#mymxssion

[oftwentyeight]

▌❛ starter.

FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES,        she had forgotten. -- He get so fussy when it comes to celebrations of him. Instead it was phrased as this. She told him she was getting burnt out ( not entirely a lie ), told him that she needed a few days. It was as easy as that before they were settled in a beachfront cottage. Something that suited them, nothing too luxurious save the kitchen, bathtub, and setting. But no, she would say, this wasn’t for any special occasion. 

NATASHA SITS        engrossed in the book so cheesy the author used an alias to publish it. While seemingly enthralled by the mindless plot, what shouldn’t be a surprise is still knowing precisely where he is. It’s always been natural, to be as aware of James as she would any other part of her body.        ❝    Careful, birthday boy.    ❞        She warns as she feels him approach from a swim.      ❝    If you drip on me you won’t get to see one hundred and one.   ❞     | @mymxssion   

[oftwentyeight]

▌❛ continued.

IT’S A GAME.        Or something close to it. While they have no problem having fun with each other, rarely have they been allowed or held interest in toying with the other. Manipulation loses its appeal in redundancy. The outcome of this exercise has already been decided. Natasha leans closer,         ❝    Because my demands usually work out well for you, Звезда моя.      ❞        | @mymxssion

[oftwentyeight]

▌❛ starter.

THE KISS IS BRIEF,      not a typical occurrence for them. While they might have waited decades for this, getting here has left them in no rush when it comes to each other. It is also not typical for her to have been awake before him ( sleep is a luxury she absolutely takes part in when she is off the clock ). And typically she would have allowed him to indulge as well in recognizing how rare it is for him -- but today is different. Today isn’t typical.    ❝     Merry Christmas, James.  ❞                @mymxssion

[oftwentyeight]

▌❛ clean from the war.

@mymxssion

NATASHA HAD GROWN TOO COMPLACENT,    being in one place for far too long. While she could manage, even the spotlight had fell heavily on her shoulders -- this is better, she tells herself. She is no hero and she could never live by their standards. On the run she was allowed to be fluid. While clutching at the idea of a team she had gotten lost, after all had she not been created to be singular in the world? No mourning period passed over her, she was perfectly content to live her life aiding those who knew how to contact her. -- It would just happen that Steve Rogers has her phone number. 

The obvious comparisons can be made.   She understands the leak had opened plenty of doors. Her own secrets being revealed could allow anyone desperate enough for answers to reach to her. Their departments, while rarely intersecting in any missions which would be reported, were parallel. The work they attempt to do with him could be aided by someone who know something of the implementation. She is called in as an advisor, as a friend to Steve who is desperate to allow his brother to reclaim his mind. The recent reminder that solitude has always suited her more does not hinder her path to Wakanda. 

That doesn’t explain walking into the room.   White walls. How fitting. She enters quietly as her nature dictates but for whatever reason the footsteps echo in her mind. For a brief moment she is distracted from the reason she has been telling herself for coming.   ❝ I was invited,  ❞   Natasha explains before the question can be posed but even that sounds distant while her eyes fixated on something else. The space where an arm used to be, an arm she had grown accustomed to the weight of, the cool press. That was in another life, another time in which she tried to convince herself she did not stand alone. An answer to another unasked question,  ❝ I’m here to help. ❞   

[oftwentyeight]

▌❛ to be alone.

@mymxssion

THE VOICE IS SOFT, THE MESSAGE IS CLEAR.   Natalia. The woman says and the air of disappointment is enough to make even the girl locked on Natalia’s grip shudder. Alina had moved too slow in this match up. She has an issue with projecting her punches making any time on the mat with her mostly useless. It feels like sleepwalking in this way, there is trust in every move made. Not in the feelings of her opponent ( she had felt the other girl grow more and more frustrated in fact ) but in what she could trust her own body to do. She holds Alina’s fragile wrist in her hand and looks to the voice of god within this room. She does not shudder at the sound of the voice, she does not flinch in gazing up at the woman, she breaks Alina’s wrist all the same. 

SHE had stopped seeking the approval of those who nodded at her in such a way long ago. She found the use in their appraisal and earned each individually but the taste she is gaining for the field wiped away any hope that her loyalty would be found in a beating heart. There is a world she wishes to immerse herself in. While she may further the cause of her homeland, there is no point in denying herself the spoils of victory. Alina crumbling to the ground is not a victory, but it does solidify hope that Natalia will find her way out once more.

NATALIA steps down just in time for him to appear. -- How could she have missed it? Of course with an expedition coming up, he would come. To show the highest ranking members in the Kremlin the crown jewels of achievements, they would have to be measured against the best. Seeing him manages what she was unable to be accomplished before. Some of the other girls shift and grow restless, trying to shrink themselves away from those who work to corral them. Others ( the foolish ) try to make themselves taller. Her fingers twitch at her sides, her heart races. 

THE need to prove herself to any of them does not exist. She files in line just as dutifully as the rest but her eyes stay active, they stay wild. He is shrouded behind hair and smaller, lesser men and yet he’s still just another glimmer of hope. The sliver of something which may not be hers to own but is the closest she has ever come. She stands tall, she searches for him.

[shieldslingcr]

Spoken like a true capitalist.

★ ▏meme.

     ❝ Do you really need me to be more respectful of Karl Marx? ❞

[traineddamsel-a]

( &. STARTER )

@mymxssion

          Once she becomes an adult, she often thinks, things will be better. Mary Jane has never expected a privileged life and she isn’t afraid to work hard for what she wants and yet there is still so much she is forced to WAIT for. It can be unbearable at times, the waiting. A little less so today when she thought she might miss her chance. He was there when it all seemed as though it was poised to slip away. He was there when she couldn’t save herself. That’s why she doesn’t mind that she sounds the slightest bit childish when she asks,           ❝ Do you get scared? ❞

[oftwentyeight]

「 ♔ CONTINUED. 」

@mymxssion

          He is a passing season in her life, but winters have long kept unwanted intruders from her country. He is not a constant but there are times when the world twists perfectly on its axis and the autumn red of her hair is shielded by a cover his provides. Men bow to the seasons and he is no different than any force of nature. -- But there are days when his eyes are distant rather than piercing. Sessions in which he breaks bones rather than offering warning. No sweater can convince someone snow hasn’t fallen, she had not expected her winter to be so malleable. 

          For the second time in one day, Natalia finds herself in a place she ought not to be. For the second time in one day, his eyes lock with her own and every instinct in her screams at her to run. She had not run before. At least, not away from him. She ran towards a horizon in which she knows the seasons to shift, she settled herself in and waited. Even as she notes his face is contorted in something only discernible as rage she remains unmoving. She becomes malleable under the harsh grip of his hands.

          While resistance is futile when most are up against him, Natalia has been trained to know better. She does not move with her usual grace and does not recall all the times in which she has seen the end of those who allowed themselves to be pinned helplessly by him. She does not do much at all save blink through blurred vision and release a pathetic sound as the wind is knocked from her. She recovers soon enough, gasping while wondering if the tracks on his arm will do the same. In the face of a question which she knows to be more of a command and not something to be ignored she is defiant as ever,            ❝ Что они сделали с тобой? ❞