#cheyenne post

[imaginetasha]

Imagine Natasha when little kids come up to her and tell her she's their hero

It takes her a few encounters to get over the shock. Why would these kids, who can look up to guys like Captain America, want her to be their hero?

Natasha rationalizes that they don’t really know her. They know she helped fight in the Battle of New York, but they don’t know anything past that. They’re too young to really know about the SHIELD leaks anyway.

So, she will smile politely, hands shoved in her pockets, and say thank you. She will always add that her favorite Avenger is actually a tie between Hawkeye and Cap in hopes that the kids will move their ideology to her friends.

But then, one day, she is stopped at a crosswalk on her way to the supermarket, rain pouring down around her. A girl, maybe around sixteen, stops next to her, their umbrellas bumping accidentally. When the girl turns, no doubt to apologize for being so close, her eyes widen. Natasha knows that this girl has access to the internet, is old enough to know right from wrong, old enough to discern that while Natasha may be an Avenger, she was also a ruthless killer. Natasha expects this to play out like it does with most adults who love their country fiercely and view her as a national threat. The teen will likely step away, eyes darting to the ground or perhaps boring into her, asking how Natasha could be so evil.

Instead, a smile appears on the teens face. "I'm sorry about the umbrella, Ms. Romanoff."

"It's all right. All that matters is we both stay dry," Natasha returns, shoving her free hand further into her jacket pocket.

The signal changes, allowing them to walk across the street, and despite how fast Natasha takes off, the teen keeps pace. "I know that you must get this a lot, but I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't tell you that I really look up to you... I wrote an essay on you for my English class last semester too." On the other side of the street, Natasha stops so that she can face the girl. "You're kind of my hero."

Bluntly, Natasha asks, "Why?" The girl's eyebrows wrinkle, her eyes darting around like this is some sort of trick question. "You must've read what I did before I joined SHIELD. Those files are still mentioned in headlines. You should know that I am not someone who should be admired."

The girl takes a deep breath. "With all due respect Ms. Romanoff, a lot of people who society thought was good, turned out to be evil. You, on the other hand, decided to leave an organization that abused you and instead devoted your life to doing good. You're a success story... The perfect person to look up to."

It's Natasha's turn to stand stunned.

[imaginetasha]

Imagine social activist Natasha

She refuses to answer sexiest questions in interviews. She goes to Congress, though she loathes it, to voice her support for laws to protect women and their rights. She volunteers at a women’s shelter every time she’s back home in New York. She’s even gone to a few college Take Back the Nights, walking the friends she makes there back to their cars. She’s been in the front lines at a few different slut walks too.

She often writes pieces for The Post detailing her views on mutant registration, immigration, and the deployment of US soldiers overseas when they’re supposed to be coming home. She is a regular attendee of NYC Pride and advocates for laws that protect LGBTAQ people.

Natasha will not ever stop fighting for humanity, even if it means going against her adopted country.

[imaginetasha]

Imagine Natasha being sent on a mission that ends up being in Disney World.

She's dressed as an antelope.

Body suit, face paint, antlers, the whole nine yards.

Looking in the mirror, Natasha sighs heavily. Everyone around her is preparing for the late afternoon parade and she wishes that she could've worked a ride or a stand or do anything other than be a performing cast member. But, no. She must shadow another one of the antelopes (who sometimes fills in as Snow White and it's on those days that Natasha has to don a blonde wig and pretend to be Aurora) which means she will continue galloping down Main Street until her mark makes a wrong move.

[imaginetasha]

Imagine Natasha temporarily loses her hearing and sight during a mission after an explosion and being really freaked out until one of the other Avengers finds her and helps her relax

She’d think she were dead if it wasn’t for the pain coursing through her body. She takes three deep breaths and runs over her body mentally. Her ankle is stuff and aching, likely broken, and each breath she takes hurts (definitely broken ribs). But that is not why she wonders for a moment if she is dead.

She can feel herself blinking but she can’t see anything. She can’t hear anything but a low humming sound.

She doesn’t know how long she’d been out and only vaguely remembers the explosion that caused the building to collapse. Her heart pounds in her chest, sweat forming on her brow and palms, panic settling in.

Clint takes her hand in his, her own palm face down. C-A-L-M-D-O-W-N.

"I can't see," she stresses. Hearing is something she could work with, something she's accustomed to thanks to Clint. Her vision, though... She's not ready to face that possibility. She closes her eyes tight so the darkness makes sense.

C-A-P-I-T-A-L-O-F-H-U-N-G-A-R-Y

Her eyebrows bunch together. He repeats the letters over and over until she finally breathes out, "Budapest." She feels a shift next to her and then there's a kiss against her forehead, lips upturned in a smile.

C-A-P-I-T-A-L-O-F-N-E-P-A-L

"Kathmandu," she says, this time rewarded with a reassuring squeeze of her hand before he asks for the capital of another country.

She's not sure how long they go back and forth like that but it calms her down, keeps her focused until SHIELD medical evac arrives. Clint stays with her the entire time and is the first thing she sees when she wakes up two days later, vision back and hearing on the mend.

[imaginetasha]

Imagine Natasha waking up from a nightmare and going into the kitchen to make a hot chocolate and Clint's already there amking one for himself

Her nightmares are not quite so scary anymore. She doesn’t wake up already crying, bolting up after having to pull herself out of the memories that haunt her; she wakes up with a sharp gasp, eyes blinking open, and her body tense against the mattress. Sleep still doesn’t come back so easily though and she decides after she steadies her breathing to get out of bed.

In the kitchen, Clint sits at the island with only the light above the stove on. She looks at him for a moment, bathed in light so dim that she mostly sees the outline of him rather than his features. She’s not surprised when he looks up a second later and gives her a soft, tired smile. “What’re you drinking?” Her voice is rough from sleep, catching a little in her throat.

He doesn’t answer. He waves her over and then stands, pulling a mug from the disk rack next to the sink. Natasha takes the seat Clint vacated, watching as he moves around her. She’s not exactly sure what he’s adding to the cup, his back always blocking her view, so she lets her elbow rest on the island, propping her chin in her hand, content to just look at him. He turns, pouring something from her kettle into the mug. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I know I have to hand wash it when I’m done.” He sets the mug down in front of her and then settles onto the stool next to her. Peering into the cup, she smiles. “Family recipe.” He takes a drink from his own mug.

“Oh yeah?” She cradles the mug in both hands and when the hot chocolate slides down her throat, warmth blooms within her.

Clint nods. “Barney used to make is after bad nights… Used to drink this a lot.” She takes a few more sips while Clint drains his cup.

“Thank you,” she sighs, leaning into his body. He slings an arm around her shoulders, presses a kiss to her hair.

[imaginetasha]

Imagine Natasha loosing her voice cause of a bad cough and trying to argue with one of the other avengers at the same time and making obscene/wild gestures to illustrate her anger

Natasha thinks at first that this would’ve been easier if Clint were here. She could sign to him and he would relay everything she said. But then Bruce tries to do it for her and Tony actually shoves his fingers in his ears, repeating over and over, “You are not Natasha, I can not trust your words!”

So now, she is participating in an over exaggerated form of charades with Tony, who sits staring at her with a smirk on his face. “Really, you should tell me how many words you’re trying to say, Ariel. That’s generally how the rules work.”

The growl that rumbles in her throat barely makes a noise to anyone else. “Tony,” Bruce sighs. “You know what she’s asking.”

“That’s absolutely not true. I have no idea what kind of pizza she wants.”

Natasha brings her fists down on the kitchen counter, aggravated that Tony is waiting for her to somehow act out pepperoni and anchovies. She had tried writing it down earlier but much like when Bruce tried to speak for her, Tony ignored it.

Threading her fingers through her hair, she tugs just a little bit to get out some of her anger. She sags and then notices a fork in the sink next to her. Looking back at Tony, she holds up three fingers and he grins. “Three words, first word,” he says, following her movements. She points to herself. “You.” Natasha nods. Next, she picks up the fork from the sink and stabs at the air before pointing to Tony.

He looks offended while Bruce simply laughs. “You get that,” he asks.

“Yeah,” Tony grumbles. “She’s going to stab me with her dinglehopper.”

[imaginetasha]

Imagine Natasha completely redecorating her bedroom

Liho sits crammed into the corner of the only chair that’s in Natasha’s bedroom, her head tilted at Natasha. The redhead is currently pushing her dresser out into the hallway, tongue poking out from the corner of her lips. The bedside tables and the single floor lamp are already tucked out of the way, leaving the bedroom mostly bare (the bed is pushed directly in front of her closet doors, leaving the walls open). Once in the middle of the room, Natasha surveys the space, trailing theoretical lines of sight from the windows before nodding a little to herself.

Liho drops down to the floor, winding around Natasha’s feet. She chirps up at her housemate and is ignored in return. Readying her claws to poke gently at Natasha’s feet, Liho is suddenly left leaning against nothing, Natasha crossing the room to the bucket she’s set down on the window sill. “It was a nice set up before,” Natasha muses.” She pops open the can loudly and Liho retreats to the chair, this time choosing to perch on the arm rest. “But this’ll be better. More comfortable.” With that, she dips her paint brush into the can and spreads a deep, rich green on to her white wall.

An hour later, the front door is unlocked but will not open more than five inches. “Hurry up, Barton. I’m doing all the heaving lifting here,” Sam complains, trying to stop the bag full of their drinks from crushing the bags from the bakery.

“‘Tasha,” Clint yells. He puts his hand through the opening, trying to figure out what’s blocking the door when he gets a strong whiff of paint. “Pas the stuff to Steve if it’s too much for you, Sammy.”

"It’s just cumbersome," Sam clarifies as Steve finally comes up the stairs with their mountain of pizzas, asking seriously if something’s wrong. "There’s something in front of the door."

There’s a loud hissing meow from inside the apartment, followed by Natasha gasping. All three men posture up, Sam and Steve preparing to drop everything when Natasha’s voice calmly says, “Liho, darling, I’m sorry. Come on, out from behind the cabinet. I’ll give you a treat.”

A collective sigh of relief passes through them. Clint raps on the door loudly. “Natasha, let us in before we eat your tea cakes.”

There’s movement on the other side of the door before Natasha’s head pops through the crack. “Oh! Let me move the table.” She shuts the door. Something scratches across the wood flooring, the table most likely, and then there’s some more placating of the cat. The door opens to reveal Natasha in a sports bra and a pair of sweats that must belong to one of the guys, her hair a mad swirl on her head. “Clint, come help me move my cabinet so I can put the table where I want it.”

The three men enter, each looking around. “Didn’t you move stuff around last week,” Steve asks. The couch is definitely not where it was last time he was here. “And where’s the paint smell coming from?”

"She moved the living room around two days ago," Sam supplies, "But even this is a different set up from that."

Natasha clucks her tongue behind them. “This is my home, I can move things around and redecorate as much as I’d like.” She instructs the two to move the table to the center of the little dining room, explaining that she’s painted an accent wall in the bedroom.

Clint, from the side of the China cabinet, mutters that he’s not even sure what that means.

[imaginetasha]

Imagine Natasha really loves the rain.

It was raining when she finally left the Red Room, her own file tucked under the over-sized jacket she swiped from the last guard she encountered before breaching the wall.

It was raining when Clint found her. Her hair stuck to her face, her suit clinging to her body, and droplets caught in her eyelashes. When he lowered his bow, asked her to come with him, the rain finally seeped into her boots which had been the same pair she left the Red Room in.

It was raining the day she moved into her own place, a small apartment in Brooklyn. Most would consider it bad luck, but not Natasha.

The rain was a welcomed rebirth.

She wakes up a few days after she’s migrated down to DC to the constant tapping of rain on the window behind the head of her bed. Grinning, she sits, pushes the window open. The rain is blown in, wetting the edges of her bed but her wide, genuine smile remains. Resting her elbows on the window sill, she sticks her head out of the window, the rain running in imaginary paths on her skin, a silent baptismal from the earth.