ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ sᴘɪᴅᴇʀ (anotherwidow) wrote in crownplazaic, @ 2021-07-27 10:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, will graham, yelena belova |
WHO: Yelena Belova & Will Graham
WHERE: the library, then Will’s room
WHEN: during the plot
WHAT: a different kind of darkness
STATUS: Completed
WARNINGS: spoilers for Black Widow, mild spiciness, allusions to past noncon
In retrospect, she should have never consumed the drinks and treats that mysteriously appeared all around the hotel. However, Yelena could be a bit of a glutton when she wanted to be. Call it a lifetime of being denied. As a result, whenever she had the opportunity to be a little hedonistic, she took full advantage. When the strange doors and keys began to appear all around the hotel, she was surprised to find that both remained solid in her presence. She quickly learned that was not the case for everyone. Making her way through the Crown Plaza, she collected a few keys and ended up in the library, where a door had appeared. An eerie red light emanated through the cracks. Immediately she thought of the Red Room. It didn't make sense, but the association was automatically there in the name. But it couldn't be that, could it? They destroyed it, she and Natasha, with the help of Melina and Alexei. Dreykov was dead. For real this time. The Widows were free. It couldn't be back. "And what's behind Door Number Three?" she joked, brandishing her arms with the flair of Vanna White. Her attempt to open the door didn't work, but one of the others did. Everything happened very quick. With the click of the lock, the door sprang open. Suddenly, a bright flash goes off in their faces. Her vision whites out before everything goes dark. Yelena blinked furiously, wiping at her eyes, before she realized there was nothing there. Nothing obscuring her vision. She was simply sightless. Blind in middle of the library. A cold panic washed over her. Yelena wasn't afraid of much. She had been trained to face all types of dangers. But deep rooted was the childhood fear of the dark. It reminded her of being in the shipping container and the heavy oppressiveness of that darkness. And suddenly, it was like she was small again. Six years old. Scared and confused, curled up against her big sister, waiting for something to make things. Why had they left their home in Ohio and fly away in the plane? Mama had gotten hurt. Her skin and clothes were red with blood, her fair skin even paler than usual. The men lifting the stretcher and taking her away. Little Yelena's cries, calling after her. The large man in the soldier's uniform tugging on her arm. Natasha, brave Natasha, with her blue hair, screaming at the men to stay away from her. Ready to kill to protect her little sister. They took her anyway. The needle in her neck. The wooziness. Dropping like a stone. Waking up in that dark shipping container. The screams of the other little girls all around them. A scream clawed its way out of Yelena then, uncontrollable, as the panic rose. Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy, like she couldn't breathe. Natasha wasn't here now to protect her. |