#you can very obviously see who my favorites are

[quarterlifekitty]

As a person who's never been to summer camp, I have this glorified version of what it's supposed to be (my friend tells me otherwise, which in this case, I'm so sorry for all those who did not like summer camp)

Either way, back to the point I intended to make, our pookie bears and reader at Summer Camp. As councilors- to clarify

I mean, in a very PG-13 AU I can imagine soap and Gaz being mates at school and soap is 100% the boy who comes back from summer camp like guys I have a girlfriend now. But you can’t meet her because I met her at camp and she doesn’t go here. She’s from a different country. But we exchanged email addresses 🥰 and Gaz is like no the fuck you didn’t

(Soap also definitely touched his first boob at sleepaway camp)

As counselors? I can’t help but imagine you all getting murdered because you were too busy MAKING LOVE when you should have been WATCHING MY JASON etc.

Anyways. Johnny is the arts counselor, obviously. Your camp is well enough off that there’s a little ceramics studio and a fibers room for weaving, crochet, etc. He tries very hard to be the favorite counselor, and while he’s very close, he’s just not cool enough.

You know who is? Gaz. Water recreation counselor. Swimming, rowing, all that. Effortlessly nonchalant and handsome. Glistening, even. First crush of many (we all had that counselor. Come on).

Simon is the camping skills instructor who definitely comes across like he was medically discharged from the military and hasn’t gotten over it. Like he has the intensity of someone who has lives depending on them. Like for the love of god, how do you expect to make it out there for more than a day if you can’t start a fire? And yes, for those wondering, he does teach a lot of skills that kids should not know in retrospect because once they find out how many improvised weapons he knows how to make? It’s like when you get your teacher monologuing about their divorce and they forget about the lesson they were supposed to teach you. He’s just happy to share.

And here’s where you’ll see that the entirety of my knowledge of camp (I went to day camp only) comes from the movies sleepaway camp and wet hot American summer because I’m running out of camp activities to remark upon lol. Anyone who knows about camp please help my family is dying

I know that medic!reader is probably kinda overused but I can’t stop thinking about Simon awkwardly bringing yet another kid to you who has a cut and being like “so who exactly was teaching them how to make knives from flint?” And he looks like a dog who just ate something he wasn’t supposed to have.

[spidybaby]

Makeup Voice-over

Madrid Boys x Influencer!Reader

Summary: You ask your boyfriend for help to record the voice-over of your makeup routine.

Warnings: cursing.

A/N: Hi guys! Many of you asked me to do a version of Barca Boys but with Madrid guys. I took the most mentioned in the requests, hope you like it, love you 🙂‍↔️❤️

Jude

"So, I just have to do say what you are doin'?" He asks, confused while you place the airpods on his ears.

"Yes, baby." You smile at him.

"What if I don't know the name of the product?" He asks, worried. "Or the name of the tool?"

"Jude, just do it your way, call it whatever."

"Alright, boss." He smiles.

You left the room, leaving him to do it alone. You walk with a laundry basket to the laundry room. Wanting to be surprised with the video once it's done.

Jude does what you told him, play the video, and start to say what you are applying with a lot of detail.

"Hello' mates, I'm Y/n, your favorite one. Today, I'm doing a tutorial so you can look as amazing as I do."

He chuckles as he stops the video. You recorded in parts so he could pause and do the voice over slowly.

"I'm applying this green gel, I think that's for hair." He says, confused. "Oh, on my face, okay." He doesn't understand why you would apply that to your face. "Now I'm grabbing this and putting drops of it on my face. As you can see, it's the same color as my skin." He explains.

He takes a pause to drink some water.

"With a sponge, I know that cause my amazing boyfriend who I adore gave it to me!" He says proudly. "I spread it all over my face, then you grab another product with the same color and put it under your eye, in your chin, in your forehead."

He tries to understand what you are doing but he doesn't really know much about makeup and he doesn't really know much about the names.

"Okay, so now you need to use powder, place it all over the stuff you just spread." He confusingly says. "Now I know this one, you need to blush your face just like when my perfect boyfriend gives me a compliment. Love you, darling." He chuckles.

He feels happy that he knows what you are doing, he might be dumb but he wasn't dumb to blush.

"Now apply brown powder cause why not." He explains. "Also, now with a brush, you grab this other brown powder and apply it to the eye, close it before, we don't want to become blind."

He praised himself for the knowledge.

"Now that your eyes are powdered with brown, you grab an even darker brown and do it to only a part of your eye." He says, obviously thinking he is correct. "Now you take this shiny powder and apply it to the other part of your eye, yes."

He pauses again, taking a other sip of his drink.

"Okay, mates, and you grab this mascara. Yes, that's the name. Write it down. You apply it to the lashes twice, apparently."

You are downstairs finishing with loading the washing machine, not thinking that it was going to be as funny as it was being.

"Now we apply lipstick, but if I'm being honest let's skip it, fuck!" He says, very confident. "Oh, shit. Not this glossy thing. Okay, apply a glossy thing to your lips but don't kiss your man because that will end up on his lips."

He hates gloss, everybody knows that now.

"And then you spray your face, why? I don't know." He chuckles. "Thank you guys, now go buy a real madrid jersey with the number 5, bye."

Kylian

"Bonjour à tous, je suis Y/n."

"Kyks, in English, please!" You say from the kitchen. He was recording the voice-over on the couch.

"Anyways, today I'm doing my skin care and makeup. Let's start." He says in a very sweet tone. "First wash your face if you don't disgusting."

You can't help but laugh at him.

"Shhh, I'm working here." He says, trying not to laugh. "You now need to pass this cotton thing with this mmm, water?" He questions.

You shake your head, he tries to praise that he knows everything but clearly don't.

"Pass it around and let it dry." He nods at himself. "Then you need to apply this silicony gel, make sure it's spead correctly because if not you will root and die."

"Kylian!" You warn him. "You can't say that to people."

"I know what I'm doing, mademoiselle." He tells you. "Now that you did, apply foundation on this plate and add some of your skin care. Why? Don't know, but do it just like I do."

He pauses the video to talk to you.

"What is the plate?" He asks.

"It's a mixing pallette." You explain. "You use it to mix products."

He nods, understanding. "Now you pick it up with a brush, applying it to your face. Blend it up calmly because if not, you might break an arm." He chuckles. "Then you move to your small foundation, I think that's not what is called but Google it. It's Dior as you can see."

He makes sure to say it because when you did a video asking him to guess the price he was impressed that Dior had makeup.

"Once that's done, you grab this brown cream. Grab the brush and take some product, apply to the forehead and the cheeks." He explains. "And grab this blush, one dot on each cheek, blend it."

You smile at how he looks like he is enjoying doing it.

"Grab the powder and powder yourself, make sure to be very powder, or you'll be all wet with the other products, and you will be the clown of the party."

You cover your mouth, can't believe how extra he was being.

"Then you'll grab another brown product, applying it again, same with the blush, do it again. Don't worry if it seems wasteful. Make your boyfriend get you another one."

He chuckles, knowing that he was being a hit.

"Now you need to move to the eyes. You are going to grab a pallette and apply a color to the eyes. You then gran your marker and draw a line, make it sharp, it needs to be able to cut the enemies."

You shake your head no, laughing at him being so extra.

"Once you do that, you need to apply more lashes, bigger ones." He explains. "They glue to the eyelid, and once it's done, grab a mascara, apply it."

You move from the kitchen to where he is. "Almost done? The food is ready."

He nods. "You are going to grab a color pencil. Paint your lips with it because you'll need it for the lipstick. When you are done, you need to apply a spray."

He tries to remember the name of that spray but he can't.

"And done, now I leave to go to a Real Madrid game to see my boyfriend, love you Kylian, the best, vote for him on La Liga player of the month, bye."

Arda

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" He asks, very shyly.

"Yes, love." You smile, caressing his face. "It's just a voice-over of my makeup tutorial."

"But I'll mess up things."

"No, you won't." You smile. "Just name things as you think they are, okay?"

"Okay."

He walks over to your studio, you let him alone to do it because he asked you to.

"Okay, shit." He takes a deep breath. "Hello everyone, my girlfriend is doing a makeup tutorial. First, she's applying this skin color cream with an eggy looking sponge."

He's confuse at the sponge but won't pay mind to it.

"Then you need to grab another skin color cream. This one is, I think, a little bit more bright, or maybe it's the light." He says, very confused. "You need to hit your face with the sponge and move the cream around. Then you are going to grab a big brush, she's using one I gave her for her birthday, don't ask me, my mom helped me." He chuckles

He didn't lie. He got you a lot of makeup things for your birthday. Thanks to his mom, he got everything right because he was lost.

"Now, with another brush, she's grabbing this thing to make her face have shape or something like that. You need to apply it to the jawline, the cheek, your nose, everywhere basically."

He's confuse about why is it everywhere, but he won't question you.

"Okay, now a different brush. This has been in her collection for a long time, I know cause I once almost broke it, and she told me that." He chuckles. "You grab this pinky powder, apply it to the cheeks and I don't know why she's also applying it on the top of her nose and on her eyelids."

He's confused at why you are doing that but won't complain. He isn't a woman, he can't argue with you about it.

"Okay, now she's using this eye makeup. She likes orange, and she will use it on her eyes. This makeup was when we played with the orange jersey. Love that jersey. Also, the white one is cool, but this one has its own thing."

He's rambling, but you don't mind about it. It was supposed to be something fun for you and him. So you told him to be himself and to ramble if he wants.

"After the eyes, she usually grabs this lash comb, makes her eyelashes grow, they look amazing." He admires the image of you. "She doesn't like gloss or lipstick, so she's using this belly thing on her lips, tapping it with her fingers to make it seem natural."

He was almost done. He knows it because when you do this, you then apply a spray and say you are done.

"To finish you grab this spray, it makes your makeup last. Why? I'm not sure, but I just trust the process, apparently." He says, trying not to chuckle. "Now we are done, and as you can see, she looks amazing. Thank you for watching."

Brahim

"Bueno gente, let's start this." Brahim says. "You'll need to be pretty cause if you are not as pretty as me, sad." He says.

You shake your head no, trying not to let the big laugh you are holding out.

"You need to use some foundation, I use this one from Rihanna." He mentions, not sura about brands but dealing with it. "You grab the sponge, hit your face with it, hard please so you can stamp that makeup on."

You lost it, letting the laugh out.

"Shhh, amor venga!" He says. "Okay, move on, you grab your concealer. In this case, I couldn't sleep because I like to watch my boyfriend who is very handsome, guapo el chico!"

You laugh again.

"You then grab this powder, also grab this triangle, press the powder, and then place it under the eyes, the forehead, the cheeks." He explains, feeling like a pro. "You then grab that cocoa powder lookalike. Then please grab a brush and a blush, I love the kiko one, muy bueno, mucho pimiento!"

"Pigmento!" You laugh

"Exactly," He says. "Now I don't like to add much eye shadow, I place this light brown, como café corto de leche, then I add highlight."

"Coffee with light milk?" You ask.

"Shhh, guapa." He says, waving his hand. "To finish, I apply my favorite mascara. It's named better than sex, even tho it is not because my boyfriend joder!"

You almost pee yourself from how hard you are laughing at his silliness.

"Now, apply a lip oil and go around your day." He says sassy. "Also, don't forget to go and see my boyfriend, The Brahim Diaz, highlights on La Liga Instagram. Adiós, kiss kiss." He finishes with a kiss sound.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤

a/n: not too happy with how the beginning turned out, but the second half of this has to be one of my favorite things i’ve ever written

summary: natasha romanoff x female!reader. based on the movie “the notebook”; you’re allie, nat’s noah

warnings: none :)

word count: 8.8k

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

The consequences of your actions couldn't have been sweeter.

Your parents don't end up approving of Natasha, but maybe that's okay. Even two years later, they refuse to talk to her. You don't talk to them, either.

You don't tell them the big news.

They don't get an invite.

They also don't see you in your wedding dress.

Your father doesn't walk you down the aisle. Instead, Peter takes over that job for him.

It took Natasha three months to figure out what to wear. To you, it never mattered — she would've look gorgeous in anything. But, when you see her waiting for you in her white suit, you're very happy about her choice.

It's a small wedding, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Just the closest friends, and a few distant relatives who were kind enough to show up — not many of those, obviously. But you'd always suspected your aunt Vivian would support your little act of rebellion.

She sits in the second row, beaming just like Peter. When she hugs you after the ceremony, she whispers: "Your mom will come around eventually. If she doesn't, then she's missing out."

You're not sure about the first part, but the second? That, you know is true.

Natasha doesn't let go of your hand the entire night. During the vows, the toast, your first dance as wives. Her eyes are on you, as well. You're not doing anything extraordinary, other than wear a wedding dress, but she's looking at you like you hung the moon.

Your honeymoon is just as special. After a few weeks in Italy, you make your way back to where you're happiest. Back to the place that keeps pulling you in like a magnet, back to your world of coffees and canoes and mornings in the lake.

You'll always return to this house, that much is clear. You remember what Natasha said when she first brought you here — for someday. Away from everything. Away with someone.

That someone somehow turned out to be you. As you watch her reach for the key and unlock the door, you couldn't be more thankful for that fact.

"We need a bed", you mumble. You still haven't upgraded from the mattress you've been using for years now.

She glances at you, the soft sunlight catching her hair. "I like the mattress. Very grounding."

"Haha." You smirk and grab her hand, letting her lead you inside. The smell of pine and dust is comforting. It feels like a home, even more so than the apartment you bought in New York City together.

The floorboards creak underfoot. You look around, taking the familiar space in. It's old and worn, the kind of place that wraps around you like a warm blanket. Natasha drops your bags by the floor, then stretches her arms above her head with a satisfied sound.

The surface of the lake outside shimmers. You step out onto the porch and grab the broom to remove all the old leaves and dirt that have accumulated during your absence. Inside the kitchen, Natasha starts cleaning the kitchen so she can get started on dinner.

"Feels good to be back", you call, wiping the chairs and table down with a rag.

"Feels like we never left", she replies, her voice distant from the kitchen. You hum to yourself and wring the rag through your hands. Natasha's right — it really does feel like slipping into a life that was already waiting for you. But getting here wasn't easy at all.

You straighten up and make your way to the small garden just in front of the porch. Potted plants are lined up on one side of the stairs, so you crouch down and check on them. It rains often enough out here, but they look a little dry — understandably so, since it's July — so you grab a watering can.

Being back here brings back memories. You still remember that day, that conversation with Simon that started with a simple "I think we need to talk."

The heavy silence that followed, his breathing quiet and suddenly uneven. His question whether there's someone else. Your admittance that, yes, there always had been.

Your carefully composed world crumbled within hours.

It's a blur now. Your parents' fury, their desperate attempts to reel you back in, your mother's sharp warnings that you'd regret this. Beneath her mask of composure was an insecurity, stemming from being defied by her own child for the first time in her life.

You were told you'd regret this. But you got on the jet with Natasha, your hand in hers, and you didn't regret a thing.

Two years later, you're still waiting for said regret to set in. You don't see it happening, though. Not now, not ever.

A clatter from the kitchen pulls you back into the present. You pull out a few weeds and toss them into the compost, then you make your way back inside. Natasha's boiling water for the pasta now, so you wash your hands and grab a few cans of tomatoes. Right as you put them into a pot, you feel the familiar weight of her arms around your waist. Her lips meet your neck, soft and unhurried.

"Quiet here", she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your jaw. You turn your head and she kisses your nose.

"It's always been like that."

"I like it." She pauses, her hands running up and down your sides. "It feels a little empty, though."

You open your eyes and look at her, eyebrows raised. Natasha smiles faintly. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It is empty", she mumbles, her nose nuzzling your cheek. "We should find a way to change that."

"Fill the house with pasta?"

"Maybe." Her hand slides to your stomach and slips under your shirt. Her palm is warm, but the wedding band feels cold against your skin. "Maybe not."

Whatever that's supposed to mean — you already know you'll need more room.

. . .

The drive from the airport feels longer this time. The once familiar road seems new, the trees look bigger. Inside the car it's quiet, save for the soft breathing coming from the backseat that has replaced the sound of the radio.

A turn, then another. Finally, you pull up in front of the space that, no matter what, is always one you can retreat to.

Natasha moves her hand from your thigh to undo her seatbelt, then she slides out of the car. She opens the door and gently scoops the little bundle out of her car seat. To your surprise, Masha stays asleep, even as Natasha adjusts her position in the crook of her arm. Her red wisps of hair stick out in all directions.

"She's getting heavy", Natasha mumbles, following you to the house.

"Well, she's not a tiny little newborn anymore. She's growing."

Your wife frowns at your words, despite knowing they're true. Maggie started crawling last week — she's anything but a newborn at this point.

"Still a baby", she mutters, glancing at your daughter. Her pacifier moves a bit as she sucks on it.

"Yes, still a baby." You drop your suitcases next to the bed — or rather, mattress. "Dammit, Nat. We really need to get a bed."

"Why?" Natasha bends down to place the baby on the middle of the mattress, lightly rubbing her tummy when she squirms in her sleep. "This is safer. For her."

You huff and kick off your shoes. "So what, we're just never upgrading? We'll just sleep on this thing forever?"

"You didn't mind back then", she mumbles, sitting down next to Masha. Her fingers brush over the baby's tiny sock-covered feet. "Besides, she can't roll off if there's nothing to roll off of."

"Can't argue with that." You join them right as Masha stirs again. Her eyes blink open, her pacifier falling out as she yawns and stretches. You smile and brush some hair out of her face. "Hey, honey."

Masha blinks up at you, fists clenching and unclenching, still caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Natasha scoops her up and holds her against her chest.

"Yeah, that was a nice nap", she says, kissing the baby's cheek. "You're all warm, Masha."

"Looks like someone is ready for a swim", you comment, already getting up to grab your swimsuits. Natasha looks at you and you pause. "What?"

"I think we should wait with that."

"What, why?" You pout and open the duffel bag anyway. Inside, you store your swimsuits and towels. "It's sweltering."

"I don't know how clean the lake is", she argues. Masha coos and Natasha gives her a quick smile. "She's too young."

"Oh, please." You slip your shirt off and momentarily leave Natasha speechless. But then she remembers that you aren't exactly alone, and that you also probably wouldn't take kindly to being ogled in front of your daughter, so she averts her eyes. "We went skinny dipping, like, dozens of times."

"Yes, but we're not 9 months old", she says, focusing on Masha again.

"You're sure?" You smirk as you catch the way her ears turn pink. "You get just as fussy when you're tired."

"I do not", she scoffs. But Masha, letting out a sleepy whimper and rubbing her face against Natasha's shoulder, proves your point. You raise an eyebrow.

"See? Identical."

"Oh, enough." She gets up, balancing the baby in her arms. "You're serious about swimming?"

"Very much so." You manage to close the clasp of the bikini top you're wearing and put your hair up into a bun. "Come on, we'll be quick."

Natasha narrows her eyes but doesn't argue, instead rocking Masha and rubbing her back. "We can take her down to the dock, let her dip her feet in. But that's it."

The sun is beaming down at you, but the trees surrounding the lake provide some shade. Natasha watches you as you jump into the water, then she sits on the dock. She keeps Masha cradled to her chest protectively, so you tread back to the dock and raise your eyebrows.

Your wife shoots you the most unimpressed look known to man.

"You promised", you remind her, splashing some water on her legs. The baby giggles, her arms flailing.

"What if I drop her?"

"You won't." You reach out and touch Masha's bare foot. "Just a quick dip."

She hesitates for another moment, but then sighs and adjusts her hold on the baby. Slowly, she lowers her from the dock until her toes touch the water. Masha's eyes widen, her entire body going stiff — but then she lets out a surprised little squeal.

"Oh", Natasha mumbles, watching the baby's mouth form an o-shape. She starts kicking her feet and gurgling in delight. "She likes it."

"Of course." You smile and lean back in the water. "I knew she would."

"Yeah, yeah." She scoops the baby back up and kisses her cheek, expertly ignoring her wails of protest. "That's enough for now."

"Oh, come on. What are you scared of?" You reach out and gently grab Masha's foot. "That the fishes are going to nibble at her little toes?"

"Hilarious."

The baby reaches out toward the water again, her hands grasping at the air. Her feet keep kicking, but Natasha doesn't budge. She's read too many horror stories about recreational water illnesses. Sure, Maggie is over the recommended 6 months old now, but your wife likes to be safe.

"It's time for lunch, anyway", Natasha adds, using the hem of her shirt to dry Masha's feet. "I bet she's hungry."

"Probably", you agree half heartedly. You sigh and get out onto the dock again, water dripping from your body. Natasha stands up as well and wraps one arm around your waist. She pulls you closer and gives you a kiss.

"We'll go swimming later", she mumbles, her hand drifting to your front. Her fingertips gently skim over the stretch marks there. "When the little fishie is asleep."

It's not the breeze that makes you shiver. You lean into the touch and press your lips against the corner of her mouth. "You better keep that promise."

"I always do", she teases. She grabs your hand and raises her eyebrows, a playful smile on her face as she starts leading you back to the house. "Come on. Milk for the fishie, and steak for us."

Later that night, when Masha's asleep, you take her outside in her stroller and leave it close enough so you're able to see and hear her. Then you pull Natasha to the dock, kissing and tugging each other's clothes off, giggling like teenagers whenever you need to part for a moment.

Your shirt ends up god knows where — in a bush, maybe, or in the old canoe. You don't really pay it any attention. You're far too focused on getting into the water again.

The lake is still warm enough from the sun that'd been shining all day, but now that it's windy and dark out, it almost feels cold against your skin. You gasp at the feeling, and Natasha quickly wraps her arms around your waist.

"It's freezing", she whispers sweetly, trailing kisses along your jaw. "I bet it'll take you less than twenty minutes to want to go back inside."

"A bet, huh?" You smile, but a shiver runs through you and the accompanying clattering of your teeth interrupts you. "If I win, you're on diaper duty for the rest of the week."

"Deal." She kisses your lips, her own plush and warm. "If I win, you're singing me a lullaby every night. The entire week."

"Oh god." You grimace, but Natasha kisses it off your face. Her hands run to your back and she tugs at the clasp of your bra. You quickly squirm away from her wandering hands. "Hey! Behave."

"No fun in that", she replies, her hands splaying out on your back. Then, without a hint of a warning, she pulls you under the water with her.

You gasp and close your eyes on instinct, your arms clinging to her. The water soaks into your hair and fully envelops you from head to toe, and when you surface again, laughter bubbles between you. It's a silent night, save for the sound of your giggles and the distant hum of cicadas.

You lift your hands to wipe the water off Natasha's face and she pauses. Her fingers tuck a wet strand of hair behind your ear as she studies you with that look you by now know intimately.

The lake around you ripples, but neither of you move. Then you hear Masha fuss in her stroller, and you both smile knowingly.

You lean in and press your wet lips to hers, the lake water as sweet as the day you first tasted it on her tongue.

. . .

"No!"

Your voice cuts through the silent summer air, loud and sharp in a way your kids aren't used to. Archer looks up, his eyes wide and his arms stretched out to the sides.

"Don't even think about it", you say, quickly walking down to the dock. Masha grins up at you from the water and waves innocently. You grab your son's shoulder and point a finger at your daughter. "You too. You're right in front of the dock, it's dangerous."

"I'm not that close", she protests, and Archer nods enthusiastically.

"I'm careful, mama."

"I wouldn't listen to them", Natasha calls. You turn to see her on the porch, carrying Lilia in her arms. She's wrapped up in a towel, her face sticky with strawberry ice cream. "Remember the tree incident last year?"

"How could I forget?", you grumble. "I can still hear your cries, Archie."

He pouts, his shoulders slumping. "That was different."

"You fell into a bush", your wife says, walking up to the dock. "Headfirst."

"You were stuck for, like, five minutes", Maggie adds, a grin on her face. She swims backwards to give Archer more space. "It was so funny."

"It was not funny. Your brother could've gotten hurt."

"Listen to your mother, bud", Natasha says. She adjusts Lilia on her hip and brushes her hand over his damp curls. "We don't need an emergency room visit this summer."

He groans and drags his foot over the wooden dock. For a moment, you think he's accepted defeat — but then he suddenly sprints forward and leaps into the air, yelling a triumphant "ha!" Water splashes everywhere, even managing to get into your eyes.

"Archer Romanoff!", you scold as you wipe your face. Your voice gets lost between Masha's and Lilia's laughter. "Alright, that's it. Do I really need to take away your ice cream-privileges?"

He surfaces again, water dripping down his face. "No fair! Lilia ate all my ice cream!"

"Kid's got a point", your wife mumbles, glancing at your youngest. She just looks up at her with wide, innocent eyes, her cheeks covered in the ice cream she's eating. "Great, it dripped on the towel."

"We'll wash it. What we can't fix as easily, however, is a broken skull. So no more jumping when someone else is that close to the dock!"

"Fine", Archer relents. He splashes some water at his older sister, who grimaces and slaps the back of his head. "Ow!"

"No fighting", you remind them and glance at Natasha. Your wife is busy cooing at Lilia, who's having the time of her life being coddled. "Seriously? Why do I always have to be the bad cop here?"

"Because you're good at it." Natasha kisses Lilia's nose and smiles, moving the child onto her shoulders. "Besides, they're just playing."

"He splashed water at her."

"And she retaliated", she argues. "No harm done."

You sigh and glance at the kids again, who seem more peaceful now. Or, as peaceful as a five- and ten-year-old can be. Archer's spinning in circles, while Masha has plopped into the inflatable donut you brought.

"Want ice cream", Lilia suddenly declares.

You want to argue, but then press your lips into a thin line and give Natasha a pointed look — your turn. First she hesitates, but then lets out a sigh and slowly shakes her head.

"No more today, bub. Too much sugar."

"But it's summer!", Masha protests. Ankles crossed and arms behind her head, she looks like the human form of relaxation. "Also, I only had two today."

"Two's enough", you say before you can stop yourself. "We're having dinner in about an hour, anyway. Any special requests?"

"Can we have pizza?", Archer requests.

"You sure can", Natasha says, "but you're making it yourself."

"What? On my own?" He gapes at her.

"Exactly", she confirms. "Come on. I'll even help you with the dough."

The kids scramble out of the water and start running toward the house. Lilia, clearly wanting to join in on the fun, squirms until Natasha puts her on the ground. She runs after them as fast as her short legs allow her to.

For a moment, it's just you and Natasha again. Hands intertwined, the setting sun warm on your skin, the familiar little house in front of you full of life now.

. . .

Sometimes, life isn't fair.

You can talk about karma all you want, believe in fate, hope for justice. Trust that, somewhere out there, there's a referee who'll make sure everyone gets what's fair to them.

Oftentimes, that's not the case. You can close your eyes and pretend the truth doesn't exist, but it will hit you straight in the face anyway.

You're distracted when you get into the car. A sleepless night due to your son who started yelling at his computer at 3am, eight hours of work in an overfilled office, a fight with your wife that you caused — now you're exhausted, irritated, and understandably so.

You step out of the building and toss your purse into the passenger seat before getting in the car. You check your hair in the rear view mirror, quickly spotting the dark circles under your eyes and the wrinkles forming around them.

Whether you believe it or not: you're getting old.

With a sigh, you fire up the engine and roll out onto the road. From that moment on, it's like you're moving through a fog.

The world is distant, your thoughts jumbled. You turn corners, the streets blurring in front of your eyes. Your fingers drum against the steering wheel restlessly. All you want is to go home — little do you know that you wouldn't be able to do that for a while.

You're not thinking about the road.

In hindsight, you'd like to say that all it took were a few seconds of carelessness. But no. It was more, way more. That one specific second, however, where your focus wavers entirely, is what changes everything.

A sudden swerve from the car in front of you. You hit the brakes too late. Then, your world shifts into chaos.

The screech of tires. Your body thrown against the seatbelt. A flash of metal. The sickening crunch of impact. Blood on your tongue, a ringing noise in your ears. Your own heartbeat, and the deafening silence that follows.

. . .

The harsh light is what you notice first. Bright, blinding you, making your head pound even as you squint. You try to lift your hand to block it out, but your limbs feel too heavy.

Then the smell. Sterile, clinical, unfamiliar. A soft beeping sound in the distance, rhythmic and insistent.

You blink rapidly, trying to shake the fog from your mind, but nothing clears. You try to swallow, but your throat is as dry as sandpaper. It feels like you haven't used your voice in days. Instead, you attempt to sit up, but your body protests with a dull ache. You somehow manage to turn your head.

Next to you, a silhouette jumps up from a chair. Her face is familiar and unfamiliar at once, but she looks worried — so worried.

"Hey, hey", she says, first reaching out but then pulling back her hand. "You're okay."

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out at first. In that moment, you don't know much — but you do know that speaking shouldn't be this difficult.

"...Where?", you eventually manage to get out.

"Hospital. You were in a car crash."

You squeeze your eyes shut and nod, trying to remember, remember anything, connect some dots, fill the overwhelmingly large gaps.

You draw a blank.

"Who are you?", you ask, voice weak. The woman stiffens, then slowly moves to sit down next to you on the bed. Grey hoodie, dark circles under her eyes, unwashed hair. Clearly exhausted, probably hasn't slept properly in a while.

You search her face, and even if your heart beats faster at the sight — you don't recognize her. Not like you should.

"Natasha", she mumbles. "Your wife."

You nod again. "I...I don't...remember."

The words hang in the air between you. Natasha — your wife — hesitates before touching the back of your hand. Her touch is warm, comforting. Your brain may not recognize it, but your heart does.

"We have kids", she begins, quietly. "Masha. She's 17 now. Won a soccer tournament last month. Archer, he...he games a little too much. But he's a good kid. And Lilia is so smart. She's like you, you know."

You don't react. You try to assign faces to the names, but you can't. All you can imagine are three kids, faceless, practically strangers.

A mother, you wonder. I'm a mother.

You give her another pleading, disconcerted look. Everything about this is weighing heavily on your dazed mind. Why can't you remember who you are? Why can't you recognize the woman you supposedly married?

Natasha's fingertips trace the back of your hand as she starts to explain. A car crash, where the driver in front of you lost control of their vehicle. A traumatic brain injury. Retrograde and anterograde amnesia. Gaps in your memory, which are temporary (according to the doctors), but unsettlingly large.

"I know it's confusing", Natasha continues, her voice breaking. "But it's okay. It's normal. I mean, you were in a car crash. You need to recover, and you're getting better already."

"I don't feel better", you mumble. Someone knocks on the door and you look up. "What...?"

"The kids", she says, already on her way. "I asked Peter to watch them."

"Peter."

It's a statement, but it sounds like a question. Funny enough, you do remember that name. Your brain manages to flash you a picture of a teenager in an oversized shirt and Hello Kitty sweatpants, but then it's gone. You wonder whether it's a memory.

"I'll explain later", she says softly. She turns, her hand on the doorknob and her expression tentative. "Do you want to see them?"

Do you want to see them? No. Not in this state. Not knowing that you forgot your own children. The kids you carried, birthed, loved.

But you need to see them. Because you did carry, birth, love them. Because you owe it to them, in a way.

"Yeah", you murmur. Natasha nods and opens the door. One after the other, three kids enter the room. The oldest girl looks a lot like you, but her hair is entirely Natasha's. Then a boy — a middle schooler — with unruly hair and an expression torn between deep worry and mild boredom. The last one is a girl, only ten years old, who clings to Natasha's side.

They all stand there, staring at you, and you look at the woman who's supposed to be your wife. A silent call for help.

She quickly turns and nods at the kids. "Go on, say hi."

They hesitate, but then Masha steps forward. Being the oldest, she understands this situation the most — but even for her, processing this is difficult.

You can't blame her. You're an adult, and you can't quite process it either.

"Hey, mom", she mumbles. "You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine", you say, blinking a few times. You reach out and touch her hand, and while your brain may not recognize the girl in front of you, your body still does. "I'm sorry, I..."

"You really don't remember?", the little girl — Lilia, you remind yourself — asks. She's still half-hidden behind Natasha, who looks like she wants to jump in and shield you from all of this. But she can't. This is your moment, your choice.

You don't say anything for a long moment. You could either lie ("Of course I remember you, don't be silly sweetheart") but you know that Masha and Archer are both old enough to see through that. You shake your head.

"I'm sorry", you say, then add: "honey."

"It's okay", Natasha says again, almost as if trying to convince herself by repeating those two words over and over again. "Mom just needs some rest, yeah?"

"Sure", Archer mumbles. He gives you one last cautious look, then shuffles out of the room with his hands buried in the pockets of his cargos. Outside the room, a man — dark hair, friendly face that's lost its usual happiness — ushers them back into the waiting room. He glances at you and smiles weakly before turning and leaving.

Natasha closes the door and sits down next to you again. She pulls out a ring and places it in your palm. It's identical to the one she's wearing.

"You don't have to put it on", she says right as you're slipping it onto your finger. She swallows at the sight, her facade cracking. "Oh."

"Look", you murmur, cheeks red with a shame that's completely out of place in this situation, "I don't remember much about you. Or the kids. And I'm sorry for that. But you said you're my wife, and if you are, I'm probably really lucky because my heart keeps doing this weird thing when I look at you."

Natasha nods and exhales shakily. Her fingers touch yours, brushing against the wedding ring, and you stay completely still. You turn your hand so it's palm up and gently grab her hand.

"I am your wife", she says, voice breaking as she holds back tears. "You have no idea how lucky I am."

You close your eyes and squeeze her fingers. "For now, I'd like to be able to know who I am first."

She laughs and nods, tears making her vision blurry. "We'll get there."

. . .

The memories creep back in an agonizingly slow fashion.

Being back home does help, even if you struggle to associate anything major to the house you're in. Natasha told you that you bought this house right after you got pregnant with Archer, but you don't remember that. But, when you step through the front door for the first time after the accident, your brain provides you with the feeling of carrying your newborn over the same threshold years ago.

It's just a fragment of the memory, but it lays the groundwork for everything to come.

Recovery is frustrating and confusing and painful. You're physically stable, but mentally, you're in a fog.

Doing mundane, everyday tasks isn't an issue anymore. You make coffee in the mornings (even if your hands sometimes still feel like they don't belong to you; you've shattered more cups within a week than you have in your entire life), you shower, you even do Lilia's hair and make sure she gets into the school bus.

What else do you remember? Truthfully, not much. It's mostly fragments at this point, emotional recognition and muscle memory. One evening, when you're on the couch, you remember your first day of school. But looking at Natasha, not much comes to mind. All you know is that she's safe.

With the kids, it's similar. You don't remember anything, basically, but you can feel they're yours and you can feel you love them.

Masha is the most mature, being 17 years old already. She hides her pain well and, instead of wallowing, tries to bond with you — she knows how to make you feel included. She tells you about what happened at school, plays songs she claims are your favorites (sometimes, you do recognize the melodies), watches tv with you.

Archer is distant. He spends most of his time either playing video games or doing homework. His interactions with you are limited, but you'll catch him looking at you when he thinks you aren't paying attention. He's waiting for you to be his mom again, to be that woman who ruffles his hair and makes him eat his vegetables, who plays Mario Kart and goes to the LEGO store with him.

Lilia is too young to fully understand, too small, too hopeful. She curls up beside you without hesitation and hands you books you very well know she could read on her own. You still flip them open and read the stories to her, quietly hoping that it'll help. Sometimes, it does, and you suddenly see a much smaller version of her in that same spot next to you.

One day, you catch Natasha in her office. She's been spending more and more time in there, mostly when you're busy around the house. When you walk in, she closes the notebook on her desk and turns to look at you. Her eyes soften and she smiles and, oh, you forget about the weight in your chest. You feel the love between you, decades old and steadier than anything, and in that moment, it's enough.

You smile back and pause in the doorway. You still feel like you don't belong into this house, like you're an intruder. You know that's not the case, but your mind is as much of a traitor as it is a stranger.

"What are you doing?", you ask, head leaning against the doorframe.

"Writing", she replies and turns around in her desk chair. "You okay?"

There's that question again. You force another smile.

"I'm okay."

"Hungry?"

You should be. It's almost dinner time. You shake your head — you're rarely hungry these days.

"No."

Natasha nods, then gestures at you to come closer. You hesitate before approaching her.

Her eyes study you in a way that makes your skin tingle. The silence in the room is only adding to this strange, but not unwelcome, feeling. You avert your eyes before everything can become too much.

When Natasha speaks up again, she sounds choked up. "Come here."

You look at her.

"Please", she adds, almost pleading.

Another step. You sit down on her lap and glance at her. Her arms wrap around you, safe and solid. Something flashes in your mind, something warm and familiar, and you freeze to make it last.

"You know what this feels like?", you mumble when you're certain the feeling won't slip from your grasp again.

Natasha raises her eyebrows. Her hand gently runs up and down your back. "What?"

You rest your head against her shoulder. You know her scent, that much you're sure of. "A house."

"Mhm?"

"With a lake", you continue, struggling to explain. "I remember a mattress."

She closes her eyes and turns her head, her nose nuzzling your hair. Tears aren't something to be ashamed of, but she won't let you catch her crying again. All of this hasn't been easy for her, either.

"Anything else, love?"

"A mattress on the floor", you mumble. "God, my back hurt."

"Yeah." She laughs, but it's a broken sound, muffled by your hair. "Mine did, too."

"Why'd we sleep on the floor?", you ask, still confused.

"Don't ask me", she murmurs and kisses the top of your head. It's an absentminded gesture, but her heart feels lighter when you lean into the touch. "We just forgot to buy a bed, I guess. We got used to the mattress."

"I think I liked it."

"You did?" Natasha smiles, her lips pressing against your cheek. "So did I."

. . .

A few weeks pass. The fog starts to lift, the haze thins. Things become easier, memories clearer.

Masha, still pink and squishy, wrapped into a towel. Nurses and bright lights. Salty tears on your cheeks, Natasha's hand on your head.

A canoe, old and shabby but staying afloat. Summer air on sunburnt skin. Aloe gel on shoulders and a wooden dock beneath your feet. Sweet kisses, slow and unhurried.

Seeing yourself in a wedding dress for the first time. Trying it on three kids later, with a body that's changed. Natasha standing behind you, closing the zipper. Fabric that feels much more snug. Her lips brush against your shoulder.

"You got even more beautiful. Must be magic at play here."

An elementary school. You can't tell whether it's yours or one of your kids's, but the fading chalk drawings are pastel and the air is musky after it rained.

A drive-in. A diner. A jet, with an odd symbol everywhere. Emergency room visits and first words, lullabies and a tattoo shop, stars and wilted flowers. Natasha and you in a dark hallway, Natasha and you bathing Archer for the first time.

Memories that come back gradually only to disappear again. They're not permanently gone — but sometimes, keeping them alive is hard. It hurts to look at your daughter's face and briefly forget her name, it hurts that you can't make pancakes the way you used to, it hurts you don't know your son's favorite movie or the name of the football club your daughter plays in.

Your photo album, some pictures faded, some corners creased from years of handling, helps. You sit on the couch, legs crossed and fingers tracing the images in front of you.

A picture of Natasha, her arms wrapped around a younger version of yourself. Trees in the background, and a blanket with a baby sleeping on it — Lilia, maybe half a year old. You squint, trying to remember that day.

A tap against the doorframe makes you look up. Masha stands there, arms folded, watching you.

"Hey", she says. "You okay?"

"I'm alright", you quickly say, blinking the sudden moisture away from your eyes. "What about you, honey?"

"Fine. Finished one of the books on my summer reading list." She moves to sit down next to you and peeks at the pictures. She taps the one you were looking at. "That's a good one", she says, smiling.

"I don't remember much", you admit.

"Yeah? Well, we decided to go on a picnic." Masha points at the trees. "A bird managed to crap on Lil's stroller."

"Language", you say without really having to think about it. Masha's smile widens. You can see something of Natasha's in her eyes.

"That was very you, mom", she says, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Come on, you gotta know what I'm talking about. Archer got chased by a dog. Mama had to grab that beast's collar. The owner threatened to sue her."

"Yeah", you say slowly. You glance at her and smile tentatively. "I think Archer climbed a fence."

Her eyes light up. "He did, yes. And mama dragged the dog back to its owner and absolutely bawled him out."

You nod, the weight on your shoulders having lessened. You remembered something else — not much, but it's a little step in the right direction anyway.

Masha flips to another page and points at a picture. "Here. Try."

You study the image carefully. It's another one of you and Natasha, but this time, you're on a dock. You can barely see your faces, since they're turned towards one another — her nose brushing against yours, your smile wide, tiny wrinkles around your squinting eyes. A lake stretching out behind you, with a kid's head poking out in the distance.

"Oh", you mumble. You hesitate, but the warmth in your chest tells you to keep going. "It was summer. There was this- this house...and a lake. We spent our summer there."

"We spend every summer there", your daughter reveals. "Except for the one where you had Lilia."

"Right", you mumble. "Was there a storm that night?"

"Yes!" She nods, her red ponytail bobbing up and down. "The power went out. And-"

"And the kids were scared, so we lit candles", Natasha finishes the thought from across the room. You turn around, spotting your wife in the doorway to the living room. In her hand, the notebook. She tilts her head and smiles, something thoughtful glistening in her eyes as she watches you chase your own memories. "We told ghost stories."

"Archer couldn't sleep", you whisper.

"He slept in our bed", Natasha confirms. "He stayed there the entire summer, even if he kicked me all the time."

"Yeah", you mumble, looking back at the picture. Suddenly, it's all so vivid in your mind. You can pierce together fragments until they form something akin to a full memory.

When you meet Natasha's eyes again, something in them has changed. She looks resolute as she steps up to the couch, the notebook still in her grasp.

"There's something I want to read to you", she says, sitting down next to you. Masha gives her a curious look.

"Oh, really?"

"You're going to bed", she tells your daughter. "This is something I want to discuss with my wife, not your mom."

Masha looks like she's about to protest, but then her shoulders slump in defeat. She understands what Natasha means. She gets up, kisses you both on the cheeks and then heads upstairs. Once her bedroom door has closed, Natasha opens the notebook.

"I wrote this", she says, briefly glancing at the pages. "It's pretty long, if I'm being honest."

"What is it?", you ask, doing your best not to peek.

"Uhm..." She hesitates. "Our story. Beginning to end. The entire thing."

You stare at her, baffled. Your wife is telling you that, somehow, she managed to squeeze 23 years of history into one single notebook. Highs and lows, tears and laughter, everything you went through together to get here.

Then, you tear up. You remember pieces of those more than two decades. Natasha remembers enough to write a book about them.

"Okay", you mumble, sinking into the couch. Natasha squeezes your knee, looking like she's close to tears herself. She clears her throat and open the first page, skimming it.

"'We met at a fun fair'", she begins. "'You wore a dress. I hope you won't be too mad about me saying this, but you had zero aim."

You smile and shake your head, your hands covering your face. She keeps going.

"'I tried to ask you out. You resisted, obviously. You were stubborn, and so was I. There was a risk to going out with a complete stranger, but I loved taking that risk.'"

"Ferris wheel", you whisper, voice muffled.

"Yeah." She nods. "'You left again, with your friend. I felt like the most unlucky idiot in the whole world. But then I saw you again, on the ferris wheel, and I decided that it was now or never. I got up-'"

"And climbed." You brush the tears away. "Could've fallen and broken your neck."

"I didn't", she argues softly. "I made it over to you."

"You smelled like sugar", you add. "Like...beer and sugar. It was so odd."

Natasha lets out a quiet laugh, but it's a pleasantly surprised one. She looks up from the pages, her eyes searching your face. "You never told me that."

"I didn't?" You glance at her, eyebrows furrowed. You can still smell her scent from that moment, how sugary and bitter it was at the same time. "Huh."

"That's good", she says, encouraging you. Reading about your memories seems to coax more of them out of you. "Want me to keep going?"

"Yes", you immediately say.

And so she does.

Your first date, in a diner. The first kiss afterwards. Nights of sneaking out, staying with her.

The house by the lake. The mattress. The three years of separation in between, and your engagement to Simon.

Peter telling her about everything. Meeting again, kissing, sleeping with each other.

Breaking off the engagement. Leaving town, heading to New York. Staying with SHIELD for a while. The weeks that followed.

Memory after memory. Some feel like echoes, others like dreams. Some pop between your fingers like bubbles, others seep into your bones, like they've been waiting for you to find them again.

You don't remember all of it. You've blocked many things out completely — like the fact that Natasha had dinner with your family once —, which leaves you feeling unsettled.

Some of it seems too meaningful to forget. But then again, you couldn't remember Natasha was your wife when you first woke up after the accident. Now, you can at least recall saying 'yes' in front of the altar, and how you danced afterwards, and how your lipstick had stained the corner of her mouth.

Eventually, she closes the notebook. She's only gotten through less than twenty pages.

"There's more", she says, looking at you. "A lot more."

You nod, rubbing your face. "I feel like I won't be able to remember half of it."

"You don't have to remember it now", she says gently, her hand reaching out. You grab it and keep it in your lap, playing with her fingers like you used to.

Like you used to — there. Another memory.

"It's hard", you admit. "It's like I'm chasing ghosts. Like...like I can't catch them before they disappear."

Natasha hums, staring at the wall for a moment. Covered in family pictures, many of them taken in that one beloved place. The one place you've visited almost every summer, where you've gone through so much, experienced so much. A place you've returned to at various stages of your life. A place that, without any doubt, will always be there.

"You know what might help?", she says absentmindedly.

"What?"

Your wife looks at you and squeezes your hand. "Being there", she says, her smile tentative but knowing. "The house. The lake. The dock."

You swallow, looking past her at the pictures. At this point, you feel like your brain is teasing you. You can feel the thick summer heat, hear the sound of cicadas and the water lapping against the shore. But the memories actually associated to those distant sensations? You can't grasp them.

"It'll help?"

"It might."

You hesitate, but something inside you pulls towards the idea. To the familiarity of it, even if the familiarity feels foreign right now.

"It can't hurt", you admit. "I mean, it's summer anyway."

"The kids don't have school", Natasha adds. She leans in and kisses you way too briefly. You've grown more used to physical affection again, but she's still scared of making you uncomfortable. Her hands feel warm and solid on your sides. "I'll pack, we're leaving in the morning."

. . .

It's you who points at that one roadside diner you've been going to for the past ten years.

The looks you get from your family make you pause. Nobody speaks, they all just stare. Finally, Natasha squeezes your thigh.

"Bet I can guess your order."

"No way", you tease, simultaneously trying to remember your usual. Cheeseburger? Maybe fries? Definitely no pickles.

But Natasha, knowing you better than the back of her hand, rattles down your order without having to think about it. The word 'milkshake' triggers something, and you smile softly as you lean back and gaze at her.

"You'll share your whipped cream?", you ask.

"Wouldn't be a proper date if I didn't", she mumbles, grabbing your hand.

Normally, a flirty little comment like this would be enough to earn gagging noises from the kids in the backseat. But they know that everything is still fragile, so they stay quiet.

Arriving in front of the house makes you close your eyes. The sight is painful, but it sparks so many memories that it's almost overwhelming. The porch, the wooden steps, the trees surrounding the house.

"We're here", Archer says, turning off his Nintendo.

"Yeah", Masha mumbles, looking at the house with a thoughtful look on her face. "Still the same."

The kids unbuckle and get out of the car. They're all eager to return to this place, this house that feels more like home than anything else ever could.

You look at your wife and open your mouth, but for a moment, no sound escapes from your parted lips. Her face blurs, and so does her name. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut again, your hands trembling.

"Natasha", you manage a few seconds later. You forgot her name. Even if only for a few seconds, you forgot her name. She swallows and nods. She noticed — of course she did. She's been hyper aware of everything surrounding you since you got into that accident. "Oh god, I..."

"Hey", she says, leaning over to pull you into a hug. You bury your face in her neck and fight the rising panic. "You're just nervous. It's okay, I promise."

"It's so foggy", you mumble, breathing her in. "I thought this was supposed to help."

"We're not even inside yet, love." She pulls back and kisses you on the cheek. Outside, you hear your children's voices as they run around the front yard. Masha stops on the stairs and turns to look at you, the breeze tousling her red hair. Worry fills her eyes when she realizes you're still in the car.

"What if I don't remember?", you ask, your eyes meeting Natasha's again. "What if the memories stay gone? What if..."

She brushes some hair out of your face and smiles softly. The sadness in her eyes is unmistakable, but so is the steady love there.

"Then we'll make new memories. Come on."

She leads you out of the car and wraps her arm around your shoulders. The kids chatter excitedly as she unlocks the door to the house and lets them all storm in. Again, it's a small space — two bedrooms, one of which you added when you got pregnant with Lilia, as the space had started to feel a little too snug.

It's cozy, lived-in...and even familiar. The feeling of stepping into this space never changed.

It feels like a memory — that was your first impression you ever had of this house. Turns out you still remember that.

Your eyes sweep across the room. The kitchen you renovated, the little living room, the windows that provide a view of the lake. The dock. Even the hammock is still intact, though the pattern of the fabric has faded over the years.

"Where's the canoe?", you mumble. Before Natasha can answer, you speak up again. "It fell apart, didn't it?"

"It rotted", she says, nodding. "It was fine the summer before."

"Shame."

"I agree."

"Mom?"

You turn and look at Masha, who's holding a mug in her hand. A chipped mug.

"Yes?", Natasha says, rubbing your arm.

"Can I make coffee? I'm kinda tired."

"One cup", you murmur, resting your weight against your wife's side. She leans in and kisses your temple. Then she walks you outside, to the dock and the lake. She shows you the letters you carved into one of the wooden boards, which are the initials of all your names. She makes you sit down and dip your feet in the water, causing a memory of Masha doing the same thing — only as an infant — to light up in your mind.

You watch Archer sit in the hammock and stare up at the sky. Lilia joins him, and they squabble over who gets to sit in it. A cat appears from the bushes that are on the other side of the lake, and they both get up to try and lure it with 'pspsps'-noises and a bag of pretzels.

You go back inside and make dinner. You recall the first fight you had, which makes Natasha laugh and pull you into a kiss. You curl up on the couch, with Lilia in your lap and your head on Natasha's chest, and watch the same black and white movie you watched in the drive-in way back.

"Still old", she mumbles into your ear. You smile and tilt your head up. Her lips press against your forehead.

Once the kids are in their pajamas, you all gather in the main bedroom. Archer drags his mattress into the room, so Masha and Lilia follow in suit, and now you're all cuddled up. Your oldest daughter brought your beloved mug along, this time filled with milk instead of coffee.

Your voices are soft, the words hushed. The kids have started chattering quietly — well, Lilia not really; she's out cold.

You look at Natasha again. Her eyes meet yours, and you recognize everything your brain can't remember.

Can't remember yet, you remind yourself. You've gotten this far, and you'll get further.

"I love you", you mumble. "I know that much."

"I love you too", she whispers, her lips pressing against yours in a brief kiss. You close your eyes and sink into this feeling. It's a feeling you may not always remember, but will always recognize. "You don't need to know me for me to love you."

Masha and Archer both cuddle up at Natasha's side. Your daughter reaches for your hand and you squeeze it. When Natasha starts humming the tune of a Russian lullaby she used to sing to the kids when they were still little, you close your eyes and quietly hum along. The melody returns easily, and the memory comes to life again, vibrant and warm.

A nursery, a swaddled baby, a nightlight in the shape of a sailboat. Drops of warm milk on wrists, feverishly reddened cheeks, the uncertainty that comes with being a new parent.

Outside, the water laps at the shore. The moon bathes the room in a milky light. No light pollution out here, thankfully.

The kids go quiet. Natasha pulls out the notebook and opens it, finding the page where you left off during the car ride. You glance at it, then lean up to kiss her cheek. Her voice is a quiet murmur when she begins telling the story of your first months of marriage. Not all of the memories return as readily, but that's okay. Listening to her retell them may be enough for now.

You turn your head and bury your face in her chest. Her heartbeat is a rhythm you'd recognize in a thousand lifetimes.

You thought it all started at the fun fair, where you met. But lying here, with the lake outside and the mattress on the floor, with the chipped mug in your sleepy daughter's hand, you realize that this is where it began.

The walls hold secrets that never touched the notebook. 

It all started in a small house by a lake, and it ends there as well.

[doiliedaze]

Apple of my Eye: part two

Butch farm hand! Abby x Farmer! reader

Warnings: none in this part besides the both of them lying to themselves in the beginning :( especially reader, Owen mention, talks of grief, both of their insecure tendencies of wanting to help each other pop out, talk of being bi and comphet, Abby being a control freak, reader is horrible at reassurance

Genre: fluff, angst

A/n: hey dolls I know I said I was gonna make moodboards but nevermind LMAOOOO It’s hard finding pictures for the masculine counterparts especially Sevika because Pinterest sucks sometimes so yeah! They have an Australian shepherd because I love Bluey so much and all of them have silly little names, so her name is Biscuit!! I also wanted to make note of the bisexual and comphet conversation because I know I have bi dolls here and bisexuality is a valid sexuality and you’re a valid lesbian no matter what that looks like even if you were bisexual in the past! I added it because I’m a femme lesbian who use to identify as bisexual and I was comphet and I didn’t want to erase Owen so I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to introduce those identities struggles.

1

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The farm has a new ambiance to it. Abby has brought a new peace I never thought I'd feel here. I mean moving out here was the best thing I could've done, but it hasn't been peaceful truth be told.

Abby is the ultimate gentleman and the perfect person to live with! When I'm sick she takes care of me and when I fall asleep on the porch, she'll either join me or she'd take me to my bed. She even lets me take care of her, which I can tell is a struggle for her. She's all "don't need ya help pumpkin" and "sit down little missy" oh! and my favorite "just relax sugar."

The way she looks at me when she calls me sugar could make me melt! Doesn't matter though because I doubt she sees me that way, no one should anyways.

My thoughts get interrupted as our dog Biscuit jumps onto my lap, knocking my ignored book out my hand in the process. Biscuit is an Australian Shepherd and she is a huge help to the farm!

She’s a needy little thing…just like her mama y’all figure out which one I’m referring to. She plops her weight on me just begging for cuddles and obviously I obliged.

“There’s my girls” Abby states as she makes her way onto the porch. She’s coming back from doing field work and holy shit she’s so fucking fine. Her chest is heaving from her hard work, her pretty face dirty just a little, her usually tight braid has fly aways and her skin is more tanned.

In the midst of my gawking Abby leans into my face, “heard me sugar?” I feel heat run straight through my body. She stands up straight rubbing her big hands, “always zoning out, just asking what you wanted for din-”

“No! I mean I was wondering if we could cook together tonight?”

Her face slowly grows into a smile, “I’d love that.”

We settled on a beef brisket which will take a while so as that slowly cooks we made our sides. Barbecue beans and toast! As I was making the sauce for the beans…giving some to biscuit here and there Abby breaks the silence.

“Y’know I really have enjoyed myself here.” I look at her, “I’ve enjoyed you too, I have never lived with someone outside my family.”

“Really? I was always at a friends place or anywhere but home…” she chuckled softly then cleared her throat.

I want her to open up to me more but I’m not that good at getting her to want to talk to me about that sorta stuff, but I’ve also never directly asked!

“Wanna talk about it?” I say and I can feel my words hanging in the air. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

She walks over to me and looks down at me, “why?”

That completely throws me, why else girl? “Because I want to know you better, I want you to be comfortable enough to talk to me…if that’s what you want.”

Her demeanor can change at times. She can be very playful then she can be very guarded and it’s intimidating.

She’s overthinking I can see it in her eyes but she whispers, “I never liked being home, I just didn’t and I regret that after my dad passed.”

My mouth gets dry and a clutch the spoon. Y’know what they say there is no right thing to say when someone mentions a death in their life. What if what I ask her is annoying? What if I come off self centered?

In disbelief I just try to read her body language, does she want me to talk? Does she want a hug?

Her body was stiff but still open to me but her arms are crossed over her chest. “I loved my dad, but I was being a teenager and teenagers hate being around their parents so I just followed the crowd and…now I can’t take that back.”

I bite my lip wanting to hold her or wipe the tears I see building in her eyes. “So when he passed and everything was settled I moved to Seattle…lived with my ex at the time which is another difficult story.”

“You don’t have to get into that if you don’t want to there’s no pressure!” I immediately chip in, wanting to reassure her in some way.

I wipe her tear and her face leans into my hand a little and she mutters a thank you. She closed her eyes and breathed shakily then she just straighten her shoulders and pat mine. “Thank you for listening sugar I needed that.”

“I’m here for you always Abs” I say as I bump her with my hip successfully getting a smile and a flustered expression out of her.

We ate dinner cuddled up on the porch in silence.

The next couple days we’re peaceful but informative! I told her small fun facts like I’ve set a field on fire before by accident to serious things like this time I got cheated on which led to the time she got cheated on.

We both talked about how we were bi and comphet and how sometimes we don’t feel valid in our lesbian identities because we’ve been in relationships with men.

She told me more about this Owen and Mel situation as we were riding our horses to get our animals in their coops when I suggested that I should fly up there and beat there ass when I guess she took that shit serious.

“Sugar wake up” she whispers as she shakes me awake, “Abby leave me alone it’s Saturday!” I whine as I feel her sit me up. “C’mon we’re gonna miss our flight!” My eyes shoot open to that.

“Flight?”

“Flight!” She beams as she moved to get my packed bags, “Abby what the fuck!” I say as I get out the bed.

“Well I was thinking hey I really like this girl maybe she should meet my people and I know her grandpa could watch the farm for a little while so I schedule a little trip to Seattle for us!”

My heart flutters as she talks so effortlessly about liking me…even though she probably means it platonically.

I just go along with it. I know that once her mind is set on something she’s just going to do it.

This whole morning felt like a blur! I woke up, got on a plane and now I’m being introduced to this girl named Nora while I’m jet lagged and in hello kitty pj pants. She’s funny and she’s nice, she’s easier to talk to compared to some of the others.

Nora breaks down the groups dynamic to me and honestly I don’t know how they are friends but it’s not my business.

This is all happening at Mannys house he seems to host everything. Leah was telling me how it’s convenient that Owen and Mel are late and I take that as a mental note.

Abby has kept me close as much as possible, almost as if she’s on edge so I pull her to the side. “You okay?”

She gulps down her water, “yeah! Why wouldn’t I be?” “You made a kinda irresponsible, super spontaneous decision and brought me along and I think it kinda stems back to the ex so…”

She stares at me before saying, “this is so stupid! He’s never seen me like…this.” “Like who you are?” I rub her bicep and her arm tenses so I move away. She rubs her face, “look I just…I’ve never felt so small and he always makes me feel so small! And it’s not just him…Mel and I have had a complicated relationship and for her to be with him…she’s everything I wasn’t and I don’t want to be like that but-”

I hold her hand, and mimic that she needs to breathe because her face is so red. She follows along and clears her throat. “I don’t want to be like that but it still hurts…” “okay well I say maybe you should talk to her. I don’t know if you want to talk to Owen but I think you should talk to Mel and burry the hatchet.”

Before she could respond we heard a collective “oh shit” from inside. Manny comes rushing outside, “Not trying to intrude but to intrude just um brace yourself…”

With that he moves to the side and we see who I assume to be Owen and Mel with a baby bump. I immediately look up at Abby and see her face a hue of green. Her larger hand is crushing mine but I endure it because she needs it.

The air in the room was so heavy. I guess the others didn’t know she is pregnant. She doesn’t look that far along.

Owen takes a step forward to introduce himself but Abby takes me through the back and to the car. “Okay wait!” I say as I hold onto the car door before she opens it. Her face was a mixture of disgust and anger and confusion.

“Abby listen that is a lot but it doesn’t matter!” She scrunched her face up at me, “it matters but it doesn’t? I feel like if you just talk to them…I mean they are a couple right? You don’t want either of them so let that hurt go…”

She let go of me and leaned on the car and the rain started to drizzle down. She just stood there and cried and I feel like I can’t do nothing about it! I mean what do you say, what do you do! This is such a difficult situation. She doesn’t like him anymore she doesn’t like men anymore in general, but at the end of the day that was her first love! Mel was her well I don’t think she was her friend but she’s envious of her in a way and never got the closure of letting it go she just keeps leaving. Oh…

I inch closer to her and wrap myself around her. The rain started to pour down on us but I didn’t care. She needed to be held, to be cared for, to know she’s a butch that’s loved.

Her body was shaking and I nuzzle my head against her back. To lighten the mood I say, “my hair smells like smoke can we go somewhere dry?” And she laughs a little, “I’m sorry” she touches my now messed up press out.

We get in the car and she looks at me, “I’m so sorry for everything. I made you go to Seattle, meet all these people, fuck up your hair and…I just wasn’t considerate of you.”

“I appreciate your apology because this whole situation has been a lot but I’m here for your, I’m your girl.”

“You are my girl” she smiles, before I could respond Mel knocks on her window and mouths can we talk.

“I could just drive off…” “Abigail!”

She sighs and unlocks the back door, “no I’ll leave, I don’t have to hear this.” Mel gets in the passenger seat and I exit the car and go to Manny’s stoop where everyone else is.

Owen approaches me and I can tell he’s sizing me up. He extends his hands and I stare at it then look away. He scoffs and stands to the side and talks to Jordan’s bitch ass.

To be honest Abby needs a whole new friend group besides Nora but she has enough on her plate.

Eventually Abby and Mel emerge they seem more calm around each other but there’s work to be done. We say our goodbyes and go to our hotel.

“So this trip got cut short!” I say as I fix my hair and she steps into the shower. “We could spend some time here then go somewhere else…”

“Where?” I hum as I slowly pass the flat iron to through my hair.

“Atlanta!”

“Atlanta?”

───────┈ · ·

A/n: I’ve been approaching this like it’s a romcom and I feel like it shows lol, I hope y’all enjoyed!!

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme

Dividers- @dollywons

[laritamiauu]

LARITA

WHAT DID I DO TO YOU HOLY PEANUTS

I just got on Tumblr and saw my favorite rare pair yaoi

Do you want/have some headcannons for Blindspeed?(Their other ship name that I made up!!) - 🍦

i don't have a lot in mind since i haven't had the time to think about them

tho i did think about their meeting and a bit about their dynamic together-

so hermes works in the underworld as like a guide for the souls, we know that, so I figure that he must have met Tiresias before but because he is blind he didn't realize that he was meeting an actual god, also like their first meeting was very brief so there wasn't a lot of conversation between them

I imagine that even if Tiresias can't see, he can sense the presence of the people around them, and gods and divinity's have a really strong presence so he would know that he was near a god but wouldn't know who

So they probably met briefly and something about Tiresias past and abilities caught Hermes attention and idk, so he began to very slightly stalk him a bit, watch him from afar and stuff.

He didn't know why but there was something about this ROTTING GHOST that caught his attention, so everytime he could he would stop by just to look at him because he is a FREAK

And there's this very interesting dynamic with Tiresias that, he can't see right? But (in my design) he has these two snakes that can talk and LOVE to torment him, and they obviously can see too👀

So even if Tiresias is blind, he is still very aware of his surroundings because those snakes won't stop gossiping about everything that happens around them lol

So imagine the snakes notice Hermes stalking Tiresias and start to mention it like:

-Omg babe that twink is watching us again

-No way really?! What a freak

Lmao and that's how Tiresias finds out, then one day he just hears the snakes gossiping about that again and just yells out loud "show yourself" and Hermes being like the only other person in there just yells "HOW DID YOU KNOW I WAS HERE" and then Tiresias just says more calmly "I can see you" (this is just me quoting warrior of the mind atp lol) "...but you can't" "trust me I CAN" referring to the snakes lmao

But yeah that's what I imagine for their meeting lol

Also apart from being a bit cute they're soOOOO FREAKY in every shape and form, like the second Hermes finds out Tiresias can still change sex by beating up the snakes (this is just my hc lol) he would be SOOO INTO THAT, he is a freak, a freaky and greedy bisexual if you will.

And Tiresias too like he is a bit of an asshole so it would take a while for him to soften up, like i feel like he would be pretty touchy, his love language would probably be physical interaction, AND since he can't see him, not even with his prophecy abilities, he would have to get to know him by using his other senses, that's freaky-

Anyways I love them, they're boyfriends and they're freaks, but they're happy

[evienyx]

Hello! I adore your Concord fic so so much, to the point that it's actually now my favorite Sonic fic. Your characterization for Shadow is fantastic and I'm right there with you in thinking that movie Shadow wouldn't hide how much he likes Sonic or be mean to him, not after how much they bonded on the moon and during the fight afterward. Actually, your characterization for everyone is very on point, and Sonic is an absolute delight. I'm so sad that he and Maria never got to be friends for real, because Shadow (and you) is 100% right that they'd get along like a house on fire lol

Anyway, there's a song that I think fits Shadow and Sonic in Concord perfectly, and I wanted to share it with you! It's called "Stargazing" by Myles Smith, and I think it's especially fitting for this latest two chapters. :3

Also, I don't know much about the Superbowl, but I'm told that they do a lot of cool stuff during it other than just the game and that people have parties and stuff when they watch it, so I hope you had a fun time!

One of the most important things for this fic for me was making sure that the characterization for Shadow was Movie Shadow and not Games Shadow.

Now, of course, Movie Shadow is an adaptation of Game Shadow, there are a lot of similarities. However, his backstory is different, and more importantly his dynamic with Sonic is different. If we're being totally honest, in the movies at least, they don't even have the rivalry thing going on (yet at least). They were legit just straight-up enemies (reluctantly on Sonic's side until Shadow almost killed Tom and Sonic decided to lock in) until the conversation on the Moon, and from there they are (oddly in-sync) allies.

This is not to say I love Movie Shadow more than Game Shadow, I love the both of them for different reasons. Nor do I love Movie Sonadow more than Game Sonadow. They're both wonderful, and both have so much potential. It is very different potential from one another. Game Sonic would have to work double time to get that conversation out of Game Shadow compared to Movie Sonic who had it in all of two seconds. This is fine, and lovely to explore on its own, but it is important to me to acknowledge the difference and write these stories with the difference in mind.

I do plan on writing more fics for them, because oh lord this ship is so fun, and there are so many things that can be done with them. Obviously we've already got the more angsty fic that I'm planning for after Concord finishes (I'll release the first chapter on the same day as the last chapter of Concord), but even more than that I've got a few too many ideas sitting on a doc. I've got ideas for the movies, for the games, and even ones for complete AU fics that would probably use a blend of their personalities from both. I'm mentally ill.

Anyway, holy mother of god are you right about that song fitting them. It's actually kinda ridiculous, and makes me wish that I could draw at all because there is nothing I want more now than an animatic of the two of them with that song for this fic. I'm gonna be sick, thank you.

And, uh, yeah, the Superbowl has got kinda three big parts to it: Game, Half-Time, Commercials. The Game is the big final NFL American football game for the season to see who's the best team. It's the last game in the playoffs. Half-Time is when they have a super famous musical artist do a fifteen-ish minute show during the break that comes after the first half of the game. The Commercials are whatever ads play when you're watching at home, and they used to be really good, big productions with like storylines and stuff, but this year they weren't all very good, and I suspect it might be the use of A.I. but you didn't hear that from me.

I'm not a fan of either of the teams that were in the Superbowl this year (the Philadelphia Eagles and the Kansas City Chiefs), but I only vaguely dislike the Eagles and I really hate the Chiefs, so I was perfectly happy to see the Eagles win. Any love toward them is gone now that the game is over, though, and I am back to solely wanting to see my own team win.

[coraniaid]

What are your favorite Giles moments? What is a 'missing scene' or something you'd like to have seen Giles do or say and didn't?

I think my favorite Giles moments are the obvious ones, really.

His reaction to Buffy coming back to Sunnydale in Dead Man's Party: not just the fact he's the only person not to give her a hard time about being gone but because he's so obviously happy that she's returned but tries to hide that delight from her. He understands her in a way her friends and her mother can't -- he too struggled with his supernatural calling when he was young, and tried running away from it, after all -- but he thinks his affection for her is something to be ashamed of.

His speech to her in Innocence ("if it's guilt you're looking for [...] I'm not your man. All you will get from me is my support and my respect"). Not only is this a nice moment in itself (albeit one later undercut a little by the events of Helpless), it also -- together with Joyce looking at Buffy and telling her that "you look the same to me" in the very next scene -- strongly suggests that people who read Season 2 as the show somehow punishing Buffy for the "mistake" of sleeping with Angel have chosen a reading that the show is actively rejecting. Angel losing his soul is a metaphor for something that really happens -- you sleep with somebody and then they seem to become somebody a lot less pleasant -- but it's not the show's position that any of this is Buffy's fault.

His various moments sticking up for Buffy when she's not around to see it. Threatening Snyder in Dead Man's Party, of course ("would you like me to convince you?"), as well as more gently defending her earlier in the show, but also lots of his interactions with Wesley or other Watchers are also fun ("If you want to criticize my methods, fine. But you can keep your snide remarks to yourself. And while you're at it, don't criticize my methods").

Giles is pretty funny, actually; I think he gets some pretty good lines throughout the show. For example I like the scene in Intervention when he and Buffy are out in the desert for a ritual, she points out they don't have any food or water with them and wonders if the guide he's summoning for her will also "a week later" lead him to her "bleached bones", and he insists that won't happen: "it takes more than a week to bleach bones". Or his speech to the gang in I Only Have Eyes For You ("I appreciate your thoughts on the matter. In fact, well, I encourage you to always challenge me when you feel it's appropriate. You should never be cowed by authority. ... Except, of course, in this instance, when I am clearly right and you are clearly wrong.")

I don't really like fandom attempts to cast Giles as the Scooby Gang's unproblematic Team Dad, but I do like the very different ways Giles interacts with Buffy's friends, from his gentle support of Willow in the early seasons to his frequent irritation with Xander ("Am I right Giles?" "Almost certainly not, but to be fair I wasn't listening." or "Xander, don't speak Latin in front of the books"). I like the fact that Dawn -- as the part of Buffy who gets to be a normal kid and not a Slayer -- quickly intuits that Giles doesn't really like her. I like the scene where Giles goes to kill Angelus in Passion and the scene in which he confronts Angel in Amends.

Oh, and of course "I believe the subtext here is rapidly becoming text", which I'm pretty sure I've quoted on this blog more than once.

Missing scene ... well, I've argued recently (and repeatedly) that we should have seen Giles trying to help Faith a bit more than we did if the show didn't want us to blame him for her changing sides, so let's go with something else. It would have been nice if we'd had a scene where Giles tried to get Buffy to talk about Kendra's death, I think (I mean in the same way he's able to get her to open up about how it felt to have to send Angel to hell). He wouldn't have to be successful -- you could contrast this with his own reluctance to talk about Jenny, even -- but it would make it much, much easier to read Buffy's ongoing silence about Kendra as a deliberate character choice, rather than -- as I strongly suspect it was -- the writers just never caring about Kendra at all and assuming the audience didn't either.

[bigskydreaming]

Oh no, its been eighty million years since proper Batfam inspiration struck, but seeing this post that I completely forgot ever writing I feel the inspiration swirling, the thoughts, they are percolating.

Its typical to go-to magic and demons and Zataras when musing on Freaky Friday situations in DC settings, but as someone who's spent a fair amount of time in X-Men pastures of late, you know who else can account for Freaky Friday scenarios? Psychics.

And who are two of my favorite little used psychics in the DC universe, both of them directly connected to Dick by way of the Titans?

The Gargoyle (technically kind of a demon but whatever we're focusing on his psychic-ness here) and Lilith, psychic Greek goddess of messiness (not actually a goddess or even Titaness, as conclusively proven back in the eighties but she did not sign off on that retcon-of-a-retcon and refuses to accept its authority. Its fake news. What's fake news, her teammates back in the eighties want to know. Shhh, they'll get the joke eventually, she assures them, though they can go ahead and just laugh now. Its very funny. She wouldn't lie to them about this. Other things, yes. This? Never).

BUT I DIGRESS.

So now I'm thinking.....hmmm, hmmm.....even though Boone doesn't show up in continuity (and re-show up in Dick's life) until the 90s after he's parted ways with the Titans for awhile and Lilith has parted ways with being relevant, with some careful - or utterly haphazard and deeply whimsical - reconfiguring, one could easily imagine a scenario in which the Gargoyle, fresh off another defeat by the Titans, goes seeking a new way of getting revenge on them....and Dick in particular, as he's always held Dick personally responsible for everything that's ever gone wrong. Which is weird, actually. Its like he was a Jason or Tim stan decades before Red Hood or Red Robin storylines were ever a thing. Go figure.

(Yes I know that's a cheap shot. Counterpoint: I laughed when writing it, so....)

SO. Imagine the Gargoyle makes like he's a hunter-gatherer foraging for ways to fuck with him while traversing the tangles of Dick's personal history (which he's very familiar with because of all his time mucking around in Dick's mindscape and nightmares) and dwells upon Dick's memories of Vengeance Academy and Boone. And he ponders. Muses, even. Does a deep dive into his little demon rolodex to see if anyone knows what ever happened to this Boone guy and lo and behold, he's currently a member of the League of Assassins - hey, he knows those guys! And so he pays Boone's dreams a personal visit and makes a sales pitch.

Boone: You had me at "here's how you can fuck with Freddy's head and ruin his life."

Gargoyle: I didn't even get to that part yet.

Boone: I'm very intuitive.

So, in the interests of maximum messiness, the Gargoyle swaps Boone into Dick's body and vice versa via some demonic psychic handwaving and vaguely defined narrative wheee!

As I mentioned before, due to Boone's complete inability to be subtle - and utter lack of interest in even aiming for that - it would take negative 2.5 seconds for anyone and everyone who's ever met Dick to figure out that yo, this Dick Grayson shaped guy is not Dick. Well, actually, going off of precedent like Brother Blood brainwashing and Ric Grayson and various other storylines its actually canonically a damn lie that Dick Grayson acting out of character would instantly net a realization that something is up with Dick Grayson other than OMG HE'S BEING AN ASSHOLE, CHASTISE HIM!

But we're going for humor with this post, not pathos, so we're just going to hydroplane and careen wildly away from that particular direction and course correct to "yes, obviously people will know something is up but not WHAT" and continue merrily along to the predicament that is "even if people guess that Boone-in-Dick's-body-is-not-really-Dick, Dick-in-Boone's-body-can't-just-go-say-hi-and-expect-friends-to-be-like-oh-hey-Mr.-Apparent-Assassin-Person-yes-I-will-take-you-at-face-value-and-believe-what-you-say."

Unless of course, that person is a psychic who knows the particular dysfunctional bent of Dick's mind intimately.

Which casts Lilith as the unlikely pro-protagonist who is the only one who can properly restore Dick to his proper place, and who is of course a good friend and totally on board with helping him do that.

BUT being Lilith (at least as I characterize her), she's also the absolute WORST possible co-pilot for a Dick whose priorities keep getting pre-empted by his desire to match Boone's pettiness one spiteful life derailment at a time.

Lilith: Am I enabling Dick's worst tendencies here when I should be helping steer him towards a quick and speedy resolution? Yes. Is this bad of me? Also yes. Am I going to keep doing this because its fucking hilarious and my priorities also aren't always the best? A third time, yes.

Lilith: Eh, I'll feel bad about it later. I could be Catholic, I bet.

Dick: Lil? Lilith, hellooooo. Where did you go just now? You do remember that most of us can't just follow along with your internal monologues the way you do with everyone else, right?

Lilith: Sounds like a skill issue. Anyway, I was just idly musing on ways you could get back at Boone for the latest grenade he just threw at your life while pretending to be you. I mean. Just as an idle thought experiment. Not because you'd care about that or would even want to know.

Dick: I mean. If you already thought of something, I suppose you might as well share your thoughts. Y'know. Just as an idle thought experiment. No sense in letting them go to waste.

Lilith: Aw, look at us bonding. We never hang out like this, we really should do this more often!

Dick: Right yeah sure. Now what were you saying about how I can fuck with Boone's head and ruin his life.

Lilith: I didn't even mention that part yet.

Dick: I'm very intuitive.

Body swap AU where Boone and Dick get swapped mid-fight and the second he realizes what’s happened and the possibilities it opens up, Boone lights up like a kid in a candy store. This is the greatest day of his life. Dick’s like oh no, oh shit, oh this will not end well and gives chase as Boone runs off shrieking “I came in like a wreeeeeeeeecking ball” y’know, like a spoiler alert for what Dick’s personal life looks like in the next 24 hours. Or prophecy more like, on account of the added foreboding and stuff.

Dick’s like FINE, TWO CAN PLAY AT THAT GAME and is like hmm how can I just fucking RUIN his professional reputation, we’re talking total nosedive, scorched earth. By the time I’m done with him, people are gonna be like Shrike who? Oh did you mean Fuzzy Little Chick Guy? 

And its just them just petulantly trying to sledgehammer each other’s lives and reputations and like they’re not even TRYING to be subtle so the Batfam and Titans figure out something’s up in no time flat and they’re like Dick, shouldn’t you be trying to figure out how to get back into your own body? And Dick’s like look I WAS BUSY OKAY. 

[caedogeist-rights]

actually im not done tristamp did alllll the villains so incredibly weirdly. like at the very least vash's redesign fits his character. also im including wolfwood in this for JUST A MOMENT bc hes white!! why!! but. genuinely like. knives? where are his jodhpurs and backstory. kiddo knives is such a good part of the manga where is the Blood Typing i just have a lot of feelings abt Happy Days (volume 7, trimax, 2002). legato is TINY. and like. not pathetic enough but also not big enough??? he's one of three major antagonists he is the reason why plot happens and now hes just.... here???? being basic???? like have we even see him murder yet. elendira,,,, my beloved they made you cis why are you a child. livio is Also Tiny why are all the gung-ho-guns tiny now and his fashion bores me but i do like his hair. livio is genuinely my favorite and i do like him in stamp but i think they are underselling how incredibly deadly this man is. but maybe thats the point! <3 xoxo also fascinating to me that conrad is this important i dont actually hate it but its interesting that the antagonizing is a conrad thing not a legato thing. its technically more realistic to the actual dynamic esp knives's pov but also like.... legato where are you.... why are you so tame..... where is your creature and your coffin and your incredibly horny bloodlust for knives........

the only good ones are monev (its fun ig?), the nebraskas (so long as big mother is in s2) and ZAZIE WHO WAS DONE BETTER. IMO. like obviously different but they/them zazie in dub i cannot get more. bugs cool.

and. of course. the fact that we have not seen arguably the MOST important character is such a loss. midvalley hornfreak where Are you. play us a song music man i want to see you kill

[dykedvonte]

why do you hate Joshua Graham or Honest Hearts so much?

This DLC and character represents a bigger issue with fandom spaces I have but particularly fallout fandom in general.

Fallout tends to tackle a lot of topics controversial and not. The first two games it’s heavy cause they are the most satirical and direct with how anti-war, nationalism and etc… they are. 3 loses this as it’s very clear once you play or learn about all the games that Todd and a bunch of guys at Bethesda just liked the 50s post apocalyptic aesthetic and refuse to actually critique the ideals of the time period like the earlier titles.

New Vegas is the game that really gets back into it a degree it almost seems like it’s taking too much on. There are things done exceedingly well while other things are done horribly wrong . I’ve made posts about it before and plan to make a big series of posts (it’s a lot of writing) but my biggest gripe is with Honest Hearts and all the gross and white savior esque depictions it has of indigenous peoples. The entirety if FNV does not do the injustices faced by indigenous people correctly on any count. My two biggest complaints are with the Khans and the tribes in Zion but I’ll talk about the former on a different post.

Both characters of Daniel and Joshua are the most accurate depiction of white saviors I’ve seen and I hate how the DLC tries to justify and defend them. The DLC treats Joshua like this man who has repented for his past actions when he is just retracing his steps after his cruelty bit him in the ass. He was one of the worst parts of the Legion and it is all but explicitly stated that if you don’t force him to be non-violent he will turn the tribes of Zion into the legion 2.0. The Dead Horses and the Sorrows are horribly infantilized by both Daniel and Joshua who both use them for self serving purposes guised by religious duty. The White Legs are the horrible stereotype of violent and savage indigenous and I personally think a lot of their interlinking with Ulysses, his hair and Ulysses character in general are distasteful and very telling of how BIPOC or POC where involved.

But outside of the game it’s the weird obsession people have with these characters ideologies and trying to make them seem more interesting/philosophical than they are. Tumblr is an echo chamber and many fans of Fallout are not the people on this site. Many people are not educated in the issues these characters convey and how poorly they do or used these characters as a poor introduction for their takes. Contrary to what a lot of people believe in, fallout has a prediomeny white cis male fanbase. More importantly a large portion of the fanbase is white.

You can joke how FNV made you trans or see the numbers on post/fics or diverse headcanons but these are kiddy numbers compared to the millions that consume the franchise and aren’t in those more aware spaces or don’t engage in the spaces the same way someone like me does/has to. Their views shape a lot more than people realize and it’s exhausting to be in a space where people don’t correct the more subtle yet toxic aspects of it but also adopt them into some weird quirky view point on the characters or issues. Some people don’t realize and some people don’t care.

My main issue is just the idolizing of these sort of thing in this fandom space and people try to acts like a game like fallout whose tagline is “War never changes” and has never had a game not revolve around political or militaristic factions issues isn’t that deep or doesn’t relate to real issues. I think it’s mainly caused by how over powered you can become and how you can strong arm your way past these learning moments as majority of people who play this game do play it as a power fantasy where they can do so as they please (which of course, go ahead it’s fun) but never take in parallels or lessons in the story as if it was just another first person shooter.

Also like another personal gripe is Cazadores spawn like hell whenever I’m there and I have not found a mod that works to mod them out so I have to play Indigenous Racism the DLC while getting jumped by giant wasps WHILE helping Mormons. Like I cannot catch a break.

[nodutra19]

This might be my favorite episode in the whole series. Though I don't play "favorites" for the most part and just look at things as a whole, rather than through rankings.

By critiquing patriarchy and gender, RGU necessarily critiques hero worship. Now, I haven't actually studied up on hero worship just yet. It's an idea I became familiar with after reading The Pike by Lucy Hughes-Hallett. After BHM, I'm gonna read three of her other books, starting with Heroes: Traitors, Saviors, and Superman: A History of Hero Worship. Maybe I'll write about RGU and hero worship by the middle of next month.

In particular with this episode, and as has been built over time, is the idea of "special people." A few episodes ago, Akio waxes poetic over how "special" Utena is, and how special people don't know they're special. There's a few layers to that, but here I wanna focus on the hero worship aspect in terms of Souji/Nemuro.

I've loved this episode for a very long time. It truly feels like a wrinkle in time and space. It gives me nostalgia for a where and when I never laid personal witness to. Last year around this time I read American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer by Kai Bird and Martin J. Sherwin. The very first chapter has the quote:

Around the globe, scientists were soon to be celebrated as a new kind of hero, promising to usher in a renaissance of rationality, prosperity and social meritocracy. In America, reform movements were challenging the old order. Theodore Roosevelt was using the bully pulpit of the White House to argue that good government in alliance with science and applied technology could forge an enlightened new Progressive Era.

For some reason I never drew this connection to RGU until today. It did tickle me on my rewatch last year but still.

"Genius." What a loaded word! I've read about geniuses, from Marx to Oppie to Tolstoy to Nabokov and now to W.E.B Du Bois, and they were all just as foolish as they were intelligent! I think we see here a sort of prefigurement to Akio and his relationship to Prince Dios. Literally they are the same, but Prince Dios lives on as a separate image to which Akio aspires because 1.) He wants to regain lost time and 2.) These are the demands of patriarchy.

But that's all it really is: an image. An idea. A rotten ideal in white. "But is that what she really wants?"

In this case, Professor Nemuro somewhat does fit the mold of a "genius." A genius is an odd person, a disconcerting changeling. A Byronic solitary figure who "doesn't fit in," who "stands out," who "comes into your life like a hurricane." They're a little beyond human ken. They are a "god among men." They are often "hard to work with." And the worship is just as cultic and religious as all these romantic phrases imply.

Of course, most of their contemporaries think lesser of them than what subsequent myth making would imply. In the case of Marx, he could be a bit grumpy (and was a D1 bum in the funniest sense. An iconic debt shuffler) and had terrible handwriting. You'll often hear people say "Smart people think so fast they can seem rude" or "Have bad handwriting." Behaviors and traits that would otherwise be pathologized are at least excused if not embellished if someone is a "genius."

I think there are other layers to this stuff, especially, I imagine, for those who are ace and aro, but I dunno enough about that to get into the weeds about it.

To bring things real close to RGU, I remember some years ago getting into a conversation with some several years older than me. They were an immigrant, and so I helped them with dealing with the culture shock they were facing. Eventually we got to talking about generations, and they said "I think this generation [referring to mine, Gen Z], will change the world. If more people were like you, things would be better." I was obviously flattered, especially the second bit, but the first bit had always bothered me. As I'm reading through David Levering Lewis's biography on W.E.B Du Bois for BHM, I'm reminded of how Du Bois came up with the idea of the "Talented Tenth." They were essentially the Black Vanguard who would lift the Black race up. Later on, however, he revised it to the "Guiding Hundredth," which attempted to democratize the idea and expand racial lines to something more intersectional. Having gained this knowledge after that conversation, I realize why I was bothered by what that person said: it seemed another form of idolatry. Changing the world isn't the work of a chosen few predetermined by a secular mandate of heaven (In Oppie's time, it was scientists. Nowadays, the "heroes" are entrepreneurs and venture capitalists), it will involve all of us, of all walks of life.

My thoughts are very soupy on this subject, so pardon if I seemed rambly and unfocused.

I'll at least leave a few quotes:

I've become convinced that genius is a vastly overrated commodity. I think this country is full of geniuses, guys and gals so bright they make your average card carrying MENSA member look like Fucko the Clown. And I think that most of them are teachers, living and working in small town obscurity because that's the way they like it. —Stephen King Insomnia

To hell with the philosophy of the great men of this world! All great wise men are as despotic as generals and as rude and insensitive as generals, because they are confident of their impunity. —Anton Chekhov, after souring a bit on a late controversial play by Tolstoy. As translated by Rosamund Bartlett

Genius…means little more than the faculty of perceiving in an unhabitual way. —William James The Principle of Psychology

That last quote is part of the epigraph of the Du Bois biography I'm reading. So rn I got a lot on my head about geniuses, professors, heroism, hero worship, masculinity, etc.

For Marx and Tolstoy, I recommend the biographies Love and Capital: Karl and Jenny Marx and the Birth of a Revolution by Mary Gabriel and Tolstoy: A Russian Life by Rosamund Bartlett (along with her excellent translation of Anna Karenina)

Fansub release + translation notes for Utena ep 22!

さすがに何でもよく知ってるわね。でもそれだけの情報網があるなら、早く奴らの正体も突き止めて欲しいわ。

You know everything, don’t you Juri? With such a vast intelligence network, I wish you’d hurry up and find out these people’s true identities. (literal translation)

You know everything, don’t you Juri? I wish you'd put your little birdies to work finding out just who is behind this. (final translation)

情報網 (jouhoumou) is an interesting word to use here! It literally means “intelligence network”, so Nanami is implying that Juri has a bunch of spies feeding her everytthing that happens at the school. To actually use the word “intelligence network” sounds a little but out of place in English though, so I rephrased the line a little to sound more conversational and accusatory.

Boy: しばらく消えないでしょうね、根室教授。 Nemuro: ん？なんだい？ Boy: 雪の事ですよ、教授。

Boy: Won't disappear for a while still, eh, Professor Nemuro? Nemuro: I beg your pardon? Boy: I was talking about the snow, Professor.

There’s a double meaning in the first line here — the boy could reasonably be talking about the Professor himself not clearing out for a while. That was actually my original phrasing: “Won’t clear out for a while” but Anya suggested “disappear” which is actually much closer to the original Japanese phrasing so I changed it to that. I think this exchange preserves that passive aggressive dig at the Professor pretty well!

あの人は花が散るのを見たくないんですよ。こうすれば短い命の花も少しは長持ちさせることができる。でも、こうまでして永らえても花自身は嬉しいんでしょうか？

She hates it when the petals begin to fall. This way even a short-lived flower can be made to last a little longer. But… I wonder how the flowers feel about their existence being prolonged like this.

This is one of my favourite exchanges in the show! I think this really emphasises how Japanese sentence structure and general way of phrasing things differs drastically from English. A literal translation of the first sentence would be something like “That person does not want to see flowers scatter”. Each part of the sentence sounds weird if translated individually:

あの人 - “that person” being used because Japanese prefers that phrasing to third person pronoun “she”.

花が散る - “flowers scatter” is the most natural way to say “petals fall/die” in Japanese but sounds very odd in English

見たくないんですよ - “does not want to see X” also sounds very funny when translated directly to English, but simply conveys the idea that she doesn’t like seeing something happen.

When taken as a whole, complete idea though, the sentence can easily be translated into something that sounds natural in English: “She hates it when the petals begin to fall.”

The hardest part of this to translate was the last sentence. I originally had translated it like this: “So much work to make them last, and yet I wonder if the flowers themselves are happy.”

こうまでして - to go this far/to put in this much effort/to put in this much work. However, this is more of a tone setting phrase than a meaning carrying phrase, so it’s okay not to translate it directly.

永らえる - to prolong something’s lifespan. This is hard to translate because while the phrasing works in Japanese, the preserved flowers are actually dead. So you can’t translate it as “I wonder how the flowers feel about being made to live so long” or something of that ilk. My original translation of “make them last” works, but I prefer the final translation of “existence being prolonged”. It sounds more applicable to Mamiya’s situation, and this exchange is all about that metaphor.

永遠に憧れる心が美しく思えたりするだけだ。

(lit.) We just think of a heart that longs for eternity as beautiful. (??)

We just romanticise the idea of eternity.

Another great example of Japanese phrasing that sounds super weird when translated directly, but can sound very natural when the core idea behind the words is translated properly. “Romanticise” is such a succinct one-word translation of the several word phrase 「憧れる心が美しく思えたり」!

Thank you to my amazing editor @dontbe-lasanya for their help with the episode as always!

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Rose divider taken from this post.

[warrenwaskilledbyadeer]

Okay

But if the Mario movie continues as a franchise

And they make a Mario Galaxy movie

And give it its proper emotional pathos and treat Rosalina and her story and connection to Mario with proper respect

...I will literally cry ngl

[arolesbianism]

In other news Odile crashed my game during her friend quest. Smiles in pain.

[itsalwaysdark]

i wish there was a way for me to likeee. semi change this one thingin this one mod. but 1 im not a modder 2 i feel like thats disrespectful. i just want sort of an inbetween between the game and this mod but that is not a thing that exist... sigh

[unproduciblesmackdown]

skinamarble hornets, i was like i hope my favorite skinamascene has been uplomarinked on youtube....reminds me of that season one marble hornets entry that's the First House Visit and how i saw it described somewhere as like "absolutely nothing happens, & it's terrifying" & it reminds me of the torment of watching as the series was released & Every Time something came out, no matter what happened in like setting, atmosphere, plot, scares, there'd be someone going "ugh another Nothing entry" over the most crucial &/or enjoyable shit so long as it didn't feature [& he's cookin hot dogs on the stove???] & didn't feature it like every other minute for good measure. as though a format that is predictable, like the promise of the same kind of scene in the same intervals of timing, would actually be scary or at all interesting. shoutout to these the entries, or even intervals of time within entries, where "absolutely nothing happens" and it's called suspense in knowing it Could, tension in an unsafe, uneasy, unsettling situation in the meantime, & then also potential followup recontextualization that only creates more tension for later similar material. ("absolutely nothing" happens (of course, actually, things happen, but) in the skinamarink scene save for the literal last few seconds when the "jumpscare" is a very brief change in audio & visuals which is neither actually that loud nor like showing anything scary(tm) (technically a la marble hornets i think people say you can like see an arm extend for a nanosecond but i never catch it if so lol) but rather hits at all because of 8 minutes of suspense & tension & Nothing Happening But It Could) (also bravely standing up like "it's fine that skinamarink has some jumpscares, including the obvious few even jumpier than this" like who cares if it's "easy" necessarily & also that Knowing such startlement can happen ramps up the tension even when it didn't, but it could've. like so)

[aroaceleovaldez]

one of my favorite parts about Percy being Obviously Bi™ is he doesn't universally describe one gender as attractive. Like he doesn't just say all girls are cute and guys are just okay or whatever or vice versa. No, he has specific girls he finds pretty and specific guys he finds pretty, and he voices that opinion.

For example - Clarisse? Thalia? Meh. Even Silena, who is canonically very pretty, Percy is relatively neutral on. But Annabeth? Rachel? Calypso? 100%. And based on differences in descriptions like that we can tell when Percy is attracted to somebody versus isn't. He calls everybody else in Beckendorf's cabin ugly and then waxes poetic about how hot Beckendorf is specifically. He'll describe most guys as just "eh" with plain physical descriptors but every time he sees Luke he feels the need to specify that Luke is extremely hot while being very evil and how much he hates Luke's stupid very very pretty face. love that for you Percy. great work.