My own woman

This is unjustifiable.

☆- Who would you most like to punch in the face? ☂- Who would you most like to get stuck in the rain with? ❖- Who would you most like to send to jail? ✌- Who would you most like to go to jail with? ☭- Who would you most like to be a permanent roommate of? ♘- Who’s children would you most like to have? ♠- Who would you most like to make out with? ♖- Who would you most like to make love to? ♛- Who would you most like to fuck? ⚉- Who would you most like to get married to? ♦- Who would you most like to go on a two month roadtrip with? ♗- Who’s the sexiest person you know? ♝- Who’s the most intelligent person you know? ♤- Who has the best butt out of everyone you know?

"Oh you’re good. Playing the amnesia card. Nice try. I’d recognize that fiery red hair anywhere."He added with a rather faint laugh that was almost taunting. "Exactly. Knight of Hell, with royal ambitions to kill Crowley. See, there you go. Repeating helps with the memory." He brought his hand up to rub at his chin."Now how about you quit the crap, because I have got no time for your little games."

"If I were, as you so ham handedly put it, playing the amnesia card, you'd be dealing with a far more hostile person." She leaned closer, brows furrowed out of a combination of absolute annoyance and more than a little anger at the mere mention of memory loss. "Now, if you're that intent on trying to start a fight? I'm more than happy to mop the floor with you and then send in SHIELD to clean up after. If, as they say, you're feeling froggy? Then leap. Just be warned that you'll be heading back to the lily pad in a body cast."

I present to you: One of the baddest of asses ever to walk the planet. Clint. Mother. Fucking. Barton.

                                                                                      i. ii. iii. iv.

He stared at her for a second. Red room? "First off, no one is my boss, but me. Two, I don’t what these assassins are or this red room is. Unless you’re toying me with some kinda of jedi mind trick, it won’t, Abbadon. I killed you. I stabbed you.” His voice was becoming a bit more firmer as he took a few more steps closer.

Abbadon? Hell, she'd gotten worried over some random drunken man mistaking her for god only knew who. "First, don't threaten me, it won't end well. Second, I know for a fact you've never stabbed me. I've never forgotten the face of anyone who's hurt me. And third, the only Abbadon I know of is the biblical term for one of the harbingers of the apocalypse, and for as talented as I am, I'm by no means powerful enough to bring that about. So why don't you take a breath?"

"You cannot. You must not.”

"You’re right, they could.  But Jensen knows that, if he cannot get me out, to contact you or Dad and keep an eye on me so he can direct you to where I am.  Mama, I’ll be okay.  I have god-sanctioned backup, both of us are blessed heavily, and the gods will protect me as best they can.  Ares gave me this ability at least temporarily."  He materialized a gun out of thin air.  "I will always be armed.  I can create any weapon.  I’m going to be okay.”

"Мой милый ребенок, you could have the entirety of the United States armed forces behind you along with every deity of every pantheon, and I'd still worry. You're my son, and I don't want to see anything happen to you." She cupped a palm over his cheek, her voice gentle and low. "I'm always going to worry about you, it's in my nature."

"I don’t want to go back."

"Don’t worry Natasha, you don’t have to ever again. Not while you got me."

"I can still see them, still feel the handcuffs on my wrist...They never stop. Even now that they're gone, I still end up dragged right back in."