#yelena centric

[themculibrary]

I'm looking for a fic where nat and yelena have just been brought into shield by clint. I can't remember if they are both teenagers or if just yelena is. It was pretty long, like >100k words

I remember basically nothing else lol, do you have any idea what this could be?

could it be this fic?

i won't let go of your hand (ao3) - Charlie_Balle eventual maria/natasha N/R, 258k

Summary: Yelena Belova was seventeen when her sister broke her out of the Red Room. She was seventeen when her sister brings home the man sent to kill her. She was seventeen when she became the youngest SHIELD agent known to date. 

[thursdayygrrrl]

from the sidelines

⌦ .｡.:*♡

characters: natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff (wandanat)

genre: fluff, slight angst

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood & guns, breakdowns/crying

summary: When Wanda comes into Natasha’s life, she gives the widow something to lose.

word count: 3,859

a/n: this is my first time writing for nat/something nat-centric and, technically, wandanat too! this was inspired by sidelines by phoebe bridgers because i think that song is suuuuper underappreciated and that it was a good fit for them (lyrics are in bold and italics). it’s been a while since i last wrote anything for fun and not for uni, so please be kind. i also don’t know much about gardening so some of the language might not be accurate. you can read it on ao3 (here) or under the cut. i hope you enjoy :>

I’m not afraid of anything at all

If there was one thing constant about Natasha, it was the lack of fear. It wasn’t inherent, but was a habit developed essential for her survival. She learned that pretty quickly. One moment of hesitance, no matter how short, could mean life or death. 

There were other times she felt brave without risking her life though. Like when she first dyed her hair. She chose the color blue because it reminded her of the sky. The horizon always looked limitless, a reminder that there could be more to life than what she had already experienced. She remembers making that choice and following through with it. It made her feel in control of something, amidst all the other things she had no power over.

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

‘Cause nothing ever shakes me, nothing makes me cry

Not a plane going down in the ocean and drowning

One of her most vivid memories is flying the plane with Melina. The night was normal at first. She was playing tag with her younger sister until she fell and hurt her knee. Then, they watched the fireflies and went inside to help with dinner. Alexei arrived and they started eating. It all felt so nice, so normal until he said they were going on a big adventure. Her appetite disappeared. Yelena was excited, oblivious to what it actually meant. She didn’t have the heart or the chance to tell her.

The drive out was tense and quiet, save for American Pie playing in the background. She watched the scenes change outside her window from the suburbs to highways. They had to move fast, but she felt sluggish, overwhelmed with everything going on. She remembers holding on to a photobooth strip of her and Yelena before finally running to get on the plane after being urged by Alexei. The sound of sirens and the whirring of engines, her heartbeat hammering in her chest, filled her ears. Gunshots started sounding off. One hit Melina’s shoulder.

“I need you up here,” She said through gritted teeth. Natasha clambered beside her. 

She was wincing in pain while giving instructions to pull right. 

“Mom, you’ve got blood on you,” Her voice came out strangled, and that tight feeling came along with tears forming in her eyes. She didn’t cry often but she knew she hated the physiological sensations that came with it.

“It’s okay, baby.” Two more cars directly in front of them appeared in the distance. “Hit the accelerator there.”

She did as she was told, speeding the plane up. She faltered when a few more shots were fired at them.

“Hold it steady, hold it steady.” More shots, the headlights ahead were blindingly bright. “You’re gonna pull back at 55 knots.” They started counting in unison. Alexei popped one of the cars’ tires with a bullet, causing them to crash into each other.

“Pull back, you can do it! Pull back, all your strength...” Part of the plane grazes with the bottom of the now-upturned car. But they were finally off the ground. Flying. A sense of relief washes over her.

Considering the past few hours, the rest of the flight went smoothly. They landed somewhere remote, it felt like the middle of nowhere. Alexei carried Melina to a stretcher held by some soldiers she and Yelena ran after. After a short exchange of words with the older woman, she remembers wrangling a gun from someone, unwanted tears threatening to fall from her eyes again, and Yelena’s small form hiding behind her.

“I don’t wanna go back there.”

A needle was buried deep into her neck. She was then thrown into a shipping container with other girls. Masked people were pointing rifles at them, shouting and violently wrenching Yelena from her hold. There was a man, he knelt to meet her eyes. Rough and calloused hands held her face. 

“The Red Room is your home now.”

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

Watched the world from the sidelines

Had nothing to prove

Natasha had just started getting used to being “normal,” just another child in midwestern America. She was going to school, being around other kids, having a family until it was all ripped away. Even though it was all a lie, she couldn’t say it wasn’t important to her.

Being back in the Red Room was a regimented, isolating existence. No one was able to speak to each other for long. Schedules were planned down to the minute. Excruciating physical training, including hand-to-hand combat, ballet, acrobatics, and weapons training, pushed them to their limits, sometimes even beyond. 

The mutilation, both psychological and physical, was the worst of all. They broke down each girl’s hope and willpower if any were even left. They were treated like objects, mere faceless weapons they could manipulate as a means to an evil end. The ones who survived were considered lucky, the prime of their batches, and given an operation. They called it “graduation,” but everyone knew what that meant.

At some point, she was able to get out. Her time with the KGB, then in S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers was filled with twists and turns. It was a lot of battles, moral disputes, and political agendas. There was even a time when she had to expose her own seedy past, much to her discomfort, but it was for the greater good. She didn’t mind as long as it was for the well-being of others.

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

‘Til you came into my life

Gave me something to lose

Now that she thinks of it, the first time she interacted with Wanda was horrible. The witch inflicted a vision, memories that she was trying to bury and leave behind, when she was weakened and vulnerable. There were snippets of a conversation with Madame B. The graduation ceremony. It made her feel like a monster all over again.

The next time they interacted was in the Battle of Sokovia. She remembers regrouping with Steve, but not expecting the very same witch to make an appearance. Despite all the chaos, the jacket she wore looked familiar.

“Is that my jacket?” Natasha gestured at the younger woman, frowning slightly.

“She’s with us,” Steve said.

“That still doesn’t explain the jacket.” 

Natasha was persistent. She didn’t shop for clothes often, never dressing up unless she wanted or had to, so this red jacket was special. It was one of the first few things she bought for herself. Wanda, now awkward and unsure of what to do, ran off. The rest of the battle felt like a blur of robots and rubble.

Since then, Wanda joined the Avengers. The younger woman mostly kept to herself when not on missions, watching sitcoms in her room. Vision would talk to her sometimes. Other times, the widow herself would do so. Natasha understood she needed space and time to cope with everything she’d been through but didn’t want to leave her fully isolated. 

Their conversations, if you could even call them that, were awkward at first. Natasha would ramble on about whatever, trying to fill the silence.

“There’s breakfast in the kitchen.”

Wanda looks up from her book only to be met with a small, warm smile on the assassin’s face.

“It’s the usual American stuff. Eggs, bacon, sugary cereal, some fruit. Pretty sure Clint’s making waffles too,” Natasha points to the door with her thumb. “You should eat with us. Bond with the team, all that stuff that Steve goes on about. We’ll have training after.”

Wanda hums in contemplation. Then, she nods. It’s the slightest motion that one would miss if they didn’t pay enough attention. Natasha nods back and turns to leave the room. The witch’s voice catches her off-guard, though.

“I’ll come with you.”

It’s raspy in the best way possible, with a hint of her Sokovian accent lingering. It’s a sound that Natasha decides she would like to hear more often. Her smile grows ever so slightly as she gestures for her to walk together.

───

When Natasha started helping in Wanda’s hand-to-hand combat training, the two became closer literally and figuratively. In one memorable session, from when Wanda still wasn’t as skilled at combat as she is now, Natasha was able to pin her down. Her lithe fingers wrapped around the other woman’s wrists while she used her thighs to straddle. All to restrict movement, of course. The flustered expression on the witch’s face could not be more obvious.

Their sessions consisted of a warm-up, some rounds of sparring, and a cooldown. After barely surviving this particularly challenging one, Wanda lands on the bench with a sigh. “Fuck… You kicked my ass today, Tasha. No fair,” She says through heavy breaths, leaning back and wiping the sweat from her brow.

Natasha shrugs and smiles as she sits beside her, reaching for a bottle of water across from the younger woman. Her torso brushes with her thigh, making the Sokovian lose her breath all over again.

“Please. I went easy on you. Besides, it’s revenge for taking my jacket,” Natasha says as she sits back up and takes a sip of water.

Wanda stands on slightly wobbly legs while a breathy laugh escapes her lips. “You’re really still holding that grudge?” She raises her hands playfully, “In my defense, Steve threw it at me and told me to put it on. It was a hectic time, you know.” 

Natasha smirks and shakes her head as they both move to gather their bags and leave. The assassin offers her hand. 

“Let me carry your stuff. It’s the least I can do. Look, you can barely stand.”

“It’s okay, Tasha. I go—” 

“Come on,” The widow urges. A knowing look is on her face. 

Wanda’s face becomes flushed, more so than it already was. It looks like she hopes Natasha won’t notice, but she does anyway. She raises her eyebrow teasingly.

“Did the workout take you out that bad, Wands?”

The nickname doesn’t help at all. Wanda rolls her eyes playfully as she hands her duffel bag over. Natasha slings both bags over her shoulder and they start walking together.

“Remind me again why I have to keep doing the hand-to-hand stuff? I literally move things with my mind.”

“If you use your mind, why do you do the thing with your hands then?” Natasha tries to mimic the witch’s signature hand movements with her free hand. This earns her a lighthearted push. 

“Oh, you know I’m just kidding. We both know you can’t just rely on your magic all the time. I want you to be able to fend for yourself if anything happens. Yeah?”

Wanda groans exaggeratedly, “Ugh. Okay, yes, you have a point.”

She chuckles at this. The pair, now embraced by a comfortable silence, walks to the elevator of the compound. As they enter, Natasha wraps her free arm around Wanda’s shoulder. She squeezes slightly, firm muscles under her touch, bringing her closer and looking into her eyes. 

“Wanna have lunch with me today?”

Wanda raises her eyebrow, “Can we watch I Love Lucy while we eat?”

Natasha nods and hands over her bag. “Of course.”

They smile warmly at each other, parting ways to freshen up before meeting again later.

───

Natasha and Wanda have seen each other at different points in their lives. Happy, sad, and everything else in between. But the Lagos Incident was a whole other thing. Natasha herself was a witness to how Wanda had been doing so well before it. To watch the immense guilt, self-loathing, and depression come over the witch after the incident, after slowly building herself back up, was heartbreaking for the widow.

Old habits die hard. Wanda becomes a recluse again. However, instead of sitcoms accompanying her, it was the news. She couldn’t help but keep watching coverage of it as if being constantly reminded of this tragedy was helping anyone.

Steve already spoke with her, Natasha knows this, but she decides to give a different type of comfort to the person she’s grown to love. A silent one, one that speaks through actions. 

On days Wanda doesn’t leave her room, Natasha knows she isn’t eating so she goes up and brings food. Nine times out of ten, it’s a peanut butter sandwich because it’s all she can make without setting the kitchen on fire. Ten times out of ten, it’s returned with just a few bites taken out. It doesn’t matter, Natasha is just happy to provide her with even the littlest bit of sustenance.

On nights Wanda can’t sleep, evident by the faint light escaping from her room, Natasha stays up with her. She takes it upon herself to change the channels on Wanda’s television or switch it off. She puts on some music instead, knowing that noise is a welcome distraction to her spiraling thoughts. Other times, Wanda motions for Natasha to her bed. The contact of skin on skin, the physical reminder that she isn’t alone helps Wanda relax even if it’s only for a few hours. Most nights, the feeling of Natasha’s body pressed up against Wanda’s is enough to lull her to sleep. 

And when it’s not, when she falls into that spiral once more, Natasha’s always there to wipe away her tears and pull her out of it.

“So many people… All those lives lost because I-I couldn’t—” Wanda sobs, breaking down in the familiar hold of strong arms.

Natasha squeezes just a little bit tighter. She speaks softly, interrupting the younger woman, “I know, Wands. I know. But you have to stop blaming yourself, okay? We’ve all hurt people and we’ve all made mistakes. Even if we mean well. And you did mean well. It’s just sometimes things work out in ways we don’t anticipate.”

The consoling words fall on deaf ears. Wanda shakes her head and cries even harder while burying herself deeper into the embrace. Her voice is muffled, repeated pleas of repentance, “It’s my fault, it’s my fault, it’s all my fault… T-tasha, it’s all my fault…” Unsure what to say now, Natasha resorts to her instinct instead. It has never failed her. She starts to rock Wanda gently, pressing a soothing kiss to the top of the younger woman’s head. A quiet, melodic hum resonates from her lips. She continues until Wanda’s breathing evens out and until sleep takes over both of them.

───

A soft stream of sunlight seeps into the room, awakening the Russian. She looks down at the sleeping figure in her arms. Wanda looks so peaceful right now, Natasha thinks. She would do anything to conserve this moment, this feeling of serenity for her. To take away all her pain, heartache, and afflictions. Realistically, she knows she can’t accomplish that. The best she can do is just be there for her. 

It’s been a few minutes since and she feels Wanda stir slightly, who immediately snuggles closer and remains asleep. A warm feeling settles in her body, first in her chest then it spreads all over. She recalls feeling this way many times before, but only ever with Wanda. It’s at this exact instance she finally fully realizes what this is.

I’m in love. 

She bites her lip in contemplation, quiet realization, as Wanda’s eyes flutter open. Hazy green eyes look into clear ones and a mumbled phrase reaches her ears. “Your thoughts are getting loud, Tasha. Are you okay?”

Broken from her trance, she looks down at Wanda. “Yeah, I am. Um. I just… I have something to tell you.” She shifts to lean against the headboard. Now is as perfect a time as any, she thinks. 

Wanda’s eyebrows stitch together in a frown as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. She sits up, mostly leaning her weight on the other woman, while trying to decipher the look on her face. The Russian waits for a sign of approval from the Sokovian. Wanda nods and hums.

“I’m going to be direct about this, Wands.”

She takes a deep breath in.

“I like that we’ve grown close, that we consider each other as friends. I like doing things for you and with you and I like helping you, giving you what I have. Time, insight, comfort, whatever. Watching sitcoms with you, sleeping next to you, and waking up in your bed. I like your voice and your ringed hands, how graceful they look when you use your powers. The way your nose scrunches up and your bunny teeth show when you smile. How your accent slips when you say certain words and how you say my name. The way you carry yourself. How you care so much about others… If you let me, I would care for you for the rest of time.”

Natasha finishes with a sharp exhale, only now realizing her rambling. Losing control was one of the things she never wanted to experience again, but this time was different. Finally letting these thoughts flow through and out of her felt cathartic. 

Wanda’s voice is quiet, “You would?” 

Natasha nods, “Always.”

She says it without hesitation. Because she is wholly certain that she has no other answer. Why would there be?

Wanda becomes silent. An unreadable expression appears on her face as she takes in Natasha’s words. Her posture straightens slightly. Tension is now in the air and a silence begins to settle. 

Natasha screws her eyes shut, willing the tears in her eyes to stop forming. She was just about to take everything back, apologize for even saying anything, before getting interrupted. She feels slim fingers gently hold her face. Wanda strokes Natasha’s cheek, her thumb moving in slow, circular motions while she speaks.

“Tasha, hey, please don’t cry,” Wanda looks at her pleadingly, leaning in closer.

Natasha blinks rapidly, brows furrowing together. “I’m sorry. I got nervous because you weren’t saying anything and I… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I just had to take a minute because I didn’t realize you felt this way. Trust you won’t lose me, please.” She looks away. Her touch slows down and ceases as her hands fall to her lap. “I just don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“You didn’t have to do anything, moya lyubov.” Natasha holds Wanda’s hands, “I mean everything I just said. I love you, Wanda.” 

She waits for a response with bated breath. Before she knows it, she feels supple lips capture her own. 

It’s tender yet electric. It’s everything she’s ever imagined and more. It’s simply perfect.

Natasha closes her eyes and deepens the kiss. She cradles Wanda’s jaw and feels the brunette melt into her touch. They pull away seconds later, foreheads touching as they catch their breath. Wanda says softly, “I love you too, Natasha. You don’t know how long I have been wanting to say that.”

───── ⴵ⋅ᗢ⋅ⴵ ─────

Now I know what it feels like

To wanna go outside

It was a calm morning, both women following a routine established over the past few months. Natasha would wake up early and then proceed to training, leaving Wanda to sleep in. By the time she’d be back, Wanda was up and just finishing preparing breakfast. They’d eat together, talk about their plans for the day, and decide what to do from there. Some days they’d spend together while, on others, they’d have separate activities. 

“Detka! Come here, please!”

Natasha was working on some reports when she heard Wanda call out. She looks at the clock and decides now is a perfect time to take a break anyway. She hums as she stands up and stretches her limbs before leaving the room.

Wanda had been tending to the garden in the compound for some time now. She started with small pots of herbs and then moved to random vegetables after discovering she had a gift for raising plants. Lately, she also added flowers and various houseplants to her catalog. Being out in the sun, getting her hands dirty, and nurturing these plants was hard work, but it was work Wanda loved.

Natasha makes a couple of peanut butter sandwiches and pours two glasses of cold water on a tray, then carries it over to the sliding door leading to the garden. She places it down on a table outside and her eyes immediately search for Wanda. It’s an irresistible sight, her beloved’s face beaming and surrounded by greenery. She even thinks she sees her talking to the plants.

She smiles to herself while appreciating the view until Wanda realizes she’s arrived. She gets waved over, “Tasha!” The excitement in the witch’s voice is barely contained as Natasha walks towards her. 

She wraps an arm around Wanda, bringing her closer and kissing her forehead, “Hi, kotenok. I brought over some snacks and water if you wanted them. What is it you wanted me to see?”

Wanda pulls off her gardening gloves, places them in her pocket, and brushes her hands over her pants. She mumbles a quick thank you before taking Natasha’s hand in one of her own and using the other to cover her eyes.

“Close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise.” 

Natasha plays along, using her free hand to help cover her eyes. “Okay. Just make sure I don’t trip, yeah?”

Wanda giggles as she leads Natasha by the hand, “Don’t worry, detka, I got you.” 

They walk slowly, up a few steps, and stop. Wanda takes a deep breath, “Okay, now.”

When their hands uncover Natasha’s eyes, she is met with vibrant blooms of various colors against a green background of bushes. It’s a masterful arrangement of asters, marigolds, hydrangeas, wildflowers, and many more. She gasps, breath taken away by the gorgeous sight. 

“You did all this by yourself?” 

The Sokovian nods sheepishly, “Yeah. I read somewhere that getting them all to bloom like this would be challenging, but I think I did decently.”

Natasha squeezes her hand, “It’s more than decent. It looks stunning, Wands. You did an amazing job.”

Wanda’s arm wraps around Natasha’s waist, her head rests on her shoulder. A satisfied sigh leaves her lips. They remain silent, basking in each other’s presence and the garden view.

“If you’re like this with plants, I can only imagine how well you’d be with kids,” Natasha muses. 

Wanda lifts her head and looks at Natasha, her shoulders raised slightly, “What if, at some point, you won’t have to imagine?”

Small smiles grow on both of their faces. They share a knowing look before assuming their previous positions. “Someday, lyubov, someday.”

Natasha used to feel the need to keep busy, keep moving because she thought anything too constant would be taken away from her again. Though she never admitted it to anyone, not even herself, the thought of settling down and starting a family of her own was terrifying.

But not anymore. Everything felt so much easier with Wanda. It now truly felt like anything was possible. The lack of fear forced onto her when she was younger came from a dark place of abuse and indifference. Now, it comes naturally. It comes from love.

[cybersat]

I've been thinking a lot about how alien Yelena must have felt after escaping the Red Room. Natasha had Clint, but who had Yelena? Alexei and Melina had roughly the same experience as her, so it's not like they could offer any help.

Dreykov's modern Red Room gives much stronger militarization vibes than what its been insinuated for Natasha's Red Room era (which has mostly been portrayed as a spy with kinda honey-pot-ish missions) and I imagine Yelena wouldn't have those little "out-of-the-red-room" moments to explore her own identity like I typically see in natasha centric fanfic.

I can't help but imagine post-Red Room Yelena trying on cutesy summer dresses and wearing strange makeup trying to find whatever fits, because asking what feels right might be too much.

You know, summer dresses and combat boots. Pink mascara and strong, muddy eyeliner. Temporary hair colors for when she's not contracted out by Valentina on an undercover mission.

I bet Yelena would try crochet. Read some romance books in hopes of trying to "get" it. Go to all the New York tourist traps, and end up buying an "I *heart* New York" shirt as memorabilia. She can't really share with anyone, because no one would get the profound significance of wearing a silly shirt that she got at a gift shop for a few dollars when she was issued a few sets of standard sports clothes twice a year for years.

What's right, what's wrong? The Red Room's certainly wrong by anyone's standard, but what about everything else? It must be absolutely daunting to face a world where everyone else has had the opportunity to agree or disagree, to say yes or no, to say I like it or I don't like it, throughout their life and since they were a kid.

[luna-rainbow]

I watched S2E02 of What If

Someone in the animation department really adores the Winter Soldier. He is gorgeously animated (as GIFs have shown), even though his screen time is incredibly short. The way the light and shadows play across his face and eyes is incredibly faithful to the CATWS movies, and perfectly captures the sense of threat he brings in CATWS.

Overall, the episode is fairly neutral, and does bring up an interesting parallel universe where Bucky broke free in the 80s, which...might change the entire trajectory of Tony, Nat and Yelena's lives.

But, maybe because my impression is coloured by other episodes of What If and what's coming, I can't help but think this is another attempt at "correcting" fan perception around Howard Stark and Peggy Carter's culpability. Look! They weren't involved! It was the Russians!

But like that other Peggy-centric episode of What If, the more they tried to whitewash her, the worse it seems? They recognised him on sight, with the damn mask on, something even Steve wasn't able to do in CATWS, because unlike Steve they knew he was alive all along. Peggy makes references to "the rumours", while Howard dismisses it because there's hardly a man in there (or something along those lines) and "we've got bigger fish to fry".

They knew all along but they never thought it was anywhere in their priorities to investigate or try to rescue the longest serving POW or Steve's best friend. But they have no qualms using Bucky's emotional attachment to Steve when it serves their purpose.

Because why would they. No matter how you whitewash their characters, they're still power-obsessed individuals who never cared who was hurt in their way.

PS: as a former seiyuu-con, Atwell's voice acting really is...bad. Stood out like a sore thumb because everyone was so much better than her. SebStan was pulling his usual Winter Soldier voice here rather than the young Bucky voice he used for the other episode of What If, but I'm not sure if it's a conscious choice.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

The 'Language is Stupid' Game

Okay, so, I've been rereading your Marvel fics, specifically the Peter-centric ones. And they gave me an idea. What if Peter is sleeping over at his friend's house---let's say with his two besties MJ & Ned---and poor Spider Baby has a nightmare related to his superhero duties as Spiderman? It's a pretty bad nightmare, and he jolts awake, very confused and scared and a bit freaked out. Maybe his friends comfort him cause they already know he's Spiderman and goes through a lot bc of what being a superhero entails. Platonic all the way. Found family shenanigans. Anyway, no pressure to write it! Had it on my mind and wanted to share <3 Take care, Asbod! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: peter has a nightmare/panic attack

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 3205

Peter wakes up from a nightmare during a sleepover with Ned and MJ. After a few moments of let's-all-be-glad-we're-alright cuddles, MJ has a rather unconventional solution for how to pass the time.

Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Can't breathe can't move can't breathe can't move can't let them down acan't stop now can't fail can't breathe can't move can't move can't fail can't can't can't can't—

"Peter. Peter."

There's a hand on his shoulder. The hand is made of concrete. His spine is going to break. He can't breathe. He can't move. He can't stop. He can't breathe—

"Shit, get the blanket off of him."

"I'm trying, I'm trying!"

"Peter? Pete, it's okay. It's okay, you're okay, you're fine."

He's not fine. His spine is about to break. He's about to fail and he can't fail, he can't move, he can't breathe—

"Peter," he hears again, the voice quiet and soft in his ear, "hey, it's okay. You're okay. Can you hear me?"

He gasps. His chest spasms. His hand shoots out in front of him and hits something—soft?

"Oh, shit, you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm—hh, I'm fine. I'm good. Is he…?"

"Peter? Hey, Peter, wake up, it's just a nightmare."

Peter blinks. He blinks and one of his hands automatically goes to his neck to try and loosen his costume, but he's not wearing his costume, he's just in a t-shirt and he's…he's in a bed? He gasps again, his throat on fire, and something swims into view in front of him.

"Hey, there he is," he hears as a face appears, "hey, Pete, you back with us? You okay?"

"M—MJ?"

"Yeah, Pete, it's me. Ned's…Ned's on the floor."

A blurry thing sticks up from the other side of a mound of some more blurry things and waves. Ned's arm, probably. Peter blinks. His chest is still on fire too. He looks down at his hand. It's shaking. Why is his hand shaking?

"Hey." He looks up. MJ's still looking at him like he's about to disappear into the floor. "Hey, Peter, can you—can you do one of your grounding tests?"

"Um—" shit, is that what I sound like?— "yeah, yeah, that's…that's probably a good idea."

"Great. Can you, uh, can you tell me five things that you can see?"

"There's a, uh, there's a blue pillow over there that has that weird scorch mark from where we tried to make bottle rockets with the Stark Tech, there's the crack in the ceiling from where we didn't know that I could jump that high, there's the, uh, there's the blanket that Ned's grandma brought us 'cause she thought we'd be cold, there's the watch Yelena gave us last week, and there's the, um…there's the charging cord you ripped apart when you stole it from that Zionist guy at the library."

"Okay. And four things you can hear?"

"Uh…" He closes his eyes only for his chest to tighten right away and they snap open. "Uh, I'm—I'm talking, the air conditioner's going, there's—there are cars outside, and uh, the uh—the light in the bathroom's buzzing again."

"What about touch?"

He fumbles a bit on the blanket—one, nice and soft—to get the charm thing Wanda gave him from where it came off during the nightmare—two, hard and cool to the touch—and then hesitantly reaches out for MJ. She takes his hand and holds hit tight—three.

"Okay, good," she says when he tells her, "and smell?"

He sniffs a few times and has to sniffle through some of the gross nightmare crying stuff. "Uh, someone next door's making pizza again and they didn't close their windows. And, uh, I think your grandma left the candle on in the hall again?"

"Oh, shit." Ned scrambles up and ducks outside.

"And taste?"

He licks his lips. Something coppery catches on the edge of his tongue and his eyes widen. "Blood?"

"Come here, let me see." MJ squints at him. "I think you just bit your lip. You're okay."

"Okay."

"You feel any better?"

"Yeah," he says as Ned comes back in and crawls onto the bed too, "yeah, I think—I think I got it. I, uh, I'm sorry, I just—"

"Hey, you don't need to apologize." Ned shuffles closer. "You're a superhero. You're gonna have shitty nightmares. That's how it works."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you guys have to—"

"Have to what?" MJ narrows her eyes. "Have to be your friends? Have to support you when you have nightmares?"

"I just meant that—"

"Have to treat you like a person who needs support sometimes because we're all human and we have to do that?"

"Okay, okay," he mumbles, shoving her shoulder with their clasped hands, "you made your point."

"Good."

He blinks a few more times, the phantom pain from the nightmare still wreaking havoc on his shoulders. Ned shifts again to get the blanket out from under him and push it on the ground.

"Can I have some water?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's right here." Ned reaches over and picks up his water bottle.

"Thanks. Hey, uh, why were on the floor earlier?"

"Oh, you know," Ned says in that way that he always does when he's trying to hide something and failing miserably, "just, uh, thought I'd give you guys some space."

Peter frowns. He goes back over the last few minutes until his eyes widen. "Oh, shit, did I push you off?"

"What? No, no…okay, maybe, but! It wasn't your fault and it didn't even hurt that bad. Well—the falling off the bed hurt more than the punch. I mean, it wasn't like it hurt bad, it didn't even—okay, well, I don't think I have a bruise or anything. Or—maybe just one. Just one! But it's not your fault," he says when Peter looks even more distraught, "it's not, okay? I'm not mad, I don't blame you, I'm all good. It's like what Dr. Strange said, right? I'm a rubber ball! Everything just bounces off of me!"

"That wasn't what he meant, I don't think," Peter says, reaching out for him too, "are you—you're seriously good? I didn't mean to—"

"I know, I know. And I'm totally fine. Seriously." Ned takes his hand and makes him fist bump. "See? All good, Peter, we're all good."

"Okay."

Outside, a car drives by and a cat runs down the alley, meowing its protest.

"Well, hey," MJ says, reaching down to her backpack, "since none of us are gonna go to sleep for a while, let's play a game."

Ned glances at Peter, who nods. "Sure. I like games. What game are we playing?"

"It's called Language is Stupid." MJ takes out her notebook and flips to a blank page. "Okay, everyone write down five songs you know that the rest of us will know."

Peter takes the notebook and pen with a shaky hand and writes down five songs. He passes it to Ned, who passes it back to MJ. When she's written the last song, she rips out the page and tears all of the song titles into individual strips of paper.

"Ned, where's your hat?"

"It's in the closet, hold on."

"Thanks." She puts all the pieces into the hat and gives it a shake. "Okay, everyone pick one. Don't show anyone else."

Peter takes a piece of paper, glancing at it. "Just one, right?"

"Yeah, just one for now. Okay, now what we're gonna do is put the lyrics of the song up until the first chorus into Google Translate a shit ton of times and then read it out so the other people can guess what song it is."

"Wait, why is this game called Language is Stupid?"

"You'll see. Ready?"

"Wait, hold on, I need my phone."

"Can you hand me mine too?"

"Dude, you have a Spiderman case?"

"Yeah, my best friend's Spiderman, I can have a Spiderman case."

"Thanks, dude."

"Are you two ready?" They nod. "Okay. You have five minutes, go."

The next five minutes are spent peppered with various snickers and noises of confusion before MJ calls time. Peter shakes his head, looking down at his results and Ned fully snorts into his hand while MJ scribbles a makeshift scoreboard on a new page.

"Okay, who wants to go first?"

"Me." Ned sits up a little taller. "You guys aren't ready for this."

"Bring it on."

"We are talking about insects. Words fail me I will say one thing We saw that today It was too far I came with your wife, didn't I?

I like it I like it It will be left behind One or two days."

"I'm sorry, you did what with my wife?"

"Why are we talking about insects? What song is this?" Peter laughs incredulously. "What the—read it again, read it again."

"That's literally—okay," MJ says when Ned reads it again—they have to take a pause about halfway through because Ned's laughing too hard to be understandable—"maybe we should be looking more at the patterns of the sentences than the words themselves."

"So it's a lot of short sentences that sort of repeat but not really." Peter steeples his fingers under his chin. "'I like it…I like it…' What was the ending?"

"'One or two days.'"

"Wait, wait, wait, no way, is that 'Take on Me?'"

"No fucking way," Peter groans as Ned laughs and nods. "How the fuck did you get that? And where the hell did the insects come from?"

"'Cause it's—well, I don't know about the insects, but the wife thing—the actual lyric is 'I'll be coming for your love,' or something like that. So if it went through a bunch of times and turned into 'wife—'"

"Yeah, MJ got it."

"Sweet. So that's one point for me…"

Ned laughs as Peter shakes his head and flops onto his shoulder. "Don't worry, buddy, you'll get the next one."

"Dude, this game is way harder than I thought it was gonna be."

"Okay, me next." MJ squints at her phone. "I think this one is easier than Ned's was."

"Oh, good."

"Ready?"

"Yep."

"Go for it."

"You are my light a desirable feeling Believe me when I tell you This is what I want

But our two worlds are different. I can't hold your heart When you speak This is what I want

Please explain the reasons for this. Not bad, but sad Please explain the reasons for this. This is wrong. Please explain the reasons for this. I don't want to hear what you have to say. This is what I want."

"Oh, come on, this is way easier!"

"Really?"

"Yeah, that's fucking…Backstreet Boys Brooklyn 99 song. What's it called…" Peter flaps his hand. "'I Want it That Way,' that one."

"Yeah, you got it."

"Not bad, but sad," Ned sings, "this is wrong,' dude, that's so much better than the original."

"I will have no Backstreet Boy slander in this bed, sir."

"This is my house!"

"Then you should know better."

"That's one point for Peter," MJ says, ignoring the two of them, "okay, Peter, your go."

"Alright, you two better get ready for this one."

"Bring it on."

Peter hides a grin. "Imagine you are walking down the hall. I didn't hear, no, I didn't hear any sound. "Easy marriage!" Happy marriage!" - But unfortunately he bit the poor groom.

"Did you hear the door slam?!" No, it's better to approach it with kindness and understanding. "Didn't you hear someone knocking on the door?" I ended the conversation. No, it's my heart."

When he looks up from his phone, both Ned and MJ are staring at him like he's grown two heads. He smiles and tilts his head.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry, I thought we were playing the Google Translate the lyrics game, not who can read the most edgy indie poetry game."

"What the—are you sure this is a song that we all know?"

"Yeah, you guys know it."

"And this is like—this is the first verse and the chorus, right, this isn't like the weird coda of the extended version that's only available on the physical album from 1978, right?" Peter nods, still grinning. "What the—okay, you need to read it again."

Peter reads it again. And again. And each time MJ looks closer and closer to hitting him with a pillow and Ned looks more and more like he's never heard a single song in his life.

"Okay, wait, can we get a hint?"

"It's one of the ones you wrote down."

"Me? Why did I do this to myself?"

"Ned, quick, tell me what songs you wrote down."

"I don't remember!"

"How do you not remember, it was less that ten minutes ago."

"It is the middle of the night, my brain is so offline right now."

"Pssh, what kind of high school student are you?"

"The kind that doesn't know what song this is supposed to be!"

Peter stifles a giggle. MJ rolls her eyes, throwing her hands up and leaning off the edge of the bed. Ned screws his face up and starts muttering to himself, probably trying to remember what it was he wrote down.

"Ugh, Pete, just read it one more time."

"Imagine you are walking down the hall—"

"Oh, wait!" Ned shouts loud enough that they all have to have an 'oh shit' moment before he continues in a stage whisper. "It's the Panic! At the Disco song!"

MJ sits up. "It's the what?"

"The one with the wedding! The poor groomsbride is a—wait, what did that change to?"

"But unfortunately he bit the poor groom."

"What the fuck is that?"

"I don't know, it changed itself to—hey!" He splutters when a pillow hits him in the face. "What was that for?"

"You know what you did."

"This game was your idea!"

"Shut up. Ned gets that point."

Ned's still shaking his head like he has no idea how they got here, which to be perfectly honest, neither does Peter. They exchange a quick fistbump while MJ reaches for the hat again.

"All tied up after round one, let's do another one."

They keep playing. MJ gets them all equally angry about her version of 'Rain on Me,' they have to have a full pause so they can all asphyxiate from laughter at Ned's 'Somebody That I Used to Know,' and Peter's pretty sure he should take a picture of MJ's face as her contact photo when he reads out Google Translate's take on 'Rocketman.'

"That's homophobic, that's what that is."

"Come on, MJ, don't you want the slogan to be 'We will kill you?'" He dodges another pillow. "Rocketman…is the only one here…"

"You suck."

Eventually, they're down to the last one. MJ has 6 points, Ned has 3, Peter has 5. Ned's the last one to go and if the way he hasn't stopped snickering is anything to go by, they're in for it.

"We are not strangers You know the rules as well as I do. So I think so You can't meet anyone else I'll let you know what's on my mind You have to think about it I won't give it to you

I won't give it to you I won't give it to you I won't make you cry I don't want to stop I won't lie to you and I won't hurt you."

For long seconds after he finishes reading, no one says anything. He looks up from his phone, still giggling. Peter is stone-faced. MJ isn't so much as breathing.

"Well? What do you guys think it is?"

"You think you're clever?"

"I didn't write this one down!"

"You think you're really funny, huh?"

"I don't know what's so funny about this one."

"I'm disowning you as my best friend."

"Aw, Pete…"

"Friendship with Ned ended, MJ is my best friend now."

"Aw, but the song says—" Ned doesn't get to finish because MJ throws a pillow at him. "Hey!"

"You will not," she continues, picking up another pillow, "Rickroll us via Google Translate in this decade."

"I won't give it to you, I won't give it to you—hey!" He grabs a pillow and swats back. "Stay back!"

"Oh, yeah? Peter, help me!"

"In the name of decent memery and standards for clickbait, I cast thee out!"

Ned squawks—and nearly falls off the bed again—before he manages to hit either of them with the pillows. The room fills with the sound of rustling blankets and the thwomp of pillows hitting things as the hat tumbles to the ground, spilling bits of paper everywhere. MJ's notebook is the next to go. Phones clunk onto the floor, someone's leg ends up over the headboard, and eventually the three of them get so tangled up in the blankets they can't even move anymore. Peter lies there, panting, still breathless with laughter.

"Hey," Ned calls after a few seconds, still heaving too, "so who won?"

"Oh, uh—nah, fuck it, I can't reach."

"I think MJ, you won."

She raises one arm and lets it flop over her face. "Yay. Victory is mine."

Ned and Peter golf clap. She flips them both off.

"Hey, Peter?" Ned nudges him. "You feel better?"

He blinks. That's right, he'd had a nightmare. That's what started all of this. But even as sleep tugs at him, he doesn't feel as though he's about to fall back into any sort of spiral. Instead, the whole room just feels…fuzzy. Like the way the house feels when you fall asleep on the couch during a party and someone carries you to bed. Like it's safe. Like he's just a normal kid having a sleepover with his friends and he gets to be tired now.

"Peter?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, "yeah, yeah, I'm…I'm all good now."

MJ extricates herself from the worst of the blanket tangle and lies down next to him. "You wanna try to sleep some more?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea."

"Ned, get up here."

"Coming, coming."

The three of them manage to sort the blankets out enough to actually get under them. Ned reaches over to turn off the light. Peter stares up at the crack in the ceiling, drifting towards sleep, when the best idea occurs to him.

"Hey, guys," he mumbles, words already slurring, "we should…we sh'ld play this game with the 'vengers this weekend."

"Go to sleep, Pete, tell us dumb ideas tomorrow."

"'S not dumb…it'd be fun."

"Only if Ned and I get to hide when the pillow fight starts."

"Deal."

[quietlyimplode]

Clintasha Advent (7)

Prompt: Clint/Nat - walking Lucky when it starts to snow.

For/Prompter: @broken--bow

Warnings: despondency/sadness/being emotionally triggered

Word count: 738

A/N: i know you asked for Clint/Nat and this is kind of alluding to the relationship, but more Nat centric. Likely not what you were expecting but what came out today <3 I hope it’s okay.

.

There’s a heaviness on her.

The day was all wrong, and disappointment on what couldn’t be fixed; hurt.

She hated being let down.

She hates even more that she had hoped that she wouldn’t be let down, and knew that she would in the same breath.

Despite what she hoped, there was no way that Yelena would come.

Even if she wanted to.

Grief bubbles.

.

Natasha feels despondent.

She finds herself pacing in the house, wasting time, wanting to find peace in sleep to make the feelings stop, but knowing it would worry Clint if she did.

Instead, she told him she was fine.

Sad; but okay. She wasn’t lying but then again, it’s not like she was being truthful to herself when she said the words.

Grief bubbles.

Yelena would maybe appear again.

One day.

.

The day drones.

Clint, of course, had tried to help, but there was no fixing the sad that pulled, the slight desolation and despondency that she knew was just a part of her.

He helps her to eat by cooking.

He distracts her with anecdotes and stories

It was, easier, perhaps to keep at bay when everything wasn’t piled on top of her.

It’s not just Yelena, she determines eventually.

Natasha thinks that maybe she just feels sad.

She’d been looking forward to the day.

Had hope for it.

Maybe that was her first mistake.

The one day off, that had promised and started with some good in it, some hope and delight.

The day had not ended as it started.

Grief bubbles.

Natasha sighs.

Grabbing the lead, she puts it on Lucky.

Clint appears at the door and she waved him off.

“I just need to clear my head,” she tells him, biting her lip.

He heads back into the study to finish his paperwork, and calls out to her to not be too long.

She doesn’t plan to be.

.

It’s cold.

She adjusts her beanie and gloves.

Her skin started crawling an hour ago and she hoped the fresh air will help.

The sadness that had been chasing her since the afternoon threatens.

The grief that had been simmering, bubbling, growling, makes itself known.

She walks on.

A soft trigger maybe.

An emotional trigger.

Worse than obvious external ones, her internal triggers forced her to analyse what had happened and why she was feeling the way she was.

Sad.

Despondent.

Grief ridden.

The cold air, Lucky in hand, gave her that space.

As soon as she steps out the door, Natasha feels the tears in her eyes.

Steps towards the street, make her breathing uneven and by the time she gets to the park, there’s tears falling.

Lucky trots happily beside her, unaware of her sadness. His tail wags and hits her leg on every second step and she tries to bring her emotions back under control.

The therapist would tell her to keep going, keep crying until it was spent, but she’s not quite ready for the heaving emotions that threaten.

Natasha breathes heavily.

She doesn’t like crying so openly.

She knows she needs to get it back under control before she heads back.

There’s still time.

They head down past the park towards the grocery story that has Clint’s favourite ice cream.

She focuses on her breathing, wiping at her face.

In and out.

It stops the tears.

If she doesn’t think of the trigger, she can ignore the feeling.

Lucky stops at the traffic lights.

He looks up and she looks up with him, trusting his intuition.

The first drop of snow lands on her nose.

The second on her face.

Then, more.

It seems to Natasha that the heaviness in sky, in the world; had also had to let it go.

Unable to hold onto it anymore.

She’s appreciative.

The world is in solidarity.

Slowing her breathing more at they walk, Natasha starts the walk back home.

.

“It’s snowing?” Clint asks as she walks through the door.

Natasha nods.

She doesn’t feel like speaking.

She takes the lead off Lucky, pats him and whispers to him that he’s a good dog.

She’s glad she can go to bed soon.

“The heaters on,” Clint tells her.

She’s thankful.

The sadness sits, but after the tears it doesn’t feel so heavy.

Maybe there’s more to be said for letting it out.

Natasha sighs, sits on the couch, and hopes that tomorrow will be lighter.

.

1/ Clint/Nat/Laura + traditions

2/ Clintasha + temporary blindness

3/ Clint/Nat/Maria + traditions

4/ Natasha and Yelena watch the stars

5/ Clintasha - stab wounds + wrapping presents

6/ Clint/Nat + Maria - gift buying (early shield days)

[dc-marvel-crossovers]

More information here.

For our purposes, a “pool noodle” is a relationship tag that comes up with less than 30 hits on Ao3. Platonic (&) relationships count! Any and all crossover pairings with under 30 existing fics are welcome.

Our next theme, starting Saturday, is "who run the world? girls!" aka anything female-centric!

Prompts for new fic:

Natasha Romanoff/Talia Al Ghul

Birds of Prey crossover 

Genderswap 

Amanda Waller puts together an all-female team 

Captain Britain Peggy Carter

Powerpuff Girls AU 

Diana Prince in SHIELD 

Selina Kyle as a Widow  

Coulson recruits Cassandra Cain

If you'd like to participate, but not as a writer, you can make fanwork for an existing fic! We have an Ao3 collection here. The bookmarks are pool noodle fics whose authors have given permission for art, podfic, playlists, and moodboards inspired by their work.

Below are a few that specifically fit this theme, for fanwork and/or just for your reading enjoyment! Please feel free to share your own recs and tag us, or submit rec posts here for us to publish during feedback week.

I'll Take The Dangerous One by @wyxan - Yelena Belova/Stephanie Brown, teen

it was cool (but it was all pretend) by @capriciouswrites - Natasha Romanov & Bruce Wayne, teen

A Spider And An Archer Go Batty by @river9noble - Natasha Romanov/Bruce Wayne, mature

not alone (like you think you are) by @mightymightygnomepriest - Natasha Romanov/Diana Prince, explicit

birds fly (why can't I?) by @capriciouswrites - Natasha Romanov/Jason Todd, mature

Seal of Approval by @there-must-be-a-lock - Natasha Romanov/Jason Todd, general

early next mornin' ('bout a half past nine) by @capriciouswrites - Karen Page & Jason Todd, mature

Take a bite of my heart tonight by @wyxan - Michelle Jones/Peter Parker/Tim Drake, explicit

kiss me like your boyfriend by @mightymightygnomepriest - Michelle Jones/Peter Parker/Tim Drake, explicit

[hanszoe]

on use of my translations: repost is fine as long as you do not edit or claim as your own. i would prefer to be credited in case someone has a question, but without is also fine.

cause it keeps coming up: generally, i dislike levi and eruri fan centrism and believe it is inseparable from the reason why hansi was killed. please do not tag me in levi or eruri centric metas, especially not to use hansi as a comparison to their relationship. eruri is subtextually canon, and i believe isym had a responsibility to address it explicitly the same way he had a responsibility to address hansi's gender identity, but far too often is hansi ignored, sidelined, and regarded as less important by fans, and belittled and discredited by one of the men in the pairing. misogyny and transphobia are not negated by gay identity. i will always defend it, but too little do i see the same extended to femininity and genderqueerness. if levi being nonstraight is canon to you based on author commentary, hansi being genderqueer must also non-negotiably be so. i do not feel prejudice against any eruri fan nor do i dislike the pairing, but if you feel targeted by criticism of cispatriarchy then this blog is probably not for you.

-isayama has requested hansi's english pronouns be they/them ("avoid gendered pronouns") or "at least" he and she with equal frequency. using single gender for them is misgendering them (which kodansha usa and many other "official" sources do). -hansi's (smartpass) commentary on their romantic preferences is that "everyone sure likes that kind of topic".

if you're curious about my overall interpretation of parts of the narrative, please read my narrative analysis masterlist.

below are my manga translations/commentary: -Marlene’s comment to Hansi about Keith and its context -Full translation and commentary on the first 7 pages of 126 and additional commentary on misinterpretations of 大人しく and grammatical nuance of ん(の) in hansi's response -Correction of the mistranslation of Hansi's dialog to Yelena at the beginning of 132 -The last part of Levi's thought soliloquy in 136 and commentary on his use of お前ら

hansi-related: -name romanization (not my research) -estimated birth and training entry year (outdated, potentially contradicted by an unverified author comment) -everything gender related -eye injury

translations -scenes of sheltering from rain volume 6 [originally 7] Nanaba & Hansi Zoe and discrepancies between my translation and the official english translation -hansi talking about being uncomfortable wearing a gendered uniform in the junior high spinoff -qna about hansi from the SnK 15th anniversary edition of Bessatsu Magazine

other -why is hansi depicted as fetishizing transfemininity in official material -what did isayama mean by "female in the anime"

poetry that reminds me of hansi -october by louise glück -september by jennifer michael hecht -the poem by franz wright -meditations in an emergency by cameron awkward-rich -straw house, straw dog by richard siken

[the-widow-sisters]

Hiyya! Could you write“Stop staring at me" with Yelena and Darcy, please?

A/N: Thank you so much for the request!!! This one was a little short, but hopefully still good! 🥰🥰🥰 I'm not sure when the last time it was that I wrote some one-on-one content with Darcy and Yelena, so hopefully I'm not totally rusty.

Hope you enjoy! 😊

Word Count: 1.2k+

   “Stop staring at me,” Yelena grumbled, shooting Darcy a sideways glare.

   “What?” Darcy furrowed her brow as she asked the question, shaken from her thoughts as she more fully focused her gaze on Yelena. Yelena pointed at her briefly before returning her hand to the controller for the gaming console she was currently on.

   “Stop staring.”

   “What are you talking about?” Darcy tried to play dumb.

   “You. Are staring. At me,” Yelena told her, slowing it down as she tried to tell Darcy exactly what she meant. Darcy scoffed, shaking her head as she continued to at least attempt to deny Yelena’s accusations despite the truth in them.

   “No, I’m not!” Darcy defended.

   “I can feel all four of your eyes like they’re crawling on my skin or something,” Yelena hunched her shoulders, shivering a little for emphasis.

   “Look, I was in thought, and you happened to be where my eyes landed.”

   The truth was that Yelena’s birthday was coming up and Darcy was trying to think of something to buy for her. Her thoughts, since they had been Yelena-centric, had naturally led to her staring at Yelena as she lost herself in thought.

   Obviously, Yelena had not been appreciative of the attention.

   “Yeah, well, keep your eyes in yourself. I know I am hot and all the good things and you probably wish you looked as good as me, but stop looking,” Yelena informed her plainly, and Darcy narrowed her eyes at her.

   “You’re deflecting because you’re uncomfortable with the attention you’re getting. You don’t know how to react to it, so you resort to sarcasm to avoid your feelings of awkwardness and self-doubt,”

   Yelena paused her game, stopping as she looked at Darcy with a threat in her eyes.

   “Don’t start that psycho stuff with me. I am tired of it. You were being good, and now you’re back to doing it again,” Yelena warned, and Darcy just largely ignored her.

   “First, you stare like a weirdo, and now you are analyzing me. Ugh,” Yelena grumbled, moving to grab her phone as she checked it.

   Darcy took in a soft breath, debating what she was about to say. She knew she needed to get an idea of what to get for Yelena, and she figured that the best way to figure out what Yelena might want would be to ask her. At least in a manner of speaking.

   Darcy looked down at her lap before looking back up at Yelena and setting her plan into motion.

   “Okay… So I’ve got a friend that’s got a birthday coming up, and—”

   “Kate Bishop’s birthday isn’t any time soon,” Yelena pointed out, her brow furrowed. Honestly, Darcy was impressed that Yelena kept such good track of Kate’s birthday.

   “I wasn’t talking about Kate,” Darcy replied, starting to continue speaking before Yelena interjected once more.

   “You have other friends besides Kate Bishop?” Yelena raised an eyebrow, just the barest smirk at the corners of her lips, and Darcy squinted at her, setting her jaw a little.

   “Look, you know what—”

   “Keep going, keep going. Your panties are getting wound up.”

   Darcy just stared at her blankly for a moment before shaking her head tiredly.

   “I’m not even going to ask about that. But listen, an old friend from grad school is having a birthday, and I was wondering what you thought would be a good idea to get for her.”

   “Bah. You’re asking the wrong person for that kind of advice,” Yelena dismissed, and Darcy sighed with a nod.

   “Yeah, maybe so, but you’re here and convenient, so deal with it.”

   “Can’t you ask Kate Bishop? Or Natasha?” Yelena grumbled, the sound almost a whine. Darcy scoffed, deciding that she would pull out a bit of reverse psychology from her plethora of tricks.

   “Yeah, you’re right. You probably don’t know anything about this, and probably wouldn’t do nearly as well with it as Kate or Natasha would,” Darcy casually pointed out, lifting her phone as if she were going to text as she watched Yelena from her peripheral vision.

   Yelena let out an indignant scoff, a moment of silence following her noise before she spoke up with evident offense in her tone.

   “Well, what does your friend like to do?” Yelena asked, a petulance within her words that almost made Darcy laugh.

   Darcy held back her smirk as she looked up at Yelena, pleased that her trick had worked on the blonde. Yelena was watching her intently and Darcy could see the challenge in her gaze.

   “I don’t know. She likes video games and food, and she’s really just kind of a hard person to buy for.”

   “She does not sound that hard to buy for. If she likes video games, why don’t you get her that new car racing game?” Yelena suggested as if it were obvious.

   “What’s that called?” Darcy asked, looking at Yelena as she drew her knees up so that Yelena could not see the phone propped on her legs where she was ready to type Yelena’s gift suggestions.

   “It’s Adrenaline Rush 4,” Yelena told her, and Darcy nodded to her, typing it quickly as she tried to mostly keep her attentions on Yelena rather than her phone so that she could avoid rousing suspicions.

   “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m buying for her,” Darcy nodded, and Yelena shrugged, looking rather proud of herself as she sat back into the couch more fully.

   “Yeah. If you need any more advice from the expert, you just let me know,” Yelena smirked confidently, reaching down as she grasped the controller in her hands.

   “Actually—”

   “I didn’t really mean it,” Yelena shook her head swiftly, looking at Darcy unhappily.

   “Yeah, I didn’t figure you did, but I’m taking you up on it anyway. Look, she also likes visiting army surplus stores, so do you have any good suggestions with that? I know you go to them, too,” Darcy acknowledged, and Yelena grumbled some dismissive noise.

   “Leave my army surplus alone. But if you want to go with that, then one thing you can never go wrong with is a vest. Especially the ones that are lined with that really soft material. Those are perfect,” Yelena gushed a little over the vests, her eyes having just a bit of a sparkle at the mere discussion of vests.

   However, after just a moment, a thought seemed to occur to her.

   “Wait… What was your friend doing in grad school? She sounds really cool, and not at all like someone you would hang out with,” Yelena chuckled just after the insult, looking at Darcy curiously.

   Darcy offered a tight-lipped smile, shrugging.

   “Yeah… We have a strange relationship, but somehow we’re still friends despite all our differences,” Darcy explained.

   It was the truth. Yelena and her were weird, but she still felt like they were friends even though things were weird. Darcy scooted up toward the edge of the couch, tapping her fingers on the cushions as she tried to think of a way to escape so she could go and look for these things Yelena suggested to her.

   “Welp, I’ve got to go to the bathroom, so… See you later,” Darcy smiled awkwardly, getting up quickly as she started to head out.

   “Be careful, you are starting to take up Kate Bishop’s ways,” Yelena warned as she left, and Darcy offered her a very obviously fake laugh.

   “Ha, ha.”

   Well, at least now she had some ideas.

[bluesylveon2]

AOT Season 4 The Final Chapters Thoughts:

Crunchyroll won't let me screenshot so I will write out my thoughts instead:

I like how this part of Season 4 is Armin-centric. The first part was dedicated to Eren and then the second part was dedicated to Mikasa

Yall I lowkey forgot Armin gets kidnapped by the okapi titan

The cgi continues to improve for aot. However, you can tell MAPPA's budget went to jjk because of the amount of fanservice they are giving 😂

The Survey Corps vs past titans shifters fight was so good!!! I liked watching it more than reading it because you could see what happens in the action. Also the scene with Pieck running toward the Warhammer titan was hilarious

I like the detail of the gray people and the colored baby. The baby represents the future and it being colored represents the hope of getting through the Rumbling. I like how everything became colored once the titans stopped moving.

Levi finally killing Zeke was satisfying. Now Zeke can be reborn as Toji in jjk because we know stuff is going down there too lol

Can I just say that I love the aruani scenes? Like Annie immediately asks where's Armin but tries to play it off and Mikasa was not buying it! Then there was the other part where Annie saves Armin and AHHHH I loved it!! Her dad better be impressed if Annie got with Armin cause he is so cool

Okay that hallucigenia thing needed to go. We don't even know where it went after Eren died. We assume it died with him because everyone turned back to normal. Also, I guess every titan had a piece of hallucigenia in them, specifically in their spine that connects their CNS and their PNS. It turning others into titans was it's way to "multiply" and keep it alive

The eremika kiss was not as creepy as I remember in the manga. The lighting helped it a lot. I remember reading that part and questioning what was Isayama thinking when he wrote that

I like to think of Eren as Lelouch from Code Geass, except Lelouch lived to see the effects of what he did. Eren had no choice but to die after wiping out 80% of humanity.

On that thought, there was one part where Armin was like "we can't have conflict if we destroy the outside world." Well, we already saw at the beginning of S4 that is not the case. There will always be conflict in the world. We even see it today. Sure, Eren could have killed everyone, but you still have conflict within Paradis. We saw it already with the Jaegerists. Eren helped his friends have a peaceful life but that would end eventually once they passed.

I sobbed at the part with everyone reuniting. It was sweet in the manga, it was sweet now

Historia's daughter is so cute!!!!

I like the ending even if it is slightly different from the manga. Of course you get the 104 + Pieck coming to Paradis (Jean looking great as always lol), Mikasa seeing birb Eren, Onyakopon and Yelena (finally) helping out, Levi with the kids, and Falco/Gabi planting a tree to signify new beginnings

Now...my only complaint about this episode was the credits. WHY DID THEY MAKE IT SMALL??? i WANTED TO KNOW WHO MIKASA MARRIED!!!! I liked the detail with the other kid tho. The boy sees the tree with a hole and walks in. I think this is Isayama's way of showing that titans can return and Eren would be the new Ymir. I'm not too certain, but it would suck for Eren because he would not be free. Maybe the kid could be the new Ymir? Who knows? My question would be how would titans survive modern day. Obviously they would evolve, but can they survive modern technology. We may not use swords much anymore but there is nuclear technology.

(Edit: it is possible Mikasa married Jean based on what we see in the anime/manga. I feel like that's not a good ending for either one of them because a) Mikasa's heart belongs to Eren. It's like Rose from the Titanic. Basically, Mikasa won't love Jean or whoever she married fully. b) Jean seems to be busy conducting the peace talks with the others. Idk if he would have time for Mikasa unless they were both cool with it. c) I think it's just not a good ending for either of them. I felt bad for Mikasa throughout the whole episode and that as her ending is...idk...I would feel even bad for her)

I know Isayama is done with the series but i have questions I want answered!!! 😭 Still, I got into this fandom back in 2013 and it has been a good 10 years. I met a lot of great people from the fandom who I still talk to today. Aot is my favorite anime and I plan on rewatching the anime or buy the manga in the future. Now it is time for me to go to the next fandom aka twst lol

[mthofferings2023]

sumbacky

See sumbacky’s existing works here and here.

Preferred contact methods: Email: lynette.vo768@gmail.com Twitter: bunetties Tumblr: sumbacky

Preferred organizations: - Center for Reproductive Rights - Clean Air Task Force - International Rescue Committee - Partners In Health - Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network (RAINN) (See the list of approved organizations here)

Will create works that contain: Fluff, romance, mild nsfw/smut, AUs, character interactions, animals, canon-compliant

Will not create works that contain: Heavy angst, dark themes, mecha, difficult/complex backgrounds, gore, omegaverse, kids

  -- Art --

Auction ID: 1004

Will create works for the following relationships: Bucky Barnes/Sam Wilson - MCU Joaquín Torres/Sam Wilson - MCU Miles Morales/Gwen Stacy - Spider-Verse (animated films) Yelena Belova/Kate Bishop - MCU Hobie Brown & Miles Morales & Pavitr Prabhakar & Gwen Stacy - Spider-Verse (animated films) Thor-centric - MCU Sam Wilson-centric - MCU Yelena Belova-centric - MCU

Work Description: I’m offering one digital illustration of the characters listed (up to two and will ONLY draw four characters if it's those Spiderverse characters). The file will be a high resolution png and will be sent via email. The winning bid will receive a digital artwork according to the tiers below: $10-20: Half-body (B&W/single block colour) $20-30: Full-body (B&W/single block colour) $30-40: Half-body (full colour) $40-50: Half-body (full colour) + detailed background $50+: Full body (full colour) + detailed background The $10-$40 tiers will have a simple background with little detail, the focus being on the characters. I prefer that you provide me visual or detailed descriptions of your piece. If the scene you'd like me to draw is from a fic, please send me the link of the fic - I'm more than happy to read the whole fic to get a grasp of the story/vibes to encapsulate that one scene for you.

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature

Can pods bid on this auction? Yes - Podbids welcome!

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 22 (12 AM ET) to October 28 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

my beloved ghost and me (sitting in a tree D-Y-I-N-G)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57266200 by MsMoonSong_22 Peter Parker was used to losing people and the crippling fear of abandonment that came with it. He would be damned if he let Morgan Stark go through what he did.   OR   In which Peter and Morgan both miss their Dad. Words: 2501, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: F/M Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Peter Quill, Mantis (Marvel), Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Clint Barton, Yelena Belova, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Happy Hogan Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Aunt May Parker & Peter Parker, Happy Hogan/Aunt May Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker & Sam Wilson, Pepper Potts & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff & Peter Parker Additional Tags: Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Precious Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Morgan Stark are Siblings (Marvel Cinematic Universe), BAMF Pepper Potts, Protective Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter Parker-centric, Morgan Stark Needs a Hug (Marvel Cinematic Universe) read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/57266200

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

i think we found out reason for a real argument between the two… when nat sees a kat x bucky (or wanda or carol orrrr any other avengers tbf) fanfic on her screen. maybe it wasn’t even kat centric but steve x peggy or yelena x kate

of course kat didn’t read it, she’s disgusted by being with anyone except nat but she was just a teeeeny bit curious, nat hits the roof and katya finds herself on the couch for the rest of the week😂😂😂

Omg 😂😂 Nat would feel so betrayed. She knows about the fact that some people write/ship Kat with someone else, and she's NOT amused, to say the least. But to actually catch her wife checking out those books...

You bet your ass Kat is banned to the couch for a week 😂 Nat doesn't want to be touched either, because "would you touch her the same way?" "It's fiction, Nat!"

[bestangelofall]

Hallo! For the ask game I'd love to get your thoughts on:

🍊 Who’s a character you don’t write for that often, but keep meaning to write for more? (They’re so interesting! But maybe you have trouble pinning them down, or keep getting distracted by another blorbo…)

🍑 If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

Hi!! Thank you so much for the ask :)

🍊: hmmmm Probably Steve Rogers. I like his character in the MCU, and by nature of the characters from there that I write, he's supposed to be an important secondary character... but it just ends up being a "and Steve was there" thing, which I don't like... his character is super interesting, but I just can't feel like I'm getting him right, and I hate to just make it a "Steve was there" situation, so soemtimes i don't even include him.

Also Hal Jordan (but that's a case that I'm still reading more comics to actually feel secure to write him (and other lanterns)). I feel like my future has a lot of Hal Jordan centric fic waitinng for me.

🍑I'll have to go with the Yelenat Persona (the Bergman movie) AU. It's sooooo pretentious ngl. But I think it would fit so well their characters; the psychosexual nature of the relationship between Alma and Elisabet in the movie is a result of the setting they're put on, and I think that Natasha and Yelena living in isolation like that has soooo much potential to be just as weird, and I'd enjoy adapting things to fit the fusion AU. I even started to write some stuff for this AU, but right now I don't think I'm in the right mindspace to write something that potentially complex...

In second place comes the Black Swan (the Aronofsky movie) Yelenat AU. Pretentious too lol, but so fitting for the ship... Thing is that I'd need to research so much about ballet to write it, and right now I don't have the time for it.

And there's the Jason fic loosely held together by passages of Paradise Lost that is, hm, also pretentious lol. I want to write a fic about a subversion (?) of the fallen angel type of character with a thesis of "the problem is that angels can fall, but gods can't", but that one is a long-term project.

[thebestpeopleinlifearefreefic]

as promised the yelena centric chapter is now yours 🩶

[quietlyimplode]

Black Widow Fest 2023 - Day Seven

Mirror, Mirror.

Warnings: dead dove. child abuse, child death (red room)

Word count: 2694

Pairing: nil. Natasha Centric.

A/N: truthfully, this has been a hard one to write but as it got going it got easier. Borne of beautiful artwork by @lightmotifs and a conversation about Natasha looking at herself in the mirror, spawned.. well, this. A five parter of times Natasha looked at herself in the mirror. So please heed the warnings. <3 (also this was supposed to be the last fic of the years bwf but I had to add in Kiss the Dread) As always your comments and support gives these fics life. <3

The scariest thing I had to encounter,

Wasn’t a ghost, or a scary monster.

It was the reflection, I saw as I looked in the mirror.

The moment I had to face,

All the dark parts, I tried hard to erase

Yet as I looked a bit closely, at the eyes staring back at me,

I realised they were still there,

Untouched and unfazed.

Waiting for the day to be let out of their cage.

- Reflection (S.S.W)

1/ Ohio

Touching the bruise softly, Natasha watches her face wince in the mirror. It doesn’t hurt, it stings, maybe that’s the sensation she’s feeling.

She’s old enough to know that she won’t be going to school tomorrow, because they ask questions about those sorts of of things.

Melina had promised to show her how to put make up on bruises, but she’d left in the hours of the morning with Yelena, leaving Natasha and Alexei together.

“Let me teach you something new,” he’d laughed, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from her book.

“Don’t let the American language corrupt your mind.”

She’d tried to pull her wrist away, but he’d held on, and it was only when she trailed behind him, did she smell the vodka on his breath.

Whatever he had planned to show her, he wouldn’t remember, not being as drunk as what he was.

“Sambo is a man’s sport, but you will learn,” he’d said.

Natasha knows the bruise on her face isn’t the only visible one, but if she thought about what really hurt, her back would be top priority.

She takes her tshirt off to see if it has the same coloured hue as her eye. She takes the chair and puts it under the door so that Alexei does not wander in, and then twisting in the mirror, she catches a glance at her back.

It’s as she suspected, bruises mottling down her spine from where he’d picked her up and crashed her down.

His laugher had made her smile, even as she winced in hurt.

“Come on Natasha, show me how the Red Room girls defend themselves.”

She didn’t really know how to react, and so had thrown a half hearted punch, before he picked her up and threw her again.

Natasha wasn’t sure when it had turned, his laughter turned serious and she’d missed the cue for his anger. Suddenly, his attempt at playing, mutated and as she’d got up again, he pushed her down.

“I win,” he said conversationally.

She missed the warning in his voice as she stood back up.

Natasha tried not to cry when he open hand slapped her in the face, the sound shocking her more than the hit, and she’d stayed down.

He stood over her, grabbing the nearby bottle and taking a swig.

“I win,” he snarled, “I will always win.”

And then stalked off to find a corner to drink some more.

She’d only moved when she’d heard his loud snores coming from the bedroom, and had risen on shaking legs, making her way to the bathroom to assess the damage.

The mirror doesn’t lie, she thinks as she stares at herself, poking softly at the swelling, wishing quietly for a way to swap places with the mirror version of herself.

2/ Location Unknown. Russia.

They’re lined up like they always are, and take their places on the bar. The distance between them is measured and they’ve done this often enough to know exactly what to do.

Madam strikes her switch and the music starts.

Natasha follows the movement and lets her mind wander. It comes with such ease that she no longer even has to think about it.

Today feels different, but she can’t figure out why.

Madam, perhaps looks more strict, but she hasn’t said anything, hasn’t corrected anything, has let them follow the music without yelling or hitting them with switch to correct movement.

The longer it goes on, the more it feels wrong.

There’s no talking.

They breathe hard as training continues longer than it should.

She shares a glance with the other girls, and she knows everyone is feeling the strangeness.

Legs shaking they’re lined up again, and at last; Natasha thinks, they can go into the lunch hall and eat.

Except they don’t.

They’re sat, facing the mirror in the hall, and Natasha takes the opportunity to look at the other girls in the reflection.

Something she rarely does.

They all look as tired as she does.

They all look nervous at the change in routine.

Even those that know how to mask their faces, have shifting eyes and clenched fists.

She stares at herself, and takes her demeanour in, focusing first at relaxing her face, making her features become stoic and straight faced. Next she relaxes her shoulders, keeping her breathing even.

Her legs give nothing away, so she puts her hands flat on her knees and keeps her back straight.

No slouching.

Dreykov enters.

Immediately, her hands tighten on her knees but she sees it in the mirror.

Natasha knows now this is going to be a lesson.

And not a good one.

She stares stoically at the mirror.

Reasoning, that she can see everything in the room, and she can focus on herself.

It becomes more important when Anabelle is dragged in by her hair.

Natasha’s heart sinks.

They knew she was missing in the morning and had gossiped about her whereabouts. They’d concluded that she was in medical.

Because no one would be stupid enough to do what they assumed she had done.

As Dreykov starts to talk, Natasha’s heart sinks further.

She’d tried to escape.

They’d caught her at the border of the forest.

Glancing quickly at her, Anabelle seems to know her fate, her clothes ripped by what Natasha assumes is handiwork of Dreykov’s dogs.

She turns back to the mirror.

If she watches the mirror, she can make it seem like she’s watching an American movie.

She’s not here.

It’s not happening in front of her.

The mirror shows all the horrors, the monologue from a villain.

It’s just a movie, Natasha tells herself, nails digging into her knees.

Nails pieces her skin as the gunshot goes off.

She doesn’t want to look.

Dreykov’s voice is nothing in the back of her head as she watches the blood spread on the floor.

Staring stoically forward, she watches the others stand, numbly; she does the same.

She takes one last look in the mirror, and the scene of horror, and knows the truth that it holds.

3/ Location Unknown. America.

The interrogation room in Shield is simple.

Table.

Chairs.

Handcuffs holding her wrists on the table.

Two way mirror.

She wonders idly how many people sit behind that mirror, how many are evaluating her, if Clint Barton is watching too.

Maria Hill, the SIC of Shield, crosses her legs again and waits.

“We can make this more uncomfortable,” she states.

Natasha doesn’t doubt it.

“But Barton has assured us that you would cooperate, and abide by the rules of your surrender.”

Natasha nods.

Stares at the two way mirror.

“I will,” she speaks to it.

She has no interest in Maria, and is willing to talk, but there’s a certain anxiety that comes with divulging her country’s secrets.

If they find her, she’s dead, but she was already dead anyway.

She wishes she could see him through the mirror.

Instead, she just sees her own face, dead eyes staring back to her.

“Tell us about Bali, and your role in the assassination of American diplomat,” Maria repeats.

Natasha frowns.

“How do you know that was me?”

Maria bristles.

“Was it?”

Natasha doesn’t have enough information to know how much they know. If she lies, or tells less than they truth, and they know more than she tells them, there’s not telling what they’ll do.

It’s not a winnable game unless she answers their questions with more questions and gauge her response from that, she could perhaps play it that way.

It seems too hard though.

And she’ll let Clint down.

After all he went through to get her out.

She looks to the mirror again, and finds her eyes pleading.

Turning back to Maria and sighing, she uses the mirror as an anchor.

“No one ever assumes that the woman in a dress is a threat.”

The tiniest of smiles crosses Maria’s face, and it’s more like a softening of features than anything else.

“I passed him twice, once to slit his femoral artery and the second to make sure he’s dead.”

The clanking of the handcuffs make her brain short out alongside the anxiety, the fact that she’s in America, talking about missions, is tantamount to death.

Dreykov’s face appears in the mirror and her eyes go wide.

“He’s dead,” she says out loud, and the image fades.

Maria nods.

“Yes, he died, as you’ve stated.”

She’s thankful her fuck up isn’t noticed, despite the fact her heart is beating hard against her chest.

“Do you need a break?” Maria’s asks, the words kind, even if the delivery is not.

Natasha shakes her head, calming herself, as she grounds herself by looking back to the mirror.

If nothing else is real, at least she is.

She knows this by the way she raises her head and her mirror image copies the action.

The way she talks and the image opens and closes her mouth in time.

There’s no delay like in dreams.

Hours they continue, and she grows tired of the constant questions, the interrogation that occurs when her story doesn’t line up with her timelines of events.

It’s just, it’s how she remembers it’s happening.

It’s not like she has the mission reports in front of her.

She’s not even trying to hide lies in the truth anymore.

What would be the point?

They’ll either take her in and help protect her from the last standing Red Room members or they’ll kill her.

In the back of her mind, she doesn’t care about whatever way they go.

She’s dead either way, and being alive never seemed to help anyone.

“Tell me about Ohio,” Maria asks.

But it’s too much.

“No,” Natasha states, staring hard at her.

“No.”

“No.”

“We’ve been at this for hours, days, handcuffed, toileted like a child, made to wait, been asked the same questions, about the same missions over and over to see if my story varies. It doesn’t, and still you ask.”

Sick of the handcuffs, she slips out of them, and rubs her wrists, a familiar action that feels grounding in the moment, allowing her to continue her rant.

Her mouth speaks, her mind wanders.

They know about Ohio.

They might know about Yelena.

“Either kill me or agree to the terms of my defection.”

She stares at the mirror.

“I don’t care,” she finishes, “I don’t care.”

Despondent eyes look back to her as she hastens a glance.

The door opens and Clint strides in.

There’s a sense of dread and relief simultaneously.

“You’re the one they send to kill me?”

He stands next to her, argues, for her, not against her.

He tells Maria off for keeping her in cuffs, for not bringing in food or water and keeping Natasha in longer than she should.

He sighs and she hastens a look up to the mirror finding their images standing together.

Maybe shes not alone in this.

4/ The Avengers Tower, New York.

The mirrors in the lift are usually easily ignored.

Sometimes she’ll even take the stairs.

This time Natasha looks forward to it.

She wants to see how she looks, wants to see how feral she is.

Blood in her hairline, bruises on her face, she smiles at herself.

For once she feels like the outside matches the inside.

The doors close and it ascends upwards without her having to press a button, and she can’t stop looking at herself.

She did good.

Her body, her mind, her training, for once, paid off.

She got Tony out, and he’s safe because of her.

Getting closer to the mirror, she eyes the way her hair is unkempt, flyaway bits adorn her face, almost lining it, even though it’s all tied up in a tight bun. Not red, but brown this week. Clint had commented and pouted that he missed her hair, Steve reported that he was going to go blonde and Tony called her chameleon. She likes her brown hair, so different to her natural colour.

Next, she looks at her eyes.

Green watches her.

The speckled brown seemingly more, when contrasted with her brown hair.

She likes the way her pupils are wide as she changes her expression with the move of an eyebrow.

Natasha used to do this in the Red Room, practice facial expressions so she could school her face, remember how to look angry, sad, happy.

She touches the scar on her lip softly.

No make up.

She didn’t need it for the fight she fought.

Pale skin, blemish on her chin.

The bruises from the fight coming through slowly.

Since when did she stop wearing makeup daily just to hide who she was? She thinks it’s been months. Only wearing it when needed, when meeting with higher ups.

Here though; she doesn’t need it.

She’s Natasha. Not made up, not fake.

She touches her lips again, swollen, cut.

Pushes it into a smile, a frown, playing with pushing them in and out, watching how the cut expands and shrinks depending on her how she curls it.

The elevator stops, the doors don’t open.

Turning and glancing at doors, she realises Jarvis has recognised she’s entranced.

They’d call it vanity, she’d call it a luxury.

“Thanks,” she whispers, and turns her attention back to herself.

Eyebrows, up and down.

Frown, practicing facial expressions; she feels like a marionette.

Eyes big, eyes small. Sad. Happy.

It’s what it looks like on other people anyway.

She can fake any emotion.

She can pretend.

She’s been doing it all her life.

It doesn’t take much practice.

Being unmasked does.

Years of it.

Sometimes she feels like she’ll never be able to fully unmask and be herself.

Natasha knows the lengths she’s gone to, to hide who she is. Being vulnerable is too hard, rarely worth it.

The select few that know her know her like this, feral, unkempt, truthful.

The more she stares, the more she likes this version of herself.

“Thanks,” she tells empty space around her, “we can go now.”

The elevator starts, and delivers her to the floor with her room.

Natasha takes one last look at herself, smiles, and leaves.

5/ Norway

Natasha feels the artificial lighting; her head hurting due to the lack of sleep and constant vigilance.

The phone, now sans the SIM card, sits on the sink, and she stares heavily, taking in every part of her.

So tired of running, missing the stability she’s had.

Weak, she calls herself.

How could she forget the trials and lessons of her childhood?

She should have known that it would inevitably fall apart.

It was always going to end like this, with her alone, and being tracked by people she once considered allies.

“Once a traitor, always a traitor,” Rumlow had once whispered in her ear, and she’d tried to not take it to heart.

The thing is, she’d always known, she only needed to stay true to herself.

Her own morals.

She’d once told Clint that that only person she could trust was herself.

He’s told her that he wished she’d change her mind on that.

Perhaps for a time she did.

Maybe at the tower; maybe for that short period of her life where Tony showed her tech, Steve showed her how to draw and Bruce taught her how to cook. Times that seemed much simpler.

Now.

That’s gone.

The only person you can trust is yourself, she scalds herself, frowning in the mirror.

The mirror doesn’t lie.

The mirror holds truth.

Reaching out for herself she touches it gently.

She is real and not alone.

She has herself, and she knows the power of that.

.