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#look ma only half of them are cats

zg0nuwa · 11 months

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Hey, hope you're fine...and i see that you're another fan for Miguel (we are) can you write the father day with his daughter and the reader as his wife please:(?....(i just hate my daddy issues)

★ best dad ever ! ⎯⎯

i don't think you understand how much power you just gave me with this (i had like half of this written already but tumblr crashed and i was one step away from going into my joker era)

miguel o'hara x wife!reader

warnings ; angsty fluff, i tried experimenting with the spanish but i feel like i failed miserably, lowercase intended, i'm not a spanish speaker so you're free to correct me on the spanish.

miguels work schedule was very unstable. there were times when he would be gone for the whole day and then there were times when he could spend most of the day at home. you understood, for the most part, he had the multiverse on his shoulders no matter how hard you wished for him to have a much less dangerous job. of course not everyone knew why he sometimes had to disappear for long periods of time.

and one of them was your daughter. all she knew was that " daddy does very important things and he has to go but he will always come back ".

this year, fathers day rolled up on a sunday which meant not only your daughter was home but also you. for your husband it was a little more complicated. he woke up in the middle of the night to a notification from lyla about another anomaly going nuts in the wrong universe. you loved the ai but in this particular moment you wanted to explode her with your mind.

" i'll be back before sunset, i promise " with that and a kiss on your forehead he left through the portal in your bedroom.

the next time you woke up that day was because of your daughter. she climbed onto your bed and started to shake you lightly with her small hands.

" mom? where’s daddy? " you opened your eyes to gabi hovering above you with her favorite plush animal pressed close to her chest. she had this disappointed expression on her small face. you knew it was because of miguel being gone. she planned this whole day for him, you even helped her organize everything.

" i’m sorry sweetheart… daddy had to go to work. " you pulled her in so her head was under your chin. she clung to you like a small koala bear as you played with her thick brown hair. definitely his genes.

" but, he promised he'll be back before your bedtime sooo, we can still make something special. what do you say about that? "

after a small argument about who gets the cooking part of preparations, which obviously ended with you being responsible for it, you and gabi got to work. as you were looking through your old mexican cuisine recipe book [ that you definitely didn’t bought only for miguel to feel more at home during meals ] you saw your dughter holding a box of artsy stuff.

" cariño, ¿qué estás haciendo allí? "

" making daddy a poster! it's going to say 'el mejor papa de todos'! " you couldn't help the big smile from appearing on your face. you knew how much time miguel put into teaching gabi spanish and it always warmed your heart when they sat down at the dining table and simply talked in spanish, your husband making little corrections in pronounciation or grammar from time to time. but no matter what he always looked as if he had hearts in his eyes.

★

you knew miguels work schedule was unstable and sometimes took him out of the house for a whole day, and you understood. but gabi not so much. so here you are, 10:48 pm on the clock and no sign of your husband. you spent the past two hours comforting her and promising her that it wasn't miguels fault and that he loved her. finally at around 11 pm she fell asleep in her bed. you turned off the cat shaped nightlamp and as quietly as possible closed the door to her room.

with a heavy sigh you went back to the kitchen to start cleaning everything up. while puting away food into the fridge you heard a specific glitching sound and you already knew who showed up home.

" you're late. " you weren't really mad at him , it was just tiring sometimes.

" i know, i'm sorry love... it's just - things got a little out of control. " you didn’t look at him and his first thought was to come behind you and hug your waist hoping it would make you feel even a little bit better. “ was there something that i forgot about today? is that why you’re angry? “

" i’m not angry, but your daughter is. she planned the whole fathers day for you. "

" ay, coño… " he sounded defeated, tired, and disappointed in himself. you pulled yourself away from him and came up to the poster gabi made, its was rolled in a tube to not spoil anything before the big reveal. you handed it to miguel with a tiny smile on your face. he was a bit confused for a second but he got the memo and rolled out the paper to it’s full extent. you could see the tears forming on his waterline as he chuckled. probably because of the spelling mistake made by gabi that you didn’t have the heart to point out.

" me and gabi made a deal for you, you have take us to the zoo tomorrow, and she demands that you let her piggyback the entire time to repay for your sins. "

" i guess there’s no other option. " he said with a smile.

cariño, ¿qué estás haciendo allí? - honey, what are you doing there?

el mejor papa de todos - the greatest dad ever

ay, coño - oh, fuck

#atsv miguel #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman atsv

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bishopsbeloved · 3 months

Text

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)

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.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x fem reader #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #black widow #high school au #marvel high school au #mama melina paramore reference u get a cookie if u spot it

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katiapostsss · 27 days

Text

✧ ˚ · . 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐄𝐀 — anakin skywalker p. 1

˗ˏˋ 📄 ´ˎ˗

teaser:

"just the way you

still like it, i hope."

ᶜ ʰ ᵃ ʳ ᵃ ᶜ ᵗ ᵉ ʳ ˢ : modern!anakin x fem!reader

warnings! :

swearing ..

SYNOPSIS: you and anakin are not friends anymore. not as you used to be. but letting him stay in your home while his own is being renovated doesn't call for friendship... just.. friendliness.

based off this request. hope you like ❤️❤️

〰️

| part 2 > ( coming soon )

knocking from your front door was what finally had you changing from your nightly attire and emerging from the isolation of your room, not without some struggle, though, seeing as it was only 8 in the morning and you were pretty sure half your brain was still dreaming.

rubbing the remnants of rest from your eyes and trudging absentmindedly down the stairs and to the entrance, you had to fumble for the key and unlock the door, then struggling to just pull it open. dropping your hand and forcing your eyes open, you were met with blaring sun and a stout figure. you squinted. "ma? why are you—"

"oh, dear." without warning, she shoved a platter into your arms and drew closer, running her hands down your shirt and straightening your appearance. "don't tell me you just woke up! it's—" she looked down at her watch, "8 am already, y/n. you must greet your guests with formality."

you sighed, looking down at the plate and inspecting the contents. "ma, it's too early for.. fruits." of course she had appeared at your door, at 8 in the morning, with a big dish of strawberries, grapes, and pineapples, because she was your mother. you expected no less.

you looked up at her with a brow raised, gesturing to the platter.

"well, i know how much you like them. we had some left over from the dinner party just last night." she shrugged. "now, will you let your guest in, or have her stand outside all day?"

not without some hesitation, you stepped off to the side and opened the door wider for her to enter in, shutting it behind her once she had begun her descent down the corridor to your kitchen. "a mess, y/n. do you ever clean around here? for guests, at least?" it was not a mess. aside from a stray duster on the ground and one of your cat's toys, your house was perfectly fine, actually.

you rolled your eyes and set the platter down on the kitchen counter, unraveling the plastic wrap from the top and pulling it off. you plucked a strawberry and popped it into your mouth. "i didn't expect any guests. and plus, you're my mother— what are you—?"

"i'm cooking breakfast. coffee is not a meal." she was rummaging through the fridge, pulling out some eggs and frozen bacon and plopping it onto the counter by the stove. you heaved an exasperated breath.

"ma—"

"well, you need to eat something," she drawled, clicking her tongue. you gave up the fight, turning back to the fruit and rounding the counter so you could sit in one of the many chairs lining it. the crackle of cooking yolk and simmering heat filled the quiet. your mother hummed as she worked, and you focused solely on the fruit, slightly appreciative of this meal.

"you know, anakin's back in town for the summer. george and i hope it's to stay. that boy is always on the move." she chuckled, shaking her head. you looked up from the platter, brows pinning together, surprise etching into your features.

"he is?" from what you knew, your best friend since childhood had been out in new york, for reasons that never got to you. or maybe it was dallas? spokane? you had no idea. you never did. it was true, anakin was always moving around, as if scared to settle. it was why you had stopped talking so much. not because of any miscommunications or fights, but just because he left so often, that it was hard to keep in touch. he had ambitions. hopes. feelings and things to do that you never had even known of, ever even dabbled in. he was always that type. to want everything all at once. you stopped trying after a while. it all came to be too much, and prior to the fallout, there was no implication he cared much, either. not that you cared. you didn't. sure, it sucked to see a friend go, but maybe that bond was always meant to fray, as childhood friendships always do.

you looked back down at the fruit, swallowing thickly and deciding you did not want to eat any longer. "i never thought i'd hear those words, actually," you quipped as you pushed away the platter, even as a frown came to your lips. your mother laughed. "how— how is he?"

"oh, good. all good. he visited last night, y'know. at the dinner. he looked well. god, he grew. oh, and he's renovating. his house, i mean. needs somewhere to stay until it's done..." she trailed off, turning with the pan and a plate and eyeing you as she stepped up to the counter and slid the egg onto the glass. you bristled, understanding what she was implying.

"so that's why you're here.. mom, we don't even talk anymore! it would just be weird to invite him here out of the blue! i can't just..."

"but you could talk again," she countered, shrugging and turning to the sink. the pan clinked against the metal. "and don't act like it wouldn't be good for you, either. you've been wasting away in this house. some company would be a well fit for you." she walked back over with a fork and pushed the plate to you, but you had already lost your appetite. you looked distastefully down at the eggs.

"ma..."

"just consider it, y/n. i know you like your privacy, or whatever you call this.." she gestured to the house and trailed off without finishing the sentence. you rolled your eyes. "but really, just think about it, okay?" a moment of silence. "well, i've got to get to my pilates classes. eat all of that, y/n. i didn't make it for the trash, now did i?"

you sighed in defeat as you watched her pat her leggings and pull out her car keys, which jingled loudly when she waved goodbye and whooshed down the hallway, the sound of the door opening and closing following in suit. you watched her leave, eyes remaining on the bend and fingers balled tightly, your shoulders slumped inward. maybe she was right. you were getting tired of this isolation, this complete quiet. maybe... just for a month or two, this stranger with a past you shared could move in until his renovations were over.

you didn't know how long you sat there, thinking, before you ultimately reached for your phone in your pocket and pulled it out, unlocking it and swiping to your messages. you weren't sure if you still had his number personally, but surely on some group chat... and there it was. you clicked onto his information and the typing bar came into view. all you had to do now was actually write him. you hesitated. this was nothing, certainly. just being friendly, even for somebody you weren't friends with anymore.

hey, it's y/n. my mom told me you were back in town? you typed up, hitting send before you could think badly of it. immediately, you set the phone facing down on the table, making yourself get up and do something with yourself to ease the anxiety. it was 30 minutes later that he responded.

---

Hey, it's been a while.

Yea, I'm back in town. Do you need something?

You don't usually text.

you laid in bed, staring at the three, gray boxes, before responding.

oh, no, i don't need anything. i just heard you were getting renovations done, and decided to reach out and see if you needed a place to stay or anything.

sorry about this suddenness, i just know you don't usually stay here a while, and my mom was telling me all about it, so...

the jumping circles popped onto the screen. you bit your lip and tried to keep yourself from further simplifying this conversation.

Oh, I mean, that would be great. Renting here is harder than I'd thought it would be 😭😭

yea, it's always hard in small towns...

i just figured you'd appreciate it. i really don't mind. stay as long as you'd like, in fact. it's getting boring all alone, anyways

Thank you, Y/n. This is really a big help. The renovations won't take that long.

good to know :)

just come by whenever you'd like. my door is always open.

---

and open it was indeed.

---

when the doorbell rang, you made yourself calm down. made yourself breathe, before you walked down the stairs and unlocked the entrance. there he stood.

"hi." it really wasn't that big of a deal. in fact, it hardly meant anything at all. you knew he wouldn't bother you, even if you didn't know him that well anymore. so why were you so nervous, standing in front of him, surveying his every movement, his new appearance?

the last time you saw anakin skywalker was christmas dinner 3 years ago. he had been a thin, tall boy. now, he was a broader, taller man. his jaw was more strongly-set, his features a sharp fit of lines and angles, and his eyes, darkly blue in the shadows and shade. fortunately, he seemed just as nervous.

"hey," he spoke, lightly smiling, which surprised you, how easily his expression averted. you shifted on your feet awkwardly, clearing your throat.

"well, uhm, come— come in." you motioned him inside, stepping away from the door for him. "i'll show you around, and everything."

anakin nodded, licking his lips and stepping in. he let the handle of his suitcase drop and grabbed the smaller handle instead, lifting it off the ground. you took it from him, setting it aside.

"new house?" he asked, looking around.

"oh, yea. it's nothing much." you shrugged, following his gaze. "here, your room's upstairs." beforehand, you had cleaned every crevice and crack of the house thoroughly, and now, it was pretty much spotless. you heard him following behind you as you walked up the steps, pushing open the door across from yours and allowing him in. you cleaned this room extra thoroughly.

"this is it. if you need anything at all, just tell me. other than that, the essentials are all in here." you watched him walk inside, leaving his bag by the door. he turned to you, smiled.

"thank you for this, y/n. really, it's a huge help. i'm sure you know that, though."

you laughed it off, waving your hand in dismissal. "really, no need for thanks. just doing what friends do." though... the words felt somewhat sour on your tongue. anakin only nodded, shoving his hands in his the pockets of his hoodie. he stood in this casual sort of way, that made your own, awkward stance, look out of place.

"so, how are you, anyways? i just realized, we haven't caught up or anything. it's been... what..."

"3 years," you quickly filled in for him, shoulders bunching. he cocked his head.

"wow, already, huh?"

you swallowed, nodding. "yea.. already..." though it didn't feel like "already". "so, how.. how are you? how was new york? that's where you went, right?"

anakin ran a hand across his neck, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he set his teeth. "i've been good. new york was.. nice, yea. a bit... congested, but good. very pretty. it was nice to get away for a bit, y'know?" so 2 and a half years for him was "a bit". you bit the inside of your cheek.

"of course.. and you went... because...?"

you expected a quick response. something astounding. something unfathomable for a girl who'd lived in the same town her whole life. something only the streets and corridors of new york city could bring forth. but all anakin did was shrug and say, "job offering", which you wholeheartedly doubted.

"and how are you?" he asked a bit more awkwardly than before. you, confused, cleared your throat.

"yea, i'm good, too. i've been doing well. my mom says i need to get away for a bit, like you did. but... i don't know. i think we're opposite in that sense. i like it here." you shrugged, looking down at your feet. you saw him nod, and before he could say anything in response, you perked and slowly ran your hands down your jeans. "well, again, if you need anything, just let me know. feel free to make yourself comfortable, cook something to eat from the fridge or something."

anakin nodded, licking his lips. "alright. thanks again."

"any time, of course." and you backed out.

---

the morning sun had you squinting your eyes, rubbing the dregs of sleep from your face, and avoiding all the windows as you made your way downstairs and through the corridor to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

you hadn't seen anakin since last night, after you'd left his room and given him space to unpack. you were unsure where he was now, but you'd seen his car parked in your driveway, so he must've been home. and sure enough, there he sat, at the counter, looking fully awake. because only anakin could look fully awake at 9 am. he was nursing some cereal.

"up already?" you asked, sending him a nod of acknowledgment and turning to the coffee machine. "some things never change, huh?"

he chuckled behind you. "i guess not, especially since you still wake up late."

"you sound just like my mom." you filled the empty compartment with water and turned on the machine, turning to the counter at which he sat and sending him a smug look, before disappearing below to search for a mug. when you remerged you held up two. "coffee?"

he cocked his head, dropping his spoon in his now-empty bowl and leaning back in his chair. "i don't like coffee. thought you'd remember that."

you sighed a sarcastic 'ahhh', turning back around with both and setting one on the machine. "shame. i make the best coffee this town's ever had."

"oh, trust me. i remember just how it tasted," he laughed, and you chuckled yourself, slightly aching to remember that small little film shoved to the back of your head. 16, and best friends for what looked like would be life.

"then you should remember its awesomeness," you shot back, pushing away the thought. "or you should really polish up your memory. unless i can just make you one and restore it back to new right now?" the machine rumbled as it emptied gritted beans into the holder, and then, black liquid into your cup.

"still a no," he said anyways. you felt him walk up behind you, and you thought, for a moment, that he'd join your side, or something, but instead, he turned to the sink and began washing his dish and spoon. well, at least he had manners.

"one day, maybe." as the coffee worked, you turned to the kettle and heated up some water, pulling tea from your cupboard. you waited by its side, tapping your nail against the counter. "and how'd you sleep? is there anything i can get you, at all?"

over rushing, steaming water, anakin shook his head, turning off the faucet and wiping his hands on a nearby towel. he turned to you once done. "no, i'm good for now. and shit, your pillows are fucking clouds, did you know that?"

you laughed, turning around once you heard the beeping from the kettle. "what, you've been sleeping on bricks or something?" you grabbed the handle and emptied the liquid into his mug.

"feels like it compared to yours." when all was done, you left your own beverage on the machine, and instead, took the other cup of herbal water, turning to anakin, who had found his way back to his seat, watching you work, and pushing the mug to him across the table.

"just the way you still like it, i hope." obviously, to remember his favorite drink, you had the better memory of the two.

hey guys im back 🫶🏻🫶🏻

@blairwaldrfsworld i just feel like i had to get this out 'cause i know it's been a while since you requested it so i feel bad 😭😭 part 2 will be out soon i hope🙏🏻🙏🏻

also, can you tell the end was rushed? 😻😻

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sarahsmi13s · 8 months

Text

Baking Playlists

for @roosterforme 's rocktober event!!

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x pilot!reader (callsign: cookie)

characters: jake seresin, reader, jake's parents and sister

warnings: language, slightly suggestive, domestic hangman, hangman acting like a man child

word count: ~1.9k

a/n: the song that inspired this is def leppard's pour some sugar on me, i took it in the very literal sense 😅

summary: it's jake's parents anniversary and you want to do something sweet for them, however jake is awful in the kitchen and is a huge distraction

Jake didn’t know what to expect when he invited you to come with him to his parents place while on his leave after the uranium mission. Maybe just you and his sisters hitting it off right away, and going shopping with his mom. Or rolling around in the grass with the herding dogs and the barn cats. Hell, maybe you would have made a friend with the deers that randomly showed up on the property.

But he didn’t expect this.

You and Jake had managed to take over his mother’s kitchen one afternoon while she was gone for a few hours with multiple errands and then come home really quick to change and to go out for her and his dad’s anniversary.

“Okay, what are your parent’s favorite cookies?” You asked Jake, looking around his mother’s kitchen.

He blinked at you, “Oh um… I think Ma likes blueberry lemon cookies and Dad likes sugar cookies.” You nodded at him with a grin before moving around the kitchen and grabbing ingredients and finding the recipe for both cookies.

“Why-why do you ask?” Jake asked, leaning against the island as he watched you move. “We’re making cookies for your parents for their anniversary, Honey,” you said as you moved to go to the fridge.

Jake snatched your arm, “Sugar, you just met them. You don’t-” “I’m doing it and so are you,” you said,with an authority in your voice that made Jake want to stand at attention.

“Sugar, you know I’m terrible at baking. I’m a wiz on the grill but you ask me to bake a cake and I’m lost.”

You arched a brow at him, “The directions are on the box Jake…” He fixed you with a look, “And you know how I feel about directions, Sugar.”

Scoffing with a laugh, you shook your head, “Either way, doesn’t matter. My callsign is Cookie for a reason. I just need your help, you don’t have to touch the oven. Please baby?”

Jake clenched his jaw and looked away from your puppy dog eyes, knowing he’d give in the moment he looked in them. “Pleeeaaaseee Jakey?” You tried again, gripping his shirt and pouting. But Jake wasn’t gonna give in, not without something in return.

“Okay, I’ll help-” “Yes!” “But-” Your face dropped, “No, no not the ‘but’.” He chuckled before pulling out his phone, “I get to pick the music.”

You huffed but nodded, “Fine.” He grinned triumphantly and pressed his lips to yours, “But you can’t get distracted, got it?” He chuckled, “Yes ma’am.”

For the two batches of blueberry lemon cookies, Jake had behaved and was actually helpful. He only pulled you into a few serenades and air guitar concerts when the song was a mutual favorite.

But as you started mixing the sugar cookies, one of Jake’s favorite songs came on.

As Shenendoah’s Two Dozen Roses faded out, Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar On Me’s classic intro filled the kitchen.

Jake practically gasped and his eyes cut to you.

“No, Jake, I’m trying to make your dad's cookies. Don’t even think about it,” you scolded, not even having to turn to him to know he had a devious grin on his face.

Jake just rolled his eyes and leaned on the island, dramatically lip syncing to Joe Elliott. He was doing his best to get your attention and get you to abandon the dry ingredients in front of you.

You managed to ignore him as you scooped out the first two cups of flour.

But as it turns out, Jake is hellbent on getting your attention.

So as you scooped out the last half cup of flour, he grabbed your hips to spin you around. “You gotta squeeze a little, squeeze a little / Tease a little more / Easy operator come a knockin' on my door~,” Jake sang as he spun you.

“Jake!”

He stopped and looked at you, “What? What happened?” You huffed and dropped the now empty cup onto the granite countertop. With your arms bowed at your sides you looked down to survey the damage.

Your once black shirt was now covered in stark white flour. Your socks were no better and your legs were covered in flour as well.

“Oh, shit,” Jake said, a huff of a laugh behind his words. But he swallowed it and covered it up with a cough as he looked at the mess he knew he made. “Sugar-” You held up a finger, “Not now Jacob Dallas. You had one job.”

“I honestly didn’t think that would happen Darlin’, I swear.”

You shook your head and took a breath, “Get the broom and the dust pan, clean it up. Please.” Jake sighed, “Yes ma’am.”

He sulked over to the pantry to retrieve the items and you turned back to the bowl.

Def Leppard was still singing as you looked in the bowl and Jake started sweeping.

“Pour some sugar on me! In the name of love!”

You smirked a little and looked from your bowl to your boyfriend, who was still mumbling along as he cleaned up the mess.

With a perfect idea, you dipped your fingers into the bowl and grabbed a good amount of flour in them.

Jake stood up straight after having bent over to pick up the dust pan, “Okay I got it.” You hummed and shook your head, “Missed a spot.” Jake’s brow furrowed and he looked down, “What, where?” You lazily pointed to the floor, “Right there.” “Where?” He looked up at you, confused, “Sugar I don’t-” “Right there,” you giggled as you looked at Jake’s face, which was now covered in flour.

“Cookie, did you just?” You laughed harder as you nodded, “Sure did! That’s what you get, JD.”

Jake growled a little and wiped his face, “Was that necessary?” You shrugged innocently, turning back to your ingredients, “Maybe, maybe not.”

He shook his head but laughed, “Okay truce?” You giggled lightly and nodded, “Yeah, truce.”

“Kiss on it?”

“Not until you get the flour of your lips. Raw flour tastes disgusting.”

Jake groaned but complied, tossing the contents of the dust pan away before going to the sink.

He grabbed the sprayer hose and turned the faucet on, spraying any remaining flour off of his face. With a tea towel, he patted his face dry before looking at you. He looked back at the nozzle out of the corner of his eye, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Hey Sugar, look at me, I think you have something on your face.” You hummed and did as he said, “Oh do I? Whe- Jacob Dallas Seresin!”

You let out a high pitched groan and glared at Jake, only to get more upset to find him gripping his sides as he laughed.

Oh, if he wants to play that game you will gladly play that game.

Grabbing an egg you walked over and broke it on his chest.

Jake grunted a little at the impact before looking down and watching the shell fall to the floor.

With his head still down, he looked up at you through his brow. Your stomach dropped and you knew you had unleashed the beast that is the ‘Hangman’. This was a competition now, and he was gonna do whatever it took to win.

“Jake, Honey, Baby, Sweetheart, let’s talk about this. There’s no need to do anything rash,” you attempted feebly. But it was no use.

Jake was quick to grab the bowl of mixed wet ingredients and pour the contents on your head before you had the chance to run.

“At least it’s good for your hair,” he quipped off as he sat the bowl on your head.

The cold mixture of egg mixed with vanilla extract dripped down your face as you took the bowl off your head. Sniffing a little, you sat it down before wiping away the liquid from your face and wiping your hand on Jake’s shirt.

“I will beat you like an egg, Hangman.”

Not too long after the food fight broke out, Deana and Levi, Jake’s mom and dad, came home.

Needless to say, Deana wasn’t prepared to see the disarray her kitchen was in.

Flour, eggs, and sugar coated the counters and the floor; it also happened to be covering her son and his girlfriend as they continued to throw handfuls of the powdery substance everywhere.

She wasn’t angry… okay maybe she was a little upset. But she could see the look on both of your faces as you laughed and made strong memories together in her kitchen and it filled her with joy… even if the kitchen looked like a warzone.

“Um, Jake, my darling son, what.. um.. what happened to my kitchen?” She asked, trying not to laugh at the mortified looks on your faces seeing her and Levi standing in the doorway.

“Oh, um.. Well you see… Y/N and I were-” Jake stopped seeing that both of his parents were nearly ready to explode with laughter and he relaxed. “We– Y/N was trying to make you cookies for your anniversary and I was helping. A song came on and I made her spill some flour and then one thing led to another and we ended up here.”

“Awe, Y/N honey, that's so thoughtful. Thank you.”

You nodded, smiling, “Of course. But um we unfortunately only got the blueberry lemon ones done… Sorry Mr Seresin, we can definitely still make you some in the morning, after we restock your ingredients.”

“Wait seriously? You’d do that?”

“Levi Micheal,” Deana scolded, slapping him on the arm. “You can eat the blueberry lemon ones, do not make her wake up early to make you cookies.”

“It’s really no problem, I don’t mind doing that.”

Before Levi can speak, Deana covers his mouth, “Only if you want to do that. But don’t feel obligated.”

“We’re definitely restocking your ingredients though Ma, most of your flour is on the floor…”

She smiled and carefully walked over to kiss his cheek, “Thank you, baby.” She kissed your cheek too, “Thank you too. Now at least I know why Jake calls you ‘Sugar’, cause you’re sweet.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s why he calls her that Mama,” Jake’s youngest sister, Lyla, commented as she walked through the cleaner side of the kitchen to grab a snack before going back to her room.

“Lyla Blake-” Jake muttered in a threatening tone. “Oh don’t get your flight suit in a knot, I’m only half-joking,” she smarted off, dodging Jake’s egg cover hand making a grab at her as she left.

Deana opened her mouth and looked between them, pointing back and forth. “You know what, I’m not gonna ask.”

“Probably for the best DJ,” Levi chuckled, kissing her cheek before retreating upstairs.

She shook her head with a playful eye roll, “Okay, I know it’s late, but I need you both to clean this up and when you’re done, go hose off in the backyard. Got it?”

You and Jake nodded dutifully, “Yes ma’am.” “Alright goodnight.” “Goodnight Ma.” “Goodnight Mrs Seresin.”

She went upstairs and you and Jake looked at each other before surveying the catastrophe around you.

“You do know the song is about s-”

“Jacob Dallas-”

“Shutting up.”

hi, hello, thank you all for reading and making it to the end! i hope you enjoyed! and for this particular event i've got one more to do so be on the look out for that 😉

top gun taglist <33: @milesdickpic @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @sebsxphia @nobody7102 @djs8891 @desert-fern @startrekfangirl2233 @horseshoegirl @cassiemitchell @mayhemmanaged @roosterforme

#top gun rocktober #jake seresin x reader #pour some sugar on me #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #hangman imagine #controlled chaos squad #hangman x reader #hangman fic #hangman top gun #jake seresin #tgm fic #sarahsmi13s

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mostmagical · 9 months

Text

Green & Red & Black

my mind has been inundated with misternette thanks to @spicysummer22's art (go LOOK) so I promised I'd write a fic

fits in canon somewhere between Passion and Elation

Ao3

Lady Noire touched down to the street, the miraculous on her finger ringing only more desperate by the second. Hurriedly, she flung herself into the alleyway with only a single cursory glance to ensure she was alone.

“Claws in,” she huffed, her transformation melting over her shortly after.

Plagg groaned despondently as she caught him in her hands. The swap had been last minute and unexpected, being that their fight with Safari had only been a few days prior. She would have thought Monarch would have come up with a better half-baked plan after that defeat, knowing she and her kitty would always figure out a way to beat him.

“Sorry, Plagg,” Marinette sighed. “I only have a strawberry macaron. Is that okay?”

He opened one green crescent eye to look at her, remaining spread eagle in her palm. “I guess it’ll do,” he agreed.

Marinette smiled and fished the snack out of her purse.

“Eat up.”

She couldn’t believe her luck. Her cataclysm had missed early on, and the battle continued. The bad timing had forced her to duck away before Chat– er, Mister Bug could even call for his lucky charm. Hopefully, he was managing out there okay on his own.

She would never forgive herself if anything happened to his pretty face while she was gone.

Plagg was taking his sweet time biting into the macaron, all the while dribbling crumbs all over her hand. It was as though the little cat kwami had no sense of urgency anywhere in his tiny body. Marinette tapped her foot impatiently.

“Can you hurry?” she worriedly asked, peeking out of the alleyway and into the open street. It was too quiet.

“I’m going as fast as I can, Pigtails,” Plagg replied with a roll of his eyes. “I swear, you kids have no idea how to savor your food.”

“Time and place, Plagg.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Marinette cast another distracted glance out into the street. “I’m just worried about him,” she said, chewing on her lip.

“I get it,” Plagg replied around a mouthful of macaron. He made a loud gulping sound as he swallowed. “But he’s smart, you know. He can take care of himself just like you can take care of yourself.”

“Sure, sure…” She waved at him with her free hand, no longer fully listening as the air became stiller.

“Actually,” Plagg continued, chewing thoughtfully, “why are you worried about him? Since when do you–” His eyes went wide, and his chewing halted. He groaned. “Tikki wasn’t joking. It’s you, too.”

Marinette wrenched her eyes away from the street, narrowing them instead at the little cat kwami in her hands. “Me too, what?” Her face wrinkled in confusion.

Plagg opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get anything out, a wave of ladybugs passed over them.

Oh. He did it…

Marinette felt a swell of pride fill her chest for her partner. He was getting better and better at wearing her earrings. Maybe they should plan to swap every once in a while. And not just because she wanted to see him in her colors more often.

(Okay, maybe it was a little of that.)

“See?” Plagg smiled, his tiny arms placed on his hips in pride. “I told you he was fine.”

Marinette giggled at his display. She reached out her pointer finger to give him a scratch between the ears, earning herself a quiet purr. “Yes, you did,” she said. “We better get back out there to swap miraculouses again. Claws–”

“M’Lady!”

A tumble of red and black crashed into her, throwing her body hurtling towards the ground with a grunt. Marinette braced for impact, but there was none. Instead she found herself suspended in the air by two strong hands clasped around both her wrists. Slowly, she opened her screwed-shut eyes to green.

Mister Bug stared down at her, his mouth dropped open in a gasp.

“Ma-Marinette Dupain-Cheng?” he stuttered. (Since when does Chat Noir stutter…?)

Marinette tried to speak, but nothing came out. She could only vigorously nod her assent. Yes, that was her name, but she would have answered to anything he called her, surely.

At her silence, Mister Bug took notice of her position, still hanging in the air by her arms. With a worried breath of air, he pulled her up, one of his hands landing on her waist and sending fire up her spine.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” he fussed. His green eyes roved over her body as if checking for any scratches, despite the fact that he had saved her from feeling even a brush of the pavement.

Marinette blinked up at him, still disoriented from her near-fall and the cosmic pull of his eyes. “Don’t worry about me. I only just fell for you,” she said.

What.

Mister Bug’s eyes widened, blinking owlishly at her as red pooled his cheeks.

Oh, she loved how much that mask allowed her to see more of his handsome face…

Stop that!

“I mean—! Um!” Marinette scrambled to halt the unintelligible mess threatening to pour out of her mouth, but all she succeeded in doing was tying her own tongue into knots. “Don’t worry about me! You saved me! From falling!” She laughed awkwardly, punching the air with a curled fist.

He smiled, and it was so soft and endearing that she nearly whimpered at the sight. “Yeah, I saved you. Right after I crashed into you.”

“Yeah…” she sighed dreamily. “You can crash into me any day…” She followed that one with an airy giggle.

Mister Bug’s smile curved into something more mischievous—that same flirty smile he’d toss Ladybug’s way anytime he made a pass. “Oh? And would you… provide me a safe place to land?”

Marinette’s heart stuttered in her chest, her stomach bubbling with anticipation. “Of course I would,” she replied, breathy. “Anytime.”

He stepped just a bit closer and she was so, so aware of the hand still placed on her waist, burning her skin through her clothes. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to move it away for her sanity, or keep it there forever and let her melt away into the embers.

“What are you doing all the way out here anyway?” her bug asked, a wrinkle in his mask between his eyes to match his frown.

She wished she could smooth that wrinkle out, but instead she settled for a gulp to try to clear her dry throat. “I, uh, akuma displacement,” she answered, the usual excuse rolling off her tongue. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I was looking for Lady Noire, actually,” he explained. “You didn’t happen to see her pass by, did you?”

“Yes– I mean, no— Wait–” Marinette cut herself off. Her brain was already too scrambled to come up with more excuses. “I mean, yes. She, uh, passed by here. Said she needed to run home for something.”

Mister Bug tilted his head, and, god, he was so cute. She had to force herself not to whimper again.

“She said she’d meet you at the usual spot later,” she added, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt. For good measure, she flashed him a thumbs up.

He seemed to accept her answer. “Oh, okay.”

Marinette sighed in relief.

His smile returned. “In that case, it looks like I have some free time,” he said. “Why don’t you let this charming bug fly you home, huh?”

“I’d love to go home with you,” she responded without much thought. “I mean– I’d love for you to take me home– I, wait, uh. My house. Yes. Please.” Her whole body cringed. “Thank you.”

To her relief, Mister Bug appeared completely unbothered by her constant tumbling over words, instead just grinning wider at her. The hand on her waist moved to wrap fully around her body. Marinette only had a second to snake her arms around his neck before he had tossed his yoyo above their heads to hook on a chimney.

“Ready?” he asked, turning to look at her. Every detail in his summer green eyes glittered at her through his red and black-spotted mask, and she felt like she might melt. Oh, she loved those eyes. She loved him in that mask.

Face hot, all Marinette could do was nod at him, and then they were zipping through the air. It was impossible to tell if the swooping feeling deep in her stomach was from the flight or her proximity to the pilot. Either way, she loved the familiar safety of his arm around her back and the solid strength of his shoulders beneath her fingers.

Before she knew it—in fact, it felt like no time at all, really—they had reached her balcony, and he gently set her down on her feet.

“Well, ma cher, we’ve arrived.”

Marinette blinked up at Mister Bug, not quite ready to part from him. Nervously, she played with her still connected fingers behind his neck.

“You should stay,” she told him. “We can sit up here and chat, or you can come in. I’ll bring some chouquettes up from the bakery. It would be nice to talk to you.”

Wait… Was that too familiar? She had to remind herself that she was Marinette; she wasn’t his partner right now. Marinette couldn’t even remember if she was supposed to know that Chat Noir was Mister Bug, so what was she doing right now?

Luckily, he was seemingly totally nonplussed by her suggestion. Instead, he smiled warmly down at her, a rosy tint to his cheeks that she was sure must have mirrored her own. He opened his mouth, looking incredibly agreeable. To her displeasure, however, his earrings chose exactly that moment to protest, beeping angrily in a way that she could just imagine was Tikki’s voice chiding her.

His smile turned regretful. “I’m sorry, Marinette,” he said. “I’d love to, but I have to go.” Gloved hands gently grasped her wrists, pulling them away from his shoulders.

She mourned the loss.

Marinette’s lip stuck out in a pout. “Do you really have to go?”

“Yes, I really have to go,” he replied sadly. Then, brighter, “But if we’re going to make a date of it, at least give me time to buy you flowers first.”

Her heart skipped a beat, butterflies beating furiously inside her chest.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

Mister Bug’s grin returned at her quiet utterance. Somehow, without her noticing, one of his hands had traveled from her wrist to wind affectionately around her fingers, and he squeezed.

He bowed deeply, her hand still in his, the perfect image of a chevalier encased in red and black.

“Until next time, mademoiselle,” he purred. His lips burned like the sun as they pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “And when I see you again, I’ll be sure to remember your rose.”

Marinette remained silent and red as he straightened to his full height. Her mouth stubbornly refused to move, even as he waved at her in farewell and leapt from her balcony. She pressed her burning hand to her chest, dreamily watching her red bug become nothing more than a dot on the city skyline.

A whine sounded from her purse, and— Oops. She hadn’t even thought to worry about Plagg once that entire encounter.

“That was disgusting,” Plagg groaned, floating up into the air next to her. “I’m going to have to hear about that all night!”

Marinette sighed happily, sinking backwards into her lounge chair before her legs gave out on her. Plagg continued his grumpy buzzing around her head, but she remained lost in her thoughts and memories of bright green eyes in red masks.

She had no idea how she was going to face him later to return his miraculous to him.

Maybe they could stay swapped just a little while longer.

And if Lady Noire brought a bag full of chouquettes to their usual spot later to make up for the lost opportunity, well, that was her business.

#ml fanfic #misternette #marichat #misternoire #miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fic #lovesquare #love square #mister bug #miraculous s5 #kwami swap #buginette #maribug #while writing this i thought oh wouldn't that be a cute series if they just kept getting too distracted to switch back #but i have many wips and i am being Responsible #miraculous #my writing

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clovenhoofedjester · 2 months

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jellicle lineups; part 1/4

hi catsblur ! today i am presenting to you the fruits of my labor. my own little versions of the jellicle cats; obviously based on the replica designs With Fun Little Twists ! such as, they are not naked. ramble below the cut, both on designs and some personal thoughts on the characters

these designs are very much first-draft, subject to change, blah blah. you will very likely be seeing me drawing them differently if i post more of them. i just. urrbhhh. i had 2 draw them....

and the clothes ! even though they're very feline i draw them a bit too human-y for the nakedness to not look consistently weird. i will be drawing them closer to the stage designs in some instances but for rn. clothes. it was a fun exercise in character design too

the kittens are all young adults, think 18-20 ! as much as i love headcanons like demeter being sillabubs mother, it shrimply will not work out timeline-wise. so headcanons like that will be delegated to like... siblings and stuff

victoria | 🍧 💌 🩰

i started out with victoria's design not only because of her being the Main Kitten, but because she has such a concise and clear aesthetic to me. she actually started out with a simple pastel brown dance practice fit before i decided that i wanted to make the outfits ornate(ish) and ended up with a proper ballerina getup

i also quite like when victoria is not just solid white with some grey (love ones that are more yellow or brown) so i colored her fur with some blue and pink-ish tones not only to add more depth but to resemble the trans flag LOL

and i wanted to try something different with making her a bit more lavender than baby pink. i also based her overall look on obc victoria, portrayed by cynthia onrubia :^]

to move on to character interpretation, i think victoria is partially deaf and mute. she primarily communicates through dance. as one of the oldest kittens she'd be 19 in human years

plato | 💐 🕯 🍬

plato's design doesnt stray too far from his standard replica design but i tried to add my own flair . i tried to keep the creepy porcelain doll aesthetic going w their face added some more depth like some other designs with different colors and bold face stripes

i also really like the outfit i chose for them. the flower in their hair and on their shirt is a peony which is a popular wedding flower :") because im a sucker for platoria and very much subscribe to the idea that the ball we see is their funny cat wedding in a way

the outfit is based on standard ballerino costumes but i tried to stray from it with the silky half-skirt thing and pointe shoes. lets go queer cats lets go

i think plato is also very quiet and that's why he and victoria were so drawn to each other. i also quite like the idea that he was a bit of a troubled stray before he found the jellicles. they would be 20 in human years

electra |⚡🥭 🔔

boy i STRUGGLED with electra's clothes i struggled so hard. i think i'm happy with what i ended up with though—i originally gave her the babydoll dress that sillabub has (inspired by artsed electra) but figured that i wanted at least one of the girls to be more tomboyish/butchy. thank you to that one production which apparently had electra be one of the raffish crew and get in on some of the boys' choreography

im very happy with what i did with her fur colors as well. silly little tortoiseshell :] its based on a nonrep but i have no idea which one. enjoy her freckles too

i think electra deserves to be a little spunky. [whispers] i also think shes bombalurinas little sister. she'd be 18 in human years

etcetera | 🎠 🍯 🏅

i needed at least one cat with a circus aesthetic. say hello to my magnum opus: jacked tumbler acrobat etcetera. it was only a matter of time until someone said fuck it and let one of the girls perform lifts and stuff. this is mostly because ive always really liked how shes usually the cat to do the flying trapeze bit and wanted to push it further

i also struggled SO EXTREMELY HARD with making her colors look nice and makeup distinctive but i figured it out in the end—thank you obc cettie for the mismatched eyeshadow and such. i also wanted to give a cat a short bob type of head fur/hairstyle and she fit the bill

nothing much about specific character notes other than like... i want to make her related to some of the cats but cannot for the life of me figure out who 2 assign. also she'd be around 19 in human years, a couple months younger than vic

sillabub | 🌻 🧋 🎼

i think of all of these little fellas sillabub is my favorite. several elements are balanced in her design—the standard jemima with a darker/reddish palette, the more softer and lighter sillabub design, the red eye patch from il sistina jemima, and the overall aesthetic of obc jemima with the big hair and wide, deepset eyes

i've seen her typical design critiqued by some people and wanted to incorporate those critiques by making her look less similar to demeter/bombalurina, adding more red to her body fur, and making her makeup more distinct and less... wooo girl give us nothing. and i included the squiggly on her collarbone

i also really REALLY love her overall aesthetic of sweet kindhearted girl NAMED AFTER A DEMON WITH SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG COLORING AND GIGANTIC SPIKED COLLAR !!!! so i decided to push it by making the collar definitely too big for her, giving her a slightly "edgy" outfit and making her hair resemble devil horns

as for character stuff, i think she has magical powers though i haven't developed exactly What they are yet. beyond her sweet exterior they trouble her. [whispers] i also think shes demeters little sister. she would be 18 in human years, a few months younger than electra and tumblebrutus

pouncival | 🌱 🩹 🍵

i struggled with pouncival's clothing design like i did electra's because i didn't go into drawing him with a particular gimmick in mind. but i think i'm happy with the casual formal look. it makes him look like such a kind young man even if he's a little shit

i did have a lot of fun trying to make his makeup distinctive from tumblebrutus'—so many fellas with brown eyepatches ! so his colors are more dark and striking. i also tried to make him look less like Typical Cis Man by giving him a bit of black lipstick

enjoy his freckles too

but like. i think hes literally such a little cis guy. nothing else for me to add for my specific interpretation of him it's all laid out. this guy fucking loves rocket league, fishing and chess. he'd be 19 in human years

tumblebrutus | 🎡 🥊 🍦

SWEET TUMBLEBRUTUS. i think drawing him here gave me a soft spot for him. with his outfit mirroring cettie's i didn't much struggle with that. his colors are also based on obc tumblebrutus

when i was first conceptualizing my own versions of the cats i wanted at least one of them asides from grizabella to have wavy fur. and idk what it is, maybe it's the lack of content for him, but i was really drawn to the idea of curly tumblebrutus!

i wanted their design to be distinctive from pouncival's so i made their colors softer, kinda watercolor-y. OH AND THEIR FUR IS ALSO MEANT TO BE A LITTLE TRANS FLAG COLORED

as for character, i think he is also a bit troubled, as a son of grizabella's. you heard me, people. i'm probably the first person ever to headcanon that. he'd be 18 in human years

AND THAT'S ABOUT IT ! thank you for reading this far, have a great day and stay tuned for more designs in the days to come !

#cats the musical #cats 1998 #character design #chibi #sfw furry #victoria #plato #electra #etcetera #sillabub #pouncival #tried glazing this; didn't love the artifacting effect so it remains unglazed #i suppose i am laying down and dying at the hands of tech bros #tagging 98 because theyre all based on it as a baseline #my art

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kemetic-dreams · 5 months

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Roots under Beale: The Significance of Beale Street to Memphis Hoodoo History

In the late 1800s, Robert Church, the first African-American millionaire in the South took great interest in Beale Street. After purchasing land on Beale, Church built Church Park and Auditorium exclusively for black Memphians. He also created a recreational center and an upscale hotel. Beale Street was very important to African American life in Memphis as Church wanted to create a safe haven for black Memphians where African American food, music and entertainment could be celebrated.

A community of healers, conjurers and rootworkers began to develop on Beale. Memphians knew that you could visit the right store or juke joint and find someone with the ‘gift’ to provide magical and spiritual help. Beale Street musicians like W.C. Handy began to speak of the hoodoo culture through the lyrics of their songs. Blues singer Lillie Mae Glover known as ‘Ma Rainey II’ became popular on Beale Street as not only a performer but also a conjurer. She would perform rituals and various spiritual workings for other performers on Beale, as well as random customers who knew to seek her out. One of her special abilities was the ability to make mojo hands for blues musicians. While many hands were traditionally made using roots, lodestone and a red flannel bag, Lillie Mae made hers using common ingredients like sugar, flour and a heap of coal.

It became evident that hoodoo was being practiced in downtown Memphis much to the dislike of the white community. Hoodoo and any African based religious practices were compared to savage paganism that threatened the wives and children of the white community of Memphis. Local police were put on alert regarding the threat of hoodoo and ‘voodooism’ as it was commonly referred to.

The Memphis Press-Scimitar reported:

‘The Voodoo business still thrives on Beale Street. Police, looking for a witch

doctor yesterday confiscated a half a sack full of “Stay Away Powder,”

“Easy Life Powder” and “Spanish Luck Drops” being sold to negroes at

25 cents a set. The “Stay Away” powder, supposed to jinx a love rival,

proved to be nothing stronger than flour. “Easy Life” powder appeared to

be a fine grade of ground clay. “Spanish Luck Drops” were more potent.

They were a cheap but stout perfume. All in all, police figured the 25-cent

collection cost the producers not more than a couple of cents.’

Raids on rootworkers and conjurers were quite common in the city. There is record of a number of arrests where hoodoo devotees were arrested and artifacts such as mojo bags and amulets were confiscated and in some cases destroyed in the presence of practitioners. Hoodoo was not only feared but represented empowerment for the black community, something that the times simply would not allow.

The development of a hoodoo community on Beale Street gained the notoriety of the title ‘The Black Magic District’ as many Memphians knew that one could obtain a cleansing, a black cat bone or guidance from the ancestors by visiting the right individual on Beale. In the 1940s gold miners would visit Beale Street looking for conjurers to help them spiritually locate treasure along the Mississippi River. The rising number of Memphians using Beale Street’s healers as a form of healthcare caused some Memphis physicians to become critical and voice offense against the community’s rootworkers. However as writer Keith Wailoo in has noted “Those who invoked spirits to relieve one’s rheumatism or to subdue one’s enemies would not be driven easily from the Bluff city.” Hoodoo was here to stay.

In 1876, Jewish immigrant Abraham Schwab opened one of Memphis’s most iconic businesses on Beale Street. A. Schwab began as a dry goods store offering everything from cloth overalls to blues records. Years later the store began to carry a number of hoodoo related curios. In fact at one point the store was literally bringing in shipments of over one hundred and twenty tons of hoodoo related candles. The hoodoo community in Memphis would purchase oils, candles, incense and roots from the oldest store on Beale. One of my earliest exposures to hoodoo curios came when as a child I was taken into Schwab by my parents. I remember the scent of incense and the colorful collection of candles and curios. It was a wonderland to the senses.

During the writing of A Secret History of Memphis Hoodoo: Rootworkers, Conjurers and Spirituals, I was given the opportunity to visit the store’s archives and see some of the remnants of hoodoo curios and artifacts. A number of old curios from Memphis based companies like ‘LaClyde Lucky Products’ and ‘Lucky Heart Cosmetics’ were preserved in pristine condition saved for their historical preservation. Boxes of dried rattlesnake root, John the Conqueror and assorted herbs could still be found. A member of the Schwab family shared stories of hoodoo practitioners throughout the years and the many testimonies and stories of customers from the conjure community.

These are but a few of the numerous stories about rootworkers and conjurers on Beale Street that were instrumental in the history of hoodoo in Memphis. The history of hoodoo in Memphis is a story of cultural survival that needs to be told.

#memphis #beale street #rootworker #african #kemetic dreams #africans #brownskin #afrakan #afrakans #brown skin #african culture #afrakan spirituality

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stillxnunpxidintern · 1 month

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Marco x Fem Reader - Pretty Bird

Mature content/18+, off screen consent, roleplay.

Modern Au, DF are still a thing but only appear once.

Opening the door to the two story house, You could tell something didn’t feel quite the same as when you left this morning. Instead of worrying about it at the moment you kicked off the heels and instantly felt better as your feet were flat on the plush carpet, what felt great on your poor aching feet.

Dropping your bag on table by the door you closed the door and locked it properly before double checking it, as Halloween was only a few days and some people tended to act trying to scare people just cause they thought it was funny, especially in the neighbourhood that you lived. You had locks and alarms on most of the widows and doors better safe than sorry, especially now that a very large family had been settled with in the town for a few months now, the Newgates.

Most of the family members that you had met so far were nice but there were some members that you've met, you swore that they were trying to give you gives headaches.

Moving to the couch you sunk down on to the monster of couch you own. It was so soft that it 'ate' anyone who sat on it but you loved it and it acted as a second bed sometimes, mostly when you're to exhausted after a busy day at the hospital.

You took off you outer top, skirt and tights discarding them somewhere behind the couch, you would deal with picking up them at later.

Grabbed a pair of warm thigh high sock from the end of the couch, you pulled them on to keep your legs somewhat warm and to wear under the oversized jumper you grabbed and pulled on.

After relaxing on the couch on for a few minutes, your stomach made a gurgle so you standing up you headed into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers for dinner and pour yourself a glass of wine.

Back on the couch with your dinner and wine, you began searching through the channels for something to watch and ended up watching a documentary about pirates and forget about the few arseholes that you had dealing with at work. You really wanted to punch them but that meant more paperwork and there was enough paperwork that was building up on your desk.

The only good thing that came out of it was Law had come out of his office shouting and threatening them all, which saved you from a massive headache.

After dinner was eaten and thinking your glass of wine you felt so much better and more relax, so grabbing a blanket thrown you threw it over your legs, as you watched tv and scrolled on your phone.

A couple of hours later you were in the kitchen looking to see what else you had that to snack on when you heard the creaking of the floor boards that caught your attention.

Thinking it was probably just your cat jumping from the bed to the floor and vis versa, as he was a bigger breed he tended to make noise when jumping off & on your bed. So with that you paid little attention it and went back to watching the TV with a bowl of crisps in hand.

About half an hour later you could hear more creaking but this time louder so it couldn't be your furry little man this time, so placing the bowl of crisps down you moved from the couch and went to grab the bat that was by the stairs. Grabbing the bat you held it firmly in hand and began to walk up the stairs to find the cause of the creaking.

When you were on landing it only took a few seconds before you grabbed by the wrist and had the bat was pulled from your hand thrown to the round with a thud, before finding yourself being shoved against the wall while both wrists were held behind your back in one large hand.

The other hand gripped your hair tightly as your captor put their nose in your hair and took a sniff before pulling your head backward just a little.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you watching me, Pretty bird-yoi” a very familiar voice spoke into your ear before pulling your head back even more so blue eyes met yours, “Well isn’t this just a pretty site” he mocked.

"Marco" You growled at him

"Hello Pretty bird" he answered, "Did you honestly think you could get away from me-yoi" he purred.

He released your hair from his grip and his free hand worked it ways under your jumper began to wonder up and down your body, groping and stoking you, making you stomp your foot on top his in an attempted to get away from him but that only succeeded in you being pushed harder against wall.

“That wasn’t very nice now was it Pretty Bird” he said as his hand went lower and slipping into your under making you stiffen, “Let’s see how loud I can make you beg” he chuckled, as you began to struggle even more to try and escape his hold.

“Get off me or…I’ll scream” you cried, as his fingers stroked and dripped inside making you shudder and breathe harder.

“Oh don’t you worry Pretty Bird, you'll be screaming my name soon enough-yoi” Marco murmured into your ear before pulling his hand out and dragged you toward the bedroom.

Panicking you quickly slam your leg in his shin in attempted to get away and was relieved when his grip on loosen enough that you could break free of the hold and kicked him again, this time in the stomach making him double over.

That gave you a few precious seconds to get away from Doctor and get somewhere safe, away from Marco maybe Shanks house.

You managed to get passed him and made it to the 2nd step down before being pulled backward by your jumper and you land with a thud on the wooden floor.

"Thinking of going somewhere Pretty Bird" Marco growled, eyes flashing blue in anger "I was going to be nice but now I think someone deserves be punished-yoi" he told you.

He was able to change your positions easily and pinned you to the floor with your arms being held behind your back once again and tried to wiggle free but Marco used his strength to keep you in place.

Reaching into his pocket Marco pulled a length of rope out and tied it around your wrists tightly, making give a little whimper as the rope bite in you skin. After tying the rope he then pulled your underwear off, leaving your ass bare to him.

"Oh you won't be getting away this time, as these knots will make sure you can't get free somehow, so you're mine for the taking Pretty Bird" he laughed at you, watching as you tried to to free yourself from the rope.

"Get the hell off me you bastard" You cursed at him, "You're going to pay for this"

"Maybe" he chuckled, before bring his hand down on your ass cheek causing you shriek, "But I'm going to enjoy making you scream all night-yoi" he said smacking the opposite cheek.

"You're a dead man again when I get free" You promised, which resulted in Marco chuckling more.

While you was still cursing at him and still trying to free your wrists, the doctor slipped two fingers making you moaned before coming back to your senses.

"You...utter....bastard" you cried out, as the blonde doctor pressed against your clit, making your hips rocking against his hand.

"I might of believed you, if you weren't moaning like a little whore-yoi" he commented, feeling you tighten around his fingers before pulling them out and you unintentionally let whine at that.

Hearing that whine had Marco chuckling and while you were recovering from that, he grabbed your wrists and dragged you to the bedroom, locking the door stopping you from escaping.

---------

"What the hell did you do last night, Marco could barely keep his eyes at the family lunch" Ace asked, appearing next to you with Thatch by his side and you just drunk tea while looking at them both.

"Do you really want to know" you answered, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I can deal without details, thank you" Thatch said sitting next to you as Ace sat opposite, "I know far more of siblings bedroom life than I would like"

"Well he decided to added something to our game I didn't know about on a whim and I made sure he won't do it again do it again" you explained him with a small smirk gracing lips, setting down the cup.

"That as much as I like know, I don't need or want to know anymore of yours and Marco activities" Ace said, with a slight look of disgust of knowing about one of his brother sexual activities.

"You both might actually get an idea or two if did listen to us" you teased them

That got you an unimpressed look from Thatch as Aces cheeks turned red at that, so he grabbed your muffin and left, which made you laugh at his action.

"I'm sure your brother is more than willing to help you, he's very knowledgeable in that department" you shouted to him, still laughing which Thatch also joined in on now and got flipped of by him before he sent a little ball at you both, as he stuffed your muffin in his mouth in one go.

You watched until he was out of view before turning to Thatch and had a nice little conversion as you finished your tea of with a smile on your lip.

As you got to have amazing sex regularly now with hot and amazing Doctor, you also got to tease Marco siblings whenever you liked these as cause they liked to cause you headache so it only seem fair.

#One piece #Marco the Phoenix #Reader #Marco x Reader #Marco the Phoenix x Reader #portgas d ace #Thatch #One piece thatch #one piece ace #Ace #marco the pineapple #Whitebeard piates #Marco the fineapple

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ggomos-maribat · 11 months

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Menace

As I said in the AO3 this was a fic that I had drafts for but never got around to completing. Thought it would be a waste not to post it anyway :D Do bear in mind that these were drafts, so the pacing is choppy and can skip over some things.

"Marinette? Can you help me change the curtains?"

"Coming, maman!" The girl zipped down the stairs, only to be greeted with an overfilled table. All sorts of delicacies decorated the top, with an elaborate centerpiece that Sabine only brought out when special guests were over. She chuckled and got the lace curtains from her mother.

"This is too much. You know we can't finish all of this." Marinette climbed on a stool and began putting on the newly washed curtains.

"Oh come on, you haven't seen them for a long time. Let me throw a feast." Sabine patted her back before moving back to the kitchen.

"No, you haven't seen them in a long time and now you have an urge to spoil them," said Marinette.

She hadn't expected that day to come quickly. For a rare time, her childhood friends had the chance to visit Paris, France, courtesy of Bruce Wayne's lavish spending. The boys would be flying over from Metropolis, Gotham, and Fawcett City and were staying over for a few days.

Sabine blew out a breath. "The ice cream shop texted me. Their delivery man isn't available today. I'm sorry dear, but can you go pick it up before the boys arrive?"

"Of course, maman. I'll take my scooter."

Marinette grabbed the money and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek before dashing down the apartment. She was peacefully driving on her scooter when she heard an ominous thump from the side of the ride. Skidding to a halt, she gaped at the mutated dinosaurs trampling over the city, sending Parisians into a panic. On the widescreen attached to a building, Nadja Chamack warned the public about the third akumatization of Dr. Anne-Jeanne.

"Not today!" Marinette groaned under her breath. From her half-open purse, Tikki sent a sympathetic look.

She took the next right to find a spot to transform. But she found herself speeding up, going too fast, only to be hit with a sudden impact on her side as she was knocked over by one of the villain's creatures. Marinette's breath fell short while she laid on the road, clutching her head. A few feet from her, she saw a familiar car pull over.

---

She regained her consciousness, but was cursed with a splitting headache. Marinette whimpered and burrowed deeper into the arms of whoever was holding her. When she tried to open her eyes, the light stung her vision, making her shut them tight again. She had no idea where she was or who she was with, but the smell of asphalt and the voices clued her in.

"This is a bad idea, Dames. We can't be seen in Paris—"

"Do you want us to sit back and let that thing wreak havoc in the city while Ladybug's nowhere to be found?"

"But the Justice League promised Ladybug they won't interfere—"

"The League promised. Not us."

"Wait, so technically, Billy's the one breaking the rules here—"

A snort sounded. "Wait a minute, I was the one who saved Marinette."

Marinette felt herself being shifted around. Billy . . . but the one talking didn't sound like Billy. It sounded like—She tentatively opened her eyes a little to see a lightning emblem on a broad chest. Captain Marvel. He was the one carrying her.

Her eyelids closed again. Head hurts. Dami. Jon. Billy. What . . .?

"Oh look, the cat can't even handle the villain himself," Damian (or Robin?) huffed.

"Even if we interfere, we can't purify the akuma without Ladybug," Jon argued.

"We can always stall until she arrives," Captain suggested.

The akuma! Chat! Marinette stirred, pretending to wake up for the first time. She squirmed and groaned, opening her eyes. Captain Marvel placed her on the ground but she swayed as she tried to stand up.

"Ma—!"

Robin sharply nudged Superboy on the side.

Superboy cleared his throat. "I mean, citizen! Are you okay?"

Marinette clutched her head. "Hurts."

Robin's lips thinned to a line. Marinette knew his irises must be blazing behind his mask. "You probably have a concussion. Captain will stay behind with you while we fight the akumatized villain."

Marinette swallowed thickly. No, I have to get away from here. Transform. Get the akuma. Get the ice cream. Get back home.

"Why do I have to stay?" Captain Marvel asked.

"If you're spotted here, how will you explain that to the League?"

"Fine."

Robin rolled his shoulders. "At least our fathers are used to us getting into trouble."

Superboy glanced back at her worriedly as he flew up while Robin grappled away. Captain Marvel led her to a hidden alley for safety. Scratches and aches were scattered around Marinette's body, adding to the throbbing in her head. She braced herself on the wall just as more of the dizziness kicked in. I'm in no state to fight right now. Besides that, she wouldn't be able to concentrate because of that sudden revelation.

"Ladybug's cure will heal you right?" Captain Marvel fidgeted next to her.

"It should," she mumbled.

She waited for a time when the hero wasn't looking and removed her earrings to give to Tikki. The kwami immediately vacated her purse to hand the Miraculous to her partner.

Marinette slid down to a sitting position, holding her head with both hands. My best friends are superheroes.

---

She had arrived back home before they did. Marinette sped up the upper floor to drop off the ice cream, meeting Sabine's worried expression.

"Marinette? Are you okay? I saw the akuma attack in the news." Sabine's eyebrows furrowed. "I shouldn't have let you pick up the ice cream."

Marinette forced out a smile of reassurance. "I'm okay, maman. I went to a safe spot as soon as I could and Ladybug—err, the heroes fixed everything."

"Do you think the boys got caught in the attack too?"

"I'm sure they'll be fine." She waved the thought off. "I'll text them to check."

Without giving Sabine a chance to respond, she dashed up to her bedroom, saying that she had to change to a better outfit. Marinette practically threw her purse on the chaise as she steadied her breaths. First, she let her mind run. Damian. Robin. Jon. Superboy. Billy. Captain-freaking-Marvel who hadn't even revealed his identity to the rest of the League. The rest of the puzzle pieces fell into place. The Wayne family. The Kents.

Marinette groaned and held her head again. It had been so obvious. They were right in front of her the entire time! And yet she had never stopped to think that they were like her, living with two identities. She sat upright, stiffening. She would have to control her heartbeat around Jon. No. She'd have to be careful around all three of them. Jon was a walking lie detector. Damian was a detective. And Billy was perceptive and had the Wisdom of Solomon. She shuddered, thinking how many times she could've come close to letting her alter ego slip while not knowing about it.

She jolted when she heard her phone ring. Putting a hand on her chest, she answered the call. The frantic voice of Adrien bombarded her ears. "Mari? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm okay." She sighed. "The cure fixed everything."

"Are you sure? Tikki said you had a concussion. I have to send the earrings back—"

"No, wait!" The words tumbled out of her lips without much thought. "I think it's better if you keep the earrings and Tikki for a while."

"What? Why? Is it not safe in your house?"

Marinette stood up and opened a mini drawer on her desk to retrieve a pair of extra earrings that looked like her Miraculous. "No, not like that. We're having guests over later. I won't have time to meet up with you and it's too dangerous for you to drop in. I'll get the earrings tomorrow."

"Oh, okay." Adrien muttered a curse. "I have to sneak out for sweets."

"Don't feed her too much." She laughed a little, easing off the tension in her body. "Thanks for covering for me today, kitty. You did so well."

"Yeah, but the other heroes suddenly showed up . . ."

Marinette gnawed on her lip. "I—I saw them too. Did they interfere too much?"

"They helped save some civilians," Adrien grumbled. "But Robin won't stop nagging my ear off."

"Marinette!" Sabine called out from downstairs. "They're here!"

"I'll talk to them next time," she promised. "I have to go. Thanks again, kitty."

She took a few more seconds to fish out the Mouse pendant from the box as temporary protection. Fortunately, the pendant in camouflage matched her outfit perfectly. She bounded down the stairs to see the three boys, not a hair out of place as if they hadn't donned capes not more than an hour ago. Jon wore his usual sunny smile; Damian was his usual broody self, arms crossed and posture rigid; and Billy was tucked in a thick coat and black beanie.

Marinette put on a grin of her own as she hugged them one by one. "Are you guys okay? The akuma attack hit downtown and . . ."

Damian scoffed. "We're not foolish enough to get caught in an akuma attack."

"The dinosaurs looked pretty cool though," said Billy.

"I'm glad." As if nothing happened at all.

"Are you okay? Maman Sabine said you were outside during the attack too." Jon frowned.

Her voice raised an octave as she side-eyed her mother. "Fine! I'm fine. Why don't we eat now? You must be starving."

She gestured towards the living space. The coffee table had been pushed to the side to make room for cushions and pillows. "You guys can put your bags over there."

"It's a good thing you boys weren't harmed," said Sabine, placing the plates neatly on the table. "I heard some . . . foreign heroes were around as well."

Only Jon seemed to have a split-second reaction, Marinette noticed. Damian barely batted an eye when he replied, "It seems that they've been called in since Ladybug was missing in action."

Marinette wrinkled her nose. We didn't 'call them in'. Adrien would've been offended to hear that. "That happens sometimes," she piped up. "But Chat Noir always saves the city whenever Ladybug's out of commission."

"Dunno, he looked like he was being cornered back there," Billy recounted, sharing a look with Jon. "Um, we were watching from the car."

"Chat Noir's capable of handling things by himself." Marinette raised an eyebrow.

Jon poked her side. "I forgot you were such a fangirl."

"I'm not a fan—!" She sputtered out, face heating up. "Okay, I am, but not that kind. I just hate it when people don't appreciate Chat. He and Ladybug are partners. They're equals."

They took their seats around the table. Marinette's thoughts momentarily flew elsewhere. It was strange knowing their identities, and she knew she had to tell them. But the consequences of doing that were unpredictable. They might become overprotective of her, since knowing their secrets would make her vulnerable. Or they might also push her away in fear of exposing her to danger.

She absentmindedly sipped on her drink. It would be fair if I told them about me too but . . .

She watched them carefully. Billy and Jon were both scarfing down their food while Damian was talking with Sabine. They're the same . . . but everything is so different too. She wouldn't fault them for hiding those secrets from her since she carried one of her own. But since she found out about them, another invisible weight added to her growing pile.

She shook herself out of her daze.

"I can finally beat you in UMS properly," Billy grinned with a mouthful.

"Properly?" She pointed her fork at him. "You've never beaten me at all."

"Hey, I've beaten Eugene a few times. I can beat you."

"Please. You're leaving out the real champion here," Jon chimed in. Marinette threw a napkin on his face, telling him to wipe the pasta sauce on his chin.

"If you beat me once, I'll buy you ice cream tomorrow," Marinette wagered. "Damian, you should play too."

"Tt. It's a childish game."

Jon rolled his eyes. "It's a fighting game. You like fighting."

"Not with hunks of steel."

"Mechs," Marinette corrected. "But if you want to sit down and brood for the rest of the night, be my guest then. I'll make you our food errand boy."

"Oh, he's gotta practice his scowl." Billy smirked.

"The threatening aura," Jon added.

"Fine.” Damian crossed his arms. I'll join you for one game."

---

All the words she could hear were garbled, echoing in the white wasteland. There were hands choking her as she clawed at anything she could touch.

Icy blue eyes.

Sharp teeth.

A feral grin.

He morphed into an image of Hawkmoth, who sent her flying from the top of the Eiffel right after seizing her Miraculous.

Marinette's breaths grew ragged.

It's not real!

She woke up in a cold sweat, realizing that she'd been holding the sheets tightly. Painfully. She'd fallen asleep nestled between Damian and Billy, and Jon had moved near her, hand positioned by her shoulder.

He must've heard my heartbeat, she guessed.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

She sat up and nodded numbly. "Nightmare."

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. Not wanting to wake the others, she moved to the kitchen with Jon trailing behind her. "Sometimes I have trouble sleeping," she murmured. "It's nothing too serious. Don't worry."

Jon looked at her sympathetically. To him, she was probably a traumatized innocent, someone who had witnessed too many akuma attacks. But the truth was something deeper, something that she wouldn't be able to tell them.

"Want a cup of . . . tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate?" Marinette offered, filling up the heater with water.

"Whatever you'll have," Jon said. "Does it happen often?"

"Not too often," she responded hesitantly. "I . . . I get used to it?"

He raised an eyebrow. She winced. That doesn't sound any better, does it?

"But I'm okay, really. I just have to wake myself up before an akuma slips in or something." She shrugged. "It's a burden every Parisian has to carry."

"Why can't the heroes deal with Hawkmoth already?" he said bitterly.

Marinette's fingers twitched as she handed him his cup. You don't know anything. "They're trying their best. It's just a matter of time before he breaks."

"But Ladybug and Chat Noir are just kids themselves. Won't it be easier to pass the responsibility to someone else?"

She clenched her jaw. And get amnesia? No thanks.

"Hey, I believe in trusting them both." She half-smiled, taking a sip of her drink. "Don't let other Parisians hear you say that. They're protective of their heroes."

“You’ll be joined by Ladybug for this mission,” Batman told him. “And Captain Marvel will accompany the three of you.”

Robin froze in the middle of sheathing his sword, only dwelling on the fact that his father had nearly uttered ‘babysit’ instead of ‘accompany’. His face hardened, eyebrows knitting together and lips pulled into a thin line. “Ladybug? We can do fine without her.”

Though Bruce’s cowl was pulled up, Robin knew he was silently saying ‘ no room for arguments on this one’. Batman turned back to the computer. “Sources say that the location has some strange . . . signature. You need someone with magic expertise.”

“Captain Marvel is magic.”

“You know what I mean, Damian.”

Robin clicked his tongue softly. Ladybug. It wasn’t that he disliked her, it was just that her behavior was too closed off. Always insisting that she’d handle Paris on her own, along with her team. Always saying she’s not a part of the Justice League. Never allowing anyone else to research or even see the other Miraculi.

He supposed that Batman agreed on her terms about Paris being a no-touch zone since the Bat himself understood that a turf was a turf. Like Gotham was his own miserable little city to protect. Damian, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate her lack of openness. Acting like she could handle independence from superiors or mentors when she wasn’t any older than him.

Not to mention she’d been actively avoiding the JL in the past few weeks.

“I’m leading the team,” he said indignantly.

“ All of you will work together,” Batman ordered. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Ladybug usually doesn’t work closely with the League. We shouldn’t waste the opportunity.”

He scoffed. “So you decided to put her with the other kids, huh.”

“Damian. ”

“I will ‘behave’, Father.” He signed air quotes with his fingers. “But I can’t say that she will too.”

That was what brought Robin, Superboy, Ladybug and Captain Marvel to the borders of Russia to infiltrate a cave which was pinpointed to be a base of a mysterious group. Robin, bundled up in a thicker suit, couldn’t help but side-eye the French heroine. Another thing that irked him was that the three of them would have to hide their identities from her, which meant there would be little casual conversation going around.

He clenched his jaw, putting one hand on the cave’s entrance. She’s the intruder around here.

“Do you think the cult has something to do with the Miraculous?” Superboy hovered nearby, squinting at the darkness to search for potential dangers.

“Won’t be the first time,” Ladybug muttered under her breath.

“What do you mean?” Captain Marvel asked.

“The knowledge about Miraculouses isn’t exactly . . . hidden throughout history,” she explained, opening up her yoyo to use as a light. “When people find out about the power they hold, they tend to go extreme when they try to look for the Miraculouses or their holders.”

“So that’s why you’re keeping the Paris thing under wraps.” Superboy stepped on one of the rocks leading down the cave. “I think it’s safe. I’ll stay at the front so I can keep an eye out.”

“Part of the reason,” Ladybug followed behind Robin as they ventured into the deep hollow. From the corner of his eye, he saw her shiver.

“I thought your suit protected you from the cold,” he said.

She matched his scowl with a deadlier one. “Ladybug instincts. I don’t do well in cold weather.”

“And yet you still accepted this mission.”

“I need to be here in case Miraculouses are involved.” Her voice raised slightly.

“So if it wasn’t, you’re just dead weight?”

“Okay kiddies, break it up,” Captain Marvel butted in behind them. “Forward now, and look where you step.”

Robin withheld a sigh. Ladybug fell quiet behind him.

III

“I’m worried about them,” Jon sighed as he stepped over to another platform. The damp smell of the cave permeated in the air, making him wrinkle his nose every ten minutes or so.

“Of course you are,” Billy said, “It’s Damian we’re talking about here.”

“He’s a bit . . . abrasive towards people he doesn’t trust yet.”

“Abrasive,” Billy repeated, snorting, as he nearly slipped on one of the wet rocks. “The guy punched me when we first met.”

Jon laughed. “You know that was an accident.”

Damian Wayne was obviously a tough nut to crack. He was harsh, blunt, and stubborn through and through, only letting a few people slip past the gaps. But Jon also thought the same of Ladybug. She hid behind her mask, blocking everyone with her walls the second they tried to get close to her. Maybe she was afraid of getting hurt. Maybe she was paranoid.

Consequently, both her and Damian’s spitfire personalities clashed, manifesting as heated arguments and opposition.

Then there was Jon’s other worry. Marinette.

“There’s something I’m thinking about too,” Jon began, “I . . . I think I want to tell her.”

Billy stopped for a minute to catch his breath. “Mari?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been thinking too. We . . . we pretty much dealt with our shit separately at first, right? Damian and the League. You and your powers. Me with . . . you know.” Billy pursed his lips. “But then we got to tell each other in the end. Except her.”

“How do you think she’ll react?”

“Mad. Really mad. She probably won’t talk to us for days.” Billy laughed a little.

Jon pictured it in his head: Mari would be devastated. Confused. Angry. Expectedly, there’d be a rush of emotions involved. Knowing her, she would probably accept the truth in the end, but the journey to that point wouldn’t be pretty. But he found comfort in the fact that they could confide in her someday.

“You know how the heroes have civilian aides? Like Dad has Mom and Uncle Bruce has Alfred?” Jon raked his fingers through his hair. “I kind of want Mari to be like that for us. I know we can’t force her but—but—”

“But she’d be qualified to help us. She’s that smart,” Billy continued.

He nodded. “I just thought that maybe if she’s one of us, we won’t need to worry about hiding and keeping secrets.”

“I get that. Do you see us telling her anytime soon though?”

Jon’s shoulders sagged. “No.”

#maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #billy batson and marinette #jon kent and marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne and marinette dupain cheng

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kestreljaylover · 4 months

Text

My Top 10 Favorite Warrior Cats.

Cinderpelt was the main source of entertainment and enthusiasm in book 2, and 3 and I love that! She would have made it higher is the authors (don't remember the name, and too lazy to look it up) didn't kill her off so soon. Twilight was so annoying, the entire book was terrible, and I was so sad when she died. And her disability was very terribly written. She broke her leg by a car, and she can't be a warrior anymore. I would discuss about it all day long, but I need to move on to #9.

I love our little fruit loop! I mainly love Tallstar's character because of his Super Edition. Tallstar's Revenge is my favorite Euper Edition of all of warrior cats. The characters in the book got stuff done for once. (I don't remember all of the super editions, it has been a long time since I read them). And his little relationship with Jake is super cute! I met someone at a library and she doesn't like Tallstar x Jake. She was a homophobic, and I hate homophobes. She just make me angry, so I never talked to her again. Anyway, I just thought the bowtie idea was cute, and I decided to put that in.

I really love frostpaw because I can relate to her issues, but I think she was like a reboot of Shadowsight. Which Shadowsight was fine, no problem with him. I think frostpaw is just a cute name in general. I have never drawn her before, so i had to some up with grays on the spot. Anyway the next one!

Now we got some of the best kitties in my eyes! Ravenpaw was my favorite characters in the books before someone else came along that will be in #1. But he was basically the start of the series besides Firestar. Think about it, he tells him what happened with the Tigerstar situation. Firestar would have never known if Ravenpaw didn't spill the truth. And I think him moving to the farm was probably the best thing that has happened to him. Barley is not my favorite, it is just that I wanted to draw them. Next one!

Honestly Lightleap is probably the best character in arc 8 because she is so entertaining and snarky. The best type of character. And she caused a lot of drama which I love. It sucks that she has not been there much in book 3 and 4 of A Starless Clan.

She was supposed to be #4, but I forgot I didn't do 5, so instead of thinking more, I just put her there. Briarlight is the only good cat in her family. Mille is very mental, Blossomfall is very bad, and is very.... dramatic? I don't know how to describe it. Graystripe who i don't know what is going on in his head, and Bumblestripe who obsessed with a girl who doesn't want him. Briarlight is the sweetest cat and her death in the fourth or fifth book in AVOS was very sad. I love her friendship with her best friend, Jayfeather. (Yes, best friend! Jayfeather is gay in my head! I don't care if he loved Half Moon). Briarlight is just great! Love her!

Don't really have a reason to put her up here. Maybe I am just obsessed with the name i gave her. I was gonna switch her and Briarlight out, but oh well. I mainly like first arc Bluestar not her super edition (I mean, who does like her super edition)? I just like calling her Queen of the double wide.

Here's Dovewing! My baby! I am happy to put her here on this list! I really don't understand why some people hate Dovewing. She is a great protagonist, and a good mom as well. And also I feel bad for her because she was forced to be with him (Bumblestripe) for a while because of peer pressure. But I am glad she made to choice to get out of the pain.

AAAHHH! SQUIRRELSTAR!!! SHE'S HERE! I have been waiting for 4 years for this. She is basically just like me. (Except the shortness! I am not short). I do what is right, but I don't need approval from anyone. Honestly her husband is a dickhead, so I am glad he stepped down. I wished he would have died though.

JAYFEATHER! HE IS MY FAVORITE KITTY EVER! Does anyone need to explain why he is some people's favorite? Well I do. I can relate to him because everyone is an idiot! The books make them really dumb sometimes, and points out Jay's blindness. And guess who points this out? Jayfeather! He is my favorite for that reason. He is grumpy, but has a valid reason for it. And I can't get myself started on his boyfriend. He is not that interesting, but seeing fanart of Jayfeather and Kestrelflight just makes a smile on my face. (Dusklight for example, go follow them! One of the remaining kestreljay fans, and their work is flawless)! Honestly the sunglasses idea was random. I love a video that someone posted on Christmas day, https://youtu.be/ijd4YaXCjIQ?si=QY8NmE_tV46Yk_8x anyway, that is it. I am tired. :(

#jayfeather #warrior cats #briarlight #tallstar #cinderpelt #Squirrelflight #Dovewing #Briarlight #Lightleap #Bluestar #ravenpaw #Barley #Frostpaw

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onmyyan · 1 year

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i humbly and respectfully beg for a crumb of Ricky content, i need more of this man (holiday drabble like his brother perhaps?) i love, love, love your writing and your characters!!

Ricky's heart grew three times that day.

A/N: Ricky is baby also took a different approach with this one because our boy is troubled but we luh him all the same. Also Coquito(1) is like this boozy eggnog that has like three different types of Puerto Rican rum in it and it gets you SLOSHED lmao my family on my mom's side always makes it around the holidays, do y'all have any fun traditions?

TW'S: Ricky, Yandere, he has the holiday blues, cursing, suggestive

Ricky hated winter. The snow in New York was brutal, he was always shivering no matter how many thermals he wore, and everyone got on his nerves even more so than usual. These thoughts were at the forefront of his mind as he stared down at the daunting message from his Father, the invitation to the Christmas party was more of a command than an ask and he felt his blood pressure rise at the idea.

Checking to see if you were still sleeping, his tired eyes raked over your blissfully unaware form and the sight pacified him almost instantly. He began to gently pet your hair, the soft motions self soothing as his mind became a battlefield.

While not inherently terrible, being surrounded by his loud extended family always left him with a migraine. Be it the judgmental tones and stares or the backhanded compliments, he'd be forced to interact with them, forced to save face and make his dad look good even though he was tearing them apart in his mind.

He hated small talk, especially with people he couldn't give less of a shit about. And his nature was far too blunt and aggressive to mesh with the rest of his kin, he felt the sneer on his face at the though of all the tongue biting he was gonna have to do tonight, and he must have been thinking too loud because you began to shuffle awake.

"Sleep. It's way too early for you to be up." His morning voice was shiver inducing, the tremble in his words had a smile curling on your half asleep form, the small kiss he pressed to the center of your forehead made you fully open your eyes.

"Mm but you're way more fun than sleep." You responded, nearly cutting yourself off with a yawn. He couldn't help but grin down at you, all tension evaporating from his body, his semi cold hand drifting from your waist to your own, had goosebumps rising on the skin, he smoothly interlocked your fingers with a content sigh.

He allowed himself to be swallowed by the peace of the morning. Waking with the love of his life was something he'd never get used to, far too often he had nightmares where you were gone or worse, all in his mind, then he'd jump awake with a pounding heart, only to find you peacefully drooling on his chest, the image making him fall somehow deeper in love.

"Why ya up so early anyway babe?" You asked snuggling closer to his chest. He'd have to force himself not to shiver when you began playing with the gold chain resting on his neck. He'd bought it to match with a necklace he gifted you on your one month anniversary, inhaling your scent deeply, trying to ground himself further in the moment, he took a second before responding.

"Dad texted me." He started slowly, as if not saying it would somehow negate his need to attend.

"Every year my Ma' throws this ridiculous Christmas party and every year I gotta go and deal with my whole family- it's a mess and I hate it." He all but whined.

"All I wanna' do is snuggle and watch those shitty cheesy movies you love so much-" he punctuated this with a soft kiss, "But nooo. Now I gotta play nice with a bunch'a assholes just cuz' were related." You smiled up at your grump of a boyfriend and tried not to laugh at his dramatics.

"Okay big guy- those cheesy movies? Yeah you love em' too don't even try to play with me I seen you cry and second," you sprung like a cat to sit up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his waist, he gave a wicked grin at the action, hands instantly finding home on your hips, "You got back-up this year, anyone gets too cunty and I'll handle em'." Sliding your thumb across Your throat in a mocking gesture, he couldn't help but laugh at the image, the cute little giggle you let out was contagious, leaning down to seal his lips in another kiss, this one much longer than the last, when you pulled away to breath he followed, sitting up and wrapping your legs around his middle.

"Oh you're gonna take my aunt Susan out back if she gets snippy huh?" He laughed against your mouth, his thumbs began to circle the skin of your hips sending sparks up your spine.

"Really though Rick, I got you. We show up, razzle the parents, totally upstage your brothers by bringing your mom flowers and then get home in time to bone to whatever cliché movie they got on TV."

His eyes softened at your very clear attempts to cheer him up, the action only further proving to him you were his forever person. "Come on ya Grinch. It might even be funn." You whispered the last part, as if a secret.

He sighed through his nose before interlocking your pinkies. "Okay but if I call it we're outta there you dig?"

The way your face brightened made the party suddenly seem actually appealing. "Dig. We can say I got the meat sweats or ooh- I can make myself pass out?"

The rest of the morning was spent in between the sheets. When you'd finally wrestled him out of bed he, like the brat he was, claimed he wasn't showering unless you joined him.

After your rather steamy shower he found his place snugly sat between your legs, his finger tips gently tracing your guy's names on your calves, you'd been softly singing along to the Christmas song thrumming through the morning air and gently brushed out his long mane. The ends got curly when he was fresh out the shower like this, the strands bounced around your finger as you began to braid.

He was practically drooling from the incredible sensation of your fingers threading through his scalp. It was as if you had magic in those hands.

He discovered a few things about himself that day, he didn't mind Christmas music if it was coming from your mouth. He also found the idea of showing you off way too good to pass up, sure his possessive nature usually didn't allow for such feelings but every year someone commented on his lack of partner, he couldn't wait to walk in with the most enchanting creature to ever grace the earth on his arm. He also couldn't wait to see the look on his siblings faces when they realized he wasn't lying and you were in fact real, he had yet to introduce you to anyone but his parents, sure the other boys knew of you, but Ricky is so stingy with your information, so hesitant to speak about you, they'd begun teasing him, as if you were made up.

You both looked to die for as you put the finishing touches on your look. Ricky was fussing with his tie, his nerves picking back up as the clock marched on. His brain was running faster than usual, running through all the ways it could go wrong, all the ways you could end up hurt, but then your hands slid around his midsection from behind, your shorter form peaking out to meet his gaze in the mirror.

"Hey, you okay over here? I can't remember the last time you looked this uncomfortable." His hands instantly stopped fussing with the undone tie, eagerly encompassing your own with his larger ones, focusing on the warmth you provided instead of the nagging anxiety in his gut was easy.

"I'm- I'll be okay." He reassured you, bringing your hand to his lips so he could kiss each finger. "I got you- I'll be okay." He repeated like a mantra, you smiled sadly at the taller man, knowing just how hard he worked for his Father's approval, you're not sure he even could say no to the man, turning him to face you took little effort, you cupped the sides of his face as softly as you could, thumbs gently rubbing his flustered face, "Say the word and we're telling your mom I got food poisoning." He huffed a laugh through his nose, leaning his forehead against your own, his eyes closing in concentration as he held you closer to him.

"Thank you Love." His eyes opened with such raw passion is took you aback a little.

"You're like my morphine tonight okay? No straying too far, if my creepy cousin says anything to you come tell me- who am I kidding you're not gonna have to I'll be right there." He quickly shook away his storm cloud and began running down his mental list of rules for a successful night, his usual attitude was back making you return his grin.

"And don't let Manny goad you into drinking the coquito*, he made it this year and the little bastard is heavy handed with the rum." He continued talking while you began to fix his tie, the ginger not skipping a beat. "Ma will try to feed you until you can't move so when she asks if you're hungry say no- it is a trap." You snorted at this, much to his amusement. "I'm so serious- anyway my Pop's a real hardass, don't take his face personal I swear he just looks like he hates you." You'd finished his tie with a pat to the chest and he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles as thanks, "-but he knows how much you mean to me and promised he wouldn't scare you away."

"Don't worry my love, nothing you do could scare me off." You said lightheartedly, walking back to your mirror to double check yourself as it was time to go, not knowing just how serious he was taking those words.

"That's good to hear." His smile would be so genuine you'd completely miss the dark look in his eye.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #anon submission #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #my oc #yandere oc ricky #ricky delmont x reader #ricky delmomt

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jungle-angel · 1 year

Text

Bears in the Den (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Wabang has hit the deep freeze, but that doesn’t mean you, Rhett and the kiddos can’t stay warm

Rhett couldn’t believe that the wind was already blowing this hard, the trees outside clicking together, the snow pelting the windows and the ice cold temperatures outside making the house snap.

He scratched Tiny’s chin as she purred in the curve of his elbow, the calico cat happy and content to be getting some attention from her master while her and Willy’s kittens slept in a big pile in the basket close by the woodstove.

“Looks like we’ve got a deep freeze again pretty kitty,” he chuckled.

Tiny jumped from his arms, right to the floor as soon as Willy came up the stairs from the basement with something dangling from his mouth. Rhett gave him a few pets but when Willy dropped his mouth-full at Rhett’s feet, he backed away a little.

“Oh jeebus!” Rhett exclaimed. “Willy, I swear to God, ya’ll are the nastiest cat Wabang has ever seen.”

Willy meowed and disappeared, just as Royal was coming up the steps with a mason jar full of amber brown liquid. “Cat leave you a present?” he laughed.

“I love that cat to death, Dad,” Rhett told him as he filled a mug full of coffee. “I’m glad we don’t have a rodent problem, but I wish that Willy would fuckin eat it like all the others do.”

Royal laughed a little. “Better that than the skunks leavin’em everywhere.”

Rhett yawned before he drank a little of the steaming hot coffee. “Any idea where Ma went?”

“Her and Amy are helping (y/n),” Royal answered as he poured the contents of the mason jar into a glass full of ice. “Guess I’m giving those two little buttheads their baths tonight?”

“That’s up to you,” Rhett told him. “I’m fuckin exhausted. Took five of us to get T-Bone back in his stall this afternoon when the critters were holed up.”

A loud *SNAP!* startled the two of them nearly witless. “Just the house,” Royal muttered with a wave of his hand.

The sound of a baby’s cries reached Rhett’s ears before Royal gave him the “go” look. Up the stairs Rhett went to your shared bedroom where you were trying to get Kaya, your youngest daughter, back to sleep. Hannah, Tatum, Tanner and Amy were all crowding around you, trying to get your attention until Rhett started rapping his knuckles on the wood doorframe.

“Alright beans, listen up!” he loudly announced. “Who in this house has had a bath? Raise your hands.”

Amy and Hannah were the only ones who raised their hands. Tatum and Tanner were still in their little flannel shirts, jeans and baseball caps, their little socks all sweaty and gross from being in their boots all day long.

“You two buttheads need to go see Papa,” Rhett told them. “Ya’ll were buggin T-Bone all afternoon and you both smell like a bullpen.”

“Um, Daddy.....?” Tanner stammered.

“Go,” Rhett ordered with a snap of his fingers.

Tatum and Tanner both sauntered out of the room to wait for Royal. Amy and Hannah on the other hand were a different story.

“You girls wanna do a movie night?” Rhett asked them.

“Yes!!! Yes please!!” they cheered, jumping up and down.

“Go grab your stuff and meet down in the basement.”

Amy and Hannah eagerly ran from the room to get a blanket and one of their stuffies off their beds while Rhett immediately saw to you and Kaya.

“Baby I’m sorry you had to come up here,” you apologized.

“Darlin, don’t you dare apologize,” he told you. “It took two of us to make these four and it’s gonna take two of us to raise’em.”

He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead, the both of you exhausted as Kaya began to whimper again. “I think I know who she’s been wanting all day,” you chuckled.

Rhett laughed a little as you carefully placed Kaya into his arms. “Hi princess,” he whispered, kissing her cheeks. “Ya’ll givin Momma a hard time?”

Kaya yawned, her tiny little mouth opening wide and her eyes half lidded as she wriggled a little in her father’s arms. Rhett laughed and swore he could see a little smile forming on Kaya’s face. “You feel like doing a movie, Baby?” he asked you.

“Anything to relax at this point,” you told him. “I stressed myself out trying to plan main lessons for when I go back to work but...”

“Hey, ya’ll are on leave for a month,” Rhett informed you. “I think your students at that hippie school can do with a substitute and ya’ll can definitely take some time and rest.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “Alright, let’s go cowboy,” you told him.

You and Rhett adjourned to the basement where Hannah and Amy had roped Cecelia into setting up the pull out sofa couch and making it as comfortable and cozy as possible with the blankets and quilts.

“Roped you in, didn’t they?” Rhett asked.

Cecelia gave him “the look” as she unfolded the big quilt and spread it out. “Like I told Winona Redwood......my grandbabies will be the death of me yet.”

Rhett tried to hide the smile that was trying to crawl across his face when Royal came clunking down the stairs with Tatum and Tanner close behind him, Tatum in his navy blue and black flannel pjs and Tanner in his red ones.

“Everything go ok?” Rhett asked him.

“Oh yeah,” Royal assured him. “Told’em if they didn’t take a bath that their socks would turn their feet black and make’em fall off.”

Rhett stifled a laugh and so didn’t you. “Maybe we should have you do baths more often.”

“Aw hell no (y/n)!” Royal said firmly. “I already had to deal with two shitheads who were just like’em and I don’t need two more.”

You laughed as you, Rhett and the other kids settled in for the movie, opting for a double feature instead of just one. Royal and Cecelia both took the recliner next to you, while you, Rhett and the kids took the sofa bed.

You were excited beyond words when you found out that the kids had chosen “Spirit” as the first movie. That had been one that you and Rhett had bonded easily over and one that had been his biggest comfort film. “Here I am” by Bryan Adams had even played at your wedding, the one song that held extra special meaning for you and Rhett.

The kids weren’t even tired yet, even as you switched “Spirit” for the movie “Willow”. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but for whatever reason, your kids took to 80s fantasy films the same way horses took to the open fields.

“What do you think Momma?” Rhett whispered as Kaya curled against his chest, the only sound from her being a sleepy little coo.

You snuggled into Rhett, kissing Kaya’s little head and looking around at the small little forms all curled up and snoring in their spots. “We did good Papa Bear,” you said, kissing his shoulder and snuggling against him.

All of you stayed like that until the sun rose the next morning, you, Rhett, Royal, Cecelia and the kids all sleeping like bears in a den.

#outer range #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #royal abbott #cecelia abbott #royall abbott x cecelia abbott

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slocumjoe · 1 year

Note

PLeaLSE gage headcanons LITERALLY ANYTHING fluffy I BEG

*cracks knuckles*

Separated into normal, shippy, and miserable. Everything nasty is below the big red banner.

Will whistle at songbirds when he sees them, if its safe to do so/won't attract anything. Knows a lot of different calls/songs. One of the few times a random person will see him genuinely smile, is when he gets a back-and-forth with the little things.

Have said before, but enjoys whittling. Crotchety asshole, but he did it to make toys for his younger siblings (of which he had a lot) and friends. If a kid wanders up while he's doing it, curious, will offer to teach them how and gives them whatever it becomes. He doesn't need it, it's just wood. But it seems a waste to just chuck all that work in a bush or whatever.

Knows how to be helpful in a kitchen/campfire/general cooking affairs. Also said this before, was a mama's boy, and always helped her around the house. Very good knifework. Has a habit of going 'behind' whenever he's...well, behind someone while cooking. Their kitchen was small and god forbid you bump into Ma and she spills something.

Knows a lot about creepy-crawlies. Dislikes your standard wasteland bugs, but spiders, bees, ants, stick bugs, etc, from the Old World? Like snakes, very into them. Would be the type to approach arachnaphobes with his hands closed, telling them to guess what he had. It would be nothing. But you wouldn't know that from his grin.

Related, good with animals. He was raised on a farm, after all. Likes most of them. Out of all of the other companions, Dogmeat is the one he likes the most.

Also have said before, but will keep an eye on a buddy/associate/whatever if they're drunk. Like, Gage won't let you walk off with a stranger while you're pissed. And he certainly won't let a stranger walk off with you, if you catch my drift. He hates alcohol and alcohol drinkers, but fuck, he doesn't want that kind of shit happening. It's a remenent of being the eldest child, gotta look out for everyone even if they're pissing you off.

shippy stuff

Extremely physical, but reserved. Won't initiate anything, not even to hold hands. Rarely acts like he needs/enjoys it. It takes time for Gage to be open like that, visibly affectionate. Once he is, though, clingy. Cuddle-every-night kind of guy, doesn't understand why you'd sleep in the same bed if not touching.

Cat-like. Will kinda...nuzzle, bump their foreheads together, lean his head on theirs, etc. If this is brought up he will stop doing it forever.

Will fall asleep if given a massage. Gage would let someone touch him like that only if he trusts them more than himself. Its not a much bigger leap for him to fall asleep with his back to them.

Preferred sleeping position is laying on his partner in some capacity, either on their shoulder, chest, stomach...again, cat-like. Not often he initiates affection, but once he does, personal space is a foreign concept.

Hug-from-behinder

All of these have something to do with sleeping, you might notice. Gage does not let people see him sleep, know where he does it. The ultimate sign of trust from Gage is being unconscious around them. And if he wakes up unharmed, unfucked with? It would take a fucking lot for that person to lose his loyalty and love. They're basically married now.

Seriously, Gage doesn't do 'downtime'. He can't relax like that. It's his partner's presence that helps him feel safe enough to rest for the sake of resting. Doing nothing is more meaningful to Gage than doing anything. Gage is always going, or planning his 'going'. Getting him to stop is a triumph.

Will share food with them. Have half of this fruit, eat the rest of this stew, finish these eggs for him. Won't even realize he's doing it. Gage is kind of a control freak, always wants to make sure everything is running well, taken care of.

His partner helping him shave his hair. Just consider that. Consider them with their hand on his jaw, tilting his head. His stubble scratches their fingers. Their hand is so close to his throat, they could feel his slow pulse with one little movement. In their other palm is a razor. They stand behind him, diligently scraping. His eye is closed, his own hands idle in his lap. Maybe someone talks, maybe they don't. The bathroom is small and the door is closed, and Porter Gage gives them sharp metal and bares his throat.

^ this is the lewdest, vilest, indecent, most embarrassing thing I've ever written, and I once wrote a fic where character A was described as using character B's prostate as a "character V deserves better" button.

❗trigger warnings start here❗

S/A victim and will not recognize, acknowledge, process, or accept it

Part of the thing with Conner...Gage says how Conner made him feel, how closely they worked together. Even if you get that story out of him, he's not going to mention just how close they would get.

Same thing happened with Colter. Gage always wants to be close to the boss, the guy making the choices. He thinks its of his own volition with Colter—but either way, Conner and Colter got theirs. Regardless how Gage felt about it.

Had something of a drinking problem when he was younger. Did it mostly to feel mature, adult. This stopped when he joined his second raider gang, after the Conner incident.

Every so often, has an episode of some kind. Angry, manic, depressed, paranoid—its very rare but Gage gets into these spells that last about a month. They usually involve him looking over his shoulder, so to speak, looking at the path he took to get where he is. Looking at the shadow he has and the demons in it. Thats largely why Gage is a workaholic, always going. If he stops, he might glance at all of the shit he's been through, and he loses his mind for a while. No one knows, it's wholly private. Gets through his day normally. Its all in his head, no external expression. Nothing in his face, his tone, movement, behavior...you couldn't never see it. You'd only know if he told you. God knows he wouldn't.

Another thing he won't acknowledge—misses his family. Absolute fucking liar, he was really close to them before bailing out of the blue one night. He didn't think about it until he almost died to Conner, and had that one moment where he seriously regretted leaving, and wanted to go home. He rarely ever thinks about his family, and even more rare does he recognize the empty hole in his chest as homesickness. When he does, has one of those episodes.

These episodes end with Gage hardening even further. He shaves off a little more of his humanity each time, whatever he considers a weakness. Its just like whittling.

His emotional walls are a two-way street—it keeps everyone else out to protect himself, but it also cages him. Build up enough walls, you have a labyrinth. You'll lose your way around eventually. If not found by a Sole, or anyone else who befriends and gets close to him, Gage would end in a bad fucking place. Whether dead or alive, he would barely be a person. Just a husk with no rhyme or reason to what it did, running purely on autopilot. He's a raider, so he raids things. No thought of survival or anything like that anymore. Mechanically going through each day until he eventually died. He's about 3/4s of the way through this internal withering at the time of the Nuka World DLC.

#porter gage #you can tell if i like a character based on how much i think about their traumas

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theawkwardterrier · 11 months

Text

Wednesday 100: S5 Series, cont.

Bree (5x06)

“—and a bowl of milk will be fine, but cream is better."

Bree crosses her arms, looking only half amused. "I think we can take care of your cat, Mama."

"Of course, darling. It's only that I've never left the poor thing alone before."

"He won't be alone, that's the point." Eyeing Claire cuddling Adso, she adds, "Hey, if I didn't know better, I'd say you love that thing more than me."

Jamie, who has been waiting on the porch, sticks his head in. "Dinna be daft, a leannan. O' course we love you and yer wee brother the same."

Murtagh (5x07)

He cannot truly feel his godson's hands, only sees the stricken movement — not a soldier's instincts or someone trained by a healer wife, but a child's impulse, desperate to keep the blood inside where it belongs, to keep hold on someone he loves.

He wishes he could stay, yet he cannot regret what brought him here, cannot regret the righteous fight and brotherhood, the foundations of freedom. Even far from home, he isn't dying for nothing. He is doing it for Jamie, instead of him, so it will be years until he knows himself that it doesn't hurt a bit.

Ian (5x08)

He had known that the Ridge would be changed — he has been gone too long and Uncle Jamie's plans had been too expansive for it not to have — and yet Ian had still imagined that same little cabin here. He had wanted it, in some ways, wanted to somehow find himself turning back into the boy he had been then: someone who had suffered, yes, but someone who could smile without effort, who could imagine his bright future ahead.

But now he is here, haunting that big house, no long husband, father, warrior, tribesman, seeing only hopeless darkness awaiting him.

Marsali (5x09)

"Dinna tell me ye don't have snakes in yer time," Daddy says to Ma, and Marsali hears but does not pause in her work, only thinks to herself Yer time? and So that's what it is about her, and decides to speak of it with Fergus later.

A bit of her does feel invisible just then, wondering if they hadn't considered her worthy of true explanation or even excuses — misspeaking or delirium. The rest, however, feels warmed all through by the thought that they consider her family now, trusting her with their secrets, knowing that she accepts them both unguarded.

Roger (5x09)

He is a minister's son. He knows the confessions of the dying are meant to be sacred. That his father-in-law still lives does not change that he spoke this in confidence, as a last resort.

And yet when Bree asks if there is something else, he does not recall his duty to the dying, but that to his wife. He has kept things from her before, telling himself that it was for her own good, and brought only suffering to them all. He’s learned that lesson. He tells Brianna the hard truth.

He thinks Jamie Fraser would—will understand that.

Jamie (5x11)

"We just finished the upstairs," he had told John, and it feels now as if he had spoken a curse upon them, that specter that has visited them more than once before, as they grew settled, as they came to believe that they would have a life of perfectly twined peace.

But Jamie Fraser decides no. They will not be haunted again. They will have that peace, their walls and neighbors firm around them.

He has burned the cross. He will burn the world to find his wife and bring her back whole to this home they have built together.

Fergus (post 5x12)

The nightmares only start a week after.

It makes Fergus feel foolish, that he could ride to rescue Milady, take lives doing it, that he could find Marsali, think she was dead and still hold and joke with her later, and now once everything is calm, the nightmares come.

It makes him feel foolish, that he dreams of himself, laughing with Milord while Marsali shouts for him until she is shoved into silence and Germain stands outside alone, waiting and waiting.

That's why his hand finds the bottle: so he won't feel foolish, guilty, helpless, won't feel anything at all.

Claire (S5)

She realizes one day, looking around the house, that she still doesn't own a vase. She realizes the next minute that it doesn't matter.

She has here her garden and her favorite berry patches in the woods, patients and people who greet her each day. She has the children who have become hers, and her grandchildren too. Her husband has given her two rings, a cat, seeds for cabbages and marigolds, a strong roof, a surgery built by his own hands, windows no matter how dear the price, and everything of himself besides.

She has the vase already, and more.

#Wednesday100 #Outlander #Outlander fic #all the Frasers of the Ridge are here

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griefabyss69 · 4 months

Text

Transcending Dualities

A classic friends to lovers + a little bit of dry humping, from moi? I know!

This is very much a 'look ma! I can be normal too!' fic, though it wasn't written with that intention, it's just how the story shook out while I was thinking about how Steve probably can see a lot of himself in Eddie. *winks*

Steddie - Rated E - 10.4K

[ AO3 ] [ Tip / Commissions post ]

Summary + Excerpt

A roundabout character study hidden inside a slice of life type of romance like a cat's medicine hidden inside some tuna. Steve's not normal about wanting another male friend his age, and Eddie's got a soft heart that he hides in jokes that Steve thinks are funny.

---

If you asked anyone, Steve and Eddie are like total opposites, but Steve doesn’t really believe that these days – the more he thinks about him, the more he talks to him, the more he realizes he and Eddie are similar in so many ways.

Seeing the two of them standing here beside each other, it's like two different worlds, but the little connections that hook them together like clasped hands only get stronger the longer Steve looks at them.

They're leaning against the wall of the arcade, Eddie taking a smoke break from the chaos inside and Steve taking the excuse to hang out with him alone, even if he could really use the break too.

They have a lot in common, despite how they look, despite the full yard of distance between them as they half gossip about the kids and their teenaged drama. Steve's gone through full lists before, bored as hell at the counter of the video store, moon eyed over the thought that maybe if he spoke up, Eddie would agree with him and decide that they can be friends – like, best friends. [ Full on AO3 ]

#griefabyss69 writing #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #now with the typo in the second paragraph fixed LMAO...

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