I think I was trying to protect you, and me, and you from me because I know how messy I can be, and I wanted you so bad but I didn’t want to drag you down with me. And I still did anyway.” She sighs heavily.

“That’s an interesting way of showing affection,” you quip. 

“I know,” she says quietly. “And I’m sorry. I know I haven’t shown it well — at all — and I don’t really blame you for not believing me. Or, uh, hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you say softly.

Her shoulders sag. “Oh. W— well that’s good, then.”

“But I wish I did,” you add.

“No, yeah. That’s fair.”

“You’re really mean.”

Natasha just nods.

“And it’s even worse because I can’t even hate you because you can also be really nice.”

She nods again uncertainly. She’s not really sure how to respond to that.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you so mean sometimes?”

This makes her stop up short. The way that both you and Yelena never fail to cut to the chase or ask the questions that nobody else would will always catch her off guard. “It’s kind of just who I am,” she begins, but at the way your face scrunches she adds, “or who I’ve decided to be, anyway. I don’t really know. I’m not sure… who I am.” Even uttering the statement aloud is a weight lifted from her shoulders. “It’s scary. I guess I… I thought that, like, I have to be the mean one, or someone else will first. To me. You know?”

“Why would anyone be mean to you?”

“Because I like girls,” she says truthfully, and there’s a tremor to her voice.. “And I’m not from here.”

You stare at her. “…? I like girls, and Yelena isn’t from here. No one is mean to us for it.”

“Because Yelena can and will beat the shit out of anyone that tries something,” Nat snorts. “But I just… I don’t know. It’s different for me.” You nod encouragingly and she adds with reluctance, “I don’t— belong here, not really. Or anywhere. I’m too American to be Russian and too Russian to be American. Ma and Baba and Yelena have it figured out, they’re just both and themselves and they don’t even have to think about it. But that’s not so easy for me.”

“Maybe,” you say carefully, “it’s to do with the people you choose to surround yourselves with. Is it possible that you’re… spending time with the wrong people? If you’re made to feel as though these things make you lesser.”

She shrugs. “Probably. But that doesn’t change the fact that I just… I really don’t have a lot going for me. So I kinda pretend that I do, and then it gets out of hand and I’ve convinced myself that I’m a lot more interesting than I am, to the point that I don’t know who me is. And I get all freaked out. And I’m so scared I kind of just shut off and try not to think, so I guess I’m just an asshole instead. Like it’s a reflex, you know? But it’s not really me. Nothing is me. My entire life is one perpetual identity crisis.” She drops her gaze to toe at the ground.

Your swing comes to a still as you clasp one of her hands between both of yours. They’re warm and perfectly manicured, and her eyes light up at the contact. “You don’t have to know who you are. You just have to exist, and you find out. I’m learning things about myself all the time, and so is Lena. This was my first relationship —” Nat’s stomach drops at the use of the word was “— and I’ve learnt a lot about myself and how I like to be treated. And Lena only came to terms with being aroace this year. Even Ma only just decided she’s demi,” you point out, and Nat can’t help but smile at this. (A little while ago, after Yelena first came out, you and Melina began joining her in attending weekly meetings at the local youth centre for young queer people and their parents. Your mama was determined to be a more educated advocate for her three queer daughters. Very recently, with all this new terminology at her disposal, she dropped into a dinnertime conversation in the presence of the whole family that she thinks she’s demi. “Not that it matters,” she added, “the only one for me is your father,” and she kissed his beaming crinkly cheek with a motherly tenderness. It was a beautiful moment to witness, despite Yelena’s playful booing.)

“I guess,” she says quietly. “Um, I’ve been talking to someone. Professional,” she adds at the look on your face. “Yelena said some stuff that made me realise I probably shouldn’t sort through this alone.”

“Yes, you shouldn’t,” you nod. Natasha raises an eyebrow at your ready agreement. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. Lena sees someone. I do too.”

She blinks. “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, “Baba takes me every other Thursday. I have horrible abandonment issues. I guess after everything that’s happened, I’ve kinda internalised some stuff.”

“I definitely took advantage of that,” Nat says guiltily. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.”

You look at her. “I know.” Your hand squeezes hers before letting go and she instantly aches to feel it again. “I’m sorry, too. For not… I don’t know, setting more boundaries. Or being more forceful.”

“No, no, it wasn’t your fault.”

You hum, and the two of you sit in silence for a long while as the sun begins to retire.

“You know,” you say suddenly, “you don’t have to move across the country. You can if you want, obviously, it’s your call, but if it’s just because of me… you don’t have to.”

“But-? I’m trying to give you space? To heal,” she says confusedly, and you laugh.

“And it’s very sweet, but I don’t need that much space. I’ve already forgiven you.”

Natasha’s soul leaves her body. “You— huh?”

“I have,” you laugh kindly. “I did some of my own thinking, and I just… I don’t know. I don’t think you need me being mad at you, on top of everything else going on in here.” You tap at her temple gently to emphasise your point, and she shivers. “And I don’t think I need that either. I don’t want to carry that with me.”

“Okay,” Natasha breathes. “T— thank you.”

You wrinkle your nose at her affectionately. “You’re silly.”

She’s awash with the overwhelming need to kiss you, and instead twitches a little, digging her nails into her palm. You take in the movement with such wide-eyed concern that she has to close her eyes for a moment, because she’s almost ill with how much she feels for you. This feeling only grows more intense as you continue.

“I know we’re… whatever we are, but… if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know,” you say more quietly. “I know you’ve been through some stuff, and even when you’re seeing someone for it it can get overwhelming. I do care about you.”

She nods, and swallows thickly. “ I don’t— I— uhm. What does this make us?”

You can hear her hopes heavy on her tongue, and your heart is like lead. “Friends?” you offer. “I— I don’t think we should be anything else, right now.”

Natasha nods, and swallows thickly. With it she swallows back the words but I love you. It must be written across her face, though, because you cup it between your hands (which really isn’t helping her self-restraint at all).

“I love you,” you tell her honestly. “And I always have. But love isn’t… you don’t… I don’t know. That kind of love is something that you earn, I think. And we both need to take care of ourselves.”

“I understand.” Natasha’s voice is hoarse, and barely above a whisper. “And I want you to feel like I respect your decision. But I also want you to feel like I’m serious. About you. And I will prove it if I have to.”

Against your own better judgement, you smile at her.

One thing about Natasha Romanoff is that she’s not a quitter.

Some would say it’s an endearing quality. More would probably tell her it’s the reason she finds herself in so many messes in the first place. What’s objectively certain is that she’s a stubborn little shit — and and with this determination she’s decided she’s going to win you back. Your slight encouragement, no matter how vague, is enough fuel for a fire that could simmer for months.

It starts as chocolates, and flowers. At this point she seems to have cottoned onto the fact that you’re not one for big, theatrical confessions of love, but rather consistent affirmations of it. Actions, not words, she’s heard you say (although now more than ever before she’s seeing for herself what you mean). So there’s no four-act sonnet recitals when you receive her gifts — although you don’t really receive them at all, in the traditional sense. Rather they seem to begin popping up everywhere you go. At one point you open your locker to a bouquet so over-endowed that flowers begin to tumble out onto the floor. Sam steps neatly to the side and watches with glee as you scramble to clean the mess. (He’s most definitely enjoying watching all of this play out.)

Your favourite of all these surprise gifts is probably one delivered by your own four-legged Cupid himself. Liho headbutts the door to your room open and stalks in with a scowl on his face and something attached to his collar. As soon as you remove it to inspect it he rolls onto his back and looks up at you expectantly, clearly expecting compensation for this favour.

“Yes, you’re a very handsome boy,” you tell him distractedly, using one hand to rub his belly while you attempt to unfurl the note he’s delivered with the other. Yelena lets out a noise of amusement. She’s perched on your bed with the Kardashians paused on her laptop in favour of watching this play out instead.

“You are so ungraceful,” she comments mildly, making no move to help you.

“I love how you always see the best in me,” you reply through gritted teeth.

After a moment, you manage to succeed in your task. I picked these for you :), the letter reads. You glance over at Liho’s collar again to see a tiny bunch of forget-me-nots, only slightly battered from their journey and bound neatly by brown twine.

“Another gift from the mystery girl?” Yelena teases, and you groan.

“Okay, saying mystery girl is officially banned. It’s giving me war flashbacks.”

“And that is fair,” your sister muses, getting to her feet to inspect your latest delivery. After she’s done she sits back on her heels. “You don’t have to keep turning her down, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it’s just because of me. You have my… blessing, or whatever. But on the condition that you’re not gross about it.” She rolls her eyes, and nudges your cheek with her nose. You squirm good-naturedly.

“Why thank you, your Grace.”

“Yes, I’m the graceful one,” she preens.

“Sure,” you snort, and she smirks. “Um, thank you, though. That’s good to know. I guess I’m still… figuring it out, but she’s growing on me again.” And it’s true. You have your reservations now, but she’s trying to remind you why you first fell for her (and yeah, she might be succeeding). Part of you wonders if she’s turning on the superficiality again, but after she spilled her guts to you on the swing set you’re trying to have faith that she really is turning a new leaf, and charming you authentically.

Yelena considers this. “Yes, okay. This makes sense. Remember to tell me if she tries anything again though. I will put them up.” She raises her fists and you giggle, but you know she’s at least partially serious. She’s very athletic in her own right and people at school go out of their way to avoid crossing her. That’s how you’ve stayed out of trouble your whole life — by standing behind Yelena and letting her handle it instead. Where you hesitate, she dives right in. You adore that about her, though.

“Do you know what you’ll do once she’s out of state?” Lena asks, and you shrug.

“Figure it out as we go, I guess. I don’t know if she’ll lose interest in me.”

The blonde looks up fiercely. “If she does that I will stick them up.”

You beam at her, admittedly less for the violence and more for the sentiment behind it. She beams back for reasons more ambiguous.

“Do you know what we will do?” Yelena queries. Upon your frown she elaborates, “next year when it is our turn to pick college. You and me, what will we do?”

“Pick the same one, and both get in because we’re super smart, and we’ll be roommates. And you can make us mac and cheese every night,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She contemplates this.

“Okay,” she says, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “Can we hit play now? I want to know what’s happen to Kim’s diamond earring.”

“Two cookies say she gets it back.”

“Two cookies say eat my ass the way a fish ate her earring,” she retorts, and the two of you settle on the bed again. (You have two more cookies than usual after dinner.)

Despite the witticism you take Yelena’s blessing with pride, and it means a lot more to you than you let on. Now that every single member of your family has shown their support for your relationship you can’t help but feel a slight ray of hope, the likes of which you thought had been stomped out long ago. Never before have you dared to imagine a situation where you could actually have a shot with the girl of your dreams, who you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember — and yet here you are, with her putting her back out working overtime to win you over, and your family watching with interest. Every morning you wake up a little warmer to the idea of letting this happen.

That doesn’t mean Natasha’s out of the woods yet, though, and you’re careful to make this clear to her. She senses your hesitance, and completely understands its presence. She’ll wait for you as long as it takes. (She’s genuinely stunned at how forgiving you have been of her, in all honesty.) In fact she takes your reluctances in her stride in a way that actually has you feeling more for her — but again, you know better than to repeat your mistakes of the past, and so you take this as slowly as you can considering she’s coming on strong and you live under the same roof.

Three months of summer lie ahead of you, stretching out like an endless expanse of sunset-tinted possibility. You and Yelena manage to land jobs at the video store in town — Yelena goes blazing into the interview and makes it clear as she can that the two of you are a package deal. Wong, the guy who runs the place, just seems grateful for the help.

The store becomes somewhat of a hangout spot for the two of you, who work the same hours and are joined at the hip like always, and it’s a safe bet to stop by if anyone wants to find you. Sam often swings by to playfully irritate the both of you, since the marina where his parents’ boat is docked is just round the corner, and Natasha will meet you when you’re closing to take you out for dinner after. (Sometimes Yelena tags along to these meals, and gleefully revels in the awkwardness her presence causes.) Since you and Yelena are twins again too, things are looking up for your friendship group and they’ve taken to visiting also. You’re delighted to spend time with them again. (Seeing Makkari’s face light up when she steps into the Deaf & Subtitled section of the store makes your whole week.)

In fact, word seems to have gotten out about the fact that Wong’s employed you, because one sleepy Tuesday afternoon Bucky Barnes drops by to rent a DVD. He picks one at random, not even glancing at the cover, and as you scan it through for him he says to you lowly, “thank you for making Natasha happy again. She cares so much about you.” He offers you a genuine smile before heading out abruptly and almost forgetting his DVD in the process. (You suspect his purchase was a mere means to talk to you.) It’s a strange interaction, but decidedly more pleasant than your last with him, so you take it no further.

Another perk of having this job is that you have your own money now. You’re not really sure what to do with it at first; the only thing that occurs to you is that you want to get a gift for Natasha. At the end of the summer is her graduation — she’ll walk and wear the square hat and everything, and you’re very excited to embarrass her with photos of the event — and after that she’ll leave for college. Her graduation is the perfect time to present her with said gift, you decide.

You know you want the gift to be meaningful, but you’re not really sure of the specifics. Luckily for you, one night on the roof with Natasha is all you need for the inspiration to strike.

Can’t sleep, you text her one night, after hours of fruitless tossing and turning.

She replies immediately.

Me neither

Come down to my room :)

If you want to!!! she adds after a moment, and you can’t help but smile to yourself. She is adorable.

Omw, you tell her, rolling out of bed.

The door is unlocked!!!!!! just come in

You follow her instructions and slip inside. The room is cosily lit, with her fairy lights on and her little lamp shaped like Calcifer flickering merrily; the bed is unmade, as if someone’s been in it recently, but Natasha herself is nowhere to be seen.

“Nat?” you call out uncertainly, and squeak in surprise when her head pops through the window. She smiles softly at your reaction.

“I’m out here,” she tells you. “C’mon, there’s space for both of us.” She wriggles along her perch on the flat row of tiles of the roof, and pats the empty spot beside her. Antics like this don’t faze you after twelve years of friendship with Yelena. You clamber out beside her readily.

“Hi,” says Natasha a little bashfully, once you’re settled. You lean up to peck her lips and she flushes. “Y— yeah. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” you reply sweetly. “It’s nice out here.”

“It is,” she agrees, her gaze not straying from you. You take no notice, though; your sights are set to the heavens. No matter how much you snipe about how annoying it is to live in a small town, the views still take your breath away. The stars shimmer bright above you, as they do almost every night. They’re not the only beautiful sight your town has to offer; Wanda adores the rocky hills at the edge of town, where many scavengers like squirrels and raccoons have made their home (one boy in your grade, Peter Quill, has befriended one of the raccoons and affectionately named him ‘Rocket’. He visits Rocket every day after lunch with his leftovers from the cafeteria). Occasionally she’s able to convince everyone in your group to accompany her hiking there. Despite your grumbling, it does make for an enjoyable day out.

“I come out here when I can’t sleep,” she tells you quietly.

“I sit on the roof sometimes,” you reply, and you beam at each other. It’s true — you do, but sharing the information feels vulnerable. You’ve figured out how to hoist yourself up through the skylight in the loft and onto the utmost point of the house, but it’s an activity you’ve kept as your own for now. While you adore more than anything being twins with Yelena, and living your life with her, you’re also learning how to exist by yourself for the first time in your life, and enjoying having your own space. Your little corner in the attic has afforded you many freedoms, and not just material ones.

“You see the moon?” Nat asks. The planet in question hangs round and heavy over the horizon, not quite full.

“How could I miss her?” She’s the most beautiful thing in sight.

“You know the difference between waxing and waning?” Natasha prompts, and you shake your head, solely because you love when she talks about her passions. “Waxing is when the moon transitions from a new moon to a full moon — so she fills out. See, that’s what she’s doing now.”

“She’s nearly full,” you remark quietly.

“Yup.” She grins. “Now when she’s waxing, she fills in from the right side — so she kinda looks like a C.” She makes a C shape with her left hand and holds it up against the sky to confirm that, yes, while the moon is waxing it vaguely resembles the letter. “But soon she’ll start to wane — maybe next week? After the full moon. Waning is the transition from the full moon back to the new moon, so she shrinks away into nothing. She’s eaten away from the left side, so she looks like a reverse C.” Nat makes a C shape with her right hand this time, so that it’s reversed, and holds it up to compare to the moon. They don’t match up right now, but they’ll get there someday.

“This is my favourite period though,” she confesses, her voice dropping a little lower, “of the lunar cycle. When the moon is waxing.”

“Why?”

“Because it feels,” she hesitates. “I don’t know. It feels like gross to say out loud but it kinda just feels like, encouraging. Things are always changing. They won’t be like this forever, you know? The cycle keeps on repeating itself.”

“The cycle keeps on repeating itself,” you repeat, and she smiles at you.

“Yeah. You don’t think it’s… dumb? I don’t know, I’ve never brought anyone else up here. I —”

“I don’t think that at all,” you tell her, and she kisses you gently.

The next day you go out and buy a crescent moon necklace.

Natasha has been coming into your room more and more often lately, and you don’t trust yourself to not leave it lying around in plain sight, so one day while she’s out you enlist Alexi’s help to loosen one of the floorboards in the attic so you can stash things under it inconspicuously.

“It’s not for anything suspicious,” you tell him quickly, “you can look under it whenever you want. It’s just to hide gifts and —”

“Relax, sunflower,” he chuckles, “you are entitled to your secrets.”

The necklace stays hidden there until summer draws to a close.

The weeks fly by in a golden haze and before you know it, you’re getting ready for Natasha’s graduation.

Alexi is stood on the landing in his smartest suit, and flexing proudly in the mirror on the wall. “It still fits!” he booms triumphantly.

“Don’t forget to wear your nice shirt, любовь,” Melina calls up the stairs to him. “No one with holes in.” He deflates a little, and retreats back into their bedroom to change.

“He looks fine,” Yelena scolds half-heartedly as she lumbers down the stairs, holding out her wrists to Melina. “Can you do my cufflinks?”

“Where’s your please?” Melina retorts, but she sets her clutch down so she can use both hands to help her daughter.

“We have to leave in ten minutes,” Natasha announces as she bursts from her own room. “Семья, I know what you are like, and we cannot be late.”

“Relax, love.” Alexi reemerges from the bedroom in a different shirt this time. “I will go and start the car,” he starts down the stairs, “and— oh.” He pauses as several buttons pop off his shirt simultaneously. “Ебать.” He turns around and subduedly makes his way back up the stairs.

“Baba,” Natasha groans. “This is what I mean.”

“Hey! I am nearly ready,” says Yelena indignantly, nodding at her mother in thanks for doing her cufflinks before ducking in front of the mirror. “Oh shit, where is my tie?”

“Language,” reprimands Melina.

“See?” Natasha sighs exasperatedly. “Y/N/N is the only one who’s ready.” She hurries down the stairs to where you’re stood in the hall, watching the scene unfold serenely. You’ve been ready to leave for the last ten minutes. She beams at you and pecks you on the cheek just shy of your lips. You flush, and the crescent moon necklace burns a hole in your pocket. Now isn’t the time, though.

Eventually, you all make it into the car, with everyone now sporting correctly-fitting outfits. As always on car journeys, you’re in the back, sandwiched in the middle between Natasha and Yelena. Lena scrolls through her phone disinterestedly, headphones in, while Natasha vibrates on your other side with anticipation and nerves. You take one of her hands between both of yours and she stills instantly.

“I am very proud of you,” you say quietly, “to have made it this far, with these grades. You’ve gotten into your dream college. You can do anything. Today will go fine.”

She doesn’t speak for fear of bawling and potentially ruining her eyeliner, so instead she rests her head on your shoulder in silent gratitude. She doesn’t move until you arrive, at which point she shows you all to your seats (front row, you note) and disappears to the backstage meeting point for all of the graduates.

The actual ceremony doesn’t begin for a while, so Melina converses with the other parents seated around her while Alexi nods politely, and you and Yelena compete in a thumb war. Eventually Principal Rambeau steps onto the stage and a silence settles on the gathered audience.

“Thank you all for attending,” she begins. “We’re here to celebrate our wonderful seniors, who have put in so much work to make it here today, and walk this stage.” She continues like that for a short while before they begin to call the students’ names, and they each walk across the stage in turn to claim their diploma. Natasha is a little later on the register, so you just sit back and enjoy the show — you’ve lived in this small town all your life, where most people know of each other, and so you recognise or even know the vast majority of the people who make their way across the stage. Some of them choose to make a memorable exit from their high school career (like Happy Hogan who chooses to breakdance his way across the stage, or Ned Leeds who walks proudly in a hot dog suit), whereas others take the more graceful route (see Valkyrie King, a prominent athlete of the school, who walks with confidence and regally basks in everyone’s recognition of her). When Natasha Romanova-Shostakov is called, she walks the stage a little bashfully, and with a blush accepts the cheers showered upon her after several years of being the cheer team’s star. You clap and shout louder than anyone else, and to Yelena’s glee capture several shots of her in her square graduate cap. Front row seat privilege. 

After the presentations, the students flood into the crowd and people break off into little groups. The air hums with the joy of people laughing and congratulating and embracing one another. Natasha makes her way over to you and Yelena, who are stood now with your parents beside the refreshments. She brightens when she spots you, and is instantly by your side, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“There is my girl!” Melina cheers. An outbreak of hugging ensues.

You mingle politely for a while with the other families milling around your own. Natasha appears intermittently, being the centre of attention today. Yelena is by your side (with her arm annoyingly resting on your shoulder to remind you that she’s taller) until one of her hockey friends pilfers her to show her something. In the few moments that you’re unaccompanied, Natasha resurfaces from the crowd, takes your arm and leads you somewhere a little quieter, and a little less visible to the masses.

“I just, um,” she realises she’s still holding your arm and lets go of it with a blush, “I wanted to thank you for being here. Like actually. It means a lot to me. I know— I know that in a couple of weeks I won’t be here properly, and it might make things weird, but —”

Now is the perfect time, you decide. As she continues to nervously ramble you pull the crescent moon necklace in its little velvet box from your pocket, and present it to her. She falls silent and looks at you.

“It’s for you,” you say unnecessarily, opening it to show her the treasure inside. Her eyes widen. “I— I want to do this with you. I want to give us a try. I like being with you.”

And as you clasp the delicate chain around her neck, and lean up to press a chaste kiss to her lips, Natasha understands. Love is something you earn.

She entwines your hand with hers, and together the two of you make your way back towards your family.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA FOR NOT CALLING CPS ON A CUSTOMER?

(mentions of child abuse but nothing graphic)

I (F29) work at a big name kid’s clothing store with my coworker M (F25). M and I usually get along, but she’s always been super hard on one of our regulars who I’ll call Granny L (F70+).

Granny L has been coming here for years, at least once a week, to get clothes for her grandchildren, 2 girls and 3 boys. Her daughter is a homeless meth head and Granny L has had custody of the kids most of their lives. I think she’s amazing for taking them in and spoiling them with so many brand new clothes and toys, but M is wary of her because apparently M was also raised by her grandmother, but her grandmother was physically and emotionally abusive. According to M, every little thing is a sign Granny L abuses her grandkids. Buying them new pants? “Trying to cover bruises on their legs.” Buying them a toy? “Buying their silence.” Taking them out for ice cream? “Will be used to guilt them later.”

Usually I brush these things off, but the other day Granny L brought her youngest grandkid (M4) in, and he was just. Oddly well behaved. Walked briskly behind her with his hands crossed behind his back, like a little soldier. His mouth was puckered tightly shut like it was taking a lot to keep it closed. And a couple times when Granny L turned to him he flinched or visibly jumped back. She saw me watching and laughed and said he’s on the spectrum, so remembering to be on his best behavior takes a lot of concentration, and she promised if he was good he’d get a new video game. The kid just looked at the ground while she talked to me, and shied away from her touch when she tried to put her arm around him as they left.

I brought it up to M later as a “isn’t this weird” thing, but she practically broke down sobbing and told me to call CPS. She said everything I saw were classic signs of abuse, I said he could just be a quiet and touch averse autistic kid. She begged me all day to make the call, because I was the eye witness and if she called with secondhand info they’d just hang up on her, and I finally snapped and said she needs to start acting like an adult and stop projecting her childhood trauma onto total strangers like a fucking weirdo.

I knew I was an asshole for saying THAT as soon as her face crumpled and she sadly walked away, and she’s been avoiding me since. I don’t need to be told I fucked up there, I know I did. But I’ve been thinking of what she said about Granny L more, and idk? Maybe she’s right? I don’t actually know what signs of autism OR child abuse look like, and she’s at least more equipped to recognize one of those things. SO AITA for not calling CPS like she suggested?

What are these acronyms?

[rendy-a]

Locked in with the Film Research Club

I had Vil on the mind from finishing my last fic when someone "liked" one of my Club Visit stories and...here we are! Sorry Ortho, but of course Vil steals the show here!

Sometimes, it strikes you at odd moments that Vil is famous, really famous. You'd been walking past the gym when you saw a student drop a heavy looking box and kick it. "Who does he think he is? Mr. Famous is too good to do the grunt work but can order us around like we work for him!" The student waking with him also drops his box and smiles, "Yeah, let's ditch and let our delicate princess figure this out himself." With that, they both laughingly depart.

You walked over, already having an idea in mind about what had happened. You pulled open the box to see a mixture of lighting and sound equipment. You give a small sigh, putting the picture together. Vil was a strict a leader in the Film Research Club as he was a Dorm Leader. Not everyone could deal with his...intense... style of encouragement and grew to envy and resent him.

You sighed but hefted the boxes anyway. You wouldn't exactly say that you and Vil were friends, but after the VDC, you were at least friendly. Plus, Ortho was always telling you about the things he'd done in club. You can't disappoint a fellow first-year! So, you trudge your way over to the alchemy school wing that you heard the Film club would be using for their shoot today.

When you arrived, you found Ortho setting up some complicated machinery to attach the camera to. You greet the cheerful boy and tell him about the boxes. "Vil Schoenheit has been looking for that equipment. He'll be so happy you've found it, Prefect! I'll go tell him right away!" You pat Ortho on the back, "That's OK. I've got lots of spare time and you seem busy here. I'll go tell him. Just point me in the right direction!"

You found Vil in a large storage closet near the Alchemy room, just as Ortho suggested he'd be. You swing the door open and approach Vil, who is leafing through a book near the back of the closet where a small amount of light shines through a tiny window. "Hey Vil, Ortho sent me," you began before Vil turns and shouts, "Perfect! Grab the door!" You jump at the shouting and hear an ominous click behind you.

Vil sighs, and you look at him guiltily, "Oops." It turns out that the supply closet near the Alchemy rooms locks automatically when closed due to the expensive ingredients and tools stored within. Plus, since some of the components have a chance of magical reaction if not stored correctly, the room was warded against magic. All of that added up to you and Vil being locked in the supply closet until someone came to find you.

Vil gave another sigh and returned to the book he was viewing. After a moment of looking around, you wandered over to join him. Plus... it's a closet; you really don't have a lot of choices here. You peek over and see it's a photo album. "Rook took them," Vil comments when he notices your interest. "I was in here picking up some special effects potions. Rook makes them in Science Club and leaves them in here until we need them. I guess he also stores some old photos here, too."

You leaned in to look. They were pictures from last year's Film Research Club. Some were productions, and others were candid shots from behind the scenes. A few you found confusing, but you imagined, if you asked Rook, he'd have a long explanation about why he'd photographed a scarf on a chair or a stack of paint canisters. By the end of Rooks flowing explanation, you'd probably believe the unusual subjects to be highly beautiful as well.

Vil turns the page, and the next image is his own, albeit a somewhat younger version. A frown graces his beautiful face, and he comments, "I'm sure he never intended for this to be seen, but I do hate pictures of myself being taken when I can't control them." You look at the photo of second-year Vil, "You look good, though." He looks at you sadly, "How naive you are, potato. You never know what sort of trouble a small photo can start. The tiniest detail that goes unnoticed by you can start a wild scandal."

Vil crosses his arms across his chest and looks at you with a frown, "And speaking of scandal, no good will come of the story of us being in this closet." You can easily imagine the gossip but assure Vil, "I'm sure it will be fine. No one is here but the club members, and we will just explain what happened. I'm sure they will understand!" Vil continues to look at you for a moment, and his expression slowly slides into one of amusement, "Potato, you are so refreshingly optimistic and naive."

You give a small laugh and smile, you know it to be true. Vil looks at you with a sort of fondness. It was so rare to find such a genuine person to interact with once you've become as famous as he. Suddenly, Vil's smile grows sharper and sly, "I, in the other hand, am not as foolish as you. If the peanut gallery is going to spread rumors about me..." You look on in amazement as his smile deepens and he slides close to you...

The closet door opens at last, and Ortho greets you, "Vil Schoenhit! Prefect! My sensors indicate that you have not left this room for thirty minutes. The club members grew worried, and we came to check on you!" You smile gratefully at the AI boy, "Thanks for the rescue, Ortho. I thought we'd be stuck in there all afternoon." Even as you smile at Ortho, you spot the envious duo from earlier. Just as Vil predicted, you can hear their gossiping whispers begin.

You hold your head high and push past them. After all, Vil was right. If people are going to talk about you kissing in the closet, then you might as well be kissing in the closet. You gently put your fingertips to your lips and smile, it wouldn't be a photo to add to Rook's album but you think it is definitely a beautiful memory of Film Research Club for you to hold on to.

[lvrcpid]

confessions — modern!au

you felt as thought you could projectile vomit. you were going out. with neteyam. alone. of course you two have hung out before, the fact he lied to you just to make sure you said yes was a little fishy to you. nonetheless you rolled yourself out of bed and rummaged through your closet, huffing and puffing as you couldn't seem to find anything the suited the occasion.

you settled on a outfit after 5 minutes before quickly putting on your shoes, bolting downstairs to meet the faces of your confused parents. "and where do you think you're going?" your father was quick to stop you, your mother barely sparing you a glance. they're going out with neteyam, let them be' your father quickly understood before opening the door for you. , on cue neteyam pulled up with that cocky smile of his. you bid goodbye to your parents before walking out of the door, watching as neteyam got out from the drivers seat, opening your door for you. i see you couldn't wait for me you just quickly got into the car before he closed the door.

the drive to the mall was..fun to say the least. neteyam was blasting his playlist while you sung the lyrics next to him. you had to constantly keep reminding him to slow down or you two would get a ticket, to which he replied i'm the cops, they should fear me!' you couldn't help but laugh at his statement and smile. unbeknownst to you, neteyam caught himself staring at you a little longer than normal, completely mesmerized by you. on the outside he looked fine but on the inside he was freaking out, he was finally going to tell you how he felt about you.

when you two arrived to the mall, neteyam was quick to pull you into h&m. he has a very strange obsession with everything in there. you both spent 45 minutes playing dress up and walked out of the store with nothing. it was typical for you to walk hand in hand with neteyam so when you wrapped your hand around his, he wasn’t surprised. but he still couldn't get over the feeling of your hand against his.

so (y/n)..uh..do you have your eye on anyone?' the question took you aback. yeah i do, you. of course you didn't want to say that, what if he didn't feel the same way you did? you just shrugged your shoulders and looked at him. 'maybe, what about you?' you turned your head to him. yeah i do, but i'm scared they won't feel the same way' you honestly felt your heart shatter in that moment. so he didn't feel the same way about you. you just frowned a tad and nodded, looking away from neteyam.

neteyam caught wind of your frown and internally celebrated. he knew he had this confession in the bag.

you two had stayed in the mall for a few more hours, making your rounds at all different stores, hitting the pretzel place about a good 5 times and walking out with only three bags each. neteyam didn't let you pay for a thing and of course since he works at foot locker he gave you a free pair of shoes.

the drive back to your house was filled with lots of laughs and jokes. when he pulled into your driveway he frowned a bit, looking at you with a sad smile. 'well, we're here" you looked at your house and nodded, taking off your seatbelt sadly. just as you were about to get out of the car, neteyam quickly stopped you. "(y/n) wait. there's one thing i need to tell you' you quickly sat back down in your seat and nodded, ‘of course neteyam anything.’

the boy sighed before speaking. you know how i told you i liked someone..that someone is you. it's always been you and it will always be you. you're in my thoughts when i wake up..when i go to sleep..and i can't bare the thought of not being with you any longer..so what i'm really asking is..(y/n)..will you be my girlfriend/boyfriend/partner?’

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Beauty and the Beast AU)

*Lucifer stepped out of the cottage he lived in with his sister and made way to the village, people would stop and whisper about the strange young man who preferred reading over more accepted masculine pastimes and his eccentric inventor sister*

Lucifer internally: Just ignore their gossip, I wish that there was more than the provincial life.

*thankfully he made it to the book store and found his favorite book about far off places, magic spells, daring sword fights, and Prince in disguise, he thought that he would make it out without having to talk to someone but Lilith and her crony Alastor stood in front of him*

Lilith: Hello Lucifer.

Lucifer: Bonjour Lilith.

*Lucifer hoped that his tone of voice conveyed how much he didn’t want to talk to the arrogant woman, but Lilith just grabbed the book from him*

Lucifer: Lilith, may I have my book please.

Lilith: How can you read this, there are no pictures.

Lucifer: Well some people use their imaginations

Lilith: It’s about time you got your head out of those books and started thinking of more important things, like me. The whole town is talking about you and your obsession, it’s not right for someone to have his nose in a book at all times, it’s not very manly.

Lucifer: You are positively primeval.

Lilith: Why don’t we go to the tavern and look at my hunting trophies.

*it wasn’t lost on Lucifer that he wasn’t allowed to act in a way that was seen as unmanly, but Lilith could hunt all day and be the town hero*

Lucifer: Not today, I need to help my sister.

Alastor: Crazy old Charlotte nerds all the help she can get.

Lucifer: Don’t talk about my sister that way.

Lilith: Yeah, don’t talk about his crazy sister that way.

Lucifer: My sister isn’t crazy, she is a genius.

*Lucifer grabbed his book from Lilith and ran back home, in a castle close by Adam dug his claws into the painting of him as a human and tore it to shreds*

Adam internally: You make one fucking mistake and you get a curse placed on you.

*Adam looked down sadly at his his fur covered arm, he then put his hands on his head feeling disgust at the large black and gold horns on his head, everything about his beastly body made his feel so disgusting, he had until the last petal on the enchanted rose fell to find love and break the curse on him or else he would be a beast forever, Adam curled up in a ball on his bed*

Adam internally: Who could ever love a beast.

*sobs shook Adam’s body until he fell asleep*

Lucifer could see smoke coming from the windows of their home, he ran to be sure his sister was okay.

Lucifer: Charlie? You okay in here?

Charlie: All good! Just blew a fuse in the machine but Lu, I tell ya this is the one. The one that will work and get us out of this little town.

Lucifer admired his sister so much, ever since their parents died she has taken care of the pair of them. She's been inventing in the hopes that someone will buy one and they can move away.

Charlie: I just have to fix this one thing.

Lucifer: Char, do you think I'm weird?

Charlie: What? No of course not. You're the kindest person I know Lu. Don't listen to those people in town, they don't know anything.

Charlie fixed her machine and loaded onto the back of their wagon.

Charlie: Okay, I'm going to the city for a few days. This is the one I can feel it!!

Lucifer smiled: Good luck sis.

They hugged and Charlie took off. After a while it got dark and she feared she was lost.

Charlie: Oh no......

Wolves spooked her horse who bucked her off and ran away.

Charlie: Shit!

Charlie ran as fast as she could until she came across what looked like an abandoned castle. Fearing for her life and being very cold she entered the palace.

She had no idea the beast that was inside.

-

Lucifer heard his sisters horse running back. He went outside but didn't see Charlie. He feared the worst and unhooked the horse and took off to look for her.

Lucifer: Come on girl, take me to Charlie.

[klaprisun]

One Sunny Day

(Stardew Valley)(Haley x Female Farmer)

Chapter 14

The sound of seagulls floods the open, unpolluted air of Pelican Town. Summer has finally arrived, which means I have to grow this season's crops. A trip to Pierre's shop is in dire need since I also need to replenish my food supply.

The jingle above the door announces my arrival, causing Pierre to look up from his counter and give me a greeting nod. I shoot back a casual wave and disappear into the aisles.

"I knew you'd be here, farmer." Haley gave me a sly smile. She was apparently waiting for my arrival.

"Well hello there pretty lady, how'd you know I'd be here?" I throw my hands in my pockets and broaden my shoulders. She blushes at my little comment.

"Well, last season we ran into each other here around this time when you needed seeds. I may have waited around today to see if you'd show. I want to know what kind of crops you are growing this season," she responds.

"Uh huh...?" I give her a look of suspicion, unsure if she is telling the truth.

"No really! I don't want anything else I promise...," I watch her look me up and down quickly, "scouts honor!" she puts two fingers together in the air instead of the three.

I cover my mouth quickly to stop me from laughing out, but I don't do a good job because I end up letting out a few chuckles.

"I think your fingers are saying otherwise," I say.

A look of confusion crosses her face.

"Not that three fingers is too many or anything..." That finally makes her clue in to what I was laughing about and throws her hand back to her side. Her face has gone beat red now.

She turns to face the shelf of seeds and proceeds to change the subject, "what seeds are we starting with. Oh, how 'bout some melons." She takes a few packs of melon seeds off the shelf and places them into my basket.

As she continues to pick out the seeds for me, I cross my arms and lean against the shelf. She has been chit-chatting away to me as she places things into my basket, not noticing I haven't said a word. She hasn't even noticed the look of adoration I have been giving her this entire time.

"-summer is usually best for sunflowers, which are like my favorite thing ever, but they also grow in fall too," she rambles on. However, that sentence makes me perk up.

"Oh yeah? You really like sunflowers?"

She nods her head aggressively.

"Hm," is all I respond with. She didn't put any sunflower seeds into my basket. Instead she moved on to the blueberries and tossed those in.

We start moving down the aisles of Pierre's store, her rambling on about whatever she can think of with me trailing right behind her like a little puppy dog. She has filled my basket to the brim with everything she has decided I should get. I haven't stopped her from putting even one thing in.

She suddenly stops in her tracks, almost causing me to bump into her. She abruptly spins around to face me. "Why do you call me 'pretty lady'?"

"Can I not call you that?"

"No no no it's not that. I'm just wondering why. Do you think I am pretty?" her eyes are twinkling up at me while she waits for her response.

"I think you're beautiful," I responded genuinely, looking down at her captivating, blue eyes.

Her mouth opens slighting to say something, but then she closes it. She keeps repeating the same process as she thinks of the right words she wants to say.

"Why have you been so nice to me since you have gotten here? I have been nothing but mean to you and you don't deserve any of it. I'm so sorry," she wipes a tear from her eye.

"You aren't being mean to me now, are you?"

"No but-"

"Unless you are going to walk out on me again without explaining why?" I try teasing. I reach my hand up and brush away another stray tear from her cheek.

"Maybe," she chuckles sadly.

"Alright I'll make way." Chuckling along with her, I move to stand off the side, going along with the bit.

"I'm sorry again for doing all of that and constantly walking out on you when we are together. It's just... I have been feeling... weird?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are we never going to talk about the day at the spa?" she blurts out.

My breath catches in my throat and I start choking on air, breaking into a fit of coughs. "You remember that?" I managed to get out.

"Surprisingly,  considering I drank that whole bottle. There are some bits I don't remember, but I remember enough."

"Is this why you wanted to catch me at the store today?"

"I had promised you there was nothing more to me being here. I just happened to bring it up now."

We stand there awkwardly, none of us knowing what to say.

"I'm really sorry I put you in that situation. I'm also sorry you had to see me like that. I had just gone there to clear my head with all my confusing thoughts and then you happened to show up and..." she trails off.

"And then you were telling me you and Alex go there to screw around, taking your top off, giving me a massage and hitting on me," I finished for her. She winces and her shoes suddenly became very interesting to her. I tilt my head and wait to see what she has to say.

"Sorry..." she whispers.

"That happened a lot to me in my high school years. Girls would get plastered, think they are into girls, then try to hit on me or even try to kiss me when they are in that state. I say 'think' because all of them I've seen on social media are with a dude now. Who knows, maybe they ARE into girls and just continue to suppress it. I hope they are all happy with their choices." I give a little shrug like it's no big deal.

Haley has a look of horror on her face. She brings her hand on top of her head, smooths back her hair and puts her other hand on her hip.

"I can't believe I acted like that, oh my Yoba." she puts her face into her hands and takes a deep breath.

"Don't worry, I won't tell Alex. I know you guys aren't together right now, but just in case you guys get back together or anything..." I give her a reassuring pat on her shoulder.

She raises her face from her hands and gives me the most judgmental, but sympathetic look and starts chuckling. "Respectfully...you are really dumb, Danny."

[absgay]

“And I can still see it all in my mind, all of you, all of me intertwined. I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden.” (part 2)

words count: 3,6k.

warnings: 18+ angst, violence, mentions of death, bloody mess, smut, fluff, owen, she/her pronouns, idk tbh. (writing for fun!)

summary: friends don’t look at each other this way, do they? You couldn’t stop thinking about her, things will never be the same.

part one, part three,

• The next week, Isaac had unexpectedly decided to send you on patrol with Abby. Technically, it would’ve been exciting if things weren’t awkward between you two. “Please— I’m serious, don’t walk so far away from me.” Abby said, exasperated. “We have to stick together.” She waited, eyes scanning the street as you walked by. “We’ve been out for hours and we haven’t seen anyone.” Abby sighed. “Yet.” she said. “Look— There’s Scars in the area, we need to stay focused.” Abby’s stomach twisted as the worst scenarios emerged through her mind. She didn’t want anything to happen to you, ever again. “I’ve been going on patrols with Manny and Owen for weeks—” Abby scoffed. “Yes, you’ve been doing good with the infected but you haven’t even encountered any Scars ever since—” she paused, glancing at you. “Who knows how you’re gonna react.” It started to rain, you crossed the street together, an uncomfortable silence installing itself as the minutes went by. “I think we should wait somewhere until the rain stops.” Abby said. “There’s an abandoned bookstore nearby. But we haven’t cleaned the zone yet. We’ll have to be careful, they might be infected or something.” You nodded and followed her. Once you were there, Abby looked around as you searched for a way in, the blond’s eyes widening as you accidentally stepped on glass. “Relax, it’s dead silent in here.” she sighed. “Shit— Something’s blocking the door.” you looked at the broken window right at the second floor. “No.” Abby said immediately as she glanced at it too. “You’re not going in there by yourself.” you rolled your eyes at her stubbornness. “It’s the only way, it’s raining— I’m cold, Abby.” She sighed and kneeled near the wall. “Make it quick.” she ordered as you jumped and reached the window, groaning. “Be careful!” Abby shouted throughout the pouring rain. She waited impatiently at the door, armed and overly stressed until you reached the front door. “Come in.” you said as you opened it slightly enough for the woman to enter the store. Abby closed it behind her. “You’re okay?” she asked, wiping her face. “Don’t worry about me.” you walked to the nearest counter and leaned against it as you dropped your backpack to the ground, feeling exhausted. You could see Abby’s blond braid from a distance as she walked through the alleys and collected stuff before coming back to you. “My boots are soaked…” you mumbled sadly. “You shouldn’t be here.” Abby said, staring at your shoes, her words hitting you right in the chest. “Oh— You’re such an asshole.” you said, arms crossed. “Don’t take it personally, it has nothing to do with you—” you stepped closer. “It has everything to do with me!” you shouted. “You’ve been mean to me all day, ever since Isaac announced it to us. You don’t want me here, I got it.” Abby sighed. “I’ve been stressed out all day, thinking about you. I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N.” you frowned. “I’m not a fuckin’ kitten, Abby.” you groaned. “Right— I doubt it.” you chuckled nervously as she approached you. “Trust me, I know how to defend myself. I can fight.” Your back hit the counter as she pushed you against it, standing dangerously close to you. “Fine— Try me.” Abby suggested. “Do it.” You blinked in confusion as you wondered if this challenge meant something different, something even more complicated. “And this time, I won’t be able to blame the alcohol.” you thought, the tension growing in your chest. So many thoughts and wishes came back in your mind as she stared at you intensely, waiting. “Dammit— Not this again.” Abby thought while having a hard time keeping her hands to herself. “You’re a distraction, Y/N.” she said. “Maybe but, you’re tough…” you smirked. “Not enough.” But then, Abby stepped back, the tension disappearing as you both heard it: Whistles. “Shit.” You grabbed your backpack. “Quiet.” she mumbled. “Maybe they’re just passing through.” You both glanced at the ceiling as you heard noises from upstairs, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs. “How did they manage to—” Abby’s right hand moved to your mouth as she dragged you away.

• “We’re gonna have to find another way out, we can’t use the front door.” she whispered to your ear. Two men arrived in the room, eyes searching for anything to kill as they stepped quietly through the alleys. “What do you mean— We’re gonna fight, we have to.” you responded, armed and ready. “Absolutely not.” Abby sighed in panic, the footsteps coming your way. You breathed in and out, trying to focus as you held the gun tight, ready to shoot. “Fuck this.” Abby mumbled, moving fast and shooting a man down. “There’s wolves in here!” Someone shouted. Abby walked away as the stranger’s body fell to the ground. “Come on, Y/N! I’m gonna distract them—” you turned as one of them shot in your direction. “You’ll run to the door as soon as—” you shook your head. “I’m not leaving without you, Abby!” she pushed you away, shooting back at them. “There’s only two left, I’ll meet you outside!” You walked to the door discreetly as Abby ran into them. “Asshole!” Abby shouted as she brutally wracked a man’s skull. You opened the door and gasped as you saw an insanely tall woman stand right behind it, waiting for you. “Shit—” you choked, the woman stabbing you in the stomach two times as she held your throat tightly with an evil smirk. She threw you against the nearest wall, Abby shouting your name hysterically as she watched the scene. “Don’t touch her!” she yelled out, running straight into the tall Seraphite. She slammed Abby’s body against the shelves, the metallic furniture shaking under the woman’s strength. Abby couldn’t focus on the fight, glancing at your unconscious body laying on the ground as she struggled to breath. “No—” Abby murmured as the tall woman punched her across the face. “You’ll pay for your crimes, Wolf.” She strangled Abby with determination. “Abby…” you murmured, paralyzed by the pain. “Abby.” you repeated, heart pounding in your own throat as your vision became blurry. “Die!” you screamed as you ran towards them, jumping on the woman’s back and violently sliding her throat. “Die!” you yelled again, stabbing the dead woman in the neck as she fell down on her knees, staring at you. “Holy shit—” Abby said breathless and covered in blood. Your knife fell to the ground as you whined in pain, the adrenaline disappearing with the shock. “You’re hurt— Let me see!” Abby panicked as you started to kneel, losing your balance. “No, no, no—” she mumbled, looking at the enormous blood stain on your shirt. “Abby.” She kneeled next to you, holding your body against her chest. “Oh my god…” she murmured, looking at the wound. “Open your eyes, Y/N!” she screamed desperately. “Don’t you dare— Stay with me, please, please, please—”

• “You’ve been sitting here for hours, Abby.” Mel said. “Trust me, she’s gonna be fine. But, after what you’ve been through today, you both need to rest.” she continued. “You’ll talk to her tomorrow morning.” Abby sighed as she entered the empty apartment, thinking about her last conversation with the brunette. She went to the bathroom, turned on the lights and felt sick as she looked at the blood stains on her clothes and skin. She couldn’t handle her own reflection at the moment. She went to bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark as she kept reviving it: “you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.” she repeated, breathless as she carried you to the stadium.

• “Shit— My head.” you murmured. Your brain felt way too heavy for your own skull as you opened your eyes, sitting up against the pillow. Abby turned around immediately, relieved to hear your sweet voice. “Hey.” she breathed, standing by the window. “Hey.” Abby walked to the bed, hands reaching for yours as she sat down next to you. “You look—” she paused, looking at your face, its paleness. “You look exhausted.” you said, your fingers playing with hers. “I couldn’t sleep last night.” Abby admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it… I thought you were—” She sighed, unable to say it out loud. “I don’t think we should work together, ever again.” you frowned. “It could’ve happened with anyone, Abby. This isn’t about us—” she laughed painfully, pulling away. “It has everything to do with us, we were too busy flir—” you waited impatiently, the blond standing by the bed with both hands on the hips as she sighed, too scared to admit it. “Whatever— It won’t happen ever again.” she said. “An entire hour— It took me an entire hour, I had your blood stuck under my fingernails, it wouldn’t go away.” she sounded devastated, the blond’s voice trembling through the last sentence. “Come here…” you demanded softly. “Abby…” you begged, eyes watering. “Get some rest.” she said, then left.

• You knocked on the door once, twice. “It’s me.” you said. “I talked with Manny, I know you’re in here, Abigail.” you continued. “You have five minutes— Open the fuckin’ door!” you yelled as you knocked aggressively. You stepped inside the apartment as soon as the blond opened the door, pushing her to the side. “Dammit— What’s wrong with you?” she asked, closing the door. “What’s your problem? It’s seven in the morning.” Things had been complicated since the accident, you guys barely talked to each other anymore. “Isaac told me something—” you chuckled. “You had the audacity to tell him I shouldn’t be allowed to go on patrol anymore, because I was too fragile and irresponsible.” Abby shrugged. “I can't believe it.” you approached her dangerously. “What the fuck—” you paused. Abby looked down at you, frowning. “You don’t get to decide for me!” you screamed, hitting the blond’s chest as you failed to push her away from you. You felt ridiculous, Abby chuckling at your pathetic attempt. “I just did.” she said calmly, enjoying the frustrated expression on your face. “I was supposed to leave with Owen.” you said. “If anything happens to him, it would be your fault.” Abby snorted. “Trust me, from what I've seen, he’s better off without you.” you chuckled, flustered as you unexpectedly caught the blond staring at your lips, which had truly destabilised you. There’s nothing you hated more than how your hatred towards her could turn into lust so fast, so easily, it was unbearable. “It’s dangerous out there, fuck you.” you turned around, ready to leave. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to comfort him once he gets back.” you stopped. “What is that supposed to mean, Abby?” she rolled her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t look cute on you.” you shrugged, waiting. “One night, you were supposed to meet me at the library around midnight but you didn’t come. I decided to check on you, just in case something had happened or whatever.” she stepped closer. “You walked out of the room with him.” Abby didn’t mention the kiss, as she genuinely felt sick by just thinking about it. “I went back to my apartment.” she finished. “I knew something was wrong.” you said. “As soon as I saw that you weren’t at the library, I knew it. I tried to talk to you the next day at the gym and you pushed me away, you’ve been pushing me away and acting weird ever since.” Abby sighed. “It’s been months— Why didn’t you say anything about it? I didn’t know you still had feelings for him.” she grimaced. “It’s not serious, it’s casual.” you explained as you faced each other. “You’re fuckin’ him— Okay—” Abby nodded. “Should I say congrats?” she asked sarcastically. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve done something, I would’ve stopped seeing him immediately.” she laughed. “Don’t bother, I don’t care.” she crossed her arms. “Okay…” you sighed, exhausted. “If you’d rather be cold, distant and mean than to be honest with me, that’s fine.” Abby remained silent as you walked to the door. “For what it’s worth, your friendship means so much more to me than he ever could.” Truth is, neither of you had the courage to be honest with each other.

• “Is everything alright?” Nora asked. “Sure.” Abby answered as they both walked in the dining hall. “I’m just tired.” Nora nodded, unconvinced. “You’ve been on so many different missions this month, I haven’t seen you in days.” Abby sighed as they waited in line. “Yeah— I had to.” she said. “Are they dating or something?” Nora asked as she saw you and Owen eating together. Abby couldn’t even look in your direction, tortured by jealousy. “I don’t know…” she responded, looking away. “I don’t care…” she added, which sounded a bit suspicious to Nora. “Right...” Nora glanced at Abby, smirking as she caught you staring back. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about, Abs?” Nora asked, grabbing two burritos and handing one to her. “Actually— Yes.” Nora followed Abby through the crowd as the blond searched for a table. “If you could find me some sleeping pills, that’d be great.” Abby sat down. “Insomnia?” she nodded. “What’s the problem? What’s keeping you up at night?” Nora asked. “Too many thoughts…” Abby glanced at you from across the room, sighing as you started laughing at something Owen said. “I see.” Nora chuckled. “The missions, the distance, the insomnia…” she continued. “You’re running away from someone.” Abby’s cheeks reddened. “But it isn’t him, it’s her, right?” Nora asked, genuinely concerned. “I’m not gay...” Abby mumbled, defensive. “Love doesn’t need labels.” Nora continued. “Does she even know or—” Abby laughed nervously. “I— I don’t even know what you’re talking about, I don’t even understand what’s happening to me, Nora.” The brunette looked at you. “Well, she’s really pretty, that’s for sure…” she admitted. “She’s so much more than that.” Abby confessed. “Talk to her!” Nora insisted. “Life’s too short to live with regrets, Abby.” she sighed and threw the burrito on the table. “She almost died in my arms and— Fuck, what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Abby took a deep breath, then exhaled. “It doesn’t even matter, if anything happens to her, I’d— I can’t lose someone else, Nora. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

• “Oh… it’s you.” you breathed, relieved as the tall blond approached the bench with uncertainty. “Yeah…” Abby relaxed immediately as she noticed the calmness in your tone. “She shouldn’t seem so happy to see me, not after our last conversation.” she thought. Truth is, Abby had you wrapped around her finger, but she didn’t even know it. “I couldn’t sleep and I was hoping you’d be here.” she admitted, glancing at the book you held. “Is that the next Harry Potter book?” you nodded. “Did you start—” you scoffed. “Of course not, it’s our thing. I’d never read it without you.” Silence crept over you both as you stared at each other, eyes filled with so many different emotions, both waiting for someone to say something, anything. “I’m sorry… For everything.” Abby said as she stepped closer, standing in front of you. “Look,” you grabbed Abby’s hand unexpectedly, the blond blushing as your fingers gently held hers. “I don’t wanna fight with you anymore, especially over a man.” Abby sighed. “Dammit, you’re cold.” she said, switching subjects. “Yeah— Well, I’ve been sitting here for two hours.” you admitted. “I was hoping you’d come around too…” you frowned as she removed her hand from yours, already missing it. She took off her hoodie, handing it to you with a smirk as she caught you glancing at her abs, since the movement had slightly lifted her t-shirt. “Here.” Abby said. “Unless— You’re not feeling cold anymore.” she smiled. “Shut up…” Abby felt a bit too proud as she watched you pull on the sweater, wishing you’d wear her clothes more often. “Actually, I should probably get to bed. I’m working at the Cafeteria tomorrow, thanks to you.” Abby hummed as she scratched the back of her neck. “Let me walk you to your room.” You tried to hide your excitement as you nodded and looked away, heart filled with joy. You didn’t say anything on the way to the dorm, both overthinking and you glancing at each other from time to time. “Do you wanna come inside?” you asked innocently as you stepped in and turned around. “We could— Talk.” you shrugged. “Sure…” Abby answered. “I’m gonna take these pants off.” Abby nodded and closed the door behind her as you walked to the dresser. She looked at your desk, your pictures and stuff, trying to find something to do, a distraction. But she couldn’t resist it, glancing at you as she heard your clothes hit the bedroom’s floor. “What’s wrong with me?” she thought, enjoying the show as you bent over and grabbed the pants, throwing it away. “Do you want me?” you asked, turning around. “Wait— What?” Abby asked, trying to look at you in the eyes while you casually walked around in your panties and her fuckin’ hoodie. “I said, do you want it back?” Abby sighed. “No, No— Please keep it on.” You frowned. “Are you okay? You seem a bit nervous.” Abby chuckled. “What am I doing here, Y/N?” You didn’t want her to leave, but couldn’t think of a right answer to this question as many scenarios crossed your mind. “I don’t know— I don’t wanna be alone. I thought maybe—” you sighed. “Please, stay with me…” Abby looked down. “Unless you don’t want to.” you added quietly. “Owen wasn’t available?” you rolled your eyes. “You know what— Yes!” you stepped closer. “In fact, he wasn’t.” Abby scoffed and grabbed the handle. “Abby— Wait!” She turned around as you pulled her by the wrist. And usually, you wouldn’t pay much attention to your height difference but as she looked down at your mouth with hunger, you felt vulnerable and weak in the knees. “I don’t care about him, just— Please…” you murmured, dying from embarrassment. You had both been trying to ignore it after the aquarium, after these awkward moments at the library or at the bookstore. But it was undeniable, you could easily silence yourself but not your heart.

• “Fuck it.” Abby murmured as she pulled you by the neck, kissing you for the first time. God, she couldn’t believe how good it was, her warm hands moving to your waist, fingers slipping under the sweater as she held your firmly and deepened the kiss. “Abby…” you moaned, breathless. “Shit— Say it again.” she groaned against your neck. “Abby.” you murmured, hands gripping the blond’s shoulders and head tilted to the side as she sucked on your skin. “Fuck yeah.” You threw the sweater and your shirt away before Abby sat down on the bed and pulled you closer, hands gripping on your thighs as she kissed your stomach, your scars. “You’re beautiful.” she murmured. You looked down at Abby, her naughty eyes meeting yours as she went further down and kissed your cunt gently, right through your soaked panties. “Holy shit...” you moaned, before shoving the woman against the mattress as you got on top. “I’m gonna make you feel so good…” you murmured in the blond’s ear as your hand went to her belt. “Can I?” Abby nodded, groaning in your mouth as you unzipped her pants outrageously slowly.

• The room was submerged by a soft glow, a sweet atmosphere, the sunlight lightly coming through the curtains as Abby’s eyes opened around seven. “Dammit, it happened.” she thought happily, looking at the clothes covering the bedroom’s floor. “It finally happened.” And nothing had come back to torment her last night, no nightmares, no tears, no worries… nothing but peace. The blond watched you, snoring softly as she drew random figures on your back. “Hey.” she murmured. “It’s time to wake up…” You whined and moved closer to the blond’s chest, pulling the sheets over your naked body. “Shit— I’m so late.” Abby chuckled. “I’m gonna head back to the apartment before Manny wakes up.” Abby’s eyes followed your naked silhouette as you went to the bathroom. “Shouldn’t we talk about—” you paused, discovering a real mess on your neck. “Jesus Christ, Abigail!” you shouted, the blond walking to the bathroom in hurry. “I’m an artist.” she said proudly, standing behind you. You looked at the mirror attentively or more specifically, at the woman’s reflection as she stood there, arms crossed over her chest. “Shouldn’t we talk about what happened yesterday?” Abby sighed. “Do you regret it?” You didn’t answer immediately, putting on some clothes as she waited patiently. “It was my first time with a woman.” Abby admitted, insecure. “I don’t have any experience— And it obviously wasn’t your first time.” you smiled, turning around. “That good, huh?” Abby chuckled nervously, feeling warm once again, picturing your dirty mouth down there, moving nice and slow as she gripped on the sheets and moaned. God, she couldn’t control herself around you. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” you teased, a finger running down the blond’s arm. “Don’t do that— Don’t start now.” Abby warned. “You have no idea— I’m already having a hard time focusing on our conversation.” you smirked craving more, the tension coming back as you stared at each other, obscene scenarios in mind. “Shit— You’re so bad— I’m gonna have to leave this room.” Abby said, fits clenched. “I’d love to do it again.” you continued, enjoying this game. “I’ll see you later…” you pouted, Abby walking away. “You’re not gonna kiss me goodbye, Abigail?” Abby huffed. “We both know it won’t end well.”

[boredgirl2004]

The Aftermath: Day 1

My experience with the Book of Bill 

Now I’m not much of a writer. I am a 💧︎♒︎♓︎⧫︎⧫︎⍓︎  writer. I wasn’t good with writing in school but anyway-  I’m sure you are all just wondering why I am writing this. If I’m being honest, I don’t know why either, everything just has been crazy, things I can’t explain and I guess the only person who will probably understand is the man who had to deal with this thing before I did. You can also think I’m just writing this to reach him and his family, to not only get another person's view on this but to know that I am not alone in this ever-lasting torture with this cool ranch dorito demon who didn’t stop giving me deer teeth when I first opened the book and that's where it all started but before I go on my huge rant or story of meeting this being. I might as well introduce myself. My name is Jazmyne, you can call me Jazzy or whatever nickname you have used with someone with the same name as me but differently spelled in every way. I don’t know if I should say my age but I’ll just leave that blank. I am the only girl in my family out of 3 brothers, I am the second eldest, so the middle child I guess. I like butterflies, anime, the smell of fresh roses, and everything involving the supernatural. Now that we got that out of the way, let's start with what led up to this….

The beginning of a crazy nightmare

My parents were taking me to my job. I had been working at this new job as a lab technician for about two months. I saw that there was a new Barnes and Noble on my way to work, and seeing that I had plenty of time; I decided to stop and see if any of the books I wanted were in stock. So I asked if we could stop by and take a look. My parents reluctantly (if I am using this word right) drove into the marketplace and dropped me off at the store. I walked into Barnes and Noble, and the smell of the new books along with Starbucks coffee immediately hit my face, a pleasant smell that I liked. I walked around the brand-new store and saw various books. I found some poetry books I liked, some mangas, and other books that interested me until I saw this black book, it had carvings and a keyhole. It was under the supernatural category next to Stephen King's “IT” and  “The Wonderland Murders ". I assumed it would have the title on the book cover but when I pulled it off the shelf, there was sadly no title to the book at all. I thought the book might have been returned since the cover was probably torn off or lost. I tried to open the book but it didn’t open. Odd isn't it? I gave up and put it back, I thought it was just some sort of decoration since Halloween decorations were coming out next month which was in a few weeks. I immediately went to the checkout with my books and went on about my day. I got back in my parent's car and went to work. While at work, I had to check our products to make sure they were up to company standards and signed off on them so they could be produced. You know, stuff a lab technician would have to do when involving products that’ll be sold out to the public. 

It was a long 12 hours, it even got so busy that I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t even go on my lunch break or my breaks but when I got home, I set my purse down, along with my bag from Barnes and Noble on the floor of my room and exhaustedly plopped onto my bed. I slept in for such a long time that my alarm didn’t go off. I immediately got up and ran throughout the house getting ready for work until I saw a flash flood warning go off on my phone. My boss called me and told me to not come to work. I sighed in relief and went to my room. I closed the door behind me and as I was about to walk to my bed, I heard this loud wet sound. I froze and slowly looked down, I turned on the light switch and saw that the Barnes and Noble bag was covered in this very very squishy black ooze. I was so grossed out that I took the bag and placed it on my desk to investigate what was the cause of this black substance. I opened the bag to see my new books were now the same color as the tar. I was so confused and upset that I began tearing the tar away from the books until I got so frustrated that I just took the bag and dumped it all onto the desk until I saw the blank book from the Barnes and Noble store I went to yesterday. The tar was coming from the book. Which confused me and got me more upset.

As the thunder from the storm roared, I grabbed some gloves and took this weird goo off my books. I wondered how this book managed to get in my bag when I didn’t buy it nor did the cashier put it in my bag. I also thought about how I’m gonna be able to explain this to the employee when I have to return these books. “Oh yeah, I’d like to return these books because this coverless book y'all had on your shelf emitted this black-like tar onto my books and I have no idea how I got this book.” I giggled a bit at how ridiculous the thought was. I yelled in frustration from how difficult taking this tar off my books was. I slammed my hands onto my desk and yelled out loud “IS THERE A $%%## WAY THAT YOU CAN GET OFF MY BOOKS?!!?!”. As I said that, I heard distant laughing, I thought it was my parents laughing at something on TV or something but, everyone was taking a nap in my house but then again, my mom always forgets to turn the TV off after she’s done using it but when I left my room to go see, there was nothing on, nor was my mother awake. I thought it was weird but then again, I always hear stuff that isn’t there. It was my imagination as always but when I came back to my room. The book’s goo was gone, all that was left was the destroyed books I had bought that only repeated the words ``HAHA” and the black book that had no cover but this time the blank book now had a title and a strange being on the cover that was made out of metallic gold paper, it read…

||iᙠ Ꮈo ʞooᙠ ɘʜT

T̵̲̗̫̞̤̳̽́́̒̃͗̈̓͝͠ͅh̴̼̭̘͉̥̞͎͍̔̚͘e̶̳̼̙̟̯͖̗̜͓͐͋̇͋̅̕ ̷̬̜͎̖̾͗̂̌͘͝B̶̧̺͕͖͓͙̀̈́̀̓͂̎̈́͝͝ỏ̵̧̫̯̣͎̟̱͒̅̑͐̎͊̋̿ȏ̷̢̧̻̯̣̹̀̂͌́̒̄̂ǩ̷̢͉͇̰͎̹̖̉̏̎̇̔̈̍ͅͅ ̷̰͉̬̙̗̼̬̺̞͈̃̀̎̿̋̕͝ȏ̷̬̦̏̀̓̾͌̿̎̚f̴̗̝̬͇̗͈̀̋̑̈́͑̽ ̸̦͖̣̘̯͓̩̦̹̦̑͆͛͆̅̅̕͠B̷̛̤̰̳̞̈́̊̍̃̓̊͐͘͝ͅi̸̗͖͑l̸͉̣̺͙̜͈̺̝̉͌́̿̄͋̌̚l̵̻̭̺͔̭̂̀́͋̔̚̕͜͝

Now I’m not going to lie to you all, the cover interested me, and I do like the color gold but before you all tell me “No don’t open the book, just get rid of it! Return it to the store!” I thought about it but what am I going to do if I told them that I didn’t purchase it and it somehow magically appeared in my bag???  They are gonna look at me like I’m crazy and call the cops on me. I love Barnes and Noble but I am NOT getting banned from my favorite bookstore! So, I had no choice but to keep it but I didn’t open it…..at least not until later that day or well; that night. 

That night

I was getting ready for bed as usual. I turned off my lights and turned my fan on. (I love it when my room gets really cold. I hate this heat but hey, these politicians aren’t gonna do jack diddly $#@@ about the situation happening on our earth, no matter how much they promise they will but continuing with the story wrapped my blanket around my body and snuggled my large cuddle pillow. I stuck my feet out of my blanket because if I get too hot with my feet in the blanket, I’ll end up waking up, So to keep my body heat as normal as possible, I like sticking my feet out. I sighed, feeling relaxed and happy that I didn't have to work a 12-hour shift again. I decided to listen to some music before I drifted off to sleep. As I heard the meditation music begin to play ever so softly, my eyes began to get heavy. I quickly let sleep consume me. Now in dreamland, my dreams are a mixture of stuff, sometimes I do dream about things and not remember them because in a way. It was a normal dream where I was just relaxing in the dream realm, I don’t dream at all which is fine because again I am asleep and relaxed. I do however get nightmares here and there but what's really rare is the weird ones, the ones that I either can’t explain or don’t remember but somehow this dream….It was…different. 

I remember seeing a bright light, I heard voices, like a mixture of people talking. As the light slowly dimmed, I could see nothing but black, shades of gray and white. I immediately see an abandoned swing set in front of a sandy beach. One of them was broken and one was in good shape but I saw a little boy sitting alone on the swing watching the waves. I looked around my surroundings and couldn’t see my scenery. It's as if everything behind and next to me was all blurry but the only clear thing was the swingset, the ocean, and the little boy sitting alone on the swing set. As I approach the swingset, I can hear the sound of the waves slowly dying out and transferring to I think an old record of a song. All I could hear was this” 

I was singing this song, 

We’ll meet again,

Don’t know where

Don’t know when

But I know we'll meet again on some sunny day,

Keep smiling through, 

Just like you always do,

Til’ the blue sky,

Drives the dark clouds far away,

Will you please say hello,

To the folks I know,

Tell them I won’t be long.

Once I stood next to the boy and stared at the ocean, I was creeped out by the song but I assumed that I probably listened to too many songs from the past but as I watched the waves, I could feel…eyes staring at me. I felt this gut feeling to look at the boy and when I did, I was face to face with a huge eye, its sclera a bright yellow, and only its black pupil staring right into me. Into my soul. I felt terrified, my hearing was overflowing with people's voices piling on top of each other. 

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”         

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 ““OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”         

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋��ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK”

“𝔬p҉𝔢n҉ t҉𝔥e҉ b҉𝔬o҉𝔨 “ “O̰̫̤͉̿ͥͭ͗͛ͫͣ͊̏͡pͯͦ͜ȩ̢͍͔̜̥̤ͦͣ̾̈ͤ̑̄͐̾̈̂̚͢͜͠ņ̧̧̛̛̟͈̘͔̝̬̲͈̰̣̟̖͍ͮ̓ͯ̾̓̑̍ͪ̅͆̂ͨ͆͋ͧ̋͜͜͞͠ͅ ẗ́_̷̬̠̹̘͓̙̜̮̱̫̱̳̞͔̰̞̰̞͎͈ͨͦ͑̉͒͊́̍̍̀ͪ͗̾̎͂͘̚͡h̟̗̋͌̈ͦͨͮ̊ȩ̸̛̥̬̩̱̝̮͚͛͊̃ͦͨ͐̒̍͛̂̇̓͘̕ b̺̫͎͖͙ͩͯ́̎ͬͤ́_̵̢̢̭̝̜͇̹͎͈͚̠͔ͪͫͫ̀̄͑̔͋̓ͦͦ̆̐̀ͦ̍̚͜o͖͚̩͈̾̽͘ő̶̴̙̥̘̖̗̀̃̚k̷̵̶̨̨̛͍̝̼̥̫͇͙̫͔͈̘̥̟̜̍ͨ͌͑͂̌̈́ͮͥ̂̿͑ͦ̏̊̚͘͜͟͟͝ “

“OᚹEᚺ ᛠHᛊ ƂOᛜK

I couldn’t make sense of what they were saying. All I remember was seeing shadows of a dapper man, a great pharaoh, a wizard, and an elderly man. They had the same eyes as the giant one that stood proudly behind them. I froze, I felt stuck like I couldn’t turn away from their gaze, I felt terrified, and my fight or flight instincts were going crazy, practically begging me to do something! At this point, I could feel my body moving, I was trying to wake up but I couldn’t because of how paralyzed I was. I hated sleep paralysis, it would be the closest feeling to what death would feel like. Being helplessly stuck, screaming but only for no one to listen but your mind and how you couldn’t move your body to be freed from this prison. I did the only thing I thought would be a good idea. I called out to whatever god could hear me.  

“Oh god, or gods or to whoever is good, peaceful, and just, please help me. I am terrified of the dark and I hate it whenever this happens-” As I spoke, there were black arms slowly reaching towards me, these hands grabbing my body and forcefully pulling me down to the black pit of darkness. Pinning me down against the black ground. My tears began to quickly form and fall from my eyes as these hands crawled and held me still.  “PLEASE, I’M SCARED!!!!!” I screamed as I sobbed and the hands stopped moving until they resumed again. My adrenaline began to kick in. I began screaming and biting whatever hand touched my face. My thoughts finally came together, I was not going to let this hold me, I screamed as loud as I could,  and I forcefully got up, a few hands flew off of me as the rest tried to pull me down again. I began to make my way back to the light and felt the arms try to pull me back. 

“WHATEVER YOU ARE, YOU AREN’T GONNA #$$@#*! HOLD ME BACK FROM WAKING UP. YOU HAVE NO POWER OVER ME-” I was immediately interrupted by more arms holding me up in the dark void. I struggled and struggled, screaming and wailing, desperately trying to set myself free from this sleep paralysis. Until I saw a bright yellow light behind me. I immediately felt a hand begin to choke me. I gasped and struggled against the grasp of the hands. I then heard a voice…a weirdly cheery voice. 

“𐌉𐌅 𐌙𐌀 Ꮤ𐌀𐌍𐌕 𐌌𐌄 𐌕Ꝋ 𐌋𐌄𐌕 𐌙Ꝋ𐌵 ᏵꝊ 𐌃Ꝋ𐌋𐌋 𐌅𐌀𐌂𐌄, Ꝋ𐌓𐌄𐌍 𐌕𐋅𐌄 𐌁ꝊꝊ𐌊”

I sighed and cried silently, “Give me time to think about it at least….” I blurted out and as soon as I said that. I woke up screaming and as tears slid down my cheek, I was gasping for air, wondering if this nightmare was a warning or just my imagination.

Note: First Chapter doooone!!!!

Note 2: Chapter 2 is coming soon!! I might make a chapter 3 because I want to feed the Gravity Falls community and myself!

[mggsv]

Memory of You

gn!reader x spencer reid (angst)

summary: the memory of you lived vividly in Spencer’s mind. your scent, your smile, your tears. he’s never forgotten you, despite how long it’s been since your death.

warnings: dark themes, talk of murder, mention of masturbating

( if you find any of these to be triggering please do not proceed! )

Spencer is schizophrenic

It’s been over 10 years since he last touched you. He misses you, you know? He thinks of you everyday, hoping to find you lying in bed next to him, and not the memory of you that taunted him instead.

His morning was the same everyday:

Spencer would wake up at 5 am, another nightmare of that night. He never really got over it, you know? He’d lie in bed staring at the ceiling as he blinked away the sleep from his eyes painfully. After an hour or so he’d finally sit up to feel the empty spot in the bed next to him..

it still has the memory of you too, how you’d sink into the comfortable mattress..the outline of your body lay there, and that was good enough for Spencer. He’d smile and take a deep breath: your scent still lingered somewhere in the room, he didn’t know where, but he loved that it was still there.

After stretching he’d take a nice warm shower, masturbating to the thought of the last time you were there together with him. Oh how he wish he could see you now.. When his shower’s done he gets ready for work. Spencer owned and worked at his own little thrift store nearby his house. He was never really the same after your death. Soon afterwards he was fired from his job at the BAU.

It was a tough loss, but he couldn’t bare the pain of your absence, and they couldn’t handle Spencer threatening his coworkers even if it was unintentional. He was on the edge of falling apart. Until he found the building. You’d always wanted your own shop together. To start off business, Spencer placed in his own older clothes and shoes, as well as taking generous donations from his ex coworkers. It was a great start, and another goodbye as he cut his friends off afterwards.

While making breakfast, Spencer always say a plate for you, too. He missed those moments where you’d cook breakfast together, which always ended up with you being seated first. And as per the routine, he heard your sweet voice call out to him…. “What’s for breakfast today Spence?”

He became used to the memory of you appearing before him at breakfast. When it first started he’d cry and hyperventilate, now he’d smile and close his eyes, thankful that you still hung onto him as well.

“Loaded omelette! And..maybe biscuits? Do we have any more love?” He glanced over at you, smiling softly. You were perfect, head to toe. Your memory so vivid he could feel the realness radiating from your frame. “You” had gotten up to check the fridge, looking high and low before nodding. “Spence..they’re gonna burst if you keep them in such a tight space. And don’t forget to clean the fridge and organize it.”

“Of course- I always do.” He walks over to grab the biscuits while booping your nose. “I’m very responsible.”

When Spencer’s done with breakfast, he serves you and himself. The rest of that morning is quiet. It was around 12 when your figure would stop talking, only staring at Spencer while he got ready to walk out of the door, sadly. He hated this time of the morning- leaving you all by yourself. He didn’t want you to be alone. Ever since that moment..

“I have to go now love, i’ll be back though, okay?” He pursed his lips as he stared at you. Tears began to well in his eyes as you nodded, silent. “I love you.” He says. Spencer tries to swallow the lump forming in his throat. His throat ran dry, and his heart beat picked up a slightly faster pace.

He hasn’t cried in a while. It was big improvement, but this morning.. He couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his face. Wiping at them aggressively he tried his best to be strong. For you, he tells himself, it’s what you would have wanted, and yet his sobs echoed throughout the empty house. For once in over 10 years Spencer remembered he was truthfully alone, and the the silhouette of your body didn’t have a shadow. You weren’t real. The you before him wasn’t real.

But you were real, and you were his lover, now you’re gone.

—

Once Spencer reached work, he took his medicine for schizophrenia. Although he stopped going to therapy about a year after your death, he still took the prescribed medicine to help ease the memory of you that followed him around.

The morning was a slow one, which Spencer was thankful for. He was able to think a little, on life- the things that happened so long ago. He took a deep breath as the scent of your blood filled his nose. “No..” he shuddered, shaking his head as he tried to ease the memory. The tears that he tried so hard to wipe away that morning were flooding back into his eyes.

He could hear your cries…how you begged while sobbing- calling out to him, needing him by your side.

“Spencer..” He flinched.

“Spence- are you ignoring me?” Your voice sounded angry. With a scoff, you repeat yourself, louder.

“..No, i’m sorry love.” He whispered, opening his eyes to find the store empty for all but him and yourself, who sat on the counter where he worked. “What are you doing here? I told you I’d be back-“

“Why’d you do it Spencer?” For that time, in that moment, Spencer hadn’t looked at you. Seemingly, the medicine was not working for him that day. His hands shook nervously, fumbling with the hem of his sweater- one you had got him actually. It was years ago when you first decided you wanted to own a thrift store with him.

…How his face lit up at the thrifted sweater you had found, perfectly fitting his body. It was stripped with a pumpkin on it. You knew how much he loved halloween.

“Answer me.” you demanded. He sniffled, trying to blink the tears away. “I’m sorry I-“

“That’s not good enough, Spence…not anymore.”

“How about we talk about this at home, hm? Somewhere private- the shops still open.” he rushes out, eyes glancing around the empty store. The sky was getting darker, and thunder struck. It started to rain.

The soft beats of the rain hit the store windows in a soothing pattern. Spencer would have enjoyed it if you weren’t there, angry.

“Why’d you kill me, Spence?”

You began to sob. “Stop..” He whispered hands clasping over his ears. “Please stop- love-“

“Why didn’t you stop?”

“I’m sorry, please-“

“I begged, and i begged for you to stop! I just couldn’t understand why my husband wanted me dead all of a sudden.” you spat, and that’s when he looked at you.

“No..” Your body was covered in blood, deep cuts littering your arms and legs. Your hair was wet and dripping, and there were tears streaming down your face, but you weren’t crying, not anymore.

“I was so scared Spencer..” He shakily left from around the counter, backing away from you, who seemed to get closer and closer with every step. “Get the fuck away from me-“

“I was alone.” You watched as he inches closer towards the door, afraid. “You killed me, and you were smiling Spence.”

He runs out of the door, out into the rain.

Truthfully, Spencer loved you. He’d do anything for you, he’d told himself back then, even now he would too. He ran and ran, the rain beating against his face. Still, he could hear you in his head. The thoughts made him sick. He promised he wouldn’t hurt anyone else, not when you came along.

You were perfect, beautiful , everything Spencer could ask for. Everything was perfect…

He couldn’t answer himself after he’d done what he’d done. He couldn’t give a straight answer to his teammates when it happened either, when he’d framed another for your mishap. And surely, Spencer still couldn’t answer to you, when he slipped from the bridge, seeing your figure standing from where he fell.

[chairteeth]

Nemu's life as a wheelchair user and how terrible f4 is at portraying it (or, well, Not portraying it)

Buckle up I have a list of PointsTM. I will be going into Japan's history with disability as well as what life is like on a wheelchair.

First though, because I want this to have the intended effect, I recommend going over Nemu's swimsuit costume story again. It is Very Relevant. I recommend you enjoy the fluff of it too, before I dump the depressing thing about it on you. Though I will say I really REALLY appreciate how far Touka always goes to make Nemu feel comfortable and supported and listened to and cared for in every situation and- is shot.

So, apparently this room has a big mirror, and Nemu gets uncharacteristically giddy and we get this scene that Will hurt you. She even says that she finds this just as important as the liberation plan.

They had ALL OF THE SETUP, ALL OF IT. And now I would like to also share a recent analysis of Nemu's wheelchair that I dragged some wheelchair users to do, then I'll start thrashing and yelling about the significance of such a change. For reference we mainly have the sprite right:

I'm going to provide the relevant texts directly for you:

no theres like zero leg support beyond the foot plate and even the way the foot plate is designed implies that she has pretty good motor control over her legs

ya no calf pads or anyting smh

and whats with the armrests those dont look v comfy??

i doubt she needs much body support beyond the walking there's proper cushioning elsewhere, though

I can't see a headrest either, and the backrest is not very high, so I'm pretty sure she just can't walk and everything else is largely fine

Me:

it's a separate continuity, but in the anime Nemu can stand. We don't see her walking but we see her standing a few times, and some of them are at points where she has to have walked at least a little bit, so I definitely think it's not "100% can't walk" but rather something more complex. Even before she was a magical girl we saw her standing in the hospital, though you could argue that was before whatever anime illness she has got worse

huh. that sounds like chronically ill person energy conservation to me at least in the anime. me and (name omitted) do that, were usually on our wheelchairs because a walk to the grocery store may be too much and we might keel over from the pain or exhaustion. what about the game?

Me:

I don't think she can walk at all in the game? The times she's not in her wheelchair, someone is carrying her, iirc. I told you that the cause of it was her shaving away her life force repeatedly, and I've explained the other symptoms, but truth be told, we don't see those other symptoms again post Arc 1 (which I think is just because she's under less stress and not constantly shaving away the aforementioned life force), and we were sadly robbed of any kind of "discovery" scene where we get her actual reaction and yk, her assessing the permanent damage done to her body?

Me:

I told you guys how soul gems work as essentially the girl's soul puppetting her body, right? My personal theory is that she did so much damage to herself that it significantly weakened part of the soul gem-body connection. I thought it may have been severed, but if that were the case, I'm pretty sure her legs would just rot off, since magical girl bodies rot when separated from their soul gems for too long iirc, plus she can feel temperature on them so

WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US ABOUT THE TEMPERATURE THING

Me:

I'M SORRY IT'S AN OBSCURE ASSUMPTION BASED ON A QUOTE OR TWO ABOUT A FUCKING KOTATSU, THEY NEVER FUCKING TALK ABOUT THE DETAILS OF THE LEG THING, I WAS TRYING TO STICK AS CLOSE TO THE TEXT AS POSSIBLE

Me:

she's also never complained about pain from her legs, she's lamented the whole being unable to walk once or twice ("this body of mine can't help in any significant way") but never said a word about pain or other complications. Granted, she's also a people pleaser who would rather put on a stoic face than mildly inconvenience literally anyone

yea then it might just be she cant do the walking motions reliably. didnt you say she has an overprotective gf? The gf may have argued for the wheelchair thing to be on the safe side

mmmmmmmmmm ye sounds about right

They also talked a bit about control pads and wheels but this was the summary one of them gave me:

So in short, Nahi: mobility and feeling all good, but no walkies or will fall on face and fracture skull

That's the analysis and conclusion of that part, which will help discuss the next one. Now, first of all... I have complained MANY TIMES about our lack of any scene where this permanent damage is revealed to the characters. They skipped over that. Which I thought, oh, okay, maybe we'll get it in a costume story for the wheelchair sprite. We did not get that! And that's important. Because see, Nemu I think might be able to hide her initial raw reaction depending on who was in the room with her. If she was alone or (preferably and probably likeliest) with Touka, she might not hide it, but it has to have sunk in that she would be dead to her family again. And for a character who so desperately wanted to fit in with her family, go camping with them, and presumably do all the outdoorsy and sporty stuff with them, YEAH, A SCENE LIKE THAT WOULD BE NEEDED, especially because Nemu has the tendency to both self-flagellate excessively (Touka also does this) and to hide all of her feelings and suppress them as hard as humanly possible.

With that out of the way, I am going to go on my certified rant about living in a wheelchair. Let's start at the general inaccessibility of Japan. Nemu's wheelchair isn't exactly... compact or foldable from what I can tell so that doesn't help her in the least. Here is a non-exhaustive list of things to consider:

- Less maneuverability or no access at all in some places, such as hotel rooms, restaurants, and stores

- Way longer wait times for nearly everything

- The temples are shitty to access because 90% of them have The Stairs, and the parks surrounding them have gravel grounds that make it almost impossible to run a wheelchair through (or at least, it's really hard. Think of when Sakurako had to carry Nemu on the beach, sand/sand-like ground and wheelchairs most often do not mesh, especially electric ones)

- The general congestion of large cities is not good but at least Japanese people tend to be nice and polite about it and try not to bother/touch wheelchair users, however this is unavoidable and oh boy haha rush hour

- In the end a wheelchair user in Japan is pretty limited in what they can do if not accompanied, which absolutely sucks

Streets are often narrow too so gestures at list. Plenty of buildings, especially old ones, are never really upgraded/don't have ramps or accessible elevators either, and I have literally seen a Japanese building that needed you to climb seven steps to get into the elevator?? Okay, alright, I will try not to bitch too hard. If using Yokohama as a base, the thing with large cities is that actually, the subway and train networks are generally good for wheelchair users (though they have to take extra steps and a trip that would take an able-bodied person one hour may take the wheelchair user double that amount of time, plus the station staff will choose your train for you). Everything else however, not so nice, and again The Stairs.

Now I go on the funny historical tangent! Around the 1960s in Japan, there was an increase in disabled children being separated from their families and placed in residential institutions, many of which were converted from the ones built for disabled veterans after WW2. At the age of 18, many of these children were then transferred to adult facilities where they would remain until death. As you may be able to imagine, these institutions were not great! Cue many many MANY human rights violations, including child residents being used as guinea pigs for their doctors in surgical procedures and disgusting amounts of incidents of sexual abuse towards female residents. The traditional Japanese notion that disabled people should be hidden by their families like a shameful secret was veeeeery prevalent! That is why these places even existed. Those beliefs are, Still ShiftingTM so to speak but it is much better now because hey at least they finally have an anti-discrimination law. By "finally" I mean that ten years ago they did not have one. You see, the literal basic anti-discrimination act for people with disabilities in Japan only came into effect in 2016 (for the reference of the Americans who may not know and for an easy example, in the US, the same thing happened in 1990, which is still recent-ish but not, "less than ten years ago" recent). That's only eight years ago. So let's not even talk about how VERY highly Not Possible a fully wheelchair-adapted/comfortable home would be in Japan. It ain't great chief, basic programs are still being implemented, and I highly doubt people are very widely educated on the matter unless it affects them personally. I think that is most of the funny historical tangent, so... time for me to talk about adapting to life on a wheelchair.

Let's start with showering and bath/general bathroom difficulties. First of all, it's MUCH likelier for a person in Nemu's position to slip and hurt themselves in the shower/bath, not even likely to be able to stop their own fall because Legs No Worky, secondly washing up unassisted when you're in a wheelchair both takes longer and is difficult/inconvenient, particularly if you don't have a specific chair or other thing to help you in the tub/shower (I am unsure if her family would be agreeable to this or if she'd even ask). For Nemu's benefit we are going to go with my interpretation that magical girls do not have periods, because otherwise oh dear god well that's way worse! But yes there's that whole complication and see, if you live with your family you have people you can ask for help. However we are talking about Nemu, and Nemu would rather starve under a bridge than ask for help (in 99% of cases). We have a section for internal effects of leg loss don't you worry but like, girl already felt like a burden before, imagine how she feels now when she actually does have to depend on others occasionally. Showering/bathing must be an absolute nightmare every single day for the poor girl. You don't realize how much you rely on walking and having usable legs inside the house until you lose that ability.

This leads me into another very funny thing: reach. Imagine having short person struggles. Okay, now imagine your height is cut in half and you have to be sitting down for everything. Who wants to bet you are now unable to reach A LOT of the things at home? Bathroom setups vary so that one you can circumvent, however! Consider the following: Nemu displays an enjoyment of cooking. Have you ever tried to sit down in front of most kitchen counters? They are pretty high up from that position. Which is fine when you're maybe just resting on the chair but can stand up/take steps around, but when you can't... well. Cooking just got a whole lot more inconvenient and complicated! Nemu seems to keep doing it, so I imagine she's figured out the kitchen table hack (kitchen tables are often lower than the counters and therefore often used to do the prep work instead of the counter because it's more comfortable). This still does not account for the stove but we haven't heard of Arc 2 Nemu cooking solo, only either with her mom or Sakurako, so I assume Nemu's family has the decency not to send her to make dinner like they do in Arc 1.

On the topic of short reach, have you ever realized how inconvenient doorknobs can be if you're sitting down? And doors in general when it's not so easy to move, really. This is more the case for those with less grip strength or less mobility than Nemu, but doorknobs are still generally placed high enough to be inconvenient, doors depending on how they open can be annoying (though sliding doors I've heard are better, so long as they're not too heavy), and let's not even talk about the heavy-ish doors that you have to push against. Because while that might be easy outside of a wheelchair... not so much on a wheelchair. The inconvenience of doors and doorknobs aside though, and back to public transport for a second, you cannot be spontaneous. According to a couple of Japanese wheelchair users I gnawed at for the purpose of research, you need to warn literally everyone at least 30 minutes in advance if you want to be able to board a train. If something comes up or is urgent, I assure you, you won't be able to hop on whatever train or taxi you want.

For Nemu in particular taxis may not be possible, but f4 ignores this really hard (like most things that have to do with Nemu's disability, given that it is acknowledged as a thing that exists LIKE TWICE after the initial timeskip scene at the end of Arc 1, mainly in Christmas string where she laments not being able to help with physical labor in any significant way due to "This Body Of Mine" [she's very dramatic about it but also this is an important hint to how she actually feels now that she's experienced at the very least months of living like this and now that she's alone with Touka instead of self-flagellating in public]). In Mokyu's MGS, I remember that moment when Touka calls for a taxi very much On The Spot and they both get on to follow Mokyu, seemingly very fast, and I was just like "????". I'm not really sure that's... a thing they can do that easily, f4...

But anyway, how about another item? Let's talk clothing. This is also not something able-bodied people usually consider or think about, but clothing generally was not designed for sitting. It will likely never fit right for wheelchair users, and many pieces of clothing may not even be comfortable, not to mention they may not be able to wear a lot of things (such as long/drapey fabrics that could interfere with movement, whether of the wheels, the control pad, or their bodies), and depending on how much mobility they have, changing itself can be another nightmare to do unassisted, or at least, it takes longer and takes more effort (we will get back to the "effort" part soon). This depends, sure, but it's often worse for kids and teenagers because they're still growing. It's okay though, I'm sure Touka would be really offended about this and would just take Nemu to get clothing custom made. What a good partner. The clothing issue is often overlooked, but Very Much A Thing. Some pants are not comfy to sit in for long periods of time, or maybe they fit well when you're standing but not when you're sitting... imagine only ever sitting.

I think I've made my point with the clothing aspect so let's move on to ANOTHER THING! Yes, I have more. Some things like transferring may be more inconvenient in Japan than they would be in the West. Transferring, in case you're not aware, is what a wheelchair user moving themselves from their wheelchair to another place to sit (such as a dining table chair, if they want, or a sofa), or back to the wheelchair, is called. It may be more inconvenient in Japan because well, The Floor. Transferring largely relies on upper body strength in most cases, and see, you can park a wheelchair next to a sofa or other chair and move yourself there reeelatively easily, but the floor may be a bit harder due to the difference in elevation from surface to surface. Once again, it depends on the specifics of the wheelchair user in question, overall. I've heard a couple of people say that the floor is Very Bad to transfer to and from, but one of them has mobility issues in the upper body and the other has arm weakness (he can only get back up because he's able to push a little bit with his legs).

For Nemu there's also the possible school complications, but I have not looked much into how accessible Japanese schools are for students on wheelchairs, though I do want to call a bit of attention to how we've seen Touka at school in Arc 2 but never Nemu, and I feel like that might be one of the reasons. Studying from home I suppose could be an option, though it would be iffy to me because of the whole part about being stuck inside and hidden away.

Before I move on to other things, let me. Talk about this other thing. That is specifically heartbreaking for Nemu. That being physical intimacy (we're talking hugs and the like, people, don't get ahead of yourselves). Quick quiz question for you to think about before I answer it, have you ever thought of how to comfortably hug a wheelchair user?

Normally, when put on the spot, the typical able-bodied person who has never thought about it says that well, you can just bend over to hug them! And while that kind of works, that is not exactly a "full hug" and also requires more effort and more Going Out Of Your Way on the able-bodied person's part than a hug to an able-bodied person that you can just easily walk up to and hug without any adjustment, which makes it less likely that the wheelchair user will get casual affection through that. A common one is the hug from the back, which works just like you'd do it for any sitting person, however the hug from the back is not exactly common and depends on how close the two people are. And then there's the other main way to do it, if it doesn't hurt for the wheelchair user. Which is the lap hug. Able-bodied person sits on the wheelchair user's lap and that is how the hug happens. Most wheelchairs should be able to bear the weight, since you have to account for things like carrying groceries or Other Stuff already, so the capacity to bear weight is built-in (some wheelchairs can carry up to 700lbs/317kg). However you will notice that a lap hug is a significant leap in intimacy that not that many people might be comfortable with, particularly in a less touchy culture like Japan. Personally I think Touka is princess enough, has enough of an ego, and enough of a bond/trust with Nemu that she'd have no qualms sitting on her lap, but Yeah. Holding hands is another one that may take a while to adjust to, since it's basically a MASSIVE height difference that you can't bridge, and also walking-walking vs walking-rolling (or whichever verb you prefer for wheelchair users) areeee different let's just say and speed adjustment can also be a bitch

What I'm saying is if poor Nemu was already affection deprived before, It Got Worse. I will touch on this more when I talk about the social consequences losing her legs must've had. To sum this all up so far, it's an entire reevaluation of the world you live in. Things that were once convenient are now inconvenient, or at best, don't help you anymore. People are often stumped as to what to say to you or what to do or how to act around you, especially if you bring up any and all struggles that have to do with the wheelchair thing. It's not Nemu's case but if she had a friend group, that would also mean possible distancing from them due to being unable to do as many activities with them or go to the same places as before. The world is built for the able-bodied, and the effort it takes to just navigate life in a wheelchair can be extremely draining. And SPEAKING OF EFFORT, it is time for the spoon theory! Those of you already familiar with it may skip this part, as I'm simply going to copy and paste from the original creator of the spoon theory, but for anyone who has never heard of the spoon theory, please, do read this part. It may help you understand something extremely important for the daily lives of so many people, and it may even give some of you who the spoon theory does apply to a new tool to use. This is the spoon theory:

My best friend and I were in the diner, talking. As usual, it was very late and we were eating French fries with gravy. Like normal girls our age, we spent a lot of time in the diner while in college, and most of the time we spent talking about boys, music or trivial things, that seemed very important at the time. We never got serious about anything in particular and spent most of our time laughing.

As I went to take some of my medicine with a snack as I usually did, she watched me with an awkward kind of stare, instead of continuing the conversation. She then asked me out of the blue what it felt like to have Lupus and be sick. I was shocked not only because she asked the random question, but also because I assumed she knew all there was to know about Lupus. She came to doctors with me, she saw me walk with a cane, and throw up in the bathroom. She had seen me cry in pain, what else was there to know?

I started to ramble on about pills, and aches and pains, but she kept pursuing, and didn’t seem satisfied with my answers. I was a little surprised as being my roommate in college and friend for years; I thought she already knew the medical definition of Lupus. Then she looked at me with a face every sick person knows well, the face of pure curiosity about something no one healthy can truly understand. She asked what it felt like, not physically, but what it felt like to be me, to be sick.

As I tried to gain my composure, I glanced around the table for help or guidance, or at least stall for time to think. I was trying to find the right words. How do I answer a question I never was able to answer for myself? How do I explain every detail of every day being effected, and give the emotions a sick person goes through with clarity. I could have given up, cracked a joke like I usually do, and changed the subject, but I remember thinking if I don’t try to explain this, how could I ever expect her to understand. If I can’t explain this to my best friend, how could I explain my world to anyone else? I had to at least try.

At that moment, the spoon theory was born. I quickly grabbed every spoon on the table; hell I grabbed spoons off of the other tables. I looked at her in the eyes and said “Here you go, you have Lupus”. She looked at me slightly confused, as anyone would when they are being handed a bouquet of spoons. The cold metal spoons clanked in my hands, as I grouped them together and shoved them into her hands.

I explained that the difference in being sick and being healthy is having to make choices or to consciously think about things when the rest of the world doesn’t have to. The healthy have the luxury of a life without choices, a gift most people take for granted.

Most people start the day with unlimited amount of possibilities, and energy to do whatever they desire, especially young people. For the most part, they do not need to worry about the effects of their actions. So for my explanation, I used spoons to convey this point. I wanted something for her to actually hold, for me to then take away, since most people who get sick feel a “loss” of a life they once knew. If I was in control of taking away the spoons, then she would know what it feels like to have someone or something else, in this case Lupus, being in control.

She grabbed the spoons with excitement. She didn’t understand what I was doing, but she is always up for a good time, so I guess she thought I was cracking a joke of some kind like I usually do when talking about touchy topics. Little did she know how serious I would become.

I asked her to count her spoons. She asked why, and I explained that when you are healthy you expect to have a never-ending supply of “spoons”. But when you have to now plan your day, you need to know exactly how many “spoons” you are starting with. It doesn’t guarantee that you might not lose some along the way, but at least it helps to know where you are starting. She counted out 12 spoons. She laughed and said she wanted more. I said no, and I knew right away that this little game would work, when she looked disappointed, and we hadn’t even started yet. I’ve wanted more “spoons” for years and haven’t found a way yet to get more, why should she? I also told her to always be conscious of how many she had, and not to drop them because she can never forget she has Lupus.

I asked her to list off the tasks of her day, including the most simple. As, she rattled off daily chores, or just fun things to do; I explained how each one would cost her a spoon. When she jumped right into getting ready for work as her first task of the morning, I cut her off and took away a spoon. I practically jumped down her throat. I said ” No! You don’t just get up. You have to crack open your eyes, and then realize you are late. You didn’t sleep well the night before. You have to crawl out of bed, and then you have to make your self something to eat before you can do anything else, because if you don’t, you can’t take your medicine, and if you don’t take your medicine you might as well give up all your spoons for today and tomorrow too.” I quickly took away a spoon and she realized she hasn’t even gotten dressed yet. Showering cost her spoon, just for washing her hair and shaving her legs. Reaching high and low that early in the morning could actually cost more than one spoon, but I figured I would give her a break; I didn’t want to scare her right away. Getting dressed was worth another spoon. I stopped her and broke down every task to show her how every little detail needs to be thought about. You cannot simply just throw clothes on when you are sick. I explained that I have to see what clothes I can physically put on, if my hands hurt that day buttons are out of the question. If I have bruises that day, I need to wear long sleeves, and if I have a fever I need a sweater to stay warm and so on. If my hair is falling out I need to spend more time to look presentable, and then you need to factor in another 5 minutes for feeling badly that it took you 2 hours to do all this.

I think she was starting to understand when she theoretically didn’t even get to work, and she was left with 6 spoons. I then explained to her that she needed to choose the rest of her day wisely, since when your “spoons” are gone, they are gone. Sometimes you can borrow against tomorrow’s “spoons”, but just think how hard tomorrow will be with less “spoons”. I also needed to explain that a person who is sick always lives with the looming thought that tomorrow may be the day that a cold comes, or an infection, or any number of things that could be very dangerous. So you do not want to run low on “spoons”, because you never know when you truly will need them. I didn’t want to depress her, but I needed to be realistic, and unfortunately being prepared for the worst is part of a real day for me.

We went through the rest of the day, and she slowly learned that skipping lunch would cost her a spoon, as well as standing on a train, or even typing at her computer too long. She was forced to make choices and think about things differently. Hypothetically, she had to choose not to run errands, so that she could eat dinner that night.

When we got to the end of her pretend day, she said she was hungry. I summarized that she had to eat dinner but she only had one spoon left. If she cooked, she wouldn’t have enough energy to clean the pots. If she went out for dinner, she might be too tired to drive home safely. Then I also explained, that I didn’t even bother to add into this game, that she was so nauseous, that cooking was probably out of the question anyway. So she decided to make soup, it was easy. I then said it is only 7pm, you have the rest of the night but maybe end up with one spoon, so you can do something fun, or clean your apartment, or do chores, but you can’t do it all.

I rarely see her emotional, so when I saw her upset I knew maybe I was getting through to her. I didn’t want my friend to be upset, but at the same time I was happy to think finally maybe someone understood me a little bit. She had tears in her eyes and asked quietly “Christine, How do you do it? Do you really do this everyday?” I explained that some days were worse then others; some days I have more spoons then most. But I can never make it go away and I can’t forget about it, I always have to think about it. I handed her a spoon I had been holding in reserve. I said simply, “I have learned to live life with an extra spoon in my pocket, in reserve. You need to always be prepared.”

It's hard, the hardest thing I ever had to learn is to slow down, and not do everything. I fight this to this day. I hate feeling left out, having to choose to stay home, or to not get things done that I want to. I wanted her to feel that frustration. I wanted her to understand, that everything everyone else does comes so easy, but for me it is one hundred little jobs in one. I need to think about the weather, my temperature that day, and the whole day’s plans before I can attack any one given thing. When other people can simply do things, I have to attack it and make a plan like I am strategizing a war. It is in that lifestyle, the difference between being sick and healthy. It is the beautiful ability to not think and just do. I miss that freedom. I miss never having to count “spoons”.

After we were emotional and talked about this for a little while longer, I sensed she was sad. Maybe she finally understood. Maybe she realized that she never could truly and honestly say she understands. But at least now she might not complain so much when I can’t go out for dinner some nights, or when I never seem to make it to her house and she always has to drive to mine. I gave her a hug when we walked out of the diner. I had the one spoon in my hand and I said “Don’t worry. I see this as a blessing. I have been forced to think about everything I do. Do you know how many spoons people waste everyday? I don’t have room for wasted time, or wasted “spoons” and I chose to spend this time with you.”

Ever since this night, I have used the spoon theory to explain my life to many people. In fact, my family and friends refer to spoons all the time. It has been a code word for what I can and cannot do. Once people understand the spoon theory they seem to understand me better, but I also think they live their life a little differently too. I think it isn’t just good for understanding Lupus, but anyone dealing with any disability or illness. Hopefully, they don’t take so much for granted or their life in general. I give a piece of myself, in every sense of the word when I do anything. It has become an inside joke. I have become famous for saying to people jokingly that they should feel special when I spend time with them, because they have one of my “spoons”.

And that folks is the spoon theory. The spoon theory of course applies to wheelchair users. In Nemu's case it's more of a magical affliction and doesn't seem to affect her beyond the part about not being able to walk, however, as we've covered, that part is significant. It takes a mental, physical, and emotional toll. Then, other than this whole thing, there's issues with agency and independence. Yk, being able to live unassisted. I think Nemu could mostly handle it because I mean it's all she's ever done (insert parentification issues and her basically having raised herself, etc etc). Now here is a fun topic. How about social consequences? They are in fact significant as well! We just don't see it as much because Nemu's social life generally starts and ends at Touka, who is arguably the best-equipped person for this. You can bet Touka pulled three all-nighters to do research on this the moment she realized Nemu was not going to recover or at least not in the near future, and we already know she's extremely attentive from what we saw in Arc 1, so. Literally the best possible person for Nemu to hang out with, who will also never try to encroach on her decision-making or her boundaries, never try to take freedom or agency away from her, etc. Unfortunately there are more people around Nemu who may not handle it as gracefully (or well. Whatever Touka is doing. Her stunted social skills are actually a good thing when it comes to this).

Let's go from worst to better: Nemu's family. They are literally not mentioned again after Arc 1's final battle, ever. Not even when Chapter 8 happens. Not at all, zero mentions, at least none as far as I know. Which is concerning. Nemu still speaks fondly of them in Arc 2, from the Christmas quotes, but I mean. Desperate for love. Desperately learning her family's favorite foods and colors, fretting over what gift to get her brother. Which is just extra sad knowing that she's probably dead to them (again). I don't think it's a stretch to say that Nemu's family would have ZERO CLUE how to handle the entire topic. Common reactions are either avoidance/pretending it's not there, or severe awkwardness and hesitation that there is no way the wheelchair user won't notice. Particularly if they're a very perceptive person who pays close attention to the people around them (Nemu). I think Nemu's family might be the avoidance type, since they're allergic to making any effort to get to know her or yk treat her as their daughter instead of, parentifying her to hell and back at best. But let's take another couple of examples: Iroha and Ui.

I think those two might be the awkwardness type. Which is, "I have never encountered this problem and I'm not sure how to go about it but I don't want to hurt or offend this person" and normally leads to general insecurity/anxiety about mentioning specific things around the wheelchair user, or inviting them to things, or assigning tasks to them because the person fears they might hurt themselves/be unable to do what you asked, feel worse, etc. It can manifest in many ways and is normally born out of politeness or genuine personal concern for the other, but alas wheelchair users are not (all) blind, so they do very much notice. On their side it's also awkward and hurtful, in most cases. It's bad too when they get condescended or infantilized or as I mentioned before people take their agency away. It's that thing where you assume the wheelchair user needs help for (insert task) and that you're just being nice by lending them a hand but hey, hey. Maybe ask instead of assuming and moving to do a thing for them that you don't know with 100% is something they need help with. Maybe they don't actually need your help (cough savior/hero complex) and I assure you they appreciate being able to do whatever they can by themselves. Yes, it's well-meaning, but that doesn't mean it won't hurt the wheelchair user or make them feel bad/worse about themselves. The infantilization thing is often related to this too.

Next and last, the inner consequences of a significant loss such as this one. This part is about self-perception, perception in regards to the world and to others, and obviously it ties into Nemu's previously established concerns, fears, and general IssuesTM. This is another "sigh where to begin!" moment for me, because as I have established before, Nemu has major issues. Take literally every issue Nemu has ever had and them pump them full of steroids, then assume that bits of those issues drop off the bigger issue blob and grow into new connected issues. That is what this caused. There is of course a fun set of new issues that relate to the old ones but aren't fully connected as well. That being the feeling of being broken, incomplete, defective. For a person like Nemu whose worth is in considerable part determined by how useful she can be to others, that's not good. She's very much the type to keep things in rather than express them, except the precious scarce few times when we see her alone with Touka (you'll notice that usually we don't get scenes of them alone together save for Christmas String where there was A Pressing Issue to solve, normally it's the rest of the cast going to them for something so it's not exactly the correct atmosphere or moment for a vulnerability moment, Nemu has them, we see some, but they are Very Few).

The one comment from when she and Touka were moving their books out of Touka's private room in the hospital (still real gay of Touka to casually of her own will give Nemu a permanent space in her private room just so she could store her books), the one where she gets all droopy about being unable to help with the whole book moving process? Yeah that's your confirmation that as suspected, yes, she was lying when she said "this is fine" at the end of Arc 1. This is not by any means fine. Sure she has accepted it and thinks she deserves it but this is Nemu "I am to blame for damaging the economy of Japan" Hiiragi (I have a screenshot of when she said this) so like gestures vaguely. By that point in Christmas String, as I said before, she's probably been on a wheelchair for months at the very least, so she's had a chance to experience what that's like, among other things. I can't imagine she feels great about it. While simultaneously thinking her intestines should be bundled up with a pitchfork every day at noon for her sins, of course (insert aforementioned self-flagellation issues). Because she blames herself for literally everything and likely also blames herself every single time her inability to walk leaves her unable to do something she could've done before, and may even push herself beyond what's safe and healthy for her at times. Therefore, internally, yeah, Nemu is way worse than before. FORTUNATELY the stress of the Magius and the physical strain from making uwasa are no longer a thing and she has a safe place to be in every day with her partner who understands and loves her and doesn't even think of any adjustments as "effort" (of course this is nothing for Touka, she's a genius, I can hear the Toukitty saying with her nose up in the air like that). So that is, one good thing. And she can likely read more easily.

Unfortunately, Arc 2 also brings stress and more guilt due to the factions. There's the NM guilt and the PB guilt mainly, but also the stress of the few people they care about besides each other (such as Ui and Iroha) being in mortal danger. And what bothers me is, the way this entire thing affects and stimulates Nemu's concerns and fears from before is so criminally overlooked and outright ignored? We saw from her quotes and personal memo that she desperately wants to be loved, desperately wants to not be forgotten, and to leave behind a legacy (this is about the being forgotten part too). A common issue for wheelchair users is, in fact, that they are neglected and forgotten about, often only an afterthought, particularly for the administration. And so it annoys me endlessly that f4 are allergic to handling their disabled main cast member whatsoever and neglect her in much the same way her family does.

Anyway, this isn't exhaustive, there's definitely more to unpack, but it's already very long and I thank everyone who has read this far for your time. I hope it helped you guys understand at least a little bit better.

[f0xgl0v3]

Octavian!

Do I know what I am going to write in this? Vaguely. More headcanons because I want to take a break from that rendering of Octavian because I want to work and make something better than putting effort into something I won’t be proud of or whatever.

Also I just want to keep talking about him but whatever,

Octavian never been outside of Camp Jupiter/New Rome is canon in my mind. There have been very few times he has been outside the little bubble, which were,

The Wolf House: where he really just stayed close to the house (obvi. Course I’d love to talk more about the exacts but since we get no information about the wolf house though it’d be a pretty good way to start SoN and then seamlessly blend us into a timeskip of the Gorgon chase but whatever- we are given no information about the wolf house either and aaaaa-) but the Wolf House Octavian mentality was survive through with his wits and try to survive enough to run out of there as soon as possible when he has the training done.

His quest: we get no information on it, but we know that he had to do a quest to become a Centurion (Can confirm this is a rule, check the Senate scene near the beginning, I believe it was Larry the legionnaire that yelled it) though we also, sadly, get no indication what this question was. But I’d like to introduce the idea that it was a duo quest with Michael and Octavian and they became Centurions together (I’ll probably re-read this and then add more on later) but I’d assume this Question also has them steeped pretty deep into the mythological side of the world and they didn’t get much down time. But what little of the mortal world Octavian saw he thought was pretty cool- though he still thinks New Rome looks better. (Because if anyone walks up to me and says the current era of architecture we’re in is better than anything that predates the freaking 1950’s is lying to me and trying to make me buy a house. We have fallen as a society when we started thinking ultra minimalist boring homes that are devoid of any depth or visual interest was the best route to go for our buildings. But that’s another rant from me for another day-)

Siege of Mt.Tam: they had to travel the smallest bit for this but again, didn’t interact with the mortal world much, they all stayed pretty self contained to the temporary camp and the mountain itself.

The cross country trip to go attack the Greeks: this is the one we’re shown in canon or whatever. But this was probably the most chaotic of the times that Octavian had been out of Camp. It was a lot to deal with, really overwhelming to be stuck with everyone with no where to move or anything. But this would be the most he would really interact with stuff like fast food chains, gas stations, all the stuff. And New York, that was a thing that happened. I believe they briefly passed through New York (we know that at some point they’re inside of New York from the Rachel scene if I remember properly) and that meant Hotels, it was similar enough to the barracks that it was fine. Though I think that the whiplash from New Rome to this made Octavian a lot more hesitant about stuff like these cities. He likes modern culture to some extent (insert another Build-a-bear joke. And if anyone asks, I believe he totally gets them delivered to calcedott tunnel instead of going out to a physical store. He has never had the experience and childlike splendor of making one that that needs to change.)

Anyway yeah. I would also like to say that Octavian is okay on a string instrument. However I would like to say that he put all his eggs into one figurative basket when he was a small child by learning one full song only. A 6 year old Octavian skipped over learning reading notes and whatever and just copying the motions until it sounded okay. He doesn’t really know how to read stuff like notes or whatever but has a pretty okay sense of Rhythm.

Don’t ask him to dance though. Octavian may look a little more elegant moving around or fighting but he is an actual newborn giraffe.

Okay that’s all I have for now. Have a rad time and I’ll get out the next couple passes of the CJ map.

[without-school-or-style]

05 - Stamp

Word Count: 711

((Tyr Aldsvider belongs to @asphaltvalkyrie. Please follow her at @the-wardens-torch as well and support her writing! Also, no card for this entry since I changed the idea at the last minute. I plan to write the old idea for another prompt sometime.))

Stacks of letters now parcelled in envelopes and piled neatly at the corner of his desk, Joey crossed another name off the list of his letter writing endeavours. Just one more letter and his task will be complete for the month.

This name was just for Joey’s nostalgia, and his nostalgia alone.

Pulling out a fresh sheet of parchment, Joey took a pause and closed his eyes to envision the recipient’s face from his memories to his mind.

Tyr Aldsvider, one of the first friends he made since Joey lived in the world of Rune Midgard. Blue-hair framed his soft facial features with a pair of devil wings grafted to the back of his ears, Tyr always had that kind of natural sadness to him that made people want to protect him. However Joey knew that Tyr and his fantastic skills with a bow rivalled even the most talented archers and bards of this realm. Naturally, Joey had a hard time envisioning Tyr by himself, as the image of the ranger soon became accompanied by his larger than life warg, Hrimfaxi.

Joey wondered how Tyr was doing. Was he still travelling the world? Finding interesting sights to see? Handmade trinkets to make? Finding people who wouldn’t let his hunting skills to go rest?

But Tyr was in Rune Midgard and Joey now in Eorzea—another world, another dimension. Still, Joey and his burning nostalgia couldn’t help but want to write a letter to his old friend.

Hey, Tyr. How are things? Are you and Hrimfaxi doing well? How much time has passed since I sent my last letter?

Joey asked that to ascertain differences in the passage of time more than a lack of diligence at writing back.

As for me, this may sound hard to believe, but I am in another dimension—a world named Eorzea. It’s a long story as to why and how I got here; however, now that my mission is over, I’ve settled down here and have had many adventures.

Joey paused before continuing. He thought of telling Tyr about said adventurers, but even summarizing them would become a novel in itself. Joey thought to just stick to the facts.

One of the city-states is called Gridania. I think you will like it here. Gridania is surrounded by forest and nature—the woods are so vast, I might not ever see you again! There’s even an archer guild here, as well as a conjurer guild for those who heal others and commune with nature spirits.

Also, you may be interested to know that Eorzea has a prominent crafting and gathering guilds and a robust trade economy. Perhaps you may even be interested in botany and leatherworking. As for myself, I specialize in culinary endeavours, although I’m nowhere near as good as my friend and travelling companion, Lavender Helltear. She’s an amazing chef and I’m her sous-chef. Perhaps if we see each other again, I can show you all the recipes I’ve amassed during my journeys.

He paused. Was he babbling too much? Should he tell Tyr other things such as how he had taught himself different schools of magic, or how he went to the end of the universe to save his friend?

Right now I’m working part-time at a store named Fortunes & Fancies. We specialize in fortunes, forecasts and lucky charms, and also handmade grimoires and inks. Every time I make ink, I think of you and how you keep your own ink and quill on-hand. I enclosed a vial of our own store-made ink and a small sample of our own notebook line, all made from sustainable sources. I hope you like it.

 Let me know how things are going with you.  Hope to meet you sometime.

- Joey

He sealed the package, addressed to him on the outside and wrote Tyr’s name at the top corner. He sighed, smiling a little sadly at how he missed his friend. Perhaps if time and space allowed, he really could visit Rune Midgard once more.

Just for fun, Joey sent the package to Tyr alongside his other letters to the postmoogle. The viera fully expected at least the box addressed to Tyr to return in his return to sender box.

To Joey’s surprise, the box never returned.

[prismuffin]

Heyo it’s me I’m back lol. I hope you’ve had a good day/night and if you haven’t I hope it gets better soon! Can I request a domestic one shot of Scott Lang and his boyfriend (Male! Reader) going grocery shopping together, it’s simple Ik but I thought it’d be really sweet and I need me some comfort lol.

If you don’t want to take it that’s fine too and thank you for the miles one shot I loved it!

A/n: Hunter ofc you can get a Scott lang x Male!reader oneshot I have no problem writing them at all 🫶 I hope you enjoy this one! Sorry if it's a little bit short I wanted to write more but todays not going too great-

Out of Milk

Scott Lang x Male!Reader

( Summary: Scott noticed he's run out of milk but it's nothing that a simple grocery trip can't fix! )

Warning?: Light swearing and Puns? Is that a warning?? Honestly just domestic fluff

!-!more under the cut!-!

“Huh, we’re out of milk.” You heard Scott say as he closed the fridge. He had his lips pursed as he turned to you, who sat at the small kitchen table eating a PopTart. He sadly looked down at his bowl of dry cereal, “guess I’ll eat something else..”

Placing the bowl the counter, he started looking through the cabinets. “Wh- hey, where’s the PopTarts?” “Oh this was the last one.” His eyes snapped to you as you took your last bite of the last PopTart and he groaned. “Well, what am I supposed to eat?” You shrugged “That dry cereal?” You tried not to laugh at his pouty face but it was near impossible with the way he was looking at you. “I’m not eating it dry.” “Then get some milk.” “We don’t have any milk!” “Hun, I meant at the store, let’s go to the store and get some milk- and other things.” You stood and went to his side, wrapping your arms around his waist, bringing your face closer to his. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there really isn’t much of anything left in this kitchen.” He looked to the side and hummed, “I guess it had been a minute since I’ve gone shopping for the house." You hummed along with him and he sighed. "..I'll get my keys."

-

"Scott, remember we need to get real food too." You told him, looking down at your arm where your basket lays and seeing nothing but snacks. "I know that," he scoffed playfully and directed his attention back to the snacks. "I'm just grabbing stuff for Cassie." That was a half lie and you both know it. You let out a nose laugh and you shook your head as he added a bag of Goldfish to the growing basket of snacks. "That's the last one for now I swear." You audibly laughed at that one which made him let out a laugh as well. "For now?" he chuckles and goes to your side that's not carrying the basket and grabs your hand. "Yeah, for now." His smile was as big as ever as he watched you come down from your laughter. Making you laugh or smile just fills his chest with pride and he adores it.

"What are you staring at?" you quirked an eyebrow at him as he stared directly into your eyes with a smile on his lips. "You, cutie." he bumped his hip against yours and you rolled your eyes at him, though by the smile on your face it was clear you weren't annoyed in the slightest bit. "You're so cheesy Scott." He raised your intertwined hands to his lips and gave yours a kiss. "I dis-a-brie." You threw your head back and groaned as he laughed and swung your hands drastically with a large smile on his face. "Was that a fucking cheese pun?" "ha, maybe." "ughhhh you gouda brie kidding me!" Scott gasped and abruptly stopped walking. Turning to you, his shock face soon turned mischievous. "Do you realize you've just started a war?" You smirked "A cheese pun war?" Scott nodded and you sighed. "I'm gonna re-grate this, aren't I?" "Ohoho, that was gouda." "All this cheese talk has made me realize we should probably actually get some shredded cheese." Scott nodded and so the two of you progressed into the dairy aisle together.

You grabbed a shredded cheddar mix and added it to your basket. "You think we should get yogurt?" You asked but didn't get a response. "Scott?" You turned and saw Scott staring at you with a small smile on his face. He always seemed to admire you when you weren't looking. It was something you queued in on before the two of you even started dating. "You're staring again Scotty." His eyes flicked to yours and he smirked, "I can't help it, you just look so gouda today." You stared at him for a second before shaking your head. "Are gouda puns the only cheese references you can make?" You narrowed your eyes at him, "Oh you feta believe I have many more cheese puns." "Yeah? Well I'm getting feta up with these puns." "Alright alright, because I love you, I'll stop." You sighed, "thank you." "But just in queso you didn't know-" "I'm leaving." "Hey, wait up!"

EXTRA:

You sighed as you finished unpacking your last bag of groceries. Placing the cheese in a drawer in the fridge. You were gonna close the door but something caught your eye, well more like a lack of something. You shuffled the old and new products around in your fridge before looking back towards the table where Scott was collecting the empty bags into a bigger bag. "Uhh, Scott.." Upon hearing his name his head shot up, a questioning look on his face as he waited for you to speak. "You're not gonna believe this but.." You closed the fridge and leaned against it with a nervous smile on your face. He shook his head quickly and stood up straight, his hands falling to his sides. "What?"

"...We're out of milk."

----!----

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