I know what you're thinking: FINALLY!
Thanks for sticking with me, y'all. I think it's been like two weeks but yeah I finally updated. Happy MLK!
Trigger warning: this chapter does contain child abuse. It gets a little dark(er than this fanfic is already)
PRESENT DAY
It was a late Saturday evening and for once, Trevor Gray was stone-cold sober.
Ha! Kidding. He was drunk off his ass.
Of course he was. His life had been hell ever since that worthless little brat had run away, stolen all of his cash, and gotten him into some seriously hot water with that lady from social services.
The bills from the government weren't coming in any more. That sweet, sweet check that came in his mail every month— poof. He could barely afford his rent, let alone his best beer. And because the brat had stolen all of the emergency cash he kept inside his bedside drawer, he had nothing.
The thought made him furious. That bitch! How dare she steal all of his money! He didn't even know how she knew where his money was. It was just like her— always snooping around, looking through his stuff. Had she been stealing from him all this time? Another wave of fury rolled over him, hot and overpowering.
God! Trevor rubbed his forehead, trying to massage away the goddamn headache that had been coming and going. He'd stopped buying so much beer to cover his rent, and now his body was in withdrawal. Half the time his head pounded like there was a little man whacking his brain with a giant hammer.
His thoughts went back to the social worker lady.
Child abuse? What bullshit. He hardly even hit the girl. Okay, maybe there were a few times. But the brat had brought it onto herself. She was a mouthy little bitch. Always doing crap like sneaking out, stealing his beers, and making his life a living hell. So maybe he knocked her around sometimes. So what? When he was sixteen, Trevor's old man had given it to him way worse, and he'd turned out okay, hadn't he? The stuff built character.
Now that he thought about it, it was probably good that she'd ran away when she did. Trevor hadn't been in jail before, but he'd gotten close a couple times. Judging by what some of his buddies said, it was no walk in the park. If the brat had stuck around any longer, the charges against Trevor would be much worse. People these days saw anything as child abuse. Ha! If only Trevor's old man had cared about that.
Unfortunately for him, the social services lady had already spoken to the brat before he could swoop in and do some damage control. And of course the little brat had gone and snitched on him! Really, it was Trevor's own damn fault for flaking on the social services lady for so long. He was usually good at those social services calls. All he had to do was make the girl get the apartment cleaned up all nice, put on a clean shirt and his responsible-uncle face, and threaten the girl a couple times in case she told them anything.
After the first few visits, Trevor had thought all the meetings were over with. All he had to do was sit back and collect the checks. Only, after a few more months, that social services lady had called again, wanting to schedule another visit. Trevor really didn't want to go through all the trouble of meeting her again, so he kept avoiding and avoiding. But the woman just wouldn't back off. So she came, and she talked to the brat, and the brat ran away, and now Trevor didn't have any more goddamn beer.
But the important thing was, he tried to remind himself, without the girl, there were no other witnesses. It was his word against hers, and he got off scot-free.
Sucked about the beer, though.
Trevor was thinking about whether he could ask Reese for his old job back, earn some extra cash just to get himself back on his feet, when to his annoyance, the bell rang.
Ding-dong.
Strange. He wasn't expecting anyone.
EIGHT MONTHS EARLIER
Trevor was only in it for the money.
His low-income job barely paid his rent at his shitty apartment, and the landlord was getting to be a real dick about Trevor's frequently late payments. He probably should've saved up, stopped wasting all his cash on beer to numb his brain and drugs that would give him a quick high. But Trevor was never good at budgeting or that crap.
The point was, he was in a ditch, and he needed to get himself out of it. That was when that social worker lady called.
"And eight hundred dollars a month, you said?" he'd asked for the second time, just to make sure.
"Uh-huh," the lady had said, voice impatient. "That should cover all the basic expenses you need to foster a child in your home. Food, clothing, transportation…"
She'd said a lot of other crap, too, but Trevor's mind was racing. Eight hundred extra dollars. Hell, it wasn't a lot. But it was extra money, which he desperately needed. He wouldn't even have to spend it on the kid. How hard could it be to take care of the kid? Eight year olds could practically take care of themselves. All he had to do was feed her a couple times a week, give her a Metrocard, whatever.
And so Trevor agreed. He tidied up his apartment, got rid of the stains and the grease on the tables, put a few flowers in an old vase, and the social worker came. She inspected his apartment, made a few mm-hmms and asked some questions, made an obscenely large amount of notes on her clipboard, and finally shook his hand and left. Done deal.
A week later, the girl showed up on his apartment rug, wearing ratty clothes and carrying a beat-up duffel. The first thing Trevor noticed was that she looked exactly like his brother, which kind of pissed him off.
It was uncanny. If it wasn't for her obvious… girl-ness, she would've been the spitting image of Ethan Gray. Same dirty blonde hair. Same dark brown eyes. Same nose, same eyebrows, same teeth, same smirk. The smirk was what really set him off.
Trevor had never really met her. That wasn't unusual; Trevor had never given a crap about his brother or his family, and vice versa. They had never been close, or even friendly. The story behind it was an epic cliche. It went like this: Trevor's father had been a cheating scumbag piece of trash, and Trevor's mother had caught him hooking up with two girls one night. There was the usual screaming, sobbing, throwing of objects, and Trevor's mother finally told him that she'd had enough of him. (This was back when Trevor was only five, of course, so he didn't remember much. But Trevor's dad had never found it necessary to hold back details. In fact, there was always a tinge of smugness in his voice when he told the story.) Trevor's mother couldn't wait to get further away from him. She and ten-year-old Ethan were on a plane to London before the ink on the divorce papers had time to dry, leaving Trevor all alone with dear old dad.
To make it worse, Trevor's mother cut off all ties with them. Never called, never checked in to see if her other son was still alive. She refused to let Trevor's dad visit Ethan, and she couldn't care less about Trevor himself. Then when Trevor was twenty, she went and got herself killed, not that he cared. But he still had to go to the funeral.
That was where he'd seen Ethan for the first time since he was a kid. Perfect, put-together, handsome, soccer player, businessman Ethan. Trevor had recognized him upon sight. He'd come with a beautiful woman on his arm, wearing a tailored suit, and a somber expression on his chiseled face, looking like a decades-younger replica of their father. Trevor hated every last inch of him.
They'd talked twice. Ethan was curt but polite, and he didn't acknowledge the fact that they were long-lost brothers. Trevor doubted that he even recognized him. Probably assumed that Trevor was one of the many estranged relatives he barely knew.
It was ironic that the next time they'd "see" each other would be at Ethan's funeral. Ethan and his wife had gotten into a car crash. Dead on impact. Trevor heard a lot of people going, "At least they didn't suffer" or some crap. Trevor didn't know why he came, but he showed up. He didn't bother dressing up in black, sticking out like a sore thumb in a red jacket and jeans. He flirted with a few girls he knew weren't relatives, swiped food from the reception table, and proceeded to get as drunk as he possibly could.
His memories of the reception were fuzzy, but there was one thing he recalled clearly. Ethan's daughter. She had been wearing a dark dress, looking drawn and closed-off, not crying, not talking. There was a hardness to her expression, like it was made of stone. She sat in a chair with a strange formally-dressed lady and didn't say a word. Trevor wouldn't have noticed her, except for a moment, she'd looked over at him and stared right into his eyes. Those dark eyes were the exact same shade as Ethan's, and Trevor had felt the recognition and irrational rage ricochet throughout his entire body.
The second time they met, she was accompanied by the social worker. The social worker was holding her tightly by the hand, like the girl might run away if she didn't. After making excruciating small talk with Trevor, she whispered some words in the girl's ear and promptly left.
Then it was just Trevor and the girl, standing in the hallway of the apartment. Trevor couldn't help but feel trapped, not knowing what to say or do. He was still stricken by how much she resembled his brother. What had he gotten himself into? Eight hundred dollars, he reminded himself.
The girl seemed perfectly content to let the tense silence stretch. The stony expression Trevor remembered seeing at Ethan's funeral was expertly fixated on her face. It was unsettling. Trevor wasn't a fan of feeling unsettled. He didn't love the way her eyes ran over him, analyzing him like a lab rat.
"So you're my uncle, huh?" the girl said finally.
Trevor was less than pleased about associating himself with the title of a relative, but he reluctantly grunted a "Guess so."
"How come I've met you before?"
"Your dad and I weren't close." Understatement.
"You got a name?"
"Trevor," he said shortly. "You?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Didn't even bother asking the social worker for it?"
He shrugged, not even ashamed. "Nope."
She told him her name was Catalina. Trevor almost scoffed. Some name his brother had chosen. What kind of name was Catalina? The girl seemed to think the same of it.
"But don't ever call me that," the girl said. "It's just Cat."
Trevor wasn't a fan of the way she sounded when she talked to him, either. Her voice was straightforward and authoritative, like she was used to ordering people around. Trevor wasn't about to be one of those people; he'd gotten enough of it from his dad.
"I'll call you what I want," he said.
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Those dark, Ethan-like eyes had stared him down, analyzing him in a way that made him shift slightly.
"Are you gonna let me in or what?"
Trevor watched her like a hawk as she stepped inside, eyes carefully searching his place like she was in a museum. She took a long time looking around the apartment, picking up Trevor's things and placing them gingerly back down.
She took a seat at the sofa, bouncing up and down slightly. Her dark eyes bore into Trevor. "How much money does the state give you to take care of me?"
The question surprised Trevor. He wasn't sure whether or not to tell her the truth.
When he didn't respond right away, the girl continued. "Let me guess. Somewhere around four to eight hundred, right?"
"Something like that."
"I guessed as much. You don't strike me as the paternal type." She cocked her head at him. "You're doing it for the money, huh?"
Trevor didn't like how easily she was able to read him. There were a lot of things he didn't like about her. Curiously, she didn't seem surprised or offended. Her tone was matter-of-fact.
"Listen," Trevor said bluntly, taking a seat opposite from her, "you're right. I don't care about you. To be perfectly honest, the only thing I care about is that check that comes in my mail every month."
The girl's expression was unreadable. "Fine by me," she said coolly.
He sensed that he needed to take control, and fast. "So here's what's going to happen. You're gonna live with me, and you're not gonna be a problem. So don't ask me to help you with your homework. Don't ask me to volunteer for school stuff. I'm not gonna do any of that crap. You need something signed, forge my signature. And…" He paused for emphasis. "Don't call me Uncle Trevor. Ever."
"Anything else?" the girl asked dryly.
"I got some rules, too. Don't come into my room, don't touch my stuff. Don't talk to my friends. Don't make a mess."
She glanced around the filthy apartment. "Looks like you've already got that part covered."
He glared at her. "And don't talk back. Also, no complaining. Or crying. Especially not crying. Basically, as long as you don't make trouble for me, we're gonna be just fine. Got that?"
"Whatever."
"Not 'whatever.' Either you got it or you don't."
The girl's glare burned into him. "Got it," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Without saying another word, she got up, grabbed her bag, and disappeared into one of the rooms. Trevor nodded, satisfied with himself. As long as things stayed on this path, this wouldn't be so bad.
The first month went by with no bumps in the road. Trevor enrolled the girl in the first public school he found. He bought the cheapest school supplies possible and gave her a Metrocard for getting to and from the school. Other than that, he made it very clear that they were not going to have a typical loving uncle-niece relationship.
The arrangement worked for both of them. The girl didn't seem to need Trevor to do any of the ridiculous parenting things normal eight-year-olds would want him to do, like read them a story before bed or tuck them in. With the girl off at school most of the day and Trevor working on the job, they rarely saw each other. Even when they did see each other, they rarely spoke, which made Trevor find her the tiniest bit more bearable.
What was odd was that sometimes, the girl would return back to the apartment later than he would. Trevor was pretty sure school ended earlier than 7 p.m., but he didn't care enough to ask. He didn't care what she did after school, as long as she didn't run away and the checks from the state kept rolling in.
Trevor didn't remember exactly when he started hitting the girl. It was between the first and second month. He'd been laid off from work and couldn't find a job. He turned to his buddy Reese, who gave him a job at his casino. It turned out to be the best decision he'd ever made. The job was easy money, and he could spend most of the time gambling. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't cheated a couple times. (Read: more than a couple.) The money from the job, the money from the gambling, the money from taking care of his brother's brat… it started adding up.
Trevor wasn't rich, but he was good for a while. He stopped showing up at work. Instead, he chose to spend his time either partying, holed up in his apartment, or at the casino, getting drunk in all of the above. There was rarely a time when he was stone-cold sober.
Meanwhile, the girl was getting more problematic. They saw each other a great deal then, with Trevor spending a majority of his time in front of the TV, leaving more room for disputes. She pissed him off. She was always mouthing off to him, finishing all of the cereal before he could buy more, getting back later and later, and starting trouble at school. Once, Trevor had to come in for a parent-teacher conference, which he wasn't happy about. Maybe that was the first time he'd raised a hand against her.
Wait! No, he remembered. The first time he'd slapped her was when they'd gotten into an argument. He'd been half-sober when it happened. The girl had just walked through the door, back from wherever she'd been, when Trevor started yelling at her.
"Hey!" he barked. "Why're you back so late?"
He wasn't sure why he was shouting so loudly. He didn't feel angry at her. Or maybe he did. The milk carton had been empty that morning— she'd finished it all, yet again. Whatever the reason was, Trevor was feeling a little drunk, a little bored, and content to let his aggression out on the girl.
"None of your business," the girl said, locking the door and setting her backpack on the ground. She was heading towards her room when Trevor found himself rising to his feet. He grabbed her arm and squeezed tightly.
"Answer the question," he demanded.
She turned back to him. "I don't know why you care. As long as the checks come in, remember?" she mocked his words.
Trevor's annoyance was slowly turning into real anger. In the light, he was reminded yet again of how much the girl looked like Ethan. Those dark, dismissive eyes, narrowed in disgust, made his heartbeat thrum in his ears. "Shut up and answer the question."
"Pray tell, how am I supposed to answer the question if I have to shut up?"
He didn't know why she was avoiding his question. It was a perfectly simple one. Why was she back so late? She simply had to give a reason, and he'd be happy. Instead, she chose to be difficult just to mess with him. His anger only grew. He shook her, hard. "Why are you back so late? What were you doing?"
"Once again, it's. None. Of. Your business." She struggled to twist herself free. "Ow! Let go of me, you asshole!"
That was when he did it. His hand cracked over her face. The girl gasped as her head snapped to the side. She wasn't able to stop the wide-eyed look of shock from penetrating her mask. She cradled her face, which was twisted in pain, swaying from side to side. Involuntarily, tears filled her eyes. One trickled down her cheek. And they didn't stop. For a moment, Trevor froze, unsure of what he had done. It was the first time he'd ever seen her cry. But the tears didn't stop, and he felt the anger return. He remembered one of his rules.
"Stop crying," he ordered.
"I'm not crying!" the girl yelled at him.
"Don't you fucking dare yell at me!" He raised his hand again, and the girl flinched, bravado leaking away completely. Trevor felt a throb of surprise and satisfaction. For once, it seemed like he had complete and total control over her. She wasn't mouthing off now, was she?
The girl swiped the tears away from her eyes, furious but silent.
Trevor found that he wasn't sorry. "Answer me!" he roared.
"I was at the library," the girl whispered hoarsely. Defeatedly.
Trevor nodded. "Was that so hard?" Impulsively, he said, "I have a new rule. You have to be back by 5, every single day. Don't argue."
There wasn't a particular reason for the time, but he wanted to see how far this new control would stretch. To his satisfaction, the girl glared at him, but nodded. Well, Trevor thought. If that was all it took...
That was the breaking point. The girl started coming back before 5. She would throw dirty looks at him and mutter under her breath, but every time, Trevor felt more pleased with himself. Knowing that he did this. Once he knew the ball was in his court, he started hitting her more often. It wasn't a conscious choice, but he realized that every time she did something that annoyed him, he had a surefire way of shutting her up.
He started doing it for small things, like making a snarky comment towards him or being clumsy and spilling a drink. Sometimes he locked her in the closet if she was annoying him more than usual. Sometimes he did it because he was tired of seeing her face. It had an effect. The snarky comments stopped. The dirty looks were few and far between. She came back to the apartment at 5 p.m., every single day. After a few months, she hardly dared to look at him.
One memorable time, Trevor had walked in on her rifling through his cash. He'd kept it under his bed, then. He hated people touching his stuff, especially his cash. Not even his friends got to see what he did with it. That was the last straw. And with this girl, who he didn't even like or know that well, he went berserk. He managed to stop himself before he nearly killed her, but the damage was done.
And from there, it only continued.
It shouldn't have been a surprise when, four months later, she ran away.
PRESENT DAY
Ding-dong.
It couldn't be Reese, or any of his friends. They usually just barged inside.
Trevor debated not answering the door, but whoever was out there sure was persistent. A combination of loud knocking and ding-dongs filled the apartment.
"All right!" Trevor hollered, just to make the noise stop. "I'm coming! Jesus," he muttered.
He rolled off of the couch, stumbling when the blood rushed to his head. Steadying himself on the coffee table before stepping towards the door, he slid the chain off of the lock and turned the handle, yanking it open to see—
"Hello," a woman said pleasantly.
Trevor felt a jolt of deep, instant attraction shoot through his body. Of all the people that he expected to be standing outside his apartment on a late Saturday evening, it sure wasn't… whoever the hell this was. Definitely a ten, and absolutely Trevor's type. She had dark red hair and vivid green eyes on porcelain skin. She was wearing a fitted black dress that left little to the imagination. Even better, she had perfectly shaped eyebrows… Trevor was always a sucker for women with nice eyebrows. And god, her voice, husky and low.
A slow, charming grin crept over his face. "Hey, beautiful," he said, trying not to slur his words together. "You lost?"
"Maybe," she said coyly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "Are you Trevor Gray?"
He leaned his body on the doorframe. "That I am. What's your name, beautiful?"
"That doesn't matter," she said softly, taking a step towards him.
Trevor caught a whiff of her perfume. It smelled heavenly. God. He felt dizzyingly high. He couldn't think straight with this woman in front of him. Was this Reese playing a joke on him again, sending another prostitute to his apartment? If it was, he didn't care.
"Mind if I come in?" she asked softly.
Her hand was on his chest. Trevor stared at it, pupils blown. He didn't remember how it got there. Or how she'd gotten so close. She was definitely a prostitute. In the back of his mind, Trevor made a mental note to thank Reese for this later.
He tried to regain his composure. "I definitely wouldn't mind."
He opened the door wide, letting the woman stride in confidently. Trevor hid a grin as he slid the chain back in the lock. His heart was pounding with excitement. Reese couldn't have chosen a better night.
When he turned back, the woman was inches from his face, startling him a little. He hadn't heard her come up behind him. But something was off. Her coy, playful expression had vanished. Her eyes had narrowed into a deadly expression. And there was something in her right hand he hadn't noticed before, something long and shiny—
Trevor was still trying to figure out what she was holding when she suddenly punched him in the face. His head was flung sideways from the raw strength of it, knocking into the door with a painful crash. His vision swam. He felt his knees give out, and he collapsed on the ground.
"What the fuck."
The woman pulled him back up by his collar and slammed him into the wall harshly, shocking him with her strength again. All the breath left Trevor's lungs, for different reasons than they would have a moment ago. Trevor could now see that the long shiny object she held was a knife. Overwhelming, cold fear replaced his confusion. The woman placed the knife against his Adam's apple with a nearly lackadaisical manner.
"You should really be more careful who you let into your apartment," she said in a voice that still managed to turn him on.
Trevor's heart pounded. "You're not a prostitute," was the only thing he could think to say.
She scoffed. "You thought I was a prostitute?"
"But Reese— and your dress… And you were—"
"Okay, shut up." She pressed the knife closer against his throat, effectively stopping him by allowing him to feel how sharp it was. If Trevor dared to breathe a little harder than normal, he would likely cut himself.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"I said, shut up." Her menacing words were met with an uninterested, placid expression. For some reason, it terrified Trevor even more than had she put more effort into being intimidating. "You might be wondering why I'm here…" She paused in the middle of her sentence, a frown flickering over her face. She pulled the knife a little further away from his throat, and Trevor gasped for air. "Wait. You really don't know who I am?"
"I… I don't…"
"Think about it. You have a minute to come up with an answer."
Not wanting to know what she would do to him if he got the answer wrong, Trevor desperately searched her face. He found her features to be oddly familiar, like he'd seen her on TV once. Was she an actress? No… then why would she have a knife? His thoughts flashed back to a press conference of the Avengers he'd watched only weeks before. The red hair… the knife… it suddenly dawned on him. As the slow realization crept over him, he felt a surge of fear and panic take over him.
"You're her," he whispered, his breath rattling shakily in his chest.
She tsk-tsked him. "Not very descriptive, but I'm assuming from the horrified expression on your face that you do know who I am."
"T-the Black Widow," Trevor stammered.
"Bingo."
"B-but I didn't do anything to you!" His voice had risen in pitch, and now it was about an octave up from his normal speaking voice. "What do you want? Are you going to kill me?"
She sighed. "I really don't know why people keep asking me that when I'm holding a knife to their throat. And no, I'm not going to kill you, Trevor. That would be far too kind."
"Then why? And how do you know my name?""
The Black Widow slammed a hand on his throat, pushing him up the wall as he jerked around, struggling to breathe. She was shorter than him, but it wasn't easy to forget that she could easily overpower him. "I think you're forgetting something, Trevor. I ask the questions here. Got that?"
Trevor nodded as best as he could, fighting for air. She released him, letting him fall to the ground, and Trevor gasped, filling his lungs with air.
"Enough of the small talk. Let's cut to the chase. About eight months ago," she started, "you were made the legal guardian of your niece, Catalina Gray."
Temporarily forgetting his terror, his rage resurfaced. "Is that brat a part of this? I knew this was all her damn fault. How do you know her? You tell her, she better get back here before I—"
The Black Widow didn't hesitate before she punched him in the face again, in the exact same spot as she had the first time, which was still stinging like crazy. Trevor's head smacked the door and he cried out in pain, his head lolling. He barely had time to recover before she kneed him in the stomach, followed by another punch straight to his face.
"I wasn't finished," she spoke over his moans of pain. "I'll have you know that you will never, ever see her again. If you try to find her, speak to her, or hurt her, I will find you and I will castrate you…" Trevor winced as she held up the knife closer to his lower region. "...with this knife. I was an assassin, you know," she added conversationally. "I'm very good at that type of thing." Her tone turned threatening once again. "Are we clear?"
"Yeah, okay," Trevor agreed quickly, wondering how the hell that brat knew the Black Widow.
"Splendid. And a second thing— this is your own damn fault. You're a drunk, a gambler, and a liar. Most of all, you're a dirty child abuser, Trevor. And my tolerance for child abusers is very, very low."
Trevor was in too much pain to form an adequate response. He didn't know how she knew so much about him, but he wasn't about to ask her. He was close enough to feel the rage radiating off of her. Her casual, indifferent tone had changed to barely controlled fury. She clearly had no issue resorting to violence if he made one wrong step. He could only nod weakly.
"So you're going to tell me every single rotten, sick, twisted thing you did to her. And you better tell me everything, because trust me, I'll know if you're leaving something out."
Trevor was almost afraid to ask, but he croaked out, "And then what?"
She smiled dangerously. "If I tell you, it won't be as fun."
Whatever pain he was already in, Trevor had a sneaking suspicion that what was coming would be much, much worse.
I decided to do this chapter from Trevor's pov, thought it would be a little fun. This took kind of an abrupt turn from the lighthearted Avengers-and-kid dynamic I was going for in the earlier chapters.
To everyone who reviewed last chapter, HUGE THANKS: sillykitty201, smh204, kash509, Odie.18, CookieWorkout, Beachgirl25, I ain't got a favourite fanfic, amy, Kerfluffle, purpleglowstick, acompletenerd, NoobMaster69, SabrinaInWonderland001, M, liv, salty milkshake, GuestINeedNewNam, yay, Rebac, OrangePumpkin, Guest, Laurel, Emma, and Impatient.
No lie, I was reading thru the reviews last week and it made me super determined to update because I don't wanna disappoint y'all.
And like thanks to everyone who reviewed last "chapter", which was really me complaining about life, even though you didn't have to: ArinRomanaff, Amir-015, smh204, CookieWorkout, liv, GuestINeedNewNam, , and NoobMaster69.
Also, if I haven't responded to your review (i've only done guest reviews for this chapter bc I didn't have time oops I kind of have to go somewhere rn) I will get there!
As always, leave suggestions, ideas, thoughts, feedback... in the reviews! (I am so predictable)
Now for the guest reviews:
CookieWorkout: you're welcome! thanks for reading them!
amy: Ned is amazing! Will include him in later chapters
Kerfluffle: Thank you for reviewing! I ended up doing A so yay
NoobMaster69: Thanks for the review! I'm planning on spacing out the oscar storyline with some of these chapters because I saw a lot of requests for that. Yeah, mad natasha is an interesting creature. I feel like Nat gets kinda sappy with people she cares about, and Cat was going thru a sorta traumatic experience, so I didn't want Nat to be all closed-off and dry like usual. I want their relationship to slowly develop but idk maybe I did it too fast? I really value ur feedback, so thanks for telling me your thoughts :)
M: Thank you! I don't know if this chapter was what u were looking for in terms of "normal" but I will write more...fluffy?... chapters in the future!
liv: Jeez, really? That a ton of stuff to deal with, like damn. Tbh, I feel like the whole panic attack/nightmare thing is a bit cliched in fanfic, but I like the idea. I will try to put my own twist on it. I love nat's soft moments too! (I'm biased obviously) Also YES i agree i will keep a/ns to the bottom now
GuestINeedNewNam: dude your long reviews give me sm serotonin. THANK YOU for the feedback about the scene, tbh I have mixed feelings about it. I'm not rlly good at writing sappy scenes but I feel like with all the trauma everything needs to even out. Love your ideas (and NoobMaster69's) about the oscar storyline, I noted them down for later. Haha i absolutely wanna ask about that Will-I-Am dream. Also... about the Trevor thing, you got what you asked for!
yay: u guys are seriously spoiling me with these long reviews. It's literally such a pleasure to hear about ur thoughts. omegle is scary ngl. YES I KNOW ABOUT THE 2 MONTH NO UPDATE GAP. kinda ironic since after u said that I left for like 2 weeks but auuuuugh I really got my shit together this weekend. thank u for making an exception for my story, i hope i didn't scare u off with the two week thing. you do motivate me to update, thanks again :)
OrangePumpkin: aww, sorry to hear that! Your feedback was very helpful to me, though, so thanks! I will try to make it less sappy in the future.
Guest: yeah, i updated the last chapter but i didn't post a new one. sorry for the confusion
Laurel: Thanks for reviewing! I love their relationship toooo
Emma: I agree SOO MUCH. I don't wanna make her too much of a Mary Sue yk? Love the review 3
Impatient: nooooo that remix was so good bro. it made me smile, so thanks!