#she’d also be a better hero

[stealingyourbones]

Danny, being a halfa, falls under the strange category of people who can converse with the dead and act in their names. Most mediums simply convey messages. It was rare for someone to be able to fulfill a ghost’s dying request and have that act tied to the ghost’s core.

Honestly it’s annoying.

He doesn’t get any alone time anymore for homework or hobbies. The dead are constantly pestering Danny to help with their desires - which, sure, it helps them move on which means they’re out of Danny’s hair, but come on!! Give a guy a break! Just because he doesn’t need as much sleep as a fully living person doesn’t mean he can go without entirely!

“No Scott,” Danny repeated for the fifth time, “I am not flying to California tonight. Do you know how far that is? Literally the other coast of this massive continent. Meet me there in August like everyone else on the list.”

Spending the first spring break of college creating a map and calendar for Last Rites was not something Danny expected when he moved to Gotham.

Why did this city have so many ghosts?! It was ridiculous. And he thought Amity Park was bad? At least the ghosts here were mostly Shades. Not visible to anyone unless they were also dead-adjacent or had The Sight or a bloodline curse or a magical amulet… you know what? There were enough of those in this curse ridden city, why couldn’t these ghosts go find one of those people instead? Danny was exhausted.

So exhausted he didn’t notice the vigilante dropping down from the rooftop.

“Hey there kid, you alri-”

“Yeah yeah,” Danny waved a hand dismissively at the voice without looking up. “Wait in line like everyone else. But honestly you’d be better off coming back tomorrow when I’ve had some sleep.”

“Think maybe you outta get started on that sleep now, bud?” the voice behind him spoke in a calm careful tone.

One Danny had heard all too often since dying.

His head jerked sideways to stare wide-eyed at Nightwing, who tensed just a little as if expecting Danny to run or fight. Instead he let out a groan and slumped onto the park bench, rubbing his eyes to ease the burn of fatigue. He’d been coming out to this park at the corner of campus each night to keep the Shades from mobbing him all day long in classes, but they’d spread the word around Gotham that he was here and his precious spring break had become a non-stop line of requests and arguments. Made sense he’d caught the attention of one of the Bats. Should have expected it sooner.

Danny ignored all the voices around him and looked at Nightwing directly as he prattled off his usual list when someone caught him talking to thin air.

“No, I’m not hallucinating. I got all my Rogue Gallery immunizations the day I checked onto campus. I’m not schizophrenic. The only meds I take are for adhd and the occasional Tylenol. I’m not a danger to myself or others. Unless they attack me first.”

Nightwing nodded along, but tilted his head at the end.

“I’m talking to the dead,” Danny answered the unspoken question in a tired monotone, waiting for the usual skepticism or plea for help with lost loved ones.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“What?” That wasn’t expected.

“No yeah, that makes sense.”

Danny was sure his jaw was on the ground. “You… you believe me?”

“Well sure,” the hero shrugged and chuckled. “I can’t see ghosts myself but I know a couple magicians who work with one, and my little brother Robin has a ghost on his team - she’s actually visible most of the time so I don’t know if that’s a special skill or something else going on. But I’m glad you’re okay and don’t need any emergency medication. I know a couple 24 hour pharmacies that would help but it’s nice when they’re not needed. We don’t get a lot of mediums around Gotham holding court at night so you really can’t fault me for checking in.”

Danny was still floating in the relief of not being questioned or doubted. That hadn’t happened since Jazz found out his secret. She’d had plenty of questions about his halfa status, of course, but never called him crazy for talking to things others couldn’t see. Even Sam and Tucker would forget sometimes and give him strange looks before realizing he was dealing with a Shade, Wisp, or Memory.

He didn’t realize he was wobbling until Nightwing’s arms shot out to stabilize him.

Danny blinked up at the pretty face that was trying not to chuckle, held by strong arms, and so far past tired he might be getting delirious after all because his brain seemed to have lost its filter and he said out loud,

“You actually believe me. I think I love you.”

Then the horrifying embarrassment hit at the same time as Nightwing’s laughter. Which… sounded delighted rather than mean spirited?

“Well now it’s your turn to wait in line, cuz that’s the fourth confession I’ve had this week!” They both devolved into snorts and giggles, Danny still relying on those arms for balance, but when they’d caught their breath the vigilante said, “Come on, you’ve really got to get some sleep. I’ll walk you back to your dorm.”

Ignoring the whispers and grumbles of the Shades was easier with someone walking beside him.

This is so incredibly cute oml. It’s so rare to see the bats actually go with the flow and god it isn’t done enough. 12/10 immaculate, glorious.

The entire plot I can see so clearly in my mind dude:

Danny chatting to Nightwing as they walk to his dorm

Nightwing asking some casual questions about ghosts and Danny asking about vigilante work.

Nightwing informs the Bats of Danny as he might be a valuable asset in the future.

Nightwing helps free shades with Danny and he realizes why Danny is so incredibly tired all the time.

Nightwing managing to stumble into Danny every day of his break, slowly getting to know each other more and more and becoming really good friends (perhaps lovers 👀).

Wonderful stuff man ty for the ask!

[helen-with-an-a]

Hi van you write Lucy Bronze x reader. Reader and Lucy both changed club. R at Arsenal and obviously Lucy at Chelsea. Can you write something about the first game against eachother. Reader is striker so she and Lucy are at battle a lot

Rivalry

Lucy Bronze x Reader

Description: It's the first London Derby for you and Lucy

TW: slight suggestiveness

“Now, remember, you guys do actually love each other,” Millie reminded, her eyebrow arched as she looked at Lucy.

Lucy crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, flicking a dismissive look across the room. “Not when she’s wearing red, I don’t,” she shot back, her lips pursed.

Millie sighed, rubbing her temples. “You’re literally married,” she deadpanned.

Before Lucy could shoot back, Erin bounded over, grinning from ear to ear. “C’mon, Bronzey. Time to do your worst,” she cheered, her hands landing firmly on Lucy’s shoulders. She gave Lucy an enthusiastic shake, encouraging the childish competitiveness.

"Remember, you’re married. You love her," Kim reminded gently, her Scottish accent warm and soothing as she placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

You shook her off with a dramatic shrug, glancing off to the side. "Not whilst she’s in blue," you said with a smirk, half-joking but also incredibly serious.

Kim raised an eyebrow, trying to hide her amusement, though a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

"That’s what we like to hear," came Katie's playful response, clearly enjoying the spark of mischief in your tone. She leaned in with a wolfish grin, unfazed by the disapproving glance Kim shot in her direction.

“Honestly,” Kim muttered, rolling her eyes but unable to hide her amusement, “you two are impossible.”

You chuckled, exchanging a knowing look with Katie, who winked in return, thoroughly unbothered by Kim’s scolding.

The London Derby – a clash of colours, red vs blue, Arsenal against Chelsea. The stadium was electric, fans on both sides roaring as the teams took their places, the rivalry as fierce as ever. This wasn’t just any match; it was a battle of pride, a test of skill, a stage where heroes were made.

On one side, Arsenal’s new Left Winger, all determination and fire, an unstoppable force that already had 10 goals to her name. Across from her, Chelsea’s Right Back, just as new to the club but with a resolve just as sharp. One of the best defenders in the world, and ready to prove herself.

It was Bronze vs Y/S/N – a head-to-head destined to draw all eyes, both players back in the WSL and ready to prove they belonged.

You loved playing with Lucy – there was an undeniable rhythm when you were on the same side. Your link-ups at City and England were the stuff of legends and had followed you across to La Liga F. But playing against her? That was something else entirely. There was an excitement, a spark that transformed the entire field into a chessboard, a dance floor for you to twist and turn on.

You knew exactly how she moved, the subtle shifts of her weight before a sprint, the flicker of her eyes before she went for a pass. You could practically feel what was running through her head, and she’d always been an open book to you on the field. But it worked both ways. Lucy knew your tactics inside out, the plays you liked, the feints you tried to slip past her, even the tiny tells you had when you were about to break away. She saw it all.

This mutual understanding turned the match into something thrilling – a mental game layered onto the physical. Every pass you intercepted, every tackle she made, felt like a challenge issued and answered. It was a test of skill and instinct, one that you rarely found with other opponents. There was an intensity to it, a sense of pushing each other to the edge, each play daring the other to do better. Against her, you played your best.

“Loser’s tied up tonight?” Lucy whispered in your ear as you lined up for the corner, her hands grazing your hips in a way that set your heart racing, even if you wouldn’t show it.

“Bring it, Bronze.” You shot back, unfazed, letting your smile seep into your voice. You’d trained against her for years now; her mind games weren’t new territory. If anything, you were more amused than anything else.

Lucy let out a dramatic sigh, clearly ready to keep up the act. “Ugh, that’s Bronze-Y/S/N, thank you very much,” she whispered, sounding almost offended, but the glimmer in her eye gave her away.

“Well, the back of your shirt still says Bronze,” you replied, raising an eyebrow and glancing back at her with a smirk.

“And yours still says Y/S/N.” She countered. Before you could toss another witty remark back, you heard a voice cutting through the tension.

“Stop flirting and concentrate, Luce,” Hannah called out, her tone half-exasperated, half-amused as she tried to organise her back line.

You could see Lucy bite her lip, her cheeks tinged pink, a slight laugh escaping her. "Yeah, Lucy, wouldn't want flirting with your incredibly sexy wife to be the reason I score now would we." You winked, sticking your tongue out as you nodded at Katie.

You charged down the wing, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you collected a beautifully weighted pass from Leah from the edge of the box. Without breaking stride, you looked up, assessing the field. Lucy and Hannah were the only Chelsea players left between you and the goal.

The options whirled in your mind in seconds. A long-range shot? It would be ambitious, a shot from barely over halfway. You were still in the centre circle, but Hannah was off her line, hovering just far enough to tempt fate. The safer play would be to drive it forward, close the distance, but Lucy was waiting, ready to close in if you tried to slip past her. You could see her watching you, ready to pounce the moment your concentration slipped.

Your eyes flicked to the goal, a decision making itself for you. Steeling yourself, you brought your leg back, letting power build. Releasing it in a controlled strike, you watched as the ball launched from your boot, a perfect arc carrying it high and fast over the field.

Hannah scrambled back, her fingertips grazing the air, but it was too late. The ball sailed over her reach and crashed into the back of the net, sending the netting rippling in glorious confirmation.

For a single, suspended heartbeat, the entire pitch seemed to hold its breath. The impossible shot hung in the air, every eye tracing its perfect arc until it dropped, nestling into the back of the net. And then, the silence shattered. Cheers exploded from the stands, a roar that rolled over the field and settled into your bones, fuelling the rush already coursing through you. You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, a wide grin breaking across your face as what you had just done fully set in.

Turning back, you searched the field for Lucy, anticipation bubbling up in you. When you caught her eye, her expression was priceless – caught between surprise and reluctant admiration. Her mouth opened as if to protest, but then she closed it, lips twisting into a smile that was more fond than annoyed, even if it was tinged with a hint of competitive frustration.

For a moment, neither of you said a word. You simply shared that look, the quiet acknowledgment of having pushed each other, of knowing exactly how to get under each other’s skin on the field – and of enjoying every second of it.

"Is it too much to use the red ties?" you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips as you strolled up to Lucy, your voice dripping with teasing charm.

Lucy let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to her chest like she was utterly wounded. "My pride is on the floor, and yet you still kick me when I'm down!" she replied, though her eyes sparkled with laughter, making it impossible for her to sell the act.

You laughed loudly, thoroughly undeterred by her theatrics. "What can I say? London is red after all," you replied as you stepped even closer, closing the last of the distance. Without hesitation, you slipped your arms around her waist, pulling her against you. "And your arse will be too by the time I’m done with you," you whispered, your voice dropping to a seductive murmur as your lips brushed her ear.

Lucy’s cheeks flushed that perfect shade of pink, and she gave a nervous laugh, casting a quick, cautious glance over her shoulder. “We’re still in public, you know,” she murmured, though the deepening colour in her cheeks showed she wasn’t entirely complaining.

“Oh, I know.” You looked up at her with a wicked smile, savouring the moment, not quite ready to pull away just yet.

But before you could say anything more, Leah’s voice cut through the tension, loud and teasing. “Oi, stop with the weird foreplay and go shower!” she called, casting an exaggerated eye-roll in your direction and folding her arms, though a hint of a grin tugged at her mouth.

Lucy laughed, burying her face in your shoulder for a moment, clearly amused and a little embarrassed. With a small sigh, she gave you a reluctant smile. “Guess that’s our cue,” she muttered, squeezing your hand before finally letting go.

[natsaffection]

heyy this is my first time making a request and idk if it's okay but what if reader is like an anti-hero or villian and when reader gets hurt she shoves up to Natasha's apartment thinking she would maybe help her? idk if it works but I've been thinking about something like this and it would be great if you actually write itt😭😭😭

Lines crossed. | N.R

Avenger!Natasha x AntiHero!Reader

Warnings: Blood, Gore and injurys

Word Count: 2,6k

A/N: These are the stories I like the most. 🙏🏻 And I feel honored, that I can write your first ever request! 🏆

The city of New York was no stranger to chaos, but in recent months, a new shadow had begun to loom over its streets. This shadow was not the kind of evil the Avengers were used to dealing with..This was different. And this, was you, a name whispered in fear among the criminal underworld, a vigilante with a taste for vengeance and a history stained with blood.

You had risen to the top of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted list, a place usually reserved for supervillains and global threats. Your methods were brutal and unyielding, your sense of justice unwavering. To some, you were a hero. To others, a menace. But to the Avengers, you were a problem that needed solving.

“Another one,” Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, murmured as she stood over the lifeless body of a notorious gang leader, his blood pooling around him in a grotesque halo. “It’s her again.”

Clint joined her, shaking his head. “She’s getting bolder. This is the third one this week.” Natasha's eyes scanned the scene, taking in the familiar hallmarks of your handiwork. The precision, the brutality, the unmistakable sense of finality. "She’s not hiding anymore. She wants us to know it’s her."

Nick Fury appeared behind them, his expression unreadable as ever. "We need to bring her in. She's crossed too many lines, and now the media's starting to pick up on it. The last thing we need is a vigilante making us look incompetent."

Natasha nodded, her mind already running through the many encounters she’d had with you. Each one had been a battle of wills, fists, and wits. You were good, damn good. But Natasha was determined to be better.

You wiped the blood from your hands, your breathing steadying as you looked at the man you'd just eliminated. He had been a monster, a predator preying on the weak and innocent. You felt no remorse. In your eyes, justice had been served.

You knew the Avengers were close. You could feel their presence like a storm on the horizon. Especially Natasha. Your fights had become a dance of sorts, each trying to outmaneuver the other, each knowing that one day it would come down to a final, decisive confrontation.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts. You glanced at the message: another target, another mission. Your work was never done.

Back at the Avengers' headquarters, the team gathered around a holographic display of the city, pinpointing the locations of your recent activities. "We need to be strategic," Steve said, his voice calm but firm. "She’s not just any criminal. She’s trained, skilled, and she's got a mission."

Natasha’s eyes never left the display. She knew you better than most. She understood your motivations, your drive. And she knew that stopping you would require more than just brute force.

"It’s personal for her," Natasha said quietly. "And if we’re going to bring her in, we need to understand why she’s doing this." The team nodded, each member resolving to bring an end to your bloody crusade. But for Natasha, it was more than just another mission. It was a challenge, a test of her skills and resolve.

You moved through the city like a ghost, your mind focused on the task at hand. You knew the Avengers were watching, waiting. You relished the challenge. Each encounter with Natasha had pushed you to be better, sharper.

But you also knew that the game couldn’t go on forever. One day, it would come to an end. One way or another.As you prepared for your next mission, you couldn't help but wonder: when that day came, who would be the one standing? You or Natasha?

The city was alive with the sounds of sirens and distant traffic, but your focus was razor-sharp. You moved through the shadows, your target's location clear in your mind. You knew the Avengers were closing in, but you thrived on the edge, where danger and adrenaline fused into one intoxicating rush.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your target, a corrupt businessman with ties to multiple criminal organizations. You slipped past his security with ease, your movements precise and silent. As you stood over him, your eyes cold and unyielding, you knew this would send another message to the underworld and the Avengers alike.

Just as you were about to strike, the window shattered, and Natash swung in, landing gracefully on her feet, guns drawn. "Y/n, this ends now," Natasha said, her voice a mix of resolve and urgency. You smirked, stepping back to assess the new threat. "You always know how to make an entrance, Romanoff."

The two of you circled each other, the tension thick in the air. You made the first move, lunging forward with a series of rapid strikes. Natasha countered, your fists and feet a blur of motion. Each move was calculated, each strike intended to find a weakness.

The fight spilled into the hall, your movements fluid and fierce. You were relentless, your skills honed by years of training and combat. But Natasha was no less formidable, her experience and agility a match for your raw power.

In a desperate bid to escape, you knocked over a set of shelves, creating a momentary barrier. You dashed down the corridor, but your path was blocked by Steve. "Going somewhere?" Steve asked, raising his shield.

You didn’t hesitate. You launched yourself at him, your attacks relentless. Steve defended himself with his shield, but your sheer ferocity pushed him back. You knew you had to move fast. Every second counted.

A blast of energy struck the ground near you, and you turned to see Tony Stark hovering in his Iron Man suit. "You’re surrounded. Give it up."

With a quick glance, you calculated your options. You grabbed a nearby fire extinguisher, using it to create a cloud of smoke. In the confusion, you darted through a side door, your escape route planned to the last detail.

In the aftermath, the Avengers regrouped, frustration evident in their expressions. "She’s good," Clint said, rubbing his bruised arm. "We almost had her."

"Almost isn’t good enough," Tony replied, scanning the area for any sign of you. "She’s always one step ahead." Natasha looked at the ground, her mind replaying the fight. She admired your tenacity and skill, but she also knew that each encounter brought them closer to a dangerous tipping point.

"We need to change our approach," Natasha said. "She’s playing a game of survival. We need to make her see that we’re not the enemy." Steve nodded. "Agreed. We need to understand her motivations. If we can reach her, maybe we can end this without more bloodshed."

Weeks turned into months, and the chase between you and Natasha became legendary among the Avengers. Your reputation as a formidable adversary was solidified, but so was Natasha's determination to bring you in. Every encounter became a game of wits and skill, a deadly dance with an undercurrent of something more.

One night, Natasha found herself on a stakeout at a high-end nightclub. Her sources had tipped her off about a major criminal deal going down. She knew you would be there, drawn to the opportunity like a moth to a flame. Natasha blended into the crowd, her eyes scanning for any sign of her elusive target.

Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. "Looking for someone?" your familiar, flirty voice whispered in her ear. Natasha spun around to find you, dressed to kill and wearing a mischievous grin.

"Yes, you." Natasha said, her voice steady despite the surprise. "You're getting bold." You chuckled, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "And you're getting predictable, Romanoff. I knew you'd be here."

Natasha moved closer, lowering her voice. "This ends tonight. You're coming with me." You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Are you asking me out on a date, or is this another one of your attempts to arrest me?"

Natasha couldn't help but smirk. "Depends on how you look at it." Before Natasha could react, you leaned in, your lips brushing Natasha's ear as you whispered, "Catch me if you can." Then, with a swift movement, you disappeared into the crowd.

Natasha's heart raced as she pursued you through the crowded club. The thrill of the chase was intoxicating, and she couldn't deny the electric connection between you. You were always one step ahead, leaving clues and taunts that kept Natasha on her toes.

The chase led them to the club's rooftop, the city lights sprawling beneath them. You stood at the edge, the wind whipping through your hair. Natasha approached slowly, her eyes locked on you.

"You can't keep running forever.“ Natasha said, her voice a mix of determination and something softer. You turned to face her, your expression unreadable. "I'm not running, Natasha. I'm fighting. Just like you."

Natasha took a step closer, her heart pounding. "We don't have to be enemies, Y/n.. Let us help you." Your gaze softened, and for a moment, Natasha saw the vulnerability beneath the tough exterior. "You don't understand. I've crossed too many lines. There's no going back for me."

Natasha reached out, her hand brushing your arm. "It's never too late to make a different choice. You can Trust me.“ You looked at Natasha, your eyes searching for something. Then, with a sigh, you pulled away. "Maybe in another life, Romanoff."

Before Natasha could react, you leaped off the rooftop, landing gracefully on a fire escape below. Natasha rushed to the edge, but you were already disappearing into the night.

—

One fateful evening, you found yourself cornered by a gang of criminals. You fought valiantly, but the numbers were overwhelming. By the time the dust settled, you were grievously wounded. Blood soaked your clothes, and every step sent waves of agony through your body.

Desperation set in as you stumbled through the dark alleys. You knew going to a hospital was out of the question. The police would arrest you on sight, and SHIELD agents were everywhere. You tried to treat your wounds in an abandoned building, using whatever you could find. With shaking hands, you attempted to stitch a deep gash on your side, but the pain was too intense and your vision blurred.

Realizing the severity of your injuries and your inability to treat them alone, you remembered, „You can Trust me.“ You had placed a small tracking device on Natasha’s shoe during one of your fights, anticipating you might need to find her someday.

The rain pelted the city in relentless sheets, washing away the grime of the day. You stood in front of Natasha's apartment door, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You leaned heavily against the frame, your vision swimming. Despite the pain, you forced a playful smile onto your lips. You had to get inside. You had to see Natasha.

With a trembling hand, you knocked on the door. It felt like an eternity before it finally swung open. Natasha stood there, her expression a mix of surprise and annoyance.

"How did you find me?" Natasha asked, her voice cold. You tried to straighten up, wincing as you did. "Miss me already, Romanoff?" you said, your voice weak but carrying a hint of flirtation. "Couldn't stay away.."

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here. Why are you here?" Ignoring the question, you leaned against the doorframe, your legs barely holding you up. "Thought I'd drop by... see your lovely face," you managed, your vision beginning to darken around the edges.

Natasha's patience snapped. She grabbed her phone, her fingers quickly dialing S.H.I.E.L.D.'s number. "Enough with the games. I'm done with this."

Your heart sank, your body swaying. You tried to take a step forward but stumbled, your strength failing. You collapsed into Natasha, who caught you out of reflex. As your full weight pressed against her, Natasha's eyes widened in horror. Blood soaked through your clothes, warm and sticky, covering Natasha's hands.

"Oh my God.." Natasha whispered, her phone slipping from her fingers as she cradled your limp body. "Y/n, what happened??" Your head lolled to the side, your eyes struggling to stay open. "Guess I... pushed it too far this time..“ you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Natasha quickly assessed the situation, her mind racing. "We need to get you inside.“ she said, her tone urgent. She half-carried, half-dragged you into the apartment, laying you on the couch. Blood pooled on the floor, and Natasha's hands shook as she grabbed her first aid kit.

"Stay with me, Y/n," Natasha urged, tearing open your shirt to reveal a deep, gaping wound along your side. The sight of old scars crisscrossing your chest made Natasha's heart clench. "God, what did you do?!“

She worked quickly, her training kicking in. She poured antiseptic over the wound, her hands moving with practiced precision. Your body trembled with pain, your fingers digging into the couch. "God, that burns," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "F-Fuck, Natasha, it h-hurts..“

"I know it does," Natasha said, her voice softening. "But I need you to stay with me. I don't have any narcotics, so this is going to be rough."

Your eyes were glazed with pain, your breathing shallow. "Just do it…" you managed to say. Natasha threaded a needle, her fingers slick with blood. She began to stitch the largest wound, her focus intense. Your body shook with each stitch, your teeth clenched to hold back screams. The raw pain was almost unbearable, and low moans of agony escaped your lips despite your best efforts.

"You're doing great," Natasha said, her own voice trembling. "Just a few more." Your fingers clawed at the couch, your knuckles white. "Natasha... please, hurry," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper.

Natasha's heart ached at the sight of your suffering. "I'm almost done," she said, her tone soothing. "Just hold on a little longer."

Your eyes fluttered, your strength fading fast. "Sorry... for your couch...and for everything," you whispered, tears mixing with the blood on your face. "I never wanted it to be like this.."

Natasha's eyes were full with understanding. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Right now, I need you to hold on." She finished the stitches, then bandaged the wounds as best she could. Your body relaxed slightly, your breathing still labored but more steady.

"It's done," Natasha said, sitting back and wiping her forehead. "You're going to be okay." Your eyes closed, exhaustion overtaking you. Natasha grabbed a blanket and covered you, then sat beside you, holding your hand gently. "I'm here," Natasha whispered. "You're safe now. Rest and we’re sorting everything tomorrow out, okay?"

You whimpered softly, your body shaking from the pain and the cold. Natasha gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, her expression tender. "I never thought I'd see you like this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes fluttered open, focusing on Natasha with difficulty. "Guess... I can't always be the strong one.“ you murmured, a weak smile playing on your lips.

Natasha's heart tightened. "You don't have to be strong all the time," she said softly. "It's okay to let someone help you." You nodded weakly, your eyes drifting closed again. "Thank you, Natasha.“ you whispered.

Natasha squeezed your hand gently, "You're going to be alright," she said, her voice filled with determination. "I won't let anything happen to you."

As she sat there, watching over you, Natasha knew that this was a turning point. You had come to her for help, and that meant there was still hope. She would find a way to bring you back from the edge, no matter what it took.

Part 2

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Across Every Universe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey Jordan, can i request something where Dean Winchester always have a crush on the reader but never said something to her until one day Sam and Dean are transported (based on the episode French Mistake) and Dean actor Jensen and is married to the reader of the universe and she pass the whole day giving Dean hug and kisses because for everyone is Jensen. When Dean and Sam came back to their universe him and the reader start dating? Fluff 

Summary: Sam and Dean are taken back to the same place where Dean is known as Jensen Ackles and Sam as Jared Padalecki. This little trip makes Dean realize his feelings for you.

Square Filled: "god, if only you knew what you did to me" (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

No matter the position you’re in, you’re not comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lie down on your side, your back, or your stomach. Not to mention the heater isn’t working in the Bunker so it’s very cold. You have three blankets over you while wearing long sleeves and pajama pants. The broken heater doesn’t help your running cold either. You’re not sure where you caught it from but you’ve been trying to stay away from the brothers to not get them sick.

That doesn’t keep Dean away, though.

He’s a complete sweetheart to you since he always brings you soup, makes sure you’re comfortable, and spends time with you even if you tell him not to go near you. You don’t know what you’d do without Dean in your life.

Speaking of, he knocks on your door and enters wearing his usual hunting attire.

“Going on a hunt?” you ask and sit up slightly.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay here and take care of you.”

“Other people need you,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay in bed, watch movies, and make some soup later. Did you fix the heater, yet?”

“I have someone coming in a few days. He’s also on a hunt.”

“Right, no non-hunters here,” you chuckle.

“I’ll call you later and check up on you, okay?”

“My hero.”

You cuddle with your blankets more and Dean leaves your room with a slight blush on his cheeks. Before he closes the door, he looks back at you in thought. God, if only you knew what you did to me.

He closes your door and meets his brother in the library. As soon as they are packed and ready to go, they start the long drive to the next state over. When Dean gets onto the highway, Sam turns to Dean with a knowing smile.

“So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had a thing for her? Years? When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I mean it, Sam. Stay out of it. I can handle it on my own.”

“Apparently not, or else she’d be yours.”

Dean punches his brother not gently in the arm and Sam laughs. Dean kept the music high so he could avoid talking about his feelings for you. They get to the town that has its residents sacrificing themselves in the name of God. If anything, it warrants some kind of visit from the Winchesters.

The town looks like a normal town with normal people just trying to live their normal lives. They have no suspicions that something is happening but they only just arrived. They get there late at night so they will have to do their work tomorrow morning. Dean takes out his phone when his brother goes into the bathroom to shower and calls you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing alright but not any better.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, I did.” He can hear the smile in your voice and that makes him smile. “And I ate my soup and drank water.”

“Don’t forget to tell her goodnight,” Sam says loudly from the bathroom.

Dean grabs a pillow and chucks it at his brother. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you chuckle, having heard Sam.

“Night sweetheart.” He hangs up and turns to his brother with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam and Dean actually get more than four hours of sleep that night but when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The motel is gone, the shutty beds and blankets are gone, and the peeling wallpaper is gone. What replaces it is a nice trailer, a comfortable bed, a big aquarium, and other nice shit that Dean has never had.

“Sammy?” he calls out. He gets up and leaves the small trailer only to run into Sam. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looks around and spots a name on the side of the trailer that’s behind Dean. “Oh, no. Look.”

Dean turns and sees the name ‘Jensen Ackles’ on the side. He turns back around and sees ‘Jared Padalecki’ on the trailer opposite his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? We’re back in actor land? What happened last time?”

“Gabriel sent us here to avoid Raphael and his minions. I have no idea how we ended up here.”

“I bet it has something to do with the fact that people were sacrificing themselves in the name of God. My guess is that angels are involved.”

“There you two are.” Sam and Dean turn to see Castiel--Misha--walking toward them. “They’re looking for you two.”

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

If Sam and Dean didn’t do a good job trying to act last time, then they certainly aren’t going to do a good job now. It’s funny in hindsight but it makes for a very long day of filming. After the twentieth time messing up, Dean is ready to get the hell out of there to figure out how to get back to his world.

He looks to the right and sees you at the snack bar. He immediately calls for a time-out and leaves the set.

“Time out?” the director frowns and looks at him. “Everyone, take ten!”

“Y/N?”

“Come here, you have to try this. Gen made it,” you grin at Dean. You take a scoopful of food and present it to him. He opens his mouth and accepts the food, pleasantly surprised by the taste. “Oh, you have something on your mouth.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb and lick the food off. Dean is so confused about your behavior but doesn’t have time to figure it out. Your phone rings and you check who is messaging you. “I gotta go. Gen is here.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before walking off. Dean can’t move after that quick kiss. You did it so casually like you’ve done it a thousand times. He is forced to go back to acting but he can’t do a good job because all he’s thinking about is your lips on his.

They aren’t getting enough filming done so the director calls it for the rest of the day. Sam and Dean convene outside to make it look like they’re busy so no one else talks to them.

“She kissed me, dude.”

“What?”

“Y/N or the woman who she’s supposed to be. She kissed me like we’re together or something.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re going through the five stages of teenage excitement but can we focus here? How are we going to get out of here?”

Dean looks around and spots you entering his trailer.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be back.”

Dean leaves to his trailer and Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Dean!” he hisses but receives no answer.

Dean enters his counterpart’s trailer and sees you where the bed is. You’re grabbing some night clothes out of the drawers since you’re not going to be leaving the trailer for the rest of the night.

“Hey, I talked to Gen about the cabin and she got it all set up for us this weekend. I’m so excited to spend some time away from all this for two days.”

“Are we dating?” The comment makes you laugh. “What?”

“Are you okay?” He looks kind of nervous so you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know how to make you feel better.”

“How?” he whispers.

You run your hands down his chest and take his hands. You take him to the bed and toss your night clothes onto a nearby chair. You fall onto the bed while pulling him so he lands on top of you but he stops himself with his hands so he doesn’t completely crush you.

You pull him down to kiss you and that’s enough to bring Dean into the delusion that you’re Y/N and you’re his. Your lips are softer than what he thought and your body fits so perfectly against his. He slips his tongue into your mouth to get familiar with you. You tug on his hair to get some traction so he pulls away from your mouth and kisses down your neck.

Your neck has always been a sensitive spot for you and he really knows how to work you up. He licks up and down your neck before latching onto the side of it. You gasp, tilt your head back, and moan something that brings Dean back down to reality.

“Jensen.” You’re not his. You’re not you. You’re Jensen’s. You’re not supposed to be with him. He pulls away and pants above you. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we just lay here instead?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me get changed.”

You slip out from underneath him and grab the pajamas you set aside earlier. You strip down naked and Dean has a hard time not looking at you. He can’t help but think you’re a complete stranger. The pajamas you’re wearing are revealing but he feels better at looking at you with clothes on. You climb into bed with him and cuddle into his side, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your head.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Tell me the story of how we met.” You look at him in confusion. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay, I got tickets to a red carpet event that my ex-friend invited me to. We were going to see the movie My Bloody Valentine because we thought it was going to be the next big movie. The entire cast was there, including you, meeting fans and taking pictures with them. When we locked eyes, it was like something was pulling you to me.

“You came over to me, complimented me on my dress, signed my poster with your number on it which I still have, and the rest is history. I never got together with you because you were a big celebrity. You were genuine, kind, funny, charming, and very sexy. It was hard not to fall in love with you.”

Dean notices the big ring on your finger and puts the pieces together.

“We’re married?”

“Yes, we are,” you laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… really happy.”

You lean over and kiss him. The next morning, Dean leaves his trailer before you get up. He doesn’t want to wake you even though he wants to. He finds Sam outside his own trailer with a book in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean sighs.

“I might have found a way out of here, no thanks to you.”

“What if we didn’t leave?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The love of my life is my wife here.”

“That’s not your wife, Dean. She’s Jensen’s wife. She thinks you’re him. Why would you take that away from him? You have a girl waiting for you at home, a girl with whom you’re too scared to do anything about. Don’t take her away from him because you want what they have.”

Dean knows he’s right. He can’t stay here. He’s using this world as an escape from his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean sighs. “What do you have?”

“I found this book in the prop section. This might be a TV show but it does have some useful books to make it look real. There’s a ritual we can do.”

And a ritual it is. Once they get the stuff needed and perform it, they are brought back to the town they arrived in a couple of days ago. In order to properly tackle this town, they’re going to need some angelic help. Maybe Castiel can meet them back at the Bunker and figure something out then.

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is go looking for you. You’re still stuck in bed watching your favorite movies on Disney+. You pause your movie when your bedroom door opens.

“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his shoes. He climbs into bed with you and pulls you close to him. “Dean?”

“I love you,” he blurts. “I should have told you this years ago but I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you. You make everything better for me, and you’re a better hunter than I ever was. God, I love you so much.”

“I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get you sick,” you smile.

“I don’t care,” he whispers and kisses you.

This is where he belongs. Right next to you.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[essycogany]

Sonic And Amy Are A Unique Couple

This is a quick Sonamy rant /ramble session. With a few added clarifications too. Enjoy!

This couple is more unique than you’d think. It’s cool if anyone disagrees. I'm all for a polite debate and respect your opinion. But if you're willing to hear me out, I'll be willing to explain myself as clearly as possible. Great? Awesome! Let’s get started!

Amy doesn't want to change Sonic. I will scream this until I'm not able to speak any more that Amy loves Sonic for who he is. She always has but it wasn't until IDW that she expressed it out loud. Still one of my favorite moments between them.

Does that make their relationship unique? Not really. What makes their relationship unique is what Amy loves about Sonic is kind of the reason they're not a couple yet. Sonic is an ongoing force that can’t be stopped or changed. Of course, he’ll allow someone to join him on a race, but he still keeps going. Not to say Sonic won’t stop to smell the roses (pun not intended) but he’ll do it on his own time. Amy always likes to take advantage of those moments and best of all, Sonic doesn’t mind. Even during their old chases, he’d slow down for her. Says a lot about the connection they have but there’s more

Their chemistry is…something for lack of a better term. Their back and forth is so interesting to me. Sonic does like Amy back. Notable examples here but to put it shortly, Sonic doesn’t know what he’s doing when it comes to romance. Sometimes he’s not into it and other times he’s chill. Sometimes Amy is ecstatic and other times she's bashful. I'm looking at you Sonic X.

Every time Amy’s occupied, is when Sonic wants her the most. Amy on the other hand wants Sonic to enjoy his freedom. Neither of them stops to think about how maybe they can have it both ways.

I'll also mention romance isn’t about “being tied down.” That paints romance as if it’s some kind of chain being rapt around your neck or being forced to be with the person. That is not romance. It’s keeping someone hostage. Something Amy would not do. Every time she’d joke around about marrying him Sonic didn’t take it seriously. Heroes included.

Sonic’s line in Heros: “Amy, knock it off. There's no time to play!” Dude knows Amy was messing with him. She was written to be girly, childish, adventurous, and cartoony. No, it wasn’t always executed well. Hello, Sonic Freeriders Amy! But I think this scene summons it up the best.

Important thing to mention as well is Sonic is an outspoken and honest character who rarely lies. It’s either you get the truth or you get nothing. He’s not the type to spare people’s feelings either, so if he had a problem with Amy in the past, he’d tell her directly. I do think she'd also stop if he genuinely told her to. The last thing Amy would want is to tarnish their friendship because of her actions. This loyal girl is so sweet.

Not to mention this is a popular trope in Japan too. The trope was what their relationship was based on.

Back to my original point Sonic and Amy aren’t a traditional couple. That’s a good thing. If they became canon their relationship wouldn’t change if they got together, but also they don’t need labels either. Romance isn’t or shouldn’t be a burden on you. That’s not how love works and that’s not what Sonic believes Amy to be. If that’s the case he wouldn’t be friends with her. Whether you ship Sonic with Amy, someone else, or no one, there should be no doubt Sonic values her friendship.

I’ll also add that Amy is just as up for an adventure as Sonic is. It’s why she loves him so much. They’re a power couple and love going out to travel, so there’s no staying in one place for these two.

In Sonic Adventure 2 you can tell Amy’s intuition when it comes to Sonic. Close to the end, she saw him looking a bit down and noticed his mood shifting a bit. “What’s the matter, Sonic?” “Oh, it’s nothing.” She knows him so well. I don't know what connection they run on but it’s inspiring.

These two don’t have a typical girl/boy relationship. I know some people say, “Well, why can't Sonic and Amy stay friends? Not every male and female relationship needs to be romantic.” You're 100% correct. Here are some examples.

The difference between other relationships is that Amy was created to be a Minnie to Sonic’s Mickey. Which is why these two are treated differently compared to others. Including in merch. There are more examples but I digress. The point is this specific pair is always going to have nuance even if they’re only friends. It doesn’t stop until Amy doesn’t love Sonic and even if it shouldn’t define her, it should still be a part of her. She might work without romance, but we already have other amazing female characters for that.

No one’s obligated to ship them because of this of course. Again, your opinion is still valid, and I will always stick to that point.

Last but not least is their friendship (or situationship) as a whole.

The funny thing is their friendship is what makes their romance the most compelling. The appeal to Sonic and Amy’s dynamic is how much platonic energy they have. Romance doesn’t always mean you need to be lovey-dovey. With Sonamy it’s their powerful friendship that makes the (somewhat not platonic) interactions memorable. You don’t have to choose romantic or platonic. It can be both. I wouldn't be a Sonamy fan if I thought their relationship was plain. I'm here because of how different they are.

And I love them to bits. Look at this panel and tell me it isn't running with situationship fuel.

Another fun detail is in recent years despite knowing Amy still loves him, Sonic hugs her back. Even the moments in Sonic X he carries her are moments he offers to. Even when it wasn't necessary.

Can’t forget about the recent asking Amy out to a dinner panel in IDW. He's never done that before. There's a familiarity between the two of them however you look at it. I LOVE them for it.

His moments of genuinely being excited to see her are not due to some development but because Sonic’s passion for Amy has noticeably increased. Why am I bringing these up? It’s because one thing that hasn’t been talked about when it comes to romance is actions. Sure, Sonic doesn't fully confess his feelings to her outwardly. But why do you have to be obvious and in people’s face when it comes to loving someone? In Japan, love is mostly shown through what you do more than what you say. That stuff can happen there but it doesn't always have to. The “Sharing an Umbrella, Amy,” line in Frontiers carries a lot more weight when you think about the implications.

Please read this post by @egalitarian-tomboy if you're interested in the implications of Sonamy in Frontiers.

The up-to-interpretation view of whatever they have together is the main reason I and so many people ship them. It’s not the fact that they are close, but the progression of their closeness. To make a long story short, the appeal of Sonamy is the fact that they don’t have to be traditionally romantic to be an interesting couple. Amy represents expressive love and Sonic represents emotional love.

Stay creative! 💜

[dovesdreaming]

Pirates charm

Summary: You’re the daughter of Meg and Hercules, everyone always compares you to your mother saying your exactly like her. You couldn’t deny it either especially with how you wouldn’t let yourself swoon for Harry hook.

Requested

Masterlist

-

Being the daughter of Meg and Hercules wasn’t easy. On one hand, you were expected to live up to your father’s reputation. The strong, brave hero of Olympus who could move mountains and defeat titans. People looked at you like you were supposed to be just like him- noble, pure, a shining example of what a demigod should be. But on the other hand, you were also Meg’s daughter. And that meant you were sarcastic, quick-witted, and more than a little cynical. If your dad was all about heroism, you were about surviving in a world where happy endings didn’t always happen. Your mother had made sure you understood that. She’d been there, done that, and wasn’t about to let you fall into the same traps she had.

You were, as people liked to say, the spitting image of Meg. From your sharp wit to the way you carried yourself, always with a knowing smirk and a hint of sass in your voice. You weren’t a wide-eyed optimist like so many people in Auradon. No, you knew better than that. Which was why Auradon Prep had become.. a little boring. The whole "perfect world" thing? Yeah, it got pretty old fast. Sure, there were plenty of bright, smiling faces and happily-ever-afters, but after a while, it all felt a bit fake. Like everyone was just pretending everything was perfect all the time. You needed something different. Something real. And then… Harry Hook showed up.

The first time you met Harry, you were standing by the docks, watching the Isle of the Lost kids as they arrived on their ship. Ben had done his whole "integration" thing, and now, here they were, villains' kids walking the pristine streets of Auradon. It was all very dramatic, with people whispering and staring at the new arrivals, like they were some kind of dangerous animals let loose in a zoo. You didn’t care about most of them. But then, you saw him. Harry Hook.

With his long coat, swaggering walk, and that trademark hook hanging from his hand, he made quite the entrance. His sharp blue eyes scanned the crowd, taking everything in like he was already planning his next move. His smirk was lazy, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made you raise an eyebrow. And when his gaze landed on you? Oh, he noticed you too. His eyes flicked over your figure, taking in the sharpness of your features, the confidence in the way you stood. Unapologetic, like you didn’t care what anyone thought. It was enough to make him pause for a second, his smirk faltering before returning even wider.

“Aye, what do we have here?” he murmured as he sauntered over to you, his voice dripping with a Scottish lilt that sounded both amused and intrigued. “Didn’t know Auradon had girls like you”.

You crossed your arms, eyeing him up and down. “What? You thought we were all sunshine and rainbows?” He grinned, his hook tapping against his side as he stopped in front of you. “Somethin’ like that. But I think ye’re more storm clouds, lass. And I like that”. You gave him a dry smile, the corner of your lips lifting. “I aim to disappoint”. Harry’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider. “Ah, ye’re trouble, aren’t ye? I can tell”. You shrugged, glancing at him with a bored expression. “If you’re looking for damsels in distress, you might want to look elsewhere”. “Damsels?” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk full of mischief. “I don’t do damsels. I like girls who fight back”. You tilted your head, feigning interest. “Good, because I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than need saving”.

He laughed, a deep sound that was rough around the edges, like he wasn’t used to laughing much. But there was something about you that seemed to break through his usual bravado. “Aye, I can tell”. After that, it was like a game between the two of you. Wherever you were, Harry wasn’t far behind, and every time he tried his usual pirate charm on you, you gave it right back with a smart remark or a sarcastic quip. He’d call you “lass” and you’d call him “Hook” with a roll of your eyes, but beneath all the teasing, there was something else. Something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Because despite all the back-and-forth banter, Harry Hook was different from the others. He wasn’t like the perfect princes of Auradon, who threw themselves at you with grand gestures and shining armor. No, Harry was raw. Real. He didn’t pretend to be something he wasn’t, and he didn’t expect you to either.You liked that about him, even if you’d never admit it.

One afternoon, you found yourself sitting by the lake, enjoying some peace and quiet when you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t need to look to know who it was “Should’ve guessed you’d be here” you said, not even turning around as you leaned back on your elbows. Harry sat down next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. “Can’t help meself” he said with a grin. “Ye’re just too much fun to annoy”. You glanced over at him, eyebrow raised. “If this is your idea of fun, you need a hobby”.

“Oh, I’ve got hobbies” he replied, his voice teasing. “But ye’re definitely the most interestin’ one so far”. You rolled your eyes, fighting back the smile that tugged at the corners of your lips. “You must be really bored”. Harry chuckled softly, but then his expression shifted, turning more serious. “Ye know, ye’re different from the rest of ‘em”.

That caught your attention. You turned to him, curious. “What do you mean?” He tapped his hook lightly against his leg, looking out at the water. “Auradon, it’s full of people pretendin’ to be somethin’ they’re not. All smiles and pretendin’ everythin’ is perfect. But you?” He looked at you with those intense blue eyes. “Ye don’t pretend. Ye’re real”.’You blinked, not expecting the honesty in his words. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. You’d spent so long deflecting with sarcasm and wit that someone seeing through you like that threw you off balance. “I’m just me” you finally said, shrugging as if it didn’t matter. “Nothing special”. Harry’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s where ye’re wrong, lass”.

There was something in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. You weren’t used to this, this raw, unfiltered honesty. People didn’t talk like that in Auradon. They didn’t look at you like they could see right through the mask. But Harry did. And, gods help you, you liked it. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension. “And here I thought pirates only cared about treasure”. Harry smirked, his teasing nature slipping back into place. “Aye, well, maybe I found somethin’ better”. Your heart did another unexpected flip at that, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you gave him a lopsided smile. “If you think I’m going to swoon, you’ve got another thing coming”. Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, I wouldn’t want ye any other way”.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence after that, the sound of the water lapping against the shore filling the space between you. For once, there were no quips, no banter just a quiet understanding. Maybe you and Harry weren’t so different after all. Maybe, beneath the sarcasm and smirks, you were both just looking for something real. And maybe, just maybe, you’d found it in each other.

-

Thank you for reading!!

[natalievoncatte]

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

[keepingitformyself]

and my waves meet your shore

A/N: this one has been in the drafts for two years.... synopsis: natasha seems to have found silence in all the noise.

MASTERLIST

pairings: natasha romanoff x reader

genre: angst, fluff.

warnings: sad natasha :(

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

natasha romanoff has lived a very lonely ife.

however, as sad as it may seem natasha never once payed any heed to it. relationships and rapport had rarely been acknowledged by her superiors during her time in the red room. but if it ever was it was only to display the inconvenience it would bring to her life.

so as a stead natasha had only ever put her mind to the things she was instructed to, unfortunately companionship had never been in that spectrum for her.

her lack of agency had always made that easier for her. she was always taught to deflect at any first sign of fragility and she never needed anyone else because— well she was simply better off on her own.

still, thoughts of having any sense of togetherness or intimacy would sometimes cross her mind, but as soon as they came she was always quick to brush them off.

it took her some time to discard the habit of having that mentality.

natasha’s upbringing was one made up of unspeakable catastrophe, things one simply could not ever bear to speak about. she had taken too many falls, and she had shed too much blood and tears for a life she never intended.

but when she did manage to set herself free, plagued with nothing but the haunts of the past she left behind, with the very small amount of hope she had left in humanity, she rose slowly from the depths of a narrative she’d never spare a glance back at again.

and she had clint barton to thank for that. he would never understand the amount of gratitude she had towards the archer. he had given her a sense of family, a sense of home. he let her in and introduced her to his own life outside of what it meant to be on the light side of the fight.

he was her first shot at a real human relationship. her shot at a second chance.

it had flicked a switch inside of her whenever she saw clint hug his kids and kiss their cheeks. natasha had only ever known cruelty, she had never seen something so benevolent before.

she liked it whenever she got to see that side of him, the side that wasn’t so stoic and on high alert all the time, the side that wasn’t agent barton.

it changed her perspective when it came to the world. she had only ever seen the ugly in people. her experience with some of the most horrendous things had allowed for her to see the humanity in others.

but unfortunately, never in herself.

even after switching her allegiance to the avengers she still couldn’t bear the thought of the person she used to be, the one that was the exact opposite of who she is now.

she devoted herself to the fight and had made her own separate code to live by. it became a need for her to do only the great or good, so much so that she was willing to put her own life on the line if it ever came to it. her entire life became one of redemption.

natasha romanoff had lived a tragic life. no one would ever understand her and her troubled past, and no one had ever made the time to try.

that is until she met you.

she had met you in a weird time in her life. taking down what was left of shield also meant exposing who she was before her years as an agent at shield.

many people were out of a job after that. some moved on, others promoted into whatever secret agency would come next. you however, had been offered a spot next to the world’s mightiest heroes.

she was wary of you, of course. she had the right to be. it wasn’t everyday someone would show up out of the blue and offer her a piece of themselves.

you were like that a lot. natasha quickly learned you had no problem in sharing parts about you to make others feel better. sure, you weren’t someone who carried a large amount of baggage like the rest of them, but that felt refreshing to most of the team.

natasha never got to pick her battles before, until now. she’d always deny saying that she hated the fight more than she showed.

the truth is, natasha wasn’t ready for a fight much like this one, but nonetheless, it was still one she wouldn’t surrender to.

—

natasha has nightmares. bad ones too.

it’s the same thing every time they happen. she wakes up in the night and paces her room, it feels like a fire inside. the smoke that isn’t there manages to make her feel like it consumes her into its flames.

she feels helpless in its flames, she convinced herself that the lifetimes worth of nightmares is what she deserves. she cries and hopes that it ends soon, all she can do is hold her own until it passes.

suddenly, you barge in. you find natasha on the floor, looking frail and disrupted. you don’t waste a moment in rushing towards her.

you don’t even think about how you’ve never been in such close proximity to her. then you hug her. you tell her that she’s okay, that it’s okay.

she never pushes you off and it surprises you, natasha quickly figures that she likes to be held and you feel warm against her, so she lets you.

you kiss her dampened forehead and keep coaxing her, telling her anything and everything that you think might help her. you never push her into opening up, you understand the intimacy of it, natasha is thankful for that.

when you feel her breath steady and her cries have grown quieter you walk her back to her bed. you both look at each other for a moment and she breathes out before saying.

“thank you.” her voice comes out in a rasp.

you only nod, a small smile on your face. you make your way to leave until you feel her hand graze your own. you meet her eyes again with a furrow in your brows.

the look she gives you tells you that she doesn’t want this to be brought up again and that she trusts that it will remain between you both. your hand touches her own,

“you can trust me.” is all you say before leaving back towards where you came from.

when natasha wakes up that morning she finds that she hates her reflection in the mirror. she notices pieces of her old self when staring into her eyes.

she clenches the counter under her hands and squeezes her eyes until she musters up enough courage to walk out of her bedroom door.

when she makes her way into the busy kitchen she’s greeted instantly by everyone. she smiles and greets back, acting as if nothing had happened the night prior. that is until she feels a warm cup being pushed into her hands.

“morning, i made your coffee. i’ll serve you a plate in just a moment.” you greet the redhead with a smile. she raises her eyebrows in surprise and takes the coffee in her hands.

she sits besides clint and hums in contentment once she figures out that you made her cup just the way she liked it. black and one sugar.

you make breakfast easy for her to feel comfortable in. you act as if nothing had happened and continue to pass around jokes with the boys. natasha even passes you the ketchup bottle with a small smile when you ask for it. your mind cheers at the small progress you think you’ve made.

now, natasha knows that she can somewhat trust you and in the enlightenment of that she starts to loosen herself when it comes to you.

since then you’ve seen more of natasha around the building and you notice how she’s open to your company even more.

you now find the redhead sitting next to you during meals if she finds a space empty and she acknowledges you with a smile if you see her passing in hallways throughout the day.

one particular moment that really catches you by surprise is when you finally let yourself make the time to sharpen your knife collection. you hadn’t had the chance to since work piled up and it wasn’t until today that you were now allowed a free day.

and when you make it to your armory you find that all your blades and knives had been sharpened and cleaned. a note left by the redhead in your locker.

‘i know you haven’t had the time. -N’ you’re left shocked but don’t even question how she knew this despite never mentioning it to her.

two weeks later, she walks up to you in the middle of your workout. she taps your shoulder and you remove your earbud to turn towards her.

“hi!” you say too enthusiasticly, surprised she had walked up to you to start a conversation.

you’ve learned by now to never push for her attention, you let her come to you when she wants to. everything had to happen at her own pace if you want to be her friend.

she invites you for movies in her room later that night. a shy smile invades her face as she releases the sentence, you could tell she seemed a bit nervous at the idea of being in a room alone with you.

you agree as cooly as you can, careful to not overexcite your response in case she suddenly sees it as weird.

later that night you find yourself in bed with natasha, she shares her bag of skittles with you whilst she chooses a movie. you smile when you notice the stash of snacks she had hidden, a variety of skittles and reece’s. you make a mental note to gift her some more of her favorite snacks.

she makes you watch her favorite bond films, you never point it out but you know for most of the movies she had watched you instead.

the gears turn in natasha’s head. she watches you laugh and sees the fascination swirl in your eyes as you become invested in the action sequences.

she searches and searches for any sign of bad intention in you. part of her has not fully comprehended how someone like you had wanted to be involved with someone like her. she knows how patient you’ve been…but why?

she absolutely cannot help it that she feels this way, not when it’s been programmed into her to never be this vulnerable.

but every bone within her knows you’re anything but ill-intended. her mind just simply can’t wrap around the idea that someone seems to want to stay.

once the movie had finished you stayed back for a while to talk. you had no problem in taking charge of most of the conversation, you knew natasha was still adjusting to you.

she asks you questions, you answer.

you tell her about your family. you grew up in brooklyn, a cute brownstone in the park slope neighborhood. you had two older siblings, each four years older. a brother, a stockbroker and your sister who was an interior designer.

you notice the small quirk in natasha’s face when you mention your siblings, you decide not to question it.

until two weeks later. you’re in her room again and she brings it up during a harry potter marathon.

“i have a sister.” is all she has to say before you pause the movie.

“pardon?” you look at her, but she’s still staring at the screen.

“i have a sister, or had, i don’t really know where she is now.”

you tread carefully with your next question.

“do you think about her a lot?” the question finally makes her look at you.

“all the time.” she whispers.

you think of how devastating it may be for her to know someone out there was once a part of her.

“thank you for telling me.”

—————

after a solo mission to johannesburg you come back in very bad shape. you’d barely made it out by the time an airlift came to retrieve you.

and once you’re lifted into the jet by a combat med you don’t notice the worried redhead that’s in the jet waiting for you as well.

she grabs your face in her two hands, worried expression on her face.

you’re breathing heavy, and you’re clutching your stomach with the same arm that’s throbbing.

all you can really do is give her a bloodied smile.

you take a sharp breath in, “hey…” then your eyelids go heavy and you don’t really remember much of anything after that.

by the time you’ve landed it’s all a mess. everyone hears about your state, and the whole team is there to meet you at the landing dock when you’re being carried in a stretcher into the compound.

natasha only talks to three people until you wake up. steve to report everything to, and bruce and doctor cho for any inquiry on your state of health.

despite everyone’s efforts to convince natasha you’re fine, she’s stays put and keeps her eye on you through surgery. clint tries to get her to eat but his attempts fail, only met with complete silence. and wanda tries to tell her to at least freshen up for you, but she’s met with silence yet again.

it’s all honestly a bit off putting how eerily quiet she got. the team decides then, that when it comes to you it’s best to just let her be.

but she’s there again when you wake up in the med bay. she instantly hears your shift in breathing and wakes up only seconds after you do.

“you’re awake.” is the first thing she says.

and you in your disoriented state say,

“good. i’m really loopy still, so i can’t really tell if i’m dreaming or not.”

natasha lets out what sounds like a relieved sigh or a laugh, but it makes you smile, and you both stare at eachother for a few seconds.

you look at her, a grateful smile on your face.

the gears in natasha’s head turn. something about the way she found you almost twenty four hours ago had shifted something in her.

she was with steve when you reported you may need extraction as soon as possible. your breathing was ragged and you let out at strangled whimper before the line cut off.

“i’m going.” was all natasha said before she headed off to pack a bag. she was there before the extraction team fifteen minutes later.

it was hard to think of anything else besides you, on her way to you. and it was hard to think of anything else besides being with you when she finally got to you.

it was something she couldn’t quite place, or maybe she could, maybe she wasn’t ready to face it yet.

you squint your eyes at the redhead next to you, noticing her deep in thought state. you almost think you see a twinge of something else besides relief in her eyes. but before you could question it almost robotically a mask is put back up.

“i’ll go get, cho.” is all she says before she clears her throat and leaves.

after that, you catch natasha around you alot. more than usual.

suddenly every partner mission you’re assigned to, natasha is there with you ready to go.

and you never find out, but she made steve promise to assign you both together. she never really tells him why, even when he asks she’s quite good at deflecting those questions.

and quite honestly, he didn’t have it in himself to question her, knowing she always had everyone’s best interests in mind.

it’s a little past midnight when you find natasha sitting on the compound’s balcony. the distant hum of the city mixes with the soft chirping of crickets, creating a quiet melody that feels oddly serene. she doesn’t startle when you join her, doesn’t even glance up, but you notice the slight tension in her shoulders ease as you settle into the chair beside her.

the silence between you stretches, comfortable yet charged with unspoken words. she’s never been much for small talk—her world operates on subtleties and actions rather than open confessions. you’ve learned to understand her language, the way she communicates through fleeting gestures and careful glances.

“i didn’t expect you to be awake,” she finally says, voice low and steady. her gaze is fixed on the horizon, as if the view holds answers she’s not ready to share.

“couldn’t sleep,” you reply, mirroring her tone. “too quiet.”

she huffs a quiet laugh. “you don’t strike me as someone who likes noise.”

“i don’t. but sometimes, silence is its own kind of noise, don’t you think?”

her eyes flicker toward you, studying your profile like she’s trying to decipher a code. you don’t push; you’ve never needed to. natasha unfolds on her terms, like a flower reluctant to bloom under artificial light.

“i used to hate silence,” she admits after a moment. “it felt… heavy. like it was waiting to crush me.”

you nod, not saying anything but giving her the space to continue.

“then, i realized it wasn’t the silence i hated. it was being alone in it.”

the admission hangs in the air, raw and unguarded in a way natasha rarely allows herself to be. you shift in your seat, careful to keep your movements unassuming.

“you’re not alone anymore,” you say gently, your voice barely above a whisper.

her head tilts, and for a brief moment, you see the war behind her eyes—the battle between wanting to believe you and the deep-seated scars of her past telling her otherwise.

“it doesn’t feel like it when you’re around,” she finally says, her voice soft but carrying the weight of her sincerity.

it’s a small victory, but one that fills your chest with warmth. you glance at her, and this time, she meets your eyes. there’s a vulnerability in her gaze, a quiet plea for something she doesn’t know how to ask for.

“you don’t have to carry it all by yourself,” you say. “not anymore.”

her lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, and she looks back out at the skyline.

“i know.”

it’s not an overt declaration or a grand epiphany, but it’s enough. natasha romanoff doesn’t find solace in words. she finds it in actions, in the quiet moments shared with someone who sees her for who she is and stays anyway.

natasha hesitates, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of her chair. she’s rarely still for long—always poised, always prepared to move, to act. but tonight, she’s caught between the present and the thousand questions swirling in her mind.

her voice comes unexpectedly, low and careful. “when you were hurt on that mission…” she pauses, her jaw tightening as she fights the urge to retreat into herself. “…i realized something.”

you turn toward her fully, watching as she wrestles with whatever it is she’s trying to say. her hands rest on her lap now, and her gaze is focused on them as though the answers are carved into her palms.

“nat…” you prompt softly, giving her space to continue.

she exhales, a sound heavy with reluctance and resolve. “i’ve lost people before. more than i can count. and i always told myself it was… just part of the job. you can’t stop to feel when you’re in the middle of everything. you can’t afford to.”

you stay quiet, knowing this isn’t the moment for interruptions.

“but when i saw you…” her voice falters, her fingers curling into fists before relaxing again. “it wasn’t the same. i didn’t—” she stops, looks up at you with a rare vulnerability that makes your chest ache. “i didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t come back.”

the admission is small, almost swallowed by the quiet around you, but it lands with the force of something much larger. you feel the words settle in your chest, warm and grounding.

you lean forward slightly, letting the closeness fill the space between you. “you don’t have to say anything you’re not ready for,” you offer, keeping your tone as gentle as you can. “but just so you know… i’m not going anywhere.”

natasha’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze searching yours as though she’s testing the truth of your words. slowly, her hand moves, and she brushes her fingers against yours. it’s tentative, a question wrapped in the smallest of gestures.

you respond by turning your hand over, letting her fingers slip into yours. it’s not much—a barely-there connection—but to natasha, it feels monumental.

“i don’t know what this is,” she admits, her voice trembling just slightly, “or if i even deserve it. but... you make me feel something i didn’t think i could anymore.”

your breath catches at her confession, the subtle weight of it more than you expected but exactly what you’ve been hoping for.

“i think you deserve a lot more than you give yourself credit for,” you reply, your thumb brushing softly over her knuckles. “and whatever this is, i’m okay with figuring it out… with you.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, but the way her grip tightens around your hand is all the answer you need. the silence that follows is comfortable, filled not with the weight of unspoken fears but with the quiet promise of something new.

natasha glances at you once more, her green eyes soft in the moonlight. “thank you,” she murmurs. it’s the second time she’s said it to you, but tonight it carries more meaning, more intention.

for the first time in a long time, natasha feels the silence settle.

[carpenterswife]

HALF OF ME (ii)

SUMMARY: When Soldier Boy doesn’t return from Nicaragua, Vought creates a bullshit lie, talking him up as a hero who died in a devastating, world-saving accident. You’re handed down the mantle of leader as Payback, and spend your time trying to live up to how Ben had lead them, while also attempting to figure out what truly happened to him.

WORD COUNT: 2945

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Vought’s corrupt behaviour, typical Soldier Boy behaviour, death, gore, vomit, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual content, smut; descriptions of sex.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Ben didn’t come home from Nicaragua.

Blown to pieces by some Russian laser weapon (what the fuck?), the.. chunky remnants of his body were taken away in a helicopter. Presumably to be experimented on.

It made you sick. Ben might’ve been an asshole, a deep rooted cunt, but he didn’t deserve to have his corpse be defiled like that. Maybe you’d just gone soft for him, that’s all. Maybe his hushed, sweet words and gentle touches, in his last few days, had softened your heart.

But you spent nights grieving your loss, hyperventilating in your room as you felt his fingers tracing your hips again. If you closed your eyes tight enough, you could see him.

You’d never planned for Ben to die. Hell, he hadn’t even planned to do. He was supposed to be ageless; a man who didn’t die. Vought would hide him away when it became suspicious, and he’d live peacefully… as peaceful as he could get, anyway. That was what was supposed to happen.

But his guts were strewn across the base camp in Nicaragua, and you’d never see him again.

It only took Vought three months to create a bullshit cover story.

After all, they couldn’t tell America their beloved Soldier Boy was actually at the site of a cocaine smuggling operation when he was blown to bits. No, that’d taint his image that Vought had spent literal decades moulding. He needed to die a hero. A man that would live gloriously in textbooks and stories.

A nuclear reactor meltdown is what they came up with.

Fucking bullshit, really.

The man was practically immortal (which did raise the question of, how the hell did the Russians kill him in the first place?). Some radiation wasn’t going to take him out. You’d watched him take two full magazines from an assault rifle, and get back to his feet like nothing happened.

And now he was dead. You didn’t know how. You wished more than ever that he’d let you accompany Payback on this godforsaken mission. Because you were utterly clueless as to what had gone down, and no one was answering your questions, tearing up whenever you mentioned the place.

You wanted — needed — to know how this was possible.

You knew Ben, better than anyone else on the team, even Crimson, who stood up on stage, talking about how good of a man Ben was.

Ben was a good man — to those he thought deserved to see that side of him. He was reserved and harsh and rude. And, yes, he was naturally an asshole. But, there was a part of him capable of respect and kindness and love. It was just stuffed deep within.

You’d been drawing it, slowly and carefully. You’d dug your hand in and grasped onto it, worming that side of him out of his heart with every night you’d spent cuddled into his chest. And he’d been warming. His touches had been gentler, his words softer, his eyes more admiring. You’d made him that. You were the only one he’d deemed worthy of his love and trust and respect.

Crimson had never seen that side of him. She’d never even come close to opening him up, seeing who he truly was.

As she talked fake stories of their blinding romance, about how he was such an incredible boyfriend, you just rolled your eyes in the audience. The only time Ben spent with Crimson outside of the public eye was when he was balls deep inside of her. And, even then, he liked to say she was a terrible fuck.

He also liked to say you were a good fuck. It was his favourite compliment; as funny was that was. As he railed you against his mattress, his hands keeping you firmly where he wanted you, he muttered praises.

That was different to the Ben the other women got. He’d degrade them: call them every name under the sun as he practically broke their pelvises. With you, sure, he was rough, but he complimented you; whispering and grunting softly, making sure you felt pretty and loved as he violently fucked you into unconsciousness.

And he always made sure you were okay afterwards. Ben giving aftercare was not something you’d expected, but he was damn good at making you feel safe and secure. He was a man of many talents.

The country was honouring him, as you begged for any kind of rational answer from Payback, from Edgar, from Vought. You were close to falling to your knees and pleading. But they didn’t care. Too busy basking in the boost of popularity that came from Ben’s death.

So, they upped their game.

And, when Vought erected a statue of Ben outside of Vought Tower, you threw up in the bathroom. The night you were named the new leader of Payback, you threw up again.

Apparently, it’s what Ben wanted. Which was bullshit. He wanted you in his kitchen with a dinner plate (lovingly, he’d told you that night. How could something like that be a compliment? You didn’t know, but it was Ben, so you guessed it was possible). But, you couldn’t fight it. So, nearly exactly three months after the last night you saw him, you took his place.

It felt wrong, and disrespectful, and you were lost and out of place. You had no knowledge on how to lead a team of asshole supes, that didn’t respect you or really like you that much.

Ben did this so easily. He lead Payback like a natural born leader. You lead like a baby giraffe learning to walk.

But you did it anyway.

“Soldier Boy was a national icon.” You held the microphone with shaking hands, willing them to stop, staring out at the gathering of civilians. It was wrong; America was mourning a death they’d all been lied to about. You swallowed your bile and pushed on. “And I am honoured to be taking his place as the leader of our brave and dedicated superhero team, Payback. I will be leading in his image, and his honour, and I hope that my work would make him proud.”

It was all bullshit.

You hadn’t written a word of this shit.

Edgar had shoved it into your hands and pointed you onto the stage. No warning. No cooperation. No opinion. Just… here you go, now go put on a show.

But, the audience was eating it up, and Edgar and your PA were giving you a thumbs up from backstage. They liked your performance. Ben, however, would be gagging in his mouth hearing this. He’d probably mock you, and claim you’d be better off just blowing his dick. He’d be right. Every word that was coming out of your mouth was corporate propaganda.

Your hands curled tighter around the microphones, knuckles whitening. You didn’t want to be here. You wanted to be home, as far away from Vought and these grieving people as fast as possible. “Soldier Boy was a respected, beloved hero, within your hearts, and Vought’s.” God, what cliche, sappy horseshit. “He was a good man, who lost his life saving millions.” You held back your scoff. “Vought will forever live in his shadow. We ask that you give us time and space to grieve our loss. Thank you.”

The audience applauded, loud and roaring, as you walked off stage.

The rage bubbling up in your chest was ready to burst, overflowing. This was all fucking sickening. No one was telling you anything. And they expected you to get on stage and do these speeches? To sit, cry and look pretty as you grieved the mighty Soldier Boy?

Fuck that. You were going to get answers.

There was some dark shit happening behind the scenes, and it had Vought’s grubby handprints all over it. The cover story. Payback’s silence. Edgar’s lack of care. None of it was adding up.

The moment the audience could no longer see it, your mouth curled to a scowl, heels clicking as you stormed up to Edgar. You were going to get answers, even if you had to physically get them. You’d find out what happened to Ben in Nicaragua, even if it cost you your head.

Stan Edgar, despite knowing he was now on the receiving end of your anger, stood tall. Cocky bastard. You could kill him with ease. But, of course, he didn’t care. There was only one person you’d ever seen Edgar cower from — Ben. To be fair with the guy, though, anyone would cower if Soldier Boy was screaming at you, inches from your face.

“What is going on?” Despite your rage, you kept your voice to a low hiss, not wanting to attract attention to your anger and frustration. “Can someone fucking explain to me, what is happening?” He began to walk away, and you followed. your words still flying out. “Why am I taking Ben’s place? How did he even die? You were in Nicaragua — what happened? Why did it take you so long to come up with that shitty reactor meltdown story?”

He turned to face you. You abruptly stopped, almost smashing into his chest with the suddenness of it, taking a stumbling step backwards. “I understand you’re upset.” You rolled your eyes at his professional tone, hands linked behind his back. Typical. “But I cannot answer those questions.”

“No, I deserve to know” You demanded. It was a losing battle, and you already knew that, but it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t try your hardest. “What. Happened?”

You weren’t getting an answer from Edgar. And that became clear when he turned his back to you, engaging in a conversation with his secretary, and leaving you in the dust. Glaring at the back of his head, you muttered obscenities.

If you weren’t getting it from Edgar’s lips, you’d get it another way.

Namely, breaking into his office that evening.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

Now, you weren’t a seasoned criminal, but Ben had taught you a thing or two. He was, very much, a criminal, and knew things you were never too curious to ask about. Like picking locks. Which was the most normal of his odd knowledge. (The fact that man has known the recipe to make a bomb was… terrifying.)

Picking a lock wasn’t in your expertise, but you remembered enough from what he’d shown you. Enough to kneel down in front of Edgar’s office door, and use a bobby pin to turn the lock until it clicked.

You grinned, internally thanking Ben for his… strange teaching techniques. Glancing down the hallway, both ways, you ensured it was empty; that no one was about to see you going against every rule in the book. Once it was cleared, you slipped inside the door with practiced ease, and shut the door behind you.

The sun was setting over the horizon — the golden hour hue lighting up the room enough for you to make your way over to Edgar’s shelves. You were determined to find something. Anything.

Something was going on. Something sketchier than Vought’s usual dirty work. And you were going to figure it out.

Your index finger skimmed the folders, peeking at the names. Until you found Ben’s — a cream folder with ‘SOLDIER BOY’ written across the front. Pulling it out, your eyes locked onto the bright red ‘DECEASED’ stamped under his name, your heart squeezing.

Swallowing thickly, uncertain, you flipped it open. Reasons over the contents, your eyes narrowed in concentration and then narrowed further in frustration.

It was nothing you didn’t already know. His past. The human trial experiment. Comp V. Ben had already told you all of this.

You glared at the deceased marker on the front of it, and then slid the folder back into the right spot. Alphabetical order, you noticed. You continued flicking through the files, trying to find something that could be labelled as suspicious.

Your ears perked at the sound of sudden buzzing from across the room. Like a dog to a squeaky toy, you rushed over, watching a piece of paper print out of the fax machine.

You snatched it up the moment it came out.

BCL-RED was the title word.

What the fuck was that?

You’d never heard of it before. It had to be an acronym, but your mind came up blank, as you racked it for any familiarity. Cursing internally, you scowled — damn fucking code words.

Before you could read ahead, a voice floated into the office from outside.

“Shit.” You hissed under your breath, suddenly very panicked. Returning the paper to the machine, you dashed for the door, poking your head out just enough to peek down the hall. You spotted Edgar just a ways down, facing away from you, talking to Black Noir. Quickly and silently, with expertise learnt on the field, you crept out of the office, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

All the way back to your room, you muttered the words to yourself.

BCL-RED.

… BCL-RED.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

It wasn’t in any folders documents anywhere. Not even your PA knew what a BCL-RED was.

You felt like a dog chasing its tail. Going in circles, trying to find any clues as to what happened to Ben. Every day your suspicions rose. Something wasn’t right. Edgar was having hushed conversations. Payback was having meetings that excluded you.

Your trail lead you to Grace Mallory.

The young woman handed you a cup of coffee, hands scarred and calloused from her days at war. Quietly, you thanked her, sat comfortably on her sofa, cradling the coffee. “I have to respect your strength. Putting up with Soldier Boy every day.”

You cracked a smile, sipping the steaming coffee. “He was a… acquired taste.” Your laugh was breathy and quiet, thinking back to Ben and his unique personality. “What happened in Nicaragua?”

Grace sighed as she settled back. She was pretty. No doubt Ben tried to get in her pants while he was there. “It happened quickly.” Your brows furrowed, sitting forward, elbows on your knees. “We were ambushed. Your team couldn’t find their guns from their asses.”

“Sounds about right.” You murmured. “I told Ben he needed me out there. The stubborn dick wouldn’t listen. Looks like it bit him in the ass, eh?”

“Big time.” Grace agreed. “There was an explosion. It knocked me out.” You listened attentively, frequently sipping the coffee. “When I came to… your team were in ruins. Half of ‘em were dead, the other half injured.”

You chewed your lips for a few beats. “Black Noir still hasn’t recovered. Doctors said he’ll never be able to talk again.”

Solemn, she nodded. “Not surprised. His face was more hole than it was skin.” You grimaced at the imagery. “Crimson Countess told me Soldier Boy was dead. He’d been killed by some… laser, his body taken by a helicopter.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

You sat back. “Huh.” You murmured. “She’s lying.” You decided. The story wasn’t right. Sure, it was feasible, under different circumstances. But, in battle? When Ben was on his A-game? No way.

Grace looked confused. After all, why would Crimson lie about something like that?

You didn’t know.

But you were going to fucking find out.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

That night, you didn’t return to your room. Instead, you slipped into Ben’s in the dead of night. It hadn’t been touched since he left for Nicaragua. Since he’d railed you against the mattress and left you bed-bound for two days.

The air was musty, with dust covering each surface. Crawling onto the bed, you tugged open the curtains, letting sunlight in for the first time in months.

Every surface was covered in dust. And there were still drugs laid about. Half snorted lines of cocaine on the coffee table. Empty pill bottles decorating the floor. An ash tray that reeked of marijuana. God, this man had been like a teenage boy.

Flicking on the light, you gathered your bravery, and spent a few hours cleaning his room up. You didn’t know why. Maybe you wanted to feel closer to him. Feel like you were doing something for him. Ben hated it when things were messy. And he loved it when you cleaned up after him. You hated feeding into that old, sexist mindset he had.

But, god, you’d do anything right now to hear him demand you fetch him a drink.

After you cleaned his room, you stripped his sheets, gagging at the old stain. Definitely your cum. And his. Gross. You stuffed it into a basket, kicking it away from you.

Okay… remember to not touch that again without gloves.

As you finished the last, final touches, a glint of metal on his bedside table caught your attention. Curious, you padded over, expecting a pistol.

Instead, you found a chain.

Your heart leapt into your throat. Delicately, you placed the necklace in the palm of your hand, brushing your thumb over the metal surface.

His WW2 dog tags.

Swallowing thickly, you blinked back your emotion. Why the fuck were even so sad? You weren’t even dating the man. Sure, you’d been his friend for years. You’d been protecting him. He’d been protecting you. You’d been his right-hand man practically.

But, still!

With a lump in your throat, you carefully placed the dog tags over your head. The dog tags were cold against your chest. You tucked them under your shirt, inhaling shakily.

With one last look around the room, you turned around and walked out, with a basket of laundry balanced on your hip.

You weren’t going to rest until you found out the truth. That was for sure.

A/N: sorry for the lack of soldier boy in this chap :( he makes his grand return next chapter !!! in all his sexist glory lmao. he’s so fun to write, tho i do feel like a horrible person writing some of the shit he says. definitely fun to explore this universe and all its fucked up possibilities. thank you guys for the support on chap one :’) <3 next chap will also be longer promise

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[vevobly]

u know who god yellowjackets reactions to reader overworking themselves over school, attending despite becoming sick and having to rest at home later cuz of it? 🥺

Yellowjackets And Overworked Sick Reader Headcanons!

A/N: Yandere Nat anon, is that you again? 😭

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie would be concerned and frustrated at the same time — “Why didn’t you just take a break earlier? You’re going to make yourself worse!” She’d show up with soup and magazines at your house, treating the day with you as if it's a mini spa day while she helps you recover.

“You’re not allowed to do anything school related until you’re better” She’d insist you just lay down and rest. Jackie would also brag about how she knew you needed to slow down and how she saw this coming from a mile away — “See? I told you this would happen”

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna would understand your determination to get work done but also scold you gently for the fact you overworked yourself — “You need to take care of yourself. What’s the point of getting everything done if you’re too sick to enjoy it?” She’d probably take over some of your schoolwork and help organize your notes.

While you're resting, of course! “Don’t worry about it, I’ve got this” — She’d just quietly dote on you, making sure you had everything you needed without making a big fuss about it.

Taissa Turner:

Tai is no better, actually. She's the same as Shauna, the difference is that she would be very firm about setting boundaries for your own health — “You’re amazing, but you’re no good to anyone if you burn yourself out�� She would tell you.

She’d sit you down with this stern but caring look on her face and make sure you stayed in bed no matter what, getting enough rest for your body. Taissa would help you catch up on schoolwork once you felt better but only after you’d fully rested — “I’ll help you get back on track, but only if you promise to listen to me next time”

Van Palmer:

Van would tease you at first about it — “Look at you, trying to be a hero and doing all the things by yourself. How’s that working out for you now?” But she’d quickly switch to full-on caretaker mode. Bringing you snacks, drinks, and maybe even some stolen VHS tapes to cheer you up.

“You’re not allowed to overdo it like this again, okay? I’m serious, I’ll tie you to the couch if I have to” — She’d check in constantly on you to make sure you were actually resting and not pretending that you were while sneaking in to do some schoolwork behind her back.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Nat would be worried but try to play it cool — “You’re kind of an idiot for pushing yourself that hard, you know?” She would tell you, half-joking. She’d just quietly take care of you in her own way, showing up with your favorite junk food or music to make you feel better.

“You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, least of all me, you know?” — She would tell you, her tone softer than usual. If you EVEN tried to work while resting, she would steal your books and notes. Hold them hostage until you agree to just relax.

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie would be deeply concerned and very nurturing — “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard! I could feel it” She would tell you. Lottie kinda has this second sense about you. Whenever something bad happened to you, she'd have this gut feeling about it.

She would bring you herbal teas, blankets, and maybe even a crystal or two. Feeling like they’d help you heal faster somehow — “Your body is telling you to rest, and you need to listen to it” She would say to you softly, brushing a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. She'd be with you for hours, just caring for you.

Laura Lee:

Laura Lee would give you a real scolding about it for days — “You know, god doesn’t want us to neglect our health like this” She would say gently, handing you a glass of water and insisting you lie down. She would read you bible passages about rest and self-care, trying to make you see the importance of those two.

She would also pray for your recovery. And besides that, she would bring a bunch of food that she thinks would help you get better somehow. Fruits, vegetables, soup, and whatever food you name it out there that helps sick people recover faster!

Misty Quigley:

Misty would be over the top with her concern — “Oh no, you’re sick! I told you this would happen” I am not kidding, the girl would bring over a fully stocked first aid kit and monitor your every move like a hyper vigilant nurse or an eagle on high alert for prey.

“You’re not doing anything except getting better. Doctor’s orders!” — Misty would make a huge fuss about taking care of you, probably annoying you a little bit because of it. But you know, her enthusiasm would make it very impossible to be mad at her. I mean, she's just caring for you, isn't she?

PS: I got sick right after finishing this— Gosh forbid the country I live in chooses an appropriate weather for once, it's either a desert here or a storm.

[skywalkr-nberrie]

I think it’s so under appreciated how much Anakin admired Padmé and looked up to her while also being madly in love with her. She wasn’t just the woman he loved, she was many things in one. She was also an inspiration for him, and Anakin had the utmost respect, love, adoration, and admiration for her. So I wanted to bring this into light.

Let’s begin.

Starting off in Secrets of The Jedi where Anakin states how he’s proud of Padmé’s reputation that she’s built for herself as a well known and outspoken Senator.

The way he lists of all here in Clone Wars: Wild Space that she had many aspects to her and he absolutely adores and loves all of them. Again his pride for her seeping through in this passage.

If anyone knew better how much difference Padmé makes everyday with her influence and position, it was Anakin. He always believed in her and he knows the Republic needs her.

Anakin hyping his girl, stating the facts that she’s no dolt and he rightfully acknowledges her intelligence and excellence 💯 he knows his wife is a queen.

“you are anything but weak-minded.” 😭

Literally this passage of Brotherhood where Anakin admits he sees Padmé as a guide in his life in her own way. The amount of respect and high regards he must see her in to view her as something so special 🥹 he admires her morality and determination to do her duty, that he feels inspired by it.

Which brings me to my favourite page in “A Jedi’s Journal” where Anakin sketches a picture of a feisty Padmé and writes about how he doesn’t want to look like a failure in her eyes. Her opinion of him matters to most to him.

One of my fave Vader comics (Vader and the lost command) where Vader dreams up an AU where Padmé lives and he defeats Palpatine, and the clear vision of seeing Padmé as becoming the Chancellor because he always saw her as the only person fit to rule over the galaxy. And in this particular page, we see Padmé doubting herself and Anakin reassuring her that she’d never make the wrong decisions, that she was “born for this role”, that there couldn’t be anyone better for the job. A testament to how much faith he has in her and her capabilities even as Vader ♥️

Moving onto the next page from the same comic, we see how Padmé is referred to as the “the galaxy’s true guardian of peace and freedom”, and reminder that this is still Vader’s vision, and that means it’s truly something Anakin/Vader thinks of Padmé (despite that it is in fact true.) as I mentioned, he always sees her in the highest regards.

Vader even dreams of their kid “Jinn” making note of how with Padmé in power, the use of the Jedi will become “obsolete” and Anakin himself replies “we can only hope.” It’s like he sees Padmé as the true hero and not himself, the ‘Chosen One’ and ‘The Hero With No Fear.’ or the Jedi. 🥹

Then it ends with Anakin stepping up to Padmé and tells her how everyone adores her, because that’s exactly the kind of respect and love Padmé deserves, he knows it, and he envisions it so clearly. Cause that’s how things SHOULD be.

Padmé is the reason why Anakin is the man he is, she’s responsible for making him into the hero he’s become and Anakin really said it himself in Clone Wars: Wild Space pretty clearly without hesitation:

“The point is that without you, I’m nothing. Without you, Anakin Skywalker doesn’t exist.”

[kimmie2me]

HEYYY I LUV UR POSTS LIKE HELLO?!?! also im sure u know abt the bakugo hc with him with him having hearing aids and is it ok of u make like a fic with him signing nasty stuff to reader cuz he can and nobody around them fully learned sign language yet? PLS AND THANK U!!! 💕💕💕

first of all, THANK YOU!! ILYSM!! second, i am BACK!!!! exams went well, i guess. i didnt PASS or FAIL, but whatever.. third, I LOVE THIS IDEA HAHAHHA!!! here is, what I think, a great welcoming back gift to give u all ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ (ignore that Kaminari's text is blue..there's no yellow. ALSO, mina is NAWT taking pink. thats OUR color now.)

Of Silence and Secrets

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Reader

…..

Bakugou Katsuki hated his hearing aids.

Hated how they fit, hated how they felt, and most of all, hated what they represented. Weakness. A crack in the armor he’d spent his entire life forging. When the ringing in his ears started as a brat in middle school, he didn’t think much of it. Just the fallout from a quirk-boosted explosion, nothing he couldn’t handle.

Years passed. The ringing grew into dull hums, muffled voices, and missed sounds. A villain’s retreating taunt he couldn’t catch. The screech of a car he didn’t hear. Kirishima shouting his name three times before Bakugou finally turned around, snarling, “What the hell do you want!?” while Kirishima just looked… worried.

His hearing aids were a damn nuisance. At least, that’s what he told himself every single day.

They whined if someone got too close, buzzed when he adjusted them wrong, and gods forbid he so much as grazed them during a fight—one hard knock, and they’d go flying. He could hear again, sure, but better hearing came at a price: realizing just how insufferably loud the world actually was. Katsuki had spent months in denial, refusing to accept that his ears, like the rest of his high-octane life, couldn’t keep up with him.

The ringing had started in his late teens, growing louder until it followed him everywhere. He blamed it on the explosions, the debris, the constant yelling—but really, he knew. His mom did too, though she’d spared him the lecture until the day Kirishima cornered him in his agency office with a sheepish grin and her voice on speakerphone.

“Katsuki.” The way she said his name—sharp, biting, and so unlike her usual bark of “Oi, you brat!”—made his stomach drop. “What if somethin’ happens? What if you miss an evac order or—hell—a cry for help? Hah? What then?”

“… Tch.” He had scowled so hard it hurt. “Fine. I’ll get the damn things.”

The intervention was humiliating, but the worst part? She was right. He hated that more than anything.

That was the first night he slept with the hearing aids sitting on the nightstand. He’d finally picked them up after a year of constant badgering—from his mom, Kirishima, hell, even that damn Deku. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear better—it was the admission that killed him.

But now? Now the stupid things were glued to him. Mostly.

The tech was incredible, of course. Damn nerds at Hero Support had outdone themselves. The hearing aids didn’t just amplify sound; they filtered it, isolating voices during chaos and syncing with comm units. They were waterproof, explosion-proof—Bakugou-proof. Allegedly.

But they weren’t indestructible. He’d broken five pairs in six months. Kaminari had nicknamed him “Break-aid” after the third replacement. Bakugou threatened to shove them where the sun didn’t shine.

And yet… they worked. Too well.

He could hear the scratch of pens during hero conferences, the obnoxious tapping of Kaminari’s foot against the table, the quiet sigh of his own breath. The worst part? The incessant talking. It was everywhere. Fans, reporters, civilians—people who thought their every word needed an audience.

Thankfully, he’d discovered the mute button.

The first time he used it, Kaminari was midway through a rant about his latest gadget. Bakugou, in a rare moment of self-control, didn’t yell. He just flicked the switch, leaned back in his chair, and smirked as Kaminari kept babbling. No explosions, no shouting, just blissful silence.

But there were downsides.

Combat was a nightmare when they broke. Shouting “HUH!?” every five seconds wasn’t exactly strategic. That’s when he decided to learn sign language. Not because anyone suggested it—hell no. But because he’d be damned if he relied on a gadget to do his job.

The process was… frustrating. Hands clumsy, movements stiff. Kirishima tried to help, but his signs were barely legible. Kaminari? Useless. Sero was too busy laughing to be much better or resorted to typing in the Notes app on his phone when it was pretty serious. Deku? That nerd had picked it up in a week, naturally.

But you? You made it bearable.

“Like this,” you’d said, your fingers forming a perfect sign. “Thumb tucked in.”

Bakugou grumbled, but copied you.

“Good. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, ’Suki?”

Your patience annoyed him almost as much as it calmed him. And somehow, over weeks of practice, his stiff movements turned fluid. He’d never admit it, but he liked having this… language, this connection, with you.

And then he realized something else.

You understood him. Not just the signs, but him. The sharpness he couldn’t quite soften, the quiet gratitude he couldn’t voice. And better yet? No one else around him could understand a damn thing he was saying.

It started innocently enough—well, innocent by his standards.

“Bored out of my goddamn mind,” he’d signed at you during a hero conference.

You’d smirked and replied, “Same.”

But then, Bakugou being Bakugou, had an epiphany: he could sign anything.

The first time he tried it, you were sitting across from him at a formal hero banquet. The room was filled with pro heroes, reporters, and politicians. Everyone was dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and pretending the world wasn’t on fire outside.

Bakugou caught your eye and, with the most deadpan expression, signed: Wanna fuck?

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly knocked your glass over. You choked, coughing into your hand, and when someone asked if you were okay, you waved them off, avoiding his gaze.

He smirked, sipping his water like he hadn’t just propositioned you in a room full of Japan’s elite.

…..

It got worse.

During a meeting with the Hero Public Safety Commission, while a bureaucrat droned on about policy changes, Bakugou’s hands moved under the table. He made sure you were looking before signing: I’d rather have you ride me than sit here with these extras.

You froze mid-note, the pen slipping from your fingers. Your face burned as you ducked your head, pretending to scribble something in your notebook. Across the room, Kirishima noticed your sudden movement.

“Hey, you good?” he whispered.

“Fine!” you squeaked, glaring at Bakugou.

He tilted his head, feigning confusion, then casually leaned back in his chair. He looked so smug you wanted to scream.

At a press conference, surrounded by the press corps, TV cameras, and the elite of the hero world, Bakugou stood stiffly at the podium, bored out of his skull. Beside him, you shuffled the note cards you’d prepared, doing your best to stay focused on Midoriya’s answer to a question about villain reform strategies.

Bakugou glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking at how focused you looked. That only made the idea pop into his head faster. He adjusted his stance, one hand casually coming up to rub his neck as the other signed with precision:

I’d fuck you so hard over this podium, the microphones would short out.

Your brain stalled like a computer blue-screening. The cards slipped from your hands, scattering onto the stage floor. You froze in horror as a sea of reporters looked up from their notebooks.

Midoriya, ever the anxious public speaker, stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, are you okay?” he asked.

“Y-yeah! Just... clumsy!” you stammered, dropping to your knees to collect the cards. You didn’t dare look at Bakugou, whose hand came up to his mouth as though stifling a yawn—but you knew he was hiding a smirk.

To make things worse, while you scrambled on the floor, he signed again, deliberately slower so you couldn’t miss it:

Would’ve pulled your hair too, just to hear you scream.

Your face burned so hot you were sure you’d melt through the stage.

It didn’t stop there.

At the next agency-wide meeting, Bakugou sat across from you in the conference room, arms crossed as a pro-hero you couldn't bother to listen to went on and on about new combat protocols. The room was packed with pro heroes, all seated shoulder-to-shoulder.

Bakugou, who’d already tuned out after the first ten minutes, caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow. Before you could react, his hands moved subtly under the table:

I’d eat you out on this table, right in front of everyone, and make sure you couldn’t stay quiet.

The coffee cup in your hand slipped, splashing onto your notes. You cursed under your breath, grabbing napkins to clean the mess.

Kirishima, sitting beside you, leaned over. “Whoa, you okay? You’ve been jumpy lately.”

You forced a smile, not daring to look at Bakugou, whose expression remained infuriatingly neutral. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

It became a game to him.

While Kirishima nodded and went back to his notes, Bakugou adjusted in his chair and signed again:

Bet you’d cry if I used my mouth the way I’m thinking. Probably beg me to stop—but you wouldn’t really mean it.

You slammed your pen down so hard it startled Kaminari, who glanced over with a confused look.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, refusing to look up.

Across the table, Bakugou leaned back, feigning boredom, but his eyes glinted with amusement.

It escalated during a casual outing with the crew.

Everyone had gathered at a bustling ramen joint after a long patrol, crowding into a booth that was way too small for so many people. Bakugou sat to your right, thigh pressed against yours under the table. As the conversation flowed around him, he picked up a pair of chopsticks and casually started eating.

Then, as Mina told a story about her latest villain takedown, he turned his head slightly toward you and signed with one hand:

The things I’d do to you under this table would make you scream so loud they’d kick us out.

You froze, chopsticks hovering mid-air. He didn’t even blink, slurping his noodles like he hadn’t just dropped a verbal nuke into your lap.

“What’s wrong?” Mina asked, noticing your deer-in-headlights expression.

“Uh… spicy broth,” you choked out, grabbing your water and gulping it down.

Bakugou, still chewing, glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and added another one for good measure:

Bet I could make you cum without anyone noticing. Wanna test that theory?

You almost choked on your drink, coughing so hard Kirishima patted your back in concern.

At a charity event, he raised the bar again.

The ballroom was filled with reporters, politicians, and wealthy donors, all eager to mingle with Japan’s most famous heroes. Bakugou hated these events with a burning passion, but at least you were there to make it tolerable.

You stood beside him, chatting politely with a group of businessmen, when you felt his gaze on you. Slowly, you turned your head, already dreading what was coming.

He didn’t disappoint. With the straightest face you’d ever seen, he signed:

You’d look so much better on your knees, with my cock down your throat, than in that dress.

Your hand shot out, nearly spilling your champagne as you fumbled to keep your composure. The Pro Hero you were speaking to paused mid-sentence, giving you a concerned look.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

“I—I’m fine,” you stuttered, setting the glass down before you could break it.

Bakugou tilted his head innocently, signing again:

Bet you’d love it if I bent you over that balcony upstairs. Bet you’d be dripping by the time I was done.

Your jaw dropped, and you 'accidentally' kicked his shin under the table. He didn’t even flinch.

It wasn’t just formal settings, either. Bakugou would strike anywhere.

During a team training session, you were sparring with Kaminari while Bakugou watched from the sidelines. When you finally landed a clean hit, knocking Kaminari flat on his ass, Bakugou clapped slowly, catching your attention.

Wanna know what else you could knock flat? Me. On my back. With you riding me till I forget my own goddamn name.

Your sparring stance faltered, and Kaminari took the opportunity to trip you.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked, offering a hand to help you up.

“I’m fine!” you snapped, shooting a glare at Bakugou, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

The worst of all came during a live broadcast.

The Hero Public Safety Commission had organized a televised Q&A with Japan’s top heroes. You sat between Bakugou and Midoriya, fielding questions from both the moderator and the live audience. Bakugou had been unusually quiet for most of the event, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.

But then, while the moderator addressed Midoriya, Bakugou caught your attention.

His hands moved lazily, almost imperceptibly, as he signed:

After this, I’m gonna pin you to the wall in the dressing room and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk out of here straight.

Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked away, heart hammering in your chest.

“And what about you?” the moderator asked, pulling your attention back to the present.

“I—I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” you stammered, cheeks flaming.

Beside you, Bakugou leaned back in his chair, smirking as the moderator repeated the question. His hands shifted again, just enough for you to catch his next message:

If you blush any harder, they’re gonna think you’re into this.

You resisted the urge to scream.

Because, for Bakugou, nothing was funnier than watching you squirm. And knowing you were the only one who could decode his filthy little secrets? That was just the icing on the cake.

…..

Over time, the signing became a secret game. A language only the two of you shared, even if it was insanely one sided. In battle, it was strategic—efficient, silent communication when words couldn’t cut through the noise. Off the field? It was something else entirely.

After a particularly grueling patrol, Bakugou flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging his hearing aids out and tossing them onto the table.

“Another shitty day,” he muttered.

You hummed in agreement, leaning against him.

Without thinking, he signed: You’re the only thing that doesn’t piss me off.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nothin’, Cupcake. Just watch the TV..”

And for once, you didn’t press.

Because sometimes, silence said enough.

[kakuvibez]

Read your TWST x EAH! Reader (literally chef’s kiss) and wanted to request a Diasomnia x Darling Charming! Reader

yandere one shot + quotes; DIASOMNIA DORM

requested by ; anonymous/ @user / none,,

fandom(s) ; EAH, TWST,,

fandom master list(s): master | specific

character(s); Lilia, Sebek, Malleus, Sliver, Darling,,

outline; " a knight I want to be..."

warning(s) ; Yandere behavior, obsession, unhealthy relationships, delusional love, manipulation, dark themes, toxic affection,,

Signature spell: SLOW,, When [N] Darling flips her hair in a certain way, she can briefly slow time down for anyone who is watching her. She is also very strong and athletic.

"Become a damsel in distress, it was always told I'm supposed to be. A "forgotten" tale that I was supposed to be the princess of by Headmaster Grim."

"Even tho my family is charming, they are destined to be princes who save the princess. I'm the one who is being saved"

"I always felt so much more than that. I've always wanted to be a hero, the one who saved the princess, but I worried about what it would mean for my family if I was labeled a Rebel. Then again, what if nobody ever found out?"

"I don’t need to be a damsel in distress! I am the knight!"

"No, Lilia, I will not carry you to the infirmary just because you ‘suddenly feel faint’!"

"Why do I feel like I’m being tricked into saving them?"

[Name] Darling Charming wasn't your typical princess. While her family was renowned for their charming princes, she was, well, [N]. And she was determined to be a knight. Forget waiting in a tower; [N] preferred training in the courtyard, her signature spell, "Slow," a closely guarded secret. A flick of her wrist, a toss of her hair, and time would stutter for those watching – just long enough for her to land a decisive blow.

"Become a damsel in distress, it was always told I'm supposed to be," [N] muttered, adjusting her training gear. "A 'forgotten' tale that I was supposed to be the princess of by Headmaster Grim." She scoffed. "Even though my family are the Charmings, they are destined to be princes who save the princess. I'm the one who is being saved."

The thought rankled. "I always felt so much more than that. I've always wanted to be a hero, the one who saved the princess, but I worried about what it would mean for my family if I was labeled a Rebel. Then again, what if nobody ever found out?"

Her resolve hardened. "I don’t need to be a damsel in distress! I am the knight!"

This conviction led her to Night Raven College, and, inexplicably, to Diasomnia. The dorm, with its elegant, powerful students, was… odd. They were constantly in need of rescuing. Lilia, with his dramatic fainting spells (which [N] suspected were entirely performative). Sebek, always getting into scrapes he insisted he could handle, right before needing a hand. And Malleus… well, Malleus just had a knack for being in the right place at the right time for a dramatic rescue.

"Why do I feel like I’m being tricked into saving them?" she’d grumble to herself, hefting Lilia (again) towards the infirmary. "No, Lilia, I will not carry you to the infirmary just because you ‘suddenly feel faint’!"

One afternoon, during a particularly chaotic training session (caused, naturally, by a rogue gust of wind that just happened to knock over a stack of very important, very fragile Diasomnia heirlooms), [N] found herself face-to-face with Malleus. He was surrounded by the shattered remnants of… something. He looked, for lack of a better word, distressed.

"Oh, [N]," he sighed, his voice laced with… something. Pity? Admiration? [N] couldn't quite place it. "Such a tragedy. I fear I've made a terrible mess."

[N] narrowed her eyes. "What exactly happened, Malleus?"

He gestured vaguely at the debris. "A… unfortunate accident. I was merely admiring the craftsmanship when… well, you see."

[N] did see. She saw a very strategically placed vase, a very convenient gust of wind (again!), and Malleus’s very dramatic sigh. She also saw the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Malleus,” she said slowly, “are you trying to make me rescue you?”

He blinked, feigning innocence. "Whatever do you mean, [N]? I would never dream of imposing upon your kindness."

[N] crossed her arms. "You're all doing it," she accused, her voice rising slightly. "Lilia, Sebek, even you! You act like you need saving, but you don't! You're all incredibly powerful! It's… it's manipulative!"

Malleus chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Perhaps," he conceded, taking a step closer. "But you must admit, Darling, you are quite good at it." Using your first name this time felt weird.

[N]’s “Slow” almost kicked in instinctively. She could feel the familiar tingle at her fingertips, the urge to flick her hair, to freeze this moment. But she resisted. She wasn't going to be manipulated.

"I'm a knight," she stated firmly, meeting his gaze. "And knights protect those who truly need it. Not those who are pretending."

Malleus's smile widened. "And what if," he whispered, "I truly need your protection, Darling?"

[N]’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn't sure if it was from annoyance or… something else. She looked at Malleus, really looked at him, and saw a vulnerability that was usually hidden beneath layers of regal composure. Maybe, just maybe, they weren't all pretending. Maybe, even the mighty Malleus Draconia sometimes needed a knight in shining armor.

A small smile played on Darling’s lips. "Then I suppose," she said, "I'll just have to be the best knight I can be."

And as she said it, she knew. She wasn't just a knight. She was their knight. And perhaps, that was exactly what Diasomnia needed.

Before-

Diasomnia has never needed a hero.

That is what you tell yourself, time and time again, as Lilia dramatically swoons into your arms, as Silver suddenly forgets how to parry during training, as Sebek loudly exclaims that he is in grave danger… and as Malleus smiles, ever so softly, as if he knows you’ll come to his rescue every time.

"Ah, my knight," Lilia sighs theatrically, holding a hand to his forehead as you catch him mid-fall. "What would I do without you?"

You roll your eyes, setting him down again. "I know you don’t need saving, Lilia."

"But if I want to be saved?" he teases, his fanged grin playful.

Sebek suddenly drops his training sword, clutching his chest as if he has been fatally wounded. "A-ack! I… I think I may perish—!"

You don’t even look at him. "Sebek, I swear—"

"Human!" he cries, his golden eyes desperate. "Save me!"

Malleus watches, amused, as you huff and march over, shoving a hand into Sebek’s chest and pushing him upright.

"There, you’re saved."

"Hah! Your strength is most impressive!" Sebek beams, suddenly fine again.

You sigh. This has become a routine.

You were supposed to be the one proving yourself as a knight. As a hero. But somewhere along the way, the strongest and most feared dorm of Night Raven College decided that they needed you to be their knight instead.

Malleus chuckles, stepping forward, and your breath catches as his green eyes meet yours. "You always come running when we call," he murmurs, his voice as deep and smooth as a lullaby.

His fingers brush your wrist, lingering there. Too close. Too gentle.

"Perhaps you were always meant to be our hero."

You swallow hard, because the way he says ours…

You’re starting to wonder if you’ll ever be allowed to save anyone else.

Malleus Draconia

- "Tell me, my knight… will you always come when I call?"

- "Ah, what a predicament. It seems I am in grave danger… and only you can save me."

- "You are OURS, [N]. Surely, you must know that by now."

Lilia Vanrouge

- "Oh, my hero! How gallant of you to catch me once again~"

- "I must admit, it’s entertaining to watch you play into our hands."

- "Come now, wouldn’t you rather stay here, where you’re NEEDED?"

Silver

- "I… I think I’m falling asleep—Oh. You caught me. Again."

- "I don’t mean to need your help… but I suppose I do, don’t I?"

- "You always save us… but who is there to save you?"

Sebek Zigvolt

- "HUMAN! I AM UNDER ATTACK!—Oh, you caught me. Excellent work!"

- "You cannot ignore me! I am in need of a knight’s assistance!"

- "Tch. It is only natural that you should protect us. After all, we are your most precious ones, are we not?"

You wanted to be a hero. A knight. A savior. But now you’re starting to wonder…

Who will save you from them?

[sarahreesbrennan]

I remember reading in one of your blog entries (years ago??) that in the new book you were writing, the main character's *sister* had cancer. Does that mean that Alice was originally the main character of Long Live Evil? Was she going to go into the book to save Rae, instead of Rae going in to save herself?

How extremely kind of you to remember!

No, that was actually a YA murder mystery that I wrote while ill, revised while recovering, and sent out into the world where it died on submission. (Which means we sent it out to about 12 editors and the editor either said no, or said yes and took it to acquisitions - a group of people at the publisher including sales and marketing - and acquisitions said no.)

One editor told me she really wanted and really tried to buy it. Another person who worked in publishing (and has since changed jobs, or I wouldn’t share this) said the response at her acquisitions was - if you like this writer, find the next her (implications about health and youth were made).

I was terrified my agent was going to ditch me too, but she said ‘We’ll sell that one day, for now let’s write the next thing.’

I remember another writer telling me she missed my work that wasn’t a tie-in, and I felt ashamed to tell her it wasn’t that I wasn’t writing other things - it was that I couldn’t publish them.

The tie-ins meanwhile were paying the bills (they still are tbh!) and I was and remain so grateful for them. But I also really loved writing them - especially my Sabrina tie-ins, you don’t forget the first, and it reminded me I want to write horror and poly one day - and how they got me to love and sympathise with so many fandoms.

I see the burnout of caregivers all around me, and I wanted to write the story of one. But maybe I also wanted to take a step back from cancer. I didn’t think I did, at the time. I had a whole lot of things I tried writing before Long Live Evil, and I think some of them were really good. One of my critique partners gave me a lipstick with the same name as someone in the murder mystery. There was a romance novel another critique partner said was her favourite thing I’d ever written. But none had someone with cancer at the heart of the story.

And even though Rae isn’t much like me, maybe I had to start there. You can’t make real magic using someone else’s liver. Maybe I had to wait to be brave enough to use my own liver.

I do get requests for advice on how to cope with rejection of your writing, and I always worried I didn’t have anything else to say, but I suppose my example says - if you can, (and I know it’s hard, you feel so terrible at writing and so useless) (and you love the work you’ve done so much and you don’t see a way forward to loving the next thing) (but still, if you possibly can) write the next thing.

Even if the first thing sells, you’ll want the next thing one day. Writing the next thing is more writing practise, so it’ll make you better. Write the next thing.

Ultimately I’m really glad Long Live Evil was my comeback book. I think it needed to be. It took the time it took.

But maybe it was a shade of that past book (where the heroine’s sister with cancer was six, so not much like any of the Time of Iron characters) that made me think of the YA version of this book, which I always had in my mind as something I was intentionally hewing away from - a more straightforward book, a book that might have sold better - in which shy reader Alice was the hero. She’s the one with the suggestive hero name - Alice through the looking glass - the heroine looks, and the more projectable-upon personality. She’d get called annoying less often (though still some, because she’s a girl), partly because she is (with love, Rae knows I’m right) a genuinely less annoying person. Much kinder, much sweeter, and much better at in-depth reading! Her sister being in trouble would’ve been a backstory, a catalyst point, and - you’re totally right - a great motivation for her to get the Flower. Saving a family member is a much more sympathetic and heroic motivation than saving yourself and one I do love (the Hunger Games, Labyrinth, Mahy’s the Changeover, and I write it a lot!). I think Snarky While Tragically Dying Rae would’ve been a pretty popular side character, too. I think it would’ve been a good book! Just not mine.

I love your question because I love thinking about POV, and all the decisions that are the building blocks of a story. To me, the Alice centric Time of Iron is a version that exists. As are several versions of the Lia centric Time of Iron. And versions centring other characters exist to me, too. (Eric, absolutely.)

Speaking of POV musing, I think Rahela the wicked stepsister featured more in the musical than the book. If the Time of Iron series ever became a TV show (and at this point in time I think I’d rather a movie because it wouldn’t… get cancelled…) and I got to write it (don’t know why I would…) I would start with the beginnings for three characters about to go on a journey to somewhere strange to them: Key in the Cauldron, Rae in the hospital, and Vasilisa in the icelands. There are so many possibilities! And I really wanted the sense that there were so many possibilities, too.

But I wanted the chronically ill one to be the centre of the story, and for it to be her villain origin story, and to ask a lot of questions (hence a lot of villains!) about who gets villainised and why. And I thought hers, to my mind, would be the most fun of all the possible stories.

So that’s the one I made. But Long Live Evil has a lot of origins. Thank you for remembering one of them! I don’t think I would’ve dared tell the story, if things hadn’t worked out for me (so far, fingers crossed).

And I also tell it to be clear my publisher was taking a RISK with me and Long Live Evil, and I really appreciate that, and I’m so happy it’s worked out for them (again so far, early days, fingers crossed, etc).

I hope some writers - whether in the process of submission, rejection or making the choices that are the building blocks of story - find this helpful, and some readers find it interesting.

Let this be one of the universes in which your story is told.

[essycogany]

Justice For Amy Rose

My first long character analysis that isn't about Sonic and is very controversial. Let’s see how this ramble pile goes!

If you want to see a better structured analysis I’ll recommend this video. I’m basically saying the same stuff but with added-on clarifications.

No one has to agree with me but keep in mind I didn't grow up with this franchise, so my opinions are all over the place. A good thing is you don't have to worry about any biases from me. Now, onto my loveable pink hegie!

Amy is misunderstood to be written as this one note girl who’s only character trait is to love Sonic. People usually say she’s now strong, confident, a leader, capable, and is her own character and I agree. But she’s always had those good traits. Was Amy always well written? No! Do I think it could be a sign of her being inconsistent? Absolutely! Here’s just a few examples of her best moments in the past.

Sonic X’s best moments were whenever Amy genuinely wanted to help people or stand up for them. The episode where Amy gives Sonic a bracelet to make him feel protected is incredibly thoughtful. There were also times she led the group even though she wasn't supposed to. It's a flaw, not many people talk about, but it’s a part of her. It’s also a trait that is most shown in Sonic Boom and Prime. (From what little we saw of it) Also Team Rose exists, so she's always been a leader.

-In the Japanese version of the show Amy has a whole life goal that has nothing to do with Sonic. She wanted to own a restaurant someday.

Sonic Adventure has good moments too. Her reason for wanting to be with Sonic isn’t because “She wants to see his handsome face” but because she’s bored out of her mind. Then Amy helps a little Flikey despite the fact she would’ve been safer by not doing that. Amy’s interactions with Gamma impacted the robot to the point of him sacrificing himself to free a Bird he needed to stay alive. This shows how much dedication Amy has to doing the right thing even when she doesn't have to. To top it off she got what she wanted in the end. A not-so-boring day.

In Sonic Adventure 2 she jokes around about marrying Sonic and acts like she won’t tell him about Shadow but does it anyway. Then she breaks him out too. Can’t forget about her moment with Shadow. With her positivity and most emotionally mature moment. Amy basically saved the world by doing that. I know some say “Anyone else could’ve done that,” but everyone else was occupied and Amy had the most patience (mind you she’s been left behind constantly in this game lol) to have a talk with Shadow. No one else had the time (and debatably wouldn’t have took the time) to talk with him.

That one moment in Sonic Heroes wasn’t Amy’s best moment, but I don’t think it’s horrible for two reasons. One, Sonic doesn’t take her seriously (same as SA2) and tells her this.

Yeah, Sonic figured Amy was trying to annoy him. Two, she made sure to continue the search to find Chocola and Froggy and stayed with her team until they were found. Even when Amy wasn’t written the best, she stayed true to herself in some fashion.

Anyway, back to Amy’s other moments.

In Sonic 06 Amy quickly bonds with Silver until he turns against Sonic. The moment she says “If I had to choose between the world and Sonic, I would choose Sonic” was never meant to mean she loves one more than the other. It’s meant to be a sign of how much Amy trusted her friend. And don’t worry Sonic Adventure shows her standing up for Gamma in front of the main person she’d usually trust. Sonic is not immune to her protective nature. She’ll go against him if it means making the right choice. Amy’s devoted to Sonic, but she’s not a blind follower. Heck, she’s even encouraging towards Elise and wishes her luck on finding Sonic. Despite not knowing Elise was looking for him. Amy is the definition of encouragement and I wish people could learn to appreciate her moments of being a kind and honorable person for those she cares about.

Did I forget to mention she saved the world AGAIN by not letting Silver kill Sonic which caused him to question Mephiles?

-I really love how Amy is so friendly to most characters. She is just as energetic when she talks to Birdie, Shadow, Elise, Silver, and anyone she meets as she is when Sonic’s around. The girl’s a total extrovert. It could also explain her alleged abandonment issues. It definitely explains why she’s so pushy. Even the prospect of being alone makes her worried and there are so many examples of this it’s crazy!

Almost every moment in Unleashed is Amy’s best moment. In my opinion, she’s written the best in that game. Amy apologizes when she thinks Sonic in his Werehog form was someone else. Don’t even call him “ugly” or anything like that. Amy just leaves him be. Her compassion knows no bounds. She encourages Professor Pickles when he’s worried about the destruction of the earth and compliments Sonic at the same time. Amy even gives Sonic encouragement when he’s insecure about being a “monster.” Proving her love for him is (and never was) disingenuous or about a perception of him. Amy loves Sonic for Sonic. She even states this in her first appearance in IDW. This trait clearly wasn't made up on the spot.

By the way, has anyone noticed how much of a symbol of hope Amy is? Sonic IS truly an inspiration to her. Even Sonic Forces got that part of her character right.

Okay, so that was most of her good moments. Now what? Oh, yeah. Amy is not a stalker. She doesn’t constantly follow Sonic around when he’s not looking or something. That or calling her a “fan girl” implies she’s some random girl who likes Sonic.

Amy is and has always been friends with him. It’s also why she’s always so excited to see him. She even says “Long time no see” in Adventure. It’s a common saying for a reason. It shows how little these characters see each other and proves they mostly live independent lives.

Both Amy and Tails have followed Sonic in the old games too. Tails also finds Sonic all the time. You don’t hear anyone calling Tails a stalker. In Sonic X they and their friends all stay in the same house. This proves she’s not a stalker there either. Even if not always shown very well in the past, Sonic and Amy are best friends. I DO think the writers could’ve made their friendship clearer by having Sonic not act as uncomfortable around her, but that’s my opinion.

-Do you notice how in Boom, IDW, and other versions of Amy people commonly like are from material where Team Sonic includes her and treats her like she’s a part of the team? Instead of stories like in Sonic Riders Amy has to find Team Sonic or Sonic Heroes where she makes her own group. Or any monument in the past where she’s either left behind or has to say “I’m coming too” and joins her friends anyway despite being left. I don’t think her friends meant any harm (and it probably wasn’t the writer's intention) but how the characters, especially Sonic treated Amy seems to affect how the audience at the time thought of her.

Another reason I don't think the writers wanted people to hate Amy is that usually, Sonic is blunt. He’s not the “I’ll just spare your feelings” type. Sonic is an upfront and honest character. He’d call Amy out assertively if he needed to.

While I won’t say Amy was written perfectly, I’ll chalk it up to her being written like a child. You know, how some little kids are always honest about how they feel? Like the moment in Sonic Battle when she’s talking about raising Emerald with Sonic. Kids play pretend all the time. I’m not excusing her moments of threatening Cream or any other questionable moments like in Sonic Rush. Sonic Freeriders is the biggest example and by far her worst appearance.

I will defend Sonic Riders. Sonic launched Amy into the sky with Eggman. Sonic isn't perfect either. Her anger wasn’t agreeable but justifiable.

-Also all Sonic characters have bad characterizations. A huge example is Shadow, but we don't define him by those moments. Amy should be no different.

Amy is meant to be exaggerated and cartoony. You know, like when Sonic and Knuckles fight or clash with each other. Same for Shadow too. They always fight, but it’s how their dynamics work. It’s never made to be taken seriously.

All of this was to say, Amy is a great yet flawed character. But I want people to know she’s always been a kindhearted, girly, silly, selfless, adventurous, loyal, and fun character people praise her for in Boom, IDW, and Frontiers. I wouldn’t say she’s “gotten better” because that implies she was never good to begin with. I see it more as the writing became easier for people to understand. The constant hate from the past has truly tarnished her reputation even today. To the point where her best moments are ignored.

Even though her love for Sonic is the cartoony and genuine part of her personality, it’s not the only part. No, Amy doesn't have to be romantic but other female Sonic characters exist for that reason. Amy is also a wonderful representation of a strong and confident character who is traditionally feminine at the same time. A good example is her being a literal comfort character because she comforts and protects everyone she comes across. She'll kick your butt for messing with her friends then help you with your emotional issues afterward. She'd make a great therapist.

My favorite examples of Amy's characterization are Unleashed, TMOSTH, and the IDW Sonic Riders Arc. Those are the main examples of how she used to be commonly written. It’s just the little things you’ve gotta pay attention to. Thanks for reading my less-than-organized rambling. Again, you don't have to agree with me, but I enjoy chatting with you lovelies. Hope I at least gave a coherent answer as to why people always loved Amy Rose!

Stay Creative! 💜

[bugsandboos]

of course i hate that marinette has the weight of the world on her shoulders, of course i’m glad she was able to be so open with alya about it throughout seasons 4 and 5.

however.

i love that she FINALLY has another huge secret she must protect with her life. no telling alya this time about how she told the whole world her boyfriend’s dad was a hero rather than a domestic terrorist.

sure, people like kagami, felix, nathalie, and tomoe know. however, i’d like to argue that none of these people are those that she’d confess her life-altering secrets to.

what’s cool about this gabriel agreste secret is that it not only isolates her from those that are the MOST important in her life (adrien as marinette, chat noir as ladybug, alya), but it also allows her to form connections with the more unlikely bunch (felix, nathalie).

she does consider kagami as one of her best friends, even if she’s not close with her like she is with alya—i’m really curious to see if this secret either strengthens their friendship or drives a wedge between them. kagami didn’t look too pleased with ladybug in the special when she lied to adrien about his father (understandably), yet she chose to respect her wish to keep the truth hidden. so excited to see how this shared secret changes their relationship, for better or for worse.

and honestly, going back to marinette just carrying this secret (sort of) on her own, i feel very much at home with it. the core of the show s1-s3 was that marinette had her secret identity to protect, and now she also has a secret identity to protect that ISN’T HERS!!! are we getting deja vu here!!!!!