#bledyshka

Enthused and amused, was the way she grinned at the other woman. Who did you have to kill? Why, she didn't have to kill anyone! Not this time around, anyways. Gun metal eyes would've sparkled with glee if they could catch any of the dim, and still dimming light, blinking sporadically throughout the train - car. As bright as her grin was, none of that delight reached the eyes. Cold and dead, buried and cold, underground. WORMS, DIRT, FRIGID EARTH. Her laughter rung off the tin metal of the train - car shell and stayed with them, a third voice in the discussion. And here was Charlotte's! " No! No, I didn't. . . Was I supposed to? Should've I had? " she asked in absurd innocence, A TOURIST LOST BETWEEN TERMINALS.

In truth, she hadn't taken a single life with her down to the depths of this grave. A grave that possessed the ridiculous notion of being a perpetual motion machine. Not a single stop or station had been announced since they'd gotten on, yet even bullets had to slow, whether in impact or not. Charlotte imagined that this grave would not slow and open itself to the above - world until all had been said and agreed upon between the women here. And then, they'd have to climb all the way back up themselves, hand over hand, one fistful of dirt after the other. Along the way, they could very well find bits and pieces of the people Charlotte had DISSECTED to find her way here herself, but nothing vital. Nothing but the bits of flesh and blood that life itself could do without, though most people would prefer to keep their surplus.

Some of the souls had been kinder than others, and Charlotte wondered if the spy would feel any better knowing that most of the walking - archives she'd approached had been rather reluctant to share what they knew. For some, it'd been out of fear. An irrational, baseless fear, of course, BUT FEAR NONETHELESS. Annoyingly potent stuff! For others, it'd been out of mistrust. In nightmares, one blonde tended to look, to feel, just like any other. Something written in the brain tissue would not allow them to speak to freely to the woman before them; she, half - apparition, half - summer vision of strawberries and sunny kisses.

But she was careful in her surgical approach and no, dearest, no one has died. And that was exactly the point. NO ONE HAS DIED. ( No one but her and that was all very much the same thing. ) " You have talents that I don't have, and. . . Listen, I've got someone gunning for my life and I can't go to the authorities with this. I know where they are going to be and I need you to take care of them for me. I can't do it myself. If I could, I. . . Yeah, I would! Probably. But I can't. " A string snapped against the doll's back and it stopped its onslaught of rattling. For another impossible second added to the nineteenth - minute of the third hour of another day, the body across from Yelena stilled and did not shift even for a breath. If another answer was to be given, that string would need another yank. . . Gears turned in Charlotte's head as she tried to write the memory in the same instance as she tried to remember the lie or another life.

" i think that if you're quantifying this life into good and bad, you're oversimplifying. " and, moreover, no one's going to like the answer she has to give. good is not for people like them. good is for people who make brownies and go to pta meetings, and work their nine-to-five jobs before going home to a house full of children. good is not shady backroom dealings, or the blood that does not belong to her caked up under her fingernails, or the way she hasn't slept quite right in years.

     𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞     ---     𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭 . and he’s ready to complain .     “     you said there’d be a buffet .     “ 

natasha has done everything possible to have the scars from their surgical face swap removed. this is due in part to the practicality of having no discernible markings in the field, but it is also because she does not want to be reminded of her actions and what they caused. though she would not change what happened, she does regret the lasting pain it caused yelena. when they are together and she sees or feels the scar that yelena still retains, this regret is intensified, though in true homoerotically questionable fashion,  natalya feels a quieter, but deep sense of satisfaction that she has in a way marked yelena for herself.  and though her own scar is no longer visible, she feels the phantom twitch of it when she leasts expects.

she is not afraid to admit that in some areas of sheer skill, they are evenly matched. lena will always fall short in terms of experience by virtue of their respective ages, but she deeply respects the work lena has done to get to where she is now, even if she so adamantly and crudely pressed against it when they first knew one another.

despite the power imbalance inherent to their dynamic that is skewed in natalya’s favor,  she will often wait for yelena to initiate when it comes to intimacy and sex.  this is not always the case,  of course,  and natasha has initiated many a kiss and topped many a time (and has enjoyed the thrill of it),  but more often she will allow lena to take the reins.

after many times of yelena breaking into natalya’s apartment and making herself quite at home, she gives her a key and code to her alarm,  just to make it easier for her. of course, she won’t stop her if lena thinks it’ll be more fun and interesting to continue breaking and entering.

when they’re in bed, natasha will spend considerable time kissing and touching lena in admiration. she finds her beautiful when they are most bare to each other, and lacking the pretenses that they would often put on during the day, even if they do still hold themselves beneath secrets when with one another. natalya could remember and recite every inch of her if she needed to, but that is for herself to know.

‘ huh. ’ the hand she holds up to her face to examine is perhaps a little comical in it's sarcasm. ‘ didn't realize i looked like i could afford the luxury of mediocrity in this field. ’

she despises that word. MEDIOCRE. disgusting. it bites at her bones and irritates the very core of her. it reminds her of everything she's worked hard to escape — the two bedroom apartment in georgia, the student debt, the biting of the tongue to keep from seeming too much. too angry, too loud, too vengeful, too wanting.