I don’t think you could tie your shoes without me.
freaoscanlin replied to your post “drabble prompts, anyone? i need a warm-up to my next fic, i think”STEVE AND NAT AND ALL THE HUGS.
Steve dreams of the ice.
It’s frustrating, really, when he’s awake and able to think about it; there’s a certain ironic cruelty in having nightmares about the lost decades of his life, horrors in the absence of true memories.
Tonight it’s the same as always, the crushing weight against his chest, his eyes and nose and mouth full of freezing water as he struggles for breath. His lungs never give in, though, his heart never stops beating, fighting on in endless panicked futility, nothing but silence and cold all around him, his entire being aching like an exposed nerve.
Steve wakes with a start to the sound of Natasha’s voice, familiar but still new enough to be a little jarring. He sits straight upright, fumbling for the lamp on the bedside table as he gasps for breath, memories of childhood warring with the remnants of the dream.
"Steve," she says again, and then she’s there perched on the edge of his bed, her face swimming into view as she manages to get the light on where he’s failed.
He remembers, now — They’re in a safehouse in Toronto, experiencing the utter inadequacy of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s heating arrangements while awaiting an extraction delayed by snow. It’s their third time in the field together, and suddenly he feels foolish letting her see him like this: Captain America, super soldier with a weakness for temperatures below zero. It isn’t really about his image, though, isn’t really about his pride. It’s about the way Natasha radiates strength and calm, the way he finds himself perpetually eager to please her, to earn that little ghost of a smile.
"Nightmare?" she presses, when he stays silent.
"I don’t remember the ice," he says miserably. "Guess some part of my body must, though."
Natasha studies him for a moment, as if he’s a mildly challenging problem she needs to solve, then nods once. “Move over.”
Steve doesn’t think twice, just does as instructed. He jumps when she slips into bed beside him, though, his whole body going rigid as she wraps an arm around his shoulders. She smells like toothpaste and cinnamon, the barest hint of smoke underneath.
"What are you doing?" he asks, after a few beats of sitting ramrod straight, trying not to notice the way her body feels curled into his side, the way he’d really like to reach down and pull her closer.
"Warming you up," she says simply. "Relax. This isn’t some kind of tactical maneuver."
"Thanks," he manages, half exhalation as he allows himself to lean into her just a little. And it is helping, the panic receding even as his heart thunders in his ears to a whole new kind of adrenaline.
"The cold is awful," says Natasha, and there’s a raw edge to her words that keeps him from questioning further, keeps him from asking if she’s sure when she moves a little closer and tangles their legs.
Instead he finds her hand under the sheet, and cradles her chilled fingers between his palms until they both drift off again.
Ha. This is not something that came easily to me, but I gave it some thought! If Loki is the one to curse the Avengers, that automatically turns him into Regina, right? Makes sense. They both have great hair and I would pay good money to see Lana Parilla play both parts.
Our erstwhile savior would be Natasha because this is me and I’m not going to go with my original idea of Peter Parker. Things would have to change, obviously. She’s a woman who hasn’t aged for years, searching for any signs of magic and with no memory. One day, a mongrel dog wanders into her life and drags her on a quest. She ends up in a little town in Maine where things are not what they seem and where time has stopped.
The town sheriff is Clint Barton, who’s under Mayor Loki’s thrall but still thinks Natasha is the bee’s knees. Also, he’s happy to get his dog back. Mayor Loki’s brother Thor is a construction worker and possibly the only thing Loki loves. The schoolmarm in town is Peggy Carter, who regularly visits the comatose blond man with no name in the hospital. Tony Stark owns most of the town and seems to enjoy playing his games, except that a lot of the time he forgets he’s playing games and builds something instead. Pepper Potts just reorganizes the library to keep from letting Tony drive her completely crazy.
Bruce Banner is the one that keeps them honest. He’s the town’s conscience. Jane Foster and her assistant Darcy run the local eatery, but townsfolk always caution about double-checking your food first because sometimes Jane gets distracted by science.
And Bucky Barnes is the Mad Hatter because why wouldn’t he be?
PS - Sorry I turned Thor into Henry.
Secret Avengers #16
this is the single greatest panel EVER
"I am a photographer!" Kate curled up in a tinier ball, letting out a squeak when something over the table they were hiding under exploded in a shower of plaster dust. "I am supposed to shoot things, not be shot at!"
Clint adjusted his f-stop up one. “You can’t pin this one on me. I had no way of knowing the robbery in progress would still be in progress ten minutes later.”
"Everything is your fault! Everything. I’m not even your intern anymore and I still get shot at. That’s not fair." But she seemed to spot what he was doing, for she rolled forward and grabbed the monopod out of her bag, rolling it to Clint. "You realize you’re putting your camera at serious risk."
They both flinched when another spate of gunfire chewed up the wall over their heads.
"They’re not that good of a shot," Clint said. He mounted the camera and tested the wireless trigger. "Besides, you know Maria’s take on it. Nobody else is going to get such good pictures of a robbery in progress. Might make the front page of the website for a whole six minutes."
Kate stared at him as though he’d just started dissing landscape photography to an Adams fan. “You realize if you die while taking a picture, Natasha is a) going to put that on your gravestone, b) bring you back from the dead to kill you deader, and c) kill me?”
"Yup," Clint said. "In that order, even."
"What even is my life?" Kate said, and Clint raised his beloved Nikon up on the monopod and hit the wireless trigger.
Three hours later, Natasha Romanoff refreshed the front page of The SHIELD Times, stared for three seconds, cursed under her breath in Russian, and went to go wallop some Hawkeyes upside the head.
are you ready for, ready for
a perfect storm, perfect storm?