When he arrives, Jason will find Yelena leaning one arm against the counter of the food truck, chin propped in one hand as she watches the man inside the truck go to work on all the food she ordered. She knows how boys eat, and she is no shy eater, either. It’s a lot of food, and definitely enough to share.
She grins when she hears him approach and turns her head slowly to look over at him. “I got us a bunch of tacos, loaded nachos, empanadas, and some sopapillas.” It seemed like a good feast to her anyway.
She's lucky there's food involved. Well, he would have come anyways, but still. He parks his bike nearby and heads to her location, and he can already smell the food, his stomach growling. It's been a long few nights.
"Guess this means I'll have to forgive you for being such a jerk, huh?" He's already gunning for the nachos, wanting to pick at them. "This your second serving?"
As promised, Yelena is waiting in the hotel room for her. She will know the exact moment that Kate arrives, she's sure of it, because there is really nothing subtle about the archer at all. That's okay, Yelena has enough subtlety in her work life, she could do with obvious, flat-facts in her personal life.
It is still strange to think she has one of those. A personal life. A social life of some sort, even. Very small and ultra-contained, and she still hasn't really moved outside of her general circle of former Widows and her fake parents– she's still a little bitter about that whole thing, actually– but something is better than nothing, and at least when they get together now it's not only because of a mission. Sometimes, it's a mission and it's family night.
Either way... she waits, and she's glad that Kate will never have evidence of the stupid way she keeps looking at her phone every time the next text is from her.
It's true, subtlety has never been in Kate's bag of tricks. She wouldn't even really waste her time trying to claim otherwise, which was really saying something, because sometimes making claims with little to no evidence counted as one of her hobbies.
She would, for instance, claim to be generally a cool person, even though she definitely provided evidence to the opposite on the walk over, if anyone had been paying attention. This is a whole new level of 'holy shit is this really my life' and, even though Kate's a little more than reasonably sure of herself, probably, that's still a lot of holy shit to contend with.
Thank goodness for New York, talking to yourself a little on the sidewalk doesn't even register to most people. She manages to knock off the combination pep-talk-excited-ramble-no-way-is-this-a-trap-right-no-mantra in the hotel lobby, at least. Getting kicked out in the LOBBY would be the most mortifying, she would be forced to lay down and die somewhere, probably. The rambling is absolutely what's going to give her away in the hallway, though. There's no way that's not going to be audible for at least a minute before Kate manages to shut herself up again and knock.
She goes completely silent for nearly two weeks. Her phone seems to be disconnected, no one really seems to have heard from her.
It’s probably pretty jarring to walk into his own flat, which he knows he left quite distinctly both empty and locked when he left it last night… to find a lithe blonde passed out on his couch. She doesn’t seem to notice the sound of the key in the door or the soft squeal of the lower hinge as the door is pushed open; she doesn’t hear the soft, light footsteps as he moves around either.
She looks at peace in her sleep, at least. It makes her really look her age. Makes her seem smaller, somehow. So still, quiet and relaxed in a way she never is when she’s awake. Like this, she could almost pass for a typical 20-something.
Almost.
She still has tactical boots on, a knife tucked inside of one of them. Her hair is swept up in a messy ponytail and has no less than three other blades hidden on her person somewhere.
The tv is on low, little more than a soft murmur of sound so the room isn’t completely silent. He can either wake her up or let her come to in her own time— depends on what he thinks is worth more: Letting Yelena actually get some sleep or finding out why she’s here.
Bucky thinks that maybe Yelena had forgotten about their tentative plans when he doesn't hear from her for two weeks. It's fine though, since they hadn't made solid plans, and Steve got back from his mission the night before. Bucky was definitely otherwise occupied so it's a good thing she hadn't messaged. He's back home now though, not needing to be part of Steve's debriefing at headquarters.
He definitely remembers locking his door, so finding it unlocked is a little strange. He doesn't often get visitors, aside from Barton coming over to harass him and bring him pizza. He knows that Barton is also at the debriefing though, so he steps into his apartment with caution. Looking around, he spots her. Yelena is fast asleep on his couch. That explains the door.
Bucky drops his bag on the counter, making sure to not be too quiet. He's positive that she's clocked him being home already, and just written him off as a non-threat. He knows what it's like, sleeping lightly, just in case. But she knows that she's safe here, and if she doesn't want to wake up just yet, then who is he to force it on her.
She's been away for two weeks now doing who knows what, so if Yelena wants to sleep in a safe place, Bucky isn't about to stop her.
Instead, he puts his groceries away and settles into the chair to finish his book.
[Peter makes sure to grab the bottle of hot sauce he promised Yelena before he leaves, taking a quick moment to make sure he leaves his window unlocked so he doesn't lock himself out again. (And avoid that super awkward conversation with his landlord while trying not to reveal himself as Spider-Man, good times.)
Once satisfied that he has everything and is ready to go, Peter closes the window behind him, pulls down his mask, and swings into the night, repeating the address Yelena gave him in his head so he doesn't forget it.
For the time it takes him to arrive, Peter lets himself enjoy being alone, just him, swinging into the open air. There really isn't any feeling in the world like it.
He arrives in fairly good time, landing on a fire escape before knocking at the window he thinks is Yelena's, holding up the bottle of hot sauce, as promised. Otherwise, this will be awkward for Yelena's neighbors, oops.]
It's hard, it's like a knife in the gut, a literal pain she knows, to see the woman she considers her daughter in pain. And she can't make that pain go away, not like a kiss to a scraped knee or killing a Red Room agent who attacked her. This is beyond her ability to fix in any way, she isn't equipped for it.
She misses Natasha too, and she's proud of her, and she hates herself for not stepping in when she could have. And she's angry that Nat never called her for help. And she's furious that Red Room took everything from her girls and gave them a future that was destined to be filled with complexity and pain. She is so ill prepared to help with that.
Melina hadn't been prepared for hearing 'mom' or 'mommy.' How could she know the surge she would feel in her chest for her girls being hurt or being excited. They were so eager and smart and open to the world that she'd almost forgotten that the whole thing was a charade sometimes. She'd failed her mission because she'd loved her family.
"I know. I miss her too. So much it feels like part of me is gone and what's left just hurts."
The grief and the pain of this loss is one she cannot see ever being... smaller, hurting less, and there are so many things tangled up around it that make it even harder to let go of. Meeting the man who was, by Valentina's account, the reason her sister was dead had done nothing to simplify it, either. Clint Barton was broken by her sister's sacrifice, too, and she hasn't really been able to unpack everything from that last fight.
It's weak. It's childish. She hates herself for it and the way it goes against everything she's been taught and raised to be... but she curls into Melina, "It isn't fair," she mumbles against her mother's shoulder; she knows it's stupid to say- nothing has ever been fair in her life- but it's all she can think, "Why couldn't it be someone else?" Anyone else at all. Just not Natasha.
1. Last night I thought his shirt said Yale... but this morning it definitely says Old Navy 2. It's gotten to the point where waking up in my own apartment is a surprise. 3. Midnight run for medical supplies ended several hours later with a lapdance, so I can't complain. 4. We are arguing over whose family is more dysfunctional... 5. Text her; assumed CR/misfires welcome!
Yelena, true to her word, shows up at Steve’s that evening. She hopes he doesn’t ask why she is there, she isn’t sure how to put it into words. It’s just— he’s one of the few people that really knew her sister. The woman she had become in the years she had been apart from her. It’s complicated, but grief always is, isn’t it?
She's glad he is amenable to the idea at any rate. It’s better, not being alone, when she can afford the luxury of it.
She grabs one of the small throw pillows and hugs it toward her, “We should watch a movie or something,” she suggests, settling in the corner of the couch.
Opening up his home to a friend, or the sister of a friend who needed it came natural to Steve. In the world he came from it was only considered simple hospitality. There was no need to question why she was there, or what she needed. He didn't have any reason not to let her use his couch, or come over to spend a little time. Steve was more than happy to oblige.
Most evenings he spent texting Bucky, or diving into the internet for more information on the wealth of things that had changed between when he hit the ice and now. It wasn't easy to catch up. He was doing his best, but he often felt like a stranger, a man out of time. That's one of the reasons why he got along with Natasha so well-- she had her own solid demons, but played it off. She let him in, even when he made mistakes. She accepted him.
When Yelena shows up and makes herself comfortable, Steve grabs a couple of beers and brings them to the couch with a bags of chips and dip. Food is always good with company. "A movie sounds good. Anything you're interested in? Horror, Comedy, Fluffy?"
[05. i really don't think "get laid" will solve all of my problems...]
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Oooh I like the 90 Day Fiance, they are CRAZY on that show Aaand the 1000-lb Sisters, they are HILARIOUS Sometimes you just have to have something on for noise, you know? No brainpower required.
hey, everyone is allowed to have some dumb fun every once in a while i actually think i caught berto watching the fiance one once or twice it did seem to be pretty crazy even by my standards
[iv. Everybody makes mistakes. Also they let you text in ambulances now.]
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It is fine. I will come. But why are you IN the hospital? What happened?
[And, like- why does anyone think he needs a hospital? Do these people not know he is a super soldier? How bad does it have to get when someone with such accelerated healing needs a whole hospital trip?]
[5. Details are irrelevant. come bail me out of jail.]
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You are really unhelpful for someone asking for my help, you know?
Even if he says anything else, that will be the last text he gets from her because she has to go throw a new outfit on before heading down to the precinct to bail him out. She's always got some kind of bail money set aside because- well- that's just the kind of life she and those closest to her lead, okay? It's just smart planning, at a certain point.
In the kind of way only Yelena can manage, she swans in and charms the absolute hell out of the people dealing with the most boring aspects of this job. She makes a soft enough demand of getting him out on bail that it's almost impossible for them to deny her.
"Who are you in relation to Barnes, anyway, sweetheart?" the man she'd been discussing everything with asks as he taps some information into his computer.
She leans an elbow on the counter and props her chin in her hand, "Can you keep a secret?" she stage-whispers conspiratorily.
"Sure," he says, amused as he glances back up at her. "I'm good at that."
"We're in something of a.... how you say... situationship. Very complicated and messy, but... worth it," she emphasizes those words with a suggestive lift of her eyebrows, "if you know what I mean," she completes the thought with a quick wink sent his way.
He chuckles lightly and nods, "I think I do," he finishes up what he was doing and says, "Officer Robins will take you the rest of the way, ma'am."
The sun is already dipping in the western sky, the cafes of Saint-Denis coming alive with evening customers, as a cool elegantly dressed blonde makes her way along the sidewalk, paper bag of groceries in the crook of her arm, stopping outside one of the distinctive Parisian doors to get out her keys.
To her neighbours Anne Darceneaux was just a typical businesswoman, one whose work frequently took her away for long periods of time. Indeed, none of them had seen her for several years, until one day she had turned up again out of the blue, much to the delight of Pierre Thompion in the apartment across from hers who'd lingered on the landing this evening so as to try and flirt with his beautiful neighbour.
Brushing him off gently in fluent French, Anne unlocked her apartment door, hefting the bag of groceries as she closes it behind her, her gaze briefly catching on the mirror by the entrance, a sigh escaping her as she studied the reflection of Anastasia Petrova, a twinge of remorse making her break eye contact with the reflection after only a moment.
Six weeks now, six weeks of living another's life, of waiting in hope that the widow that she'd nearly killed years before might show up. She'd give it another couple of months, maybe tip off some more underworld contacts if that didn't work, but failing that she would be at a dead end.
Finding the other Widows scattered across the globe to hit them with the Red Dust and cure them is… a harrowing job, but a necessary one. It makes her feel closer to her sister in a weird way she can’t quite explain. She doesn’t like thinking about it over much, so she just puts her head down and does her job.
Petrova has been more difficult to place than she had hoped. Yelena hopes it doesn’t mean she has been killed before she could be saved. She would not be the first, nor likely the last, who turned up that way, after all.
But finally, after what felt like forever, she’s tracking movement of her. This has always been the fun part of the job to her. Sure, she likes the fight as much as anyone, but this? It’s where she shines, she thinks.
As Anastasia enters the apartment, distracted by something in the mirror — for a moment, Yelena thinks she’s caught her, but whatever it was, it was brief and did not hold her attention. Nothing immediately seems off, things are still in the places they they are meant to be. Nothing looks particularly ransacked. But there is a heaviness that hangs in the air of the room.
Yelena still waits, hidden well in her spot, refusing to move a single muscle, waiting instead for her target to move closer.
The holidays are a weird time for Daisy. With her former team - her family - kind of breaking off and doing their own thing between being busy as the Director of SHIELD, an agent out in the field, teaching at the Academy, going on a bit of soul searching, retiring or... going into space in her case, it means not everyone is aware of the holidays or in touch with each other and it's...lonely. There are familiar faces she recognizes out on missions or in debriefs, but they're not the same as the people she spent many years with saving the world. Or Yelena, even if they haven't known each other all that long.
Daisy likes Yelena and seeing she isn't at the holiday party, it makes her decision an easy one as she puts in a little face time, grabs some goodies, steals a sprig of mistletoe and some vodka before deciding to head to Yelena's instead. It's all without a text to let her know she's on her way so she kind of feels a rise of anxiousness for a moment, thinking that maybe dropping by is a stupid idea and Yelena won't hesitate to tell her so.
But. Maybe it isn't.
"Open up, I have presents!" It comes after a quick three knock pattern, to try and entice Yelena in opening up the door. "And it's cold!"
Despite the fact that Christmas, and more specifically American Christmas was one of her favorite things in the world, she’s just not feeling very festive. So, Yelena is holed up in her flat, on the couch with a fuzzy blanket and her dog next to her, trying to decide what to put on tv for background noise.
Which, of course, is when the knock comes on her door.
She isn’t expecting anyone and it brings a touch of a frown to her features. “Ostavat’sya,” she murmurs quietly to Franny, who perks up at the knock, but does as asked with familiar command; she still watches Yelena very closely as she goes to answer the door.
The knock, rhythmic in the same way twice, comes again and this time a voice is accompanied with with it. A voice Yelena recognizes, which drops all of her hackles as she yanks the door open, “Daisy Johnson, what are you doing here?”
If there's one constant truth, it's that Alexei Shostakov is not doing alright. Not one bit. Adjusting to society after twenty years in prison had already been tough enough. Hunting down other Widows to free from the Red Room's control had also been tough, in a completely different way. Trying to navigate what was going on between him and Melina- if anything- had been a third tough thing. Then came that fourth thing in the form of turning to dust, losing more than five years as the world proceeded without him, then coming back to existence to absolute chaos. That was the final straw, really. That, and losing Natasha.
He found a home in America and spends most of his days watching TV, absorbing that very same culture he'd feigned to be part of in the 90s. His job just barely pays enough to cover the bills. When one has fallen so far, even getting out of bed in the morning is a chore, but he's no quitter. He keeps going, because there's still one person left of their little family who pays visits every so often. He can't let Yelena down.
Those visits are hard to predict, though. Right now, he's wrapped up deeply in a Seinfeld marathon (good, harmless, American fun), while trying to clumsily eat some leftover noodles straight from the take-out box. Red Guardian, ladies and gentlemen!
Yelena has been... lost since coming back from nothingness. Five years passed her by in a matter of seconds. It wasn't easy to put together. Worse still was realizing that she had missed her own sister's death. She was intent on taking out the man said to be responsible, and she almost had, until he had known that whistle. It took every ounce of wind left in her sails and it was the moment she realized she could not trust Valentina.
Saving the other Widows was at least a purpose to work toward, but the ones left had proven impossible to find, already dead, or they had saved already. Watching them wake up never got any easier, either. She dreams of it, and of the things she had done under Drekyov's intense control after Natasha had defected.
Her family barely exists now; Natasha is gone, Yelena isn't even sure where Melina is, and her father... well. At least she can still drop in on him from time to time, yes?
She doesn't bother knocking, instead she simply picks the locks on his door and slips inside. Perhaps not the smartest move, but... he is old, and not near as spry as he once ways, so even if he tries to attack her for catching him off-guard, she does not doubt her ability to dodge it. "Hi, dad..." she says from behind the couch before she moves around it to sink down onto it next to him.
[3. I had a threesome with my hot neighbor and his girlfriend and by threesome I mean I heard them getting it on in their apartment and I was in my apartment eating ice cream]
[ooc; From the Parent Trap-'verse; after the big failed mountain cabin getaway & resulting heartbreak after... end of the week following these two threads]
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The last week has been rough. There is a lot swirling in her mind, still reeling from everything earlier in the week. Guilt has settled quite firmly between her ribs, and as a result, Yelena's mood has been... hard to read, at best, downright sour at worst. But it was all leading to this even harder day. Nothing could have prepared her for what she would witness that day.
The Thunderbolts– God, she hates that name, it is so objectively terrible– had been called to Cap's headquarters; some meeting of the minds about possible alien tech use in Greenland and a discussion of how to handle it, who should go, and if they might need to contact Captain Marvel or the Guardians for an assist.
She... barely remembers what was actually said because her focus had been on Sam and Bucky the entire time. The tension that she felt spark like static in the room as soon as Bucky and Sam's eyes met across the room. How awkward every inch of Bucky's body language was against Sam's seemingly very calm and ever-chill exterior.
Bucky was, somehow, quieter and frownier than usual. He seemed like his attention was divided between the task at hand and something else. Something around his eyes looked... blank, several times through the meeting- she's almost positive he was disassociating right in front of all of them. He also wouldn't even dare to look at Yelena the whole time. Probably for the best, she isn't sure she could have kept herself contained if he'd tried to say a single thing to her.
Sam's stance showed a subtle shift when Bucky was near him. Usually, she'd noticed before, he faced him if not wholly, then he was still shifted toward Bucky, but that's all gone; it's not the most obvious cold shoulder ever, in fact it might be the most subtle one she's ever seen, but it's there in that tiny twist of his body toward the rest of the room, just that little bit away from Bucky.
To anyone- probably everyone- else in the room, Sam likely seemed... fine. Business as usual. He smiled. He joked. He laughed. He made plans and called shots. He was... perfectly Captain America-ing, in excellent form on the business front.
But his smile didn't reach his eyes. His jokes didn't have the right amount of heart in them. His laugh didn't sound as hardy as it usually did.
His arms were folded across his body most of the time, except when he was pointing to maps or similar. His eyes were dull, and she didn't even know that could happen; his eyes always seemed a little bit like they were lit from the inside with starlight, but it was snuffed out now. He was too well-focused on all of the business of everything, in a way that was more like seeking a hyperfixation to distract himself than anything else.
"Whatever you need, buddy," Barnes had said, at some point, in a voice so soft she could have missed it if she wasn't so goddamn focused on the two of them. He even dared to reach out and clap a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We're in your corner."
There was a smile on Sam's face, genuine, but not wide enough. Not bright enough. It didn't reflect in his eyes like it should have. "Thanks, pal," had come out of his mouth as smooth as ever... but he still pulled away from that hand on his shoulder, even if he played it off as getting Joaqín to come help him look at some coordinates.
The whole meeting had her stomach in knots. She barely spoke except when it was absolutely necessary. As soon as it was clear that whatever meeting they were having among all of them was over, and that some people were lingering in the way people often do when they don't want to be the first to leave? Yelena happily jumped to her feet and stomped out of the facility first.
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Back at her own apartment, she locks up behind herself and promptly flops down on her couch, greeted by Franny pushing her cold, wet dog snout right into Yelena's cheek. "Hey, baby," she murmurs softly. "You are so lucky you are a dog..."
As if she could understand her words, but was very confused by them, Franny tipped her head to one side, and then the other. Classic confused puppy face.
Yelena gave a single, weak, "Ha." of laughter, shifting her position on the couch to give her dog space to climb up with her. Maybe she'd be able to think of a way to set all of this right after a little sleep.
[ Dylan has no idea how any of this happened. One minute he was living it up in his last summer before college, badly hitting on the big man around camp and enjoying the time he had left as a free man. But there was no level of fun that could make up for the bullshit that ended up happening - especially how he's left being some kind of otherworldly creature whenever the full moon comes around every month.
So, a lot of people are dead or fucked up. He doesn't particularly feel like either, he thinks. But he can't start college now and he definitely can't go home, so when some rich lady figures him out and starts asking him to do things for her, he might aa well. A few years pass and hey, is he technically a spy now?
Who knows. All he really gets is the lines are starting to blur between the two shapes he can take because of working for Valentina, but he's okay with that, as long as he's useful and having an interesting time.
He's definitely going to have an interesting time today. The mission is dull as ever, but he's paired with a cute blonde with a great accent. He doesn't know much about girls or have non platonic feelings about them, but he knows this - everyone back home is going to be jealous. ]
So forget the mission, tell me about you. What incredible creature pushed you out and made you the painting you are?
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@nomorefear
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When he arrives, Jason will find Yelena leaning one arm against the counter of the food truck, chin propped in one hand as she watches the man inside the truck go to work on all the food she ordered. She knows how boys eat, and she is no shy eater, either. It’s a lot of food, and definitely enough to share.
She grins when she hears him approach and turns her head slowly to look over at him. “I got us a bunch of tacos, loaded nachos, empanadas, and some sopapillas.” It seemed like a good feast to her anyway.
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"Guess this means I'll have to forgive you for being such a jerk, huh?" He's already gunning for the nachos, wanting to pick at them. "This your second serving?"
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@just_one_shot
It is still strange to think she has one of those. A personal life. A social life of some sort, even. Very small and ultra-contained, and she still hasn't really moved outside of her general circle of former Widows and her fake parents– she's still a little bitter about that whole thing, actually– but something is better than nothing, and at least when they get together now it's not only because of a mission. Sometimes, it's a mission and it's family night.
Either way... she waits, and she's glad that Kate will never have evidence of the stupid way she keeps looking at her phone every time the next text is from her.
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She would, for instance, claim to be generally a cool person, even though she definitely provided evidence to the opposite on the walk over, if anyone had been paying attention. This is a whole new level of 'holy shit is this really my life' and, even though Kate's a little more than reasonably sure of herself, probably, that's still a lot of holy shit to contend with.
Thank goodness for New York, talking to yourself a little on the sidewalk doesn't even register to most people. She manages to knock off the combination pep-talk-excited-ramble-no-way-is-this-a-trap-right-no-mantra in the hotel lobby, at least. Getting kicked out in the LOBBY would be the most mortifying, she would be forced to lay down and die somewhere, probably. The rambling is absolutely what's going to give her away in the hallway, though. There's no way that's not going to be audible for at least a minute before Kate manages to shut herself up again and knock.
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I can't lose you, too.
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“Thank you”
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Darling, baby, etc
my very unmatching icons compared to yours keep making me laugh
lmao I’m so srs if you want any of these random stock picture icons, steal them 😂
😁 thank you, I might end up doing that
Np! 💕
❤️
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@so_no_plan
———
She goes completely silent for nearly two weeks. Her phone seems to be disconnected, no one really seems to have heard from her.
It’s probably pretty jarring to walk into his own flat, which he knows he left quite distinctly both empty and locked when he left it last night… to find a lithe blonde passed out on his couch. She doesn’t seem to notice the sound of the key in the door or the soft squeal of the lower hinge as the door is pushed open; she doesn’t hear the soft, light footsteps as he moves around either.
She looks at peace in her sleep, at least. It makes her really look her age. Makes her seem smaller, somehow. So still, quiet and relaxed in a way she never is when she’s awake. Like this, she could almost pass for a typical 20-something.
Almost.
She still has tactical boots on, a knife tucked inside of one of them. Her hair is swept up in a messy ponytail and has no less than three other blades hidden on her person somewhere.
The tv is on low, little more than a soft murmur of sound so the room isn’t completely silent. He can either wake her up or let her come to in her own time— depends on what he thinks is worth more: Letting Yelena actually get some sleep or finding out why she’s here.
Re: @so_no_plan
He definitely remembers locking his door, so finding it unlocked is a little strange. He doesn't often get visitors, aside from Barton coming over to harass him and bring him pizza. He knows that Barton is also at the debriefing though, so he steps into his apartment with caution. Looking around, he spots her. Yelena is fast asleep on his couch. That explains the door.
Bucky drops his bag on the counter, making sure to not be too quiet. He's positive that she's clocked him being home already, and just written him off as a non-threat. He knows what it's like, sleeping lightly, just in case. But she knows that she's safe here, and if she doesn't want to wake up just yet, then who is he to force it on her.
She's been away for two weeks now doing who knows what, so if Yelena wants to sleep in a safe place, Bucky isn't about to stop her.
Instead, he puts his groceries away and settles into the chair to finish his book.
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Once satisfied that he has everything and is ready to go, Peter closes the window behind him, pulls down his mask, and swings into the night, repeating the address Yelena gave him in his head so he doesn't forget it.
For the time it takes him to arrive, Peter lets himself enjoy being alone, just him, swinging into the open air. There really isn't any feeling in the world like it.
He arrives in fairly good time, landing on a fire escape before knocking at the window he thinks is Yelena's, holding up the bottle of hot sauce, as promised. Otherwise, this will be awkward for Yelena's neighbors, oops.]
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I could hear you from a mile away- you need to work on your stealth, Peter Parker.
[Criticisms aside, her eyes light up at the bottle he’s held out for offer and she opens the widow to let him in properly.]
Did I mention you are my favorite?
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From here https://crazycanoe.dreamwidth.org/1729.html?thread=289217#cmt289217
She misses Natasha too, and she's proud of her, and she hates herself for not stepping in when she could have. And she's angry that Nat never called her for help. And she's furious that Red Room took everything from her girls and gave them a future that was destined to be filled with complexity and pain. She is so ill prepared to help with that.
Melina hadn't been prepared for hearing 'mom' or 'mommy.' How could she know the surge she would feel in her chest for her girls being hurt or being excited. They were so eager and smart and open to the world that she'd almost forgotten that the whole thing was a charade sometimes. She'd failed her mission because she'd loved her family.
"I know. I miss her too. So much it feels like part of me is gone and what's left just hurts."
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It's weak. It's childish. She hates herself for it and the way it goes against everything she's been taught and raised to be... but she curls into Melina, "It isn't fair," she mumbles against her mother's shoulder; she knows it's stupid to say- nothing has ever been fair in her life- but it's all she can think, "Why couldn't it be someone else?" Anyone else at all. Just not Natasha.
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TFLN » 12/29/23
2. It's gotten to the point where waking up in my own apartment is a surprise.
3. Midnight run for medical supplies ended several hours later with a lapdance, so I can't complain.
4. We are arguing over whose family is more dysfunctional...
5. Text her; assumed CR/misfires welcome!
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thank you!
no problem <3
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@captainavenger
———
Yelena, true to her word, shows up at Steve’s that evening. She hopes he doesn’t ask why she is there, she isn’t sure how to put it into words. It’s just— he’s one of the few people that really knew her sister. The woman she had become in the years she had been apart from her. It’s complicated, but grief always is, isn’t it?
She's glad he is amenable to the idea at any rate. It’s better, not being alone, when she can afford the luxury of it.
She grabs one of the small throw pillows and hugs it toward her, “We should watch a movie or something,” she suggests, settling in the corner of the couch.
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Most evenings he spent texting Bucky, or diving into the internet for more information on the wealth of things that had changed between when he hit the ice and now. It wasn't easy to catch up. He was doing his best, but he often felt like a stranger, a man out of time. That's one of the reasons why he got along with Natasha so well-- she had her own solid demons, but played it off. She let him in, even when he made mistakes. She accepted him.
When Yelena shows up and makes herself comfortable, Steve grabs a couple of beers and brings them to the couch with a bags of chips and dip. Food is always good with company. "A movie sounds good. Anything you're interested in? Horror, Comedy, Fluffy?"
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@kentuckian
----
Oooh I like the 90 Day Fiance, they are CRAZY on that show
Aaand the 1000-lb Sisters, they are HILARIOUS
Sometimes you just have to have something on for noise, you know? No brainpower required.
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i actually think i caught berto watching the fiance one once or twice
it did seem to be pretty crazy even by my standards
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@rust
–––
It is fine. I will come.
But why are you IN the hospital? What happened?
[And, like- why does anyone think he needs a hospital? Do these people not know he is a super soldier? How bad does it have to get when someone with such accelerated healing needs a whole hospital trip?]
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i'm undercover. cover's still intact. i'm also not supposed to be here.
[ he's breaking - broken - a bunch of rules included in his conditional pardon, okay. ]
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@endof_theline
–––
You are really unhelpful for someone asking for my help, you know?
Even if he says anything else, that will be the last text he gets from her because she has to go throw a new outfit on before heading down to the precinct to bail him out. She's always got some kind of bail money set aside because- well- that's just the kind of life she and those closest to her lead, okay? It's just smart planning, at a certain point.
In the kind of way only Yelena can manage, she swans in and charms the absolute hell out of the people dealing with the most boring aspects of this job. She makes a soft enough demand of getting him out on bail that it's almost impossible for them to deny her.
"Who are you in relation to Barnes, anyway, sweetheart?" the man she'd been discussing everything with asks as he taps some information into his computer.
She leans an elbow on the counter and props her chin in her hand, "Can you keep a secret?" she stage-whispers conspiratorily.
"Sure," he says, amused as he glances back up at her. "I'm good at that."
"We're in something of a.... how you say... situationship. Very complicated and messy, but... worth it," she emphasizes those words with a suggestive lift of her eyebrows, "if you know what I mean," she completes the thought with a quick wink sent his way.
He chuckles lightly and nods, "I think I do," he finishes up what he was doing and says, "Officer Robins will take you the rest of the way, ma'am."
Saying Sorry
To her neighbours Anne Darceneaux was just a typical businesswoman, one whose work frequently took her away for long periods of time. Indeed, none of them had seen her for several years, until one day she had turned up again out of the blue, much to the delight of Pierre Thompion in the apartment across from hers who'd lingered on the landing this evening so as to try and flirt with his beautiful neighbour.
Brushing him off gently in fluent French, Anne unlocked her apartment door, hefting the bag of groceries as she closes it behind her, her gaze briefly catching on the mirror by the entrance, a sigh escaping her as she studied the reflection of Anastasia Petrova, a twinge of remorse making her break eye contact with the reflection after only a moment.
Six weeks now, six weeks of living another's life, of waiting in hope that the widow that she'd nearly killed years before might show up. She'd give it another couple of months, maybe tip off some more underworld contacts if that didn't work, but failing that she would be at a dead end.
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Petrova has been more difficult to place than she had hoped. Yelena hopes it doesn’t mean she has been killed before she could be saved. She would not be the first, nor likely the last, who turned up that way, after all.
But finally, after what felt like forever, she’s tracking movement of her. This has always been the fun part of the job to her. Sure, she likes the fight as much as anyone, but this? It’s where she shines, she thinks.
As Anastasia enters the apartment, distracted by something in the mirror — for a moment, Yelena thinks she’s caught her, but whatever it was, it was brief and did not hold her attention. Nothing immediately seems off, things are still in the places they they are meant to be. Nothing looks particularly ransacked. But there is a heaviness that hangs in the air of the room.
Yelena still waits, hidden well in her spot, refusing to move a single muscle, waiting instead for her target to move closer.
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@endof_theline
Something else tonight would be good.
Do you have any ideas?
Places you want to visit or anything?
New York does night life SO well, honestly.
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But I know that's not really your thing.
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thank you, my soldier;
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@pursuitofcappiness
haha I suppose I could see that
He makes me feel old sometimes and I am not even that much older than him....
Oh, yes, you are much more clear about it than the sourpuss
Mr. Lineface 😐
I'm not sure your bestie would know a joke if it punched him in the face
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I feel the same, moy soldat.
It sounds strange to say, but I think in a way, my life really started that first da I snuck into your cell.
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It's all I remember too.
There was nothing before you.
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move to action, or no?
yes sure, if you want to!
❤️
Re: ❤️
Re: ❤️
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mistletoe things...that might have to do with the stray start i'm sending your way later
Daisy likes Yelena and seeing she isn't at the holiday party, it makes her decision an easy one as she puts in a little face time, grabs some goodies, steals a sprig of mistletoe and some vodka before deciding to head to Yelena's instead. It's all without a text to let her know she's on her way so she kind of feels a rise of anxiousness for a moment, thinking that maybe dropping by is a stupid idea and Yelena won't hesitate to tell her so.
But. Maybe it isn't.
"Open up, I have presents!" It comes after a quick three knock pattern, to try and entice Yelena in opening up the door. "And it's cold!"
👀 ; stay;
Which, of course, is when the knock comes on her door.
She isn’t expecting anyone and it brings a touch of a frown to her features. “Ostavat’sya,” she murmurs quietly to Franny, who perks up at the knock, but does as asked with familiar command; she still watches Yelena very closely as she goes to answer the door.
The knock, rhythmic in the same way twice, comes again and this time a voice is accompanied with with it. A voice Yelena recognizes, which drops all of her hackles as she yanks the door open, “Daisy Johnson, what are you doing here?”
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@dadguardian
That does sound like him, I will admit.
Good. It would be very embarrassing for me if you were.
@dysmorphics
I would like to to hear this list.
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/cracks open the headcanon can
He found a home in America and spends most of his days watching TV, absorbing that very same culture he'd feigned to be part of in the 90s. His job just barely pays enough to cover the bills. When one has fallen so far, even getting out of bed in the morning is a chore, but he's no quitter. He keeps going, because there's still one person left of their little family who pays visits every so often. He can't let Yelena down.
Those visits are hard to predict, though. Right now, he's wrapped up deeply in a Seinfeld marathon (good, harmless, American fun), while trying to clumsily eat some leftover noodles straight from the take-out box. Red Guardian, ladies and gentlemen!
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Saving the other Widows was at least a purpose to work toward, but the ones left had proven impossible to find, already dead, or they had saved already. Watching them wake up never got any easier, either. She dreams of it, and of the things she had done under Drekyov's intense control after Natasha had defected.
Her family barely exists now; Natasha is gone, Yelena isn't even sure where Melina is, and her father... well. At least she can still drop in on him from time to time, yes?
She doesn't bother knocking, instead she simply picks the locks on his door and slips inside. Perhaps not the smartest move, but... he is old, and not near as spry as he once ways, so even if he tries to attack her for catching him off-guard, she does not doubt her ability to dodge it. "Hi, dad..." she says from behind the couch before she moves around it to sink down onto it next to him.
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@endof_theline
I think you are correct.
You know where my spare key is, if I am not out of the shower by the time you get here, yes?
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So take your time, I'll let myself in.
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@freights
I am not!
If you met her, you would understand.
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{A Character Study of Sam & Bucky through Yelena's eyes
––––
The last week has been rough. There is a lot swirling in her mind, still reeling from everything earlier in the week. Guilt has settled quite firmly between her ribs, and as a result, Yelena's mood has been... hard to read, at best, downright sour at worst. But it was all leading to this even harder day. Nothing could have prepared her for what she would witness that day.
The Thunderbolts– God, she hates that name, it is so objectively terrible– had been called to Cap's headquarters; some meeting of the minds about possible alien tech use in Greenland and a discussion of how to handle it, who should go, and if they might need to contact Captain Marvel or the Guardians for an assist.
She... barely remembers what was actually said because her focus had been on Sam and Bucky the entire time.
The tension that she felt spark like static in the room as soon as Bucky and Sam's eyes met across the room.
How awkward every inch of Bucky's body language was against Sam's seemingly very calm and ever-chill exterior.
Bucky was, somehow, quieter and frownier than usual.
He seemed like his attention was divided between the task at hand and something else.
Something around his eyes looked... blank, several times through the meeting- she's almost positive he was disassociating right in front of all of them.
He also wouldn't even dare to look at Yelena the whole time. Probably for the best, she isn't sure she could have kept herself contained if he'd tried to say a single thing to her.
Sam's stance showed a subtle shift when Bucky was near him. Usually, she'd noticed before, he faced him if not wholly, then he was still shifted toward Bucky, but that's all gone; it's not the most obvious cold shoulder ever, in fact it might be the most subtle one she's ever seen, but it's there in that tiny twist of his body toward the rest of the room, just that little bit away from Bucky.
To anyone- probably everyone- else in the room, Sam likely seemed... fine. Business as usual. He smiled. He joked. He laughed. He made plans and called shots. He was... perfectly Captain America-ing, in excellent form on the business front.
But his smile didn't reach his eyes.
His jokes didn't have the right amount of heart in them.
His laugh didn't sound as hardy as it usually did.
His arms were folded across his body most of the time, except when he was pointing to maps or similar.
His eyes were dull, and she didn't even know that could happen; his eyes always seemed a little bit like they were lit from the inside with starlight, but it was snuffed out now.
He was too well-focused on all of the business of everything, in a way that was more like seeking a hyperfixation to distract himself than anything else.
"Whatever you need, buddy," Barnes had said, at some point, in a voice so soft she could have missed it if she wasn't so goddamn focused on the two of them. He even dared to reach out and clap a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We're in your corner."
There was a smile on Sam's face, genuine, but not wide enough. Not bright enough. It didn't reflect in his eyes like it should have. "Thanks, pal," had come out of his mouth as smooth as ever... but he still pulled away from that hand on his shoulder, even if he played it off as getting Joaqín to come help him look at some coordinates.
The whole meeting had her stomach in knots. She barely spoke except when it was absolutely necessary. As soon as it was clear that whatever meeting they were having among all of them was over, and that some people were lingering in the way people often do when they don't want to be the first to leave? Yelena happily jumped to her feet and stomped out of the facility first.
––––
Back at her own apartment, she locks up behind herself and promptly flops down on her couch, greeted by Franny pushing her cold, wet dog snout right into Yelena's cheek. "Hey, baby," she murmurs softly. "You are so lucky you are a dog..."
As if she could understand her words, but was very confused by them, Franny tipped her head to one side, and then the other. Classic confused puppy face.
Yelena gave a single, weak, "Ha." of laughter, shifting her position on the couch to give her dog space to climb up with her. Maybe she'd be able to think of a way to set all of this right after a little sleep.
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So, a lot of people are dead or fucked up. He doesn't particularly feel like either, he thinks. But he can't start college now and he definitely can't go home, so when some rich lady figures him out and starts asking him to do things for her, he might aa well. A few years pass and hey, is he technically a spy now?
Who knows. All he really gets is the lines are starting to blur between the two shapes he can take because of working for Valentina, but he's okay with that, as long as he's useful and having an interesting time.
He's definitely going to have an interesting time today. The mission is dull as ever, but he's paired with a cute blonde with a great accent. He doesn't know much about girls or have non platonic feelings about them, but he knows this - everyone back home is going to be jealous. ]
So forget the mission, tell me about you. What incredible creature pushed you out and made you the painting you are?