THE RED DEATH.

[slavicswidow]

winteristic.

the WARMTH radiating from the marble-white plains of her face is enough to settle soft embers of tenderness within the cavity of his chest,     the small, sloping smile falling across the slant of his mouth like a shadow provoked only by this familiar countenance,   by the feather-fletched finery of THIS, the kindness she presses beneath his wrought-iron breast.  his gaze is candlelight.        here he walks away from the GRAVEYARD strapped to his back ;  here he steps free of a dance with the devil initiated so long ago now he has forgotten how it began but never how it ends,    &    now with the light spilling across his frame from her INCANDESCENT form he allows himself to ignore the calls of the dead in his too-still hands.

there is a moment here, in the doorway between this life and the OTHER,  the one they do not talk about,    that he is blinded by her.      the moment passes,   a particular sort of EASE settling within him,   knife in the gut,     &     this time when he gazes upon her he does it with a greater kind of warmth,   WONDER evaporated behind such an average veneer.      she falls into his arms AN ANGEL,    something he once would not dare touch for fear of staining the ivory expanse of her pure flesh with the dirtied pitch nature of his sin,   of the death that still sits in his chest sometimes,    still PICKS UP his flesh   &   WALKS in it.       this time he does not reserve himself so   ——   does not force upon himself the  wrist-&-manacle restraint exercised throughout the day with a clinical kind of finality,  the kind of finality pushed forth from the barrel of a gun with a familiarity once afforded BREATHING or BLEEDING,    &    he catches her in his birdcage arms   &   replies with a stolen kind of softness,        ❛    you missed me, huh ??    ❜    joviality shall paint his mouth pink.     this same mouth shall press quickly to hers,   something sacred snatched from her lips, something HOLY caught in her smile.     here he says, quieter now, a WOUNDED ANIMAL caught in her wire-trap gaze,    ❛    i missed you too.    ❜    &   now he represses the urge to unwind himself from her,   from the intrusion of his day into his night,   when the only blood here is in his head   &   even that is swiftly wiped clean.     a lie forms on his tongue easy as breathing.    ❛    yeah, it was GOOD. one of the guys in the office brought in donuts for everybody.    ❜     the pretense falls a little flat.  he moves on quickly enough that it shall not be questioned,   some vague kind of amusement caught in the grave-riddled cage of his ribs.         ❛    how about you   —   have a good day ??    ❜

what sweet sorrow rests on that gentle frame.   that lovely gaze where WINTER dwells.    she a PRISONER to where warmth swells   --   betwixt the frigidity of their GAME.    secrets seem to fester here, with only their DECEIT to blame. still they live in an ever-fragile   harmony,   though threatened by an imminent tragedy.     for her hands are stained with the blood of saints   &   sinners alike. &   with each life stolen,   a part of her was too,   leaving her to wonder when her atonement was due. 

still,   for now,   the fates show   KINDNESS:   a chance for love,   for   HAPPINESS. though,   admittedly,   she is   undeserving   of such luxury.      but if she believed in such a thing as serendipity,    she’d trust that he,   a doting husband,   was meant to be.    &   if she dared to place her faith in heaven,    she’d think heaven was HIM.    after all,   how could a smile so HOLY  &  SANGUINE   be anything more  ?   he was a dose of    REDEMPTION,   a tether to HUMANITY.    for each time he gazed into her eyes,    she was reminded of her SANITY  ; each time his calloused hands reached for her own sinful ones,    her burdens were alleviated  ;  each time his lips captured hers,   she was captivated by the taste of  love   &   loyalty   &   lust.  he, in the midst of all that was sordid, was   SACRED.    &   she,   despite his faith in her,   felt like an intruder in such a sanctimonious   temple.     still, she finds something that bore some semblance to   SOLACE   in his tender embrace   &   whispers,        ❛      of course,      ❜     as a smile haunts carmine lips,       a mimicry of his own mirth.     &   when his lips find their way HOME    to her own,    the sins of yesterday melt away.    here,     in the   COMFORT   of his arms,   her ailings haunt her no more.   &   for  once,      her breath is not as   heavy.   letting some distance fall between them     --    just enough for her hand to find its way to his cheek  -- she dares to meet his gaze   &   allows  contentment to fill the holes in her heart.    ❛    donuts   ?    how exciting,      ❜     she replies,    her words tainted with   s a r c a s m.  do not think her a fool to believe in such a slapdash   L I E .   she could see it in his eyes.  but, for fear of shattering the tender tranquility,   she  refrains  from prodding,     despite her better judgment.    ❛     yes,     ❜   comes a   b r e e z y  lie,   much like the one he fashioned.     ❛   it was   slow,  so i came home early.  ❜   oh, if only he knew of the machinations that brewed -- or the   BLOOD  that was dripping  RED off her ledger.    ❛    i did some cooking & cleaning    --  made your favorite for dinner.   oh,  & i got new curtains.  like them   ?   ❜

[slavicswidow]

[adele voice] hello, it’s me. like for a starter ??

[slavicswidow]

nctional:

        HIS GAZE SEEMED to glide lower & lower with each word she said, until it settled, heavy, on the solid earth underneath their feet. it took all his strength not to lift a hand, run it over his mouth          show the the low level anxiety coursing through his veins every time his mind gave into the urge to think of the documents she’d given him before disappearing.

                             (  which          there wasn’t really a time where he wasn’t                                 thinking of those files.  )

                ‘       nothing really … solid. whispers of intel, which is better                         than nothing at all.

        at least, that’s what he hoped. a shrug matched the tone in which he spoke, though he gathered up the spirit to shoot something of an encouraging smile toward the other. something semi-significant, in the grand scheme of things. something to grab onto  (  hope, where all he felt he was grabbing at was sand slipping between his fingers since he’d woken up  ).

                                         ‘       i’m sure you were keepin’ tabs, regardless.                                                  got anything that could help ?

     SCRUTINY STAINS HER vigilant gaze, though it becomes softened when undulates of familiarity encompass her.  L O S S  echoes through the hollows of her bones, reverberating through every fiber of her being. she was birthed from throughs of death, forged into IRON, then molded to fit into a savage puppeteer’s hand. she vaguely recalls a time when she had tasted the bitterly saccharine taste of free will, until she realized that it was all but a ghastly illusion. after all, there was no such thing as  G O D  in this world--no such thing as hope or happiness...at least, not for people like HER: a ghost of a girl, a whisper, a shadow. & so, she understood. she understood why bucky barnes could not be found, for he, too, was a ghost, a whisper, a shadow. inwardly, she’s certain steve knows it, too--still, he tenaciously holds on to a last thread of empty hope. for that, natasha envies him, as it seemed he still possessed the very qualities that make up a HUMAN. natasha, however, had long forfeited those traits. & now, she hopes atonement may restore her humanity.

   ❛  not much,   ❜  she starts, no more than a whisper for fear of unwelcome ears.  ❛  just rumors. i heard he visited the museum. a little boy claims he saw him.   ❜

   a silence ensures, one she utilizes to comb over her thoughts. another beat, then she reaches forward & places a wayward hand on steve’s shoulder as a small smile curves her lips upward.  ❛  you look tired, rogers. go on vacation. call that girl. you could use it.  ❜

[slavicswidow]

winteristic:

the recollection is hazy at best,   a FRACTURED conception of a time impossible to forget   &   yet so PAINFUL to remember.    he stumbles over it,   over the DULL weight of a gun he still feels in his hand,  over the sound of it,  the ROARING in his ears.    he had not known her then   —    recognition was a frivolity more oft than not SPARED the weapons,    &      even now the memories falter slightly,   his past perception of her,   red   &   wild   &   BLEEDING, bleeding so much,    somehow torn between the woman he now knows her to be   &   the INCONVENIENCE of his mark’s flesh   &   blood shield he had once seen her as.     ———   a LONG look is spared her features,  his conceptualisation of her assured   &   certain now.      ❛   —— kinda.   ❜    the instinct to lie lurks beneath his skin  ;  he stifles it, SMOTHERS it.    ❛   not much.   ❜ 

a searing numbness crawls its way into her throat. it makes a home there--albeit unwelcome. memories spark in the dark of her heart ; remnants of a girl? woman? machine she thought she’d long evaded had resurfaced. it seemed her demons had yet to be silenced. she remembers. she remembers well: the quick kiss of death, fired from the grim himself--only, it was stained with an unprecedented grace, unlike the savagery that his hands had previously forged. bewilderment consumes her. soon, hunger prevails. then, undulates of questions reign sovereign. now, she speaks with candor laced in her words.   ❛   five years ago, i was escorting a nuclear engineer out of iran. someone shot at my tires near odessa. we lost control, we almost went over a cliff, i pulled us out, & you were there. i covered the engineer & you shot straight through my stomach.  ❜   a silence, doused with notes of frigidity, blankets the room ; however,  it’s broken by the sharp ruffle of cloth against skin as natasha betrays the scar etched into her hip.  ❛  thanks to you, bikinis aren’t an option anymore.  ❜  a beat.   ❛  you didn’t kill me. why ?  ❜

[slavicswidow]

nctional:

          A CHANCE TO  meander his way through the streets of new york seemed too good to be true ; in fact, it felt as if he was still walking through a  dream,  more often than  not.  which made the sudden presence of the woman he’d found something of a  FRIEND  in a welcome distraction. something that shocked a  matching  smile onto features that held a  solemn  gaze just moments prior.

                                      ‘                hey.

      (  he could feel a  SCOFF  wanting to break free at the wayward          comment he just  knew  would be made.  )

                  ‘         yeah, ah          no.  didn’t get around to it. just                             got back from a mission ?    i’m taking it went                             well, given you being in  one piece  ?

    THERE WAS NO  taste as divine as the saccharine flavor of freedom. after all, she had been deprived of its fruits for quite some time, given the events that had transpired over the course of the last few months. though she’d vowed to find solace under a new identity, natasha discovered she’d liked the person she’d forged for steve -- someone honest, someone she could be proud of. her smile was a testament to that fact.

    ❛  what a shame. she was nice. i liked her.  ❜   a moment passes, still painted with joviality. though the ensuing instant would prove to have a slightly different aura given the subject matter.   ❛   you could say that. bikinis still aren’t a possibility for a while, though. ------ did you get any new information on that file ?   ❜ 

[slavicswidow]

fiveyearsalone:

              ❛ & yet, you stuck around. i wonder if you’re becoming FOND of me or you’re gathering ammunition to mock me in the near future.❜ he knows not to WORRY about any threats, the black widow had a reputation, one he RESPECTED (admittedly, he wouldn’t REVEAL that any time soon). felicity protests in his ear, thankful she can’t hear the rapid cursing coming through the hearing device. ❛ thank you for the advice but i trust my team more than i trust myself; better late than never. what did you run into?❜

     ❛    you’re always arriving after i’ve left, so i thought this time i’d stick around & say hello. ---- don’t worry. i have no intention of mocking you in the future.  ❜ a widow’s web was a lonely abode, for it was more a graveyard & less of a home. those unfortunate enough to get caught faced a creature whose first instinct is to kill. deadly with an elegant grace, natasha was not a force to be reckoned with. though she jests now, she still regards the arrow with a level of suspicion. however, she understands that acting amicably yields the best results, despite her inward protest. perhaps a friend could prove to be of use.   ❛  loyal, i see. an admirable trait that could also be deadly. ironic, isn’t it ?  ---- i didn’t find much & neither will you. this man is good at covering his tracks. ❜   a beat.  ❛  why are you so adamant on catching him ?  ❜

[slavicswidow]

  ❛  hey, stranger !  ❜   a smile brightens once dulled features, serving as a testament to how lonely she’d been. long surrounded by strange faces in even stranger places had proved rather mundane. indeed, she craved for a sense of familiarity, no matter how foolish it seemed.   ❛  it’s good to see you again. -- did you end up calling that nurse ?  ❜

nctional

[slavicswidow]

fiveyearsalone:

                you have GOT to be freaking kidding him.

       ❛ you know, this STOPS being funny after the fourth time.❜ he lowers his bow, eyes narrowing as he approaches cautiously (she’s a friend, not a foe, but when someone was doing HIS job presumably faster than him, it started to get under his skin). ❛ let me guess         dead end.❜

     ❛   maybe not for you, but it definitely is for me.   ❜     a smile threatens to manifest on her features, but she refrains. still, a twinkle of amusement shines in her gaze. as he approaches, she remains cooly in her place, leaning nonchalantly against the door to convey that machinations were not in play.    ❛   ---- you guessed it, hotshot. another dead end. only took you an extra hour to figure that out.  maybe you should consider hiring someone new. ❜

[slavicswidow]

a kindling of remembrance fuels a flame. eyes ablaze, natasha spares a glance toward what appeared to be a wisp of a man -- a man so broken & bent until all that was left was a hollowing ghost, begging for peace. it’s different, to say the least. a different time. a different place. two different people. she wonders, vaguely, if he remembers.    ❛  odessa.  ❜   each letter rolls off her tongue with ease, dressed in undertones of rancor.   ❛   do you remember -- ?  ❜

winteristic

[natbucky]

[AU mr. & mrs. smith-esque] They lead secret lives outside their relationship, but the truth surfaces when they become each other’s targets.

[themicanga]

[slavicswidow]

winteristic:

there is an aching kind of silence inside of him as he pulls the car in.    TOO silent; the kind of silent that follows you home   &   strikes you down with naught but a smile   &   a rake of MISERABLE metacarpals upon your cadaver as it loots your flesh of all it had once contained   —   your LIFE, your SANITY, your material possessions. he knows this silence INTIMATELY, as one might know a lover, a friend.     — he does not try to stifle it.    a golden band is slipped over a single BONE-WHITE digit cleaned too THOROUGHLY to be natural, a final glance spared his nail beds in order to inspect them for further remnants of his day’s work  —  he finds them BLOODLESS, stained not by ares’ black-boned war,   certain  &  strong as flesh refuses to give way to the implosion so oft applied to that of other minds,   weaker minds,   minds LESS SUITABLE to the tasks he undergoes with every rise of the sun.     his next movements are carried out fluidly, ROBOTICALLY the skin of his palms smooth as fingers unfurl from the fists he had unconsciously formed.    open the door.   left foot out.   then right.   stand up.    close the door.   walk to the house.       — this last instruction comes not as an order, but as INSTINCT,  an odd kind of warmth burrowing beneath the blades of his ribs   &   pulsing within the ticking TIME-BOMB he calls a heart as he approaches the front door with none of the trepidation he approaches the rest of his life.    his job is his world.    his girl  —  she’s his soul.      &      so it is with the most subtle of smiles   —  a slight curling of the lip,  not enough to display his beast’s maw but enough to touch stitch something softer to his countenance,  that he slips his key into the lock  &  takes his first steps into the house.      ❛   i’m home !!   ❜ 

her soul is an arid canvas, begging to be filled. just outside its unforgiving boundaries remains the icy cage that houses her solemn heart. there, lost in a flurry of sleet and rain, an inkling of truth can be found -- -- though, more often than not, that truth is concealed by a hazy veil of misgivings. see, she is inhumanly alone. there, in her suburban home, lined with a white picket fence & immaculately green grass, she leads a seemingly benign & comfortable life -- -- the perfect wife, always jovial, always warm, always doting on her husband. however, a sinister secret lies behind the pearly white smile she dons: she is not natalie rushman ; she is not a quiet, suburban wife ; she is the BLACK WIDOW -- -- a creature that knows not of love ; a creature whose first instinct is to KILL. forged from mire & clay, then laced with some sort of sacrilegious potion, she was made into a WARRIOR whilst being stripped of very elements that made her, well, her. no longer was she  H U M A N  -- -- no ; she forfeited her claim to that title when she pledged her allegiance to the red star & adopted the art of seduction & lies as her religion. still, in all these things, there was no truth. she remained unsure of who she was, other than a killer. but, in the stillness of the night, occasionally she will uncover the truths she thought she’d long lost: she was also natalia alianovna romanova -- -- a CHILD who was forcibly stripped of her innocence ; a child whom the black widow DEVOURED. but today, she was merely the remnant of what the widow failed to digest: a versatile GHOST with no proper marker of identity. indeed, even this provincial life was all but a  L I E. 

just hours prior, she was out in a foreign wasteland on a hunt for a deadly man. she was hungry for revenge & retribution. & ultimately, she was able to sate that hunger. however, as she returned to her “home” to rid herself of the day’s encumbrances, something about the red on her hands triggered discomfort. the dry glint of a dead man’s blood evoked a sort of disgust -- -- a sort of haunting reminder that her first instinct will always be to kill ; therefore, normalcy, no matter how desperately she craved it, was a luxury she could not afford. still, that didn’t mean she couldn’t pretend. 

on cue, her husband announces his presence, just as she washes the last of the blood off her hands. then, she quickly slips her rings unto their place on her left hand before sauntering out to greet james. 

                                           compartmentalize. forget. smile. pretend. 

                                                     ❛    hi, stranger.  i missed you.   ❜

grinning now, natasha negates the space between them & throws her arms around james’s neck.

                                                             ❛   how was work ?   ❜

[fuckyeahillustrativeart]

[slavicswidow]

fuckyeahillustrativeart:

By Chris Koehler, 2015. Tumblr | Facebook | Official

[samaraweaving]

I’m one of the 28 young ballerinas with the Bolshoi. 

                I’m one of the 28 Black Widow agents with the Red Room.