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OOC: Contact Post
Feb. 5th, 2025 09:35 amCan't catch me on AIM? (Not surprising, as it hates me lately) Any questions, queries, ideas?
Feel fee to either PM me or comment here.
Feel fee to either PM me or comment here.
OOC: Aliases
May. 14th, 2020 10:13 pmNataliya Alianovna Romanova
Annina “Nina” Rolanovna Nevzorova: [Original]
Nadine Rommel: [Original] When in Sweden, German; Bavarian accent. When in America, American, generically West Coast. 'Home'/Normal alias – previously only used for Swedish cabin, now used for that and Natasha's Chicago apartment. Her non-SHIELD living identity.
Natalie Rushman: [IM2] American; google shows fluent in French, Italian, Russian, Latin; was a model in Tokyo. SHIELD-assigned alias
Natasha Romanoff: Official SHIELD name
Nathalie Renard: [Original] French; Parisian accent.
Romy Allan: [Original]
Romy Neudorf: [Original] German, Bavarian accent. Her 'escape' alias, when she wants to be someone else.
Noelia Rambaudi: [Original] Italian, North Italian/Swiss Italian accent. Previously used for her apartment in Lugano, Lugano, Ticino, Switzerland – former basis of operations, where she kept most of her work-related things. CURRENT STATUS OF ALIAS: UNKNOWN.
Annina “Nina” Rolanovna Nevzorova: [Original]
Nadine Rommel: [Original] When in Sweden, German; Bavarian accent. When in America, American, generically West Coast. 'Home'/Normal alias – previously only used for Swedish cabin, now used for that and Natasha's Chicago apartment. Her non-SHIELD living identity.
Natalie Rushman: [IM2] American; google shows fluent in French, Italian, Russian, Latin; was a model in Tokyo. SHIELD-assigned alias
Natasha Romanoff: Official SHIELD name
Nathalie Renard: [Original] French; Parisian accent.
Romy Allan: [Original]
Romy Neudorf: [Original] German, Bavarian accent. Her 'escape' alias, when she wants to be someone else.
Noelia Rambaudi: [Original] Italian, North Italian/Swiss Italian accent. Previously used for her apartment in Lugano, Lugano, Ticino, Switzerland – former basis of operations, where she kept most of her work-related things. CURRENT STATUS OF ALIAS: UNKNOWN.
Agent Natasha Romanoff is aware of processes and regulations. Agent Clint Barton was compromised, badly, leading to multiple deaths and a massive security breach: he needs to be assessed.
Natasha, daughter of the USSR and formerly of the KGB, doesn't like it.
Actually, she hates it.
--
She doesn't react well when Clint tells her where he's going (World Security Council, who tried to nuke New York, who are shadowy and tried to nuke New York, responsible for overseeing Clint's assessment and isn't that a nice word for saying so many other things, and it's Clint, it's Clint, it's Clint-). But she gets a grip.
After a little bit.
--
She insists on driving him. And picking him up. It's not really according to regulations, but SHIELD knows how to handle her. They okay it.
So does Clint.
--
They are quiet during the drive. Clint's withdrawn into himself, and she doesn't want to disturb that. It's also easier to keep control of her own emotions. She's still not okay with this, she so very nearly lost him, but she's a professional.
"Okay," Natasha says, pulling up. "Here we are."
She pulls the keys from the ignition and looks over at the passenger seat, where Clint hasn't yet reached for the door-handle.
"Hey," she says, and he glances over. "Don't be late, okay? I'll coming looking."
There's a pause as he processes that that. Not a long one, but she's not sure she likes it anyway. It could just be mental distance, or it could be he wasn't expecting to come out. Or just that he's focused on the present, Romanoff, she tells herself, firmly.
"Yeah, okay," Clint says, and she smiles at him.
"Nat," he says then, and reaches out for her. First her hand, which he brings up to kiss, and then he moves in to kiss her mouth. Not sweet or soft, but not hard or desperate either. Just a firm kiss that she leans into.
"Don't be late," Natasha repeats, and she gets a faint smile.
--
She doesn't linger outside the building, but she does stay there three and a half minutes after he walks into the foyer.
Just...
Just in case he decides to say 'fuck it' and leaves. Just in case it's a trap and he sees it.
But he doesn't come out, and so Agent Natasha Romanoff lets out a breath, twists the keys in the ignition, and drives away.
Natasha, daughter of the USSR and formerly of the KGB, doesn't like it.
Actually, she hates it.
--
She doesn't react well when Clint tells her where he's going (World Security Council, who tried to nuke New York, who are shadowy and tried to nuke New York, responsible for overseeing Clint's assessment and isn't that a nice word for saying so many other things, and it's Clint, it's Clint, it's Clint-). But she gets a grip.
After a little bit.
--
She insists on driving him. And picking him up. It's not really according to regulations, but SHIELD knows how to handle her. They okay it.
So does Clint.
--
They are quiet during the drive. Clint's withdrawn into himself, and she doesn't want to disturb that. It's also easier to keep control of her own emotions. She's still not okay with this, she so very nearly lost him, but she's a professional.
"Okay," Natasha says, pulling up. "Here we are."
She pulls the keys from the ignition and looks over at the passenger seat, where Clint hasn't yet reached for the door-handle.
"Hey," she says, and he glances over. "Don't be late, okay? I'll coming looking."
There's a pause as he processes that that. Not a long one, but she's not sure she likes it anyway. It could just be mental distance, or it could be he wasn't expecting to come out. Or just that he's focused on the present, Romanoff, she tells herself, firmly.
"Yeah, okay," Clint says, and she smiles at him.
"Nat," he says then, and reaches out for her. First her hand, which he brings up to kiss, and then he moves in to kiss her mouth. Not sweet or soft, but not hard or desperate either. Just a firm kiss that she leans into.
"Don't be late," Natasha repeats, and she gets a faint smile.
--
She doesn't linger outside the building, but she does stay there three and a half minutes after he walks into the foyer.
Just...
Just in case he decides to say 'fuck it' and leaves. Just in case it's a trap and he sees it.
But he doesn't come out, and so Agent Natasha Romanoff lets out a breath, twists the keys in the ignition, and drives away.
OOM: Molly, Post-Cells
Jan. 6th, 2015 09:16 am[placeholder, placeholder, placeholder post
place a hold, if you can]
[A.K.A. sometime after flopping at Clint and getting her bearings - maybe a day or so later - Natasha walks down into the bar to find MOLLY. And talk. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.]
[(nat's fixed her hair. it's all pretty again now. this is important, clearly)]
place a hold, if you can]
[A.K.A. sometime after flopping at Clint and getting her bearings - maybe a day or so later - Natasha walks down into the bar to find MOLLY. And talk. WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.]
[(nat's fixed her hair. it's all pretty again now. this is important, clearly)]
Natasha is not kicking leaves.
Nope.
There are no autumn leave piles that are being kicked by any kind of stompy boot. Certainly not the kind of steel-tipped stompy boots that see action or a risk of falling planks of wood. Maybe the latter. Certainly not the former.
And she's certainly not having fun.
Nope.
There are no autumn leave piles that are being kicked by any kind of stompy boot. Certainly not the kind of steel-tipped stompy boots that see action or a risk of falling planks of wood. Maybe the latter. Certainly not the former.
And she's certainly not having fun.
OOM: Milliways, Firing Range
Aug. 3rd, 2014 10:13 amThe Milliways gun range is very, very useful.
So are placeholder posts!
One Natasha, wearing casual clothes (complete with a silly t-shirt, because this is who Natasha is), hair braided out of the way, at the firing range with her Glocks.
Yay practice.
Except she's finishing up now, so should anyone really want to talk to her...
So are placeholder posts!
One Natasha, wearing casual clothes (complete with a silly t-shirt, because this is who Natasha is), hair braided out of the way, at the firing range with her Glocks.
Yay practice.
Except she's finishing up now, so should anyone really want to talk to her...
OOM: Paris, December 1955
Mar. 23rd, 2014 03:03 pm
She takes the long way home. Nancy, as she'd confessed to Amanda, had once had a boyfriend. A beautiful boy called Nicholas, who'd been drafted to the war and had written her letters, and had died there. A boyfriend is not a husband, but Nancy had offered her grief as an understanding to...
Well.
To her target.
And Amanda - shaken, stricken, ever crying - keeps buying it. And why shouldn't she?
Nikolai had been a beautiful boy from the Urals. A no-good boy, her mama would have said, but by then her mama had been dead for two years and besides, even then, Natasha knew that Kolya wasn't the kind of boy who stuck around. But still she'd cried, a little, when he died.
With Lyosha, she couldn't even speak for two days. And she'd used that just as much as the memory of the bright-eyed Kolya. More, really, to understand and then manipulate the grief of another widow.
She doesn't give a damn about Amanda. Or the memory of Kolya. It was necessary for the mission. But Lyosha...
Natasha adjusts her scarf, and keeps walking. Alex would be back at their apartment by now, and so the best way for her to be alone is to stay in the streets just a little bit longer.
OOM: Paris, New Year's Eve, 1955
Mar. 15th, 2014 11:55 am
She had, three days earlier, insisted that she'd take Alex dancing. It's a frivolous wish. They are busy with controlling and taking advantage of the fallout from Quentin's death, and while she thinks they are doing well, it's no time to stop working. Except...
It's New Year's Eve. Both of them are increasingly tired and while they could use the parties for politicking, equally they could run the risk of being caught. It would not be out of character for James and Nancy to take the time to themselves like the devoted pair they are.
And what better time to finally get Alex to dance than New Year's? Get dressed in something nice and warm, head over to the big street party at Avenue des Champs-Élysées...
Not that she's going to tell him that. There's an element of surprise she's looking forward to. But while she's not going to tell him the details, it'd be the right thing to see how he'd like the idea, and if she should use one of her plans for a smaller celebration instead.
She waits until they are doing the clean-up from lunch (she washes, he dries), and then, with more artful innocence than she'd ever do for a real assignment, asks,
"What are your feelings on large crowds?"
OOM: Chicago, June, 2011
Jan. 10th, 2014 09:54 amFrom: Maria Hill <[ADDRESS REDACTED]>
Date: Tuesday, June 27th, at 16:39
Subject: Because I care.
Arching her eyebrow, Natasha opens the email, and clicks on the link.
It takes fifty-four seconds for her to snort with amusement.
By the end of the song, she has her face in her hands, giggling hysterically at her desk.
(And a few minutes later, her phone has a new ringtone.)
Date: Tuesday, June 27th, at 16:39
Subject: Because I care.
Arching her eyebrow, Natasha opens the email, and clicks on the link.
It takes fifty-four seconds for her to snort with amusement.
By the end of the song, she has her face in her hands, giggling hysterically at her desk.
(And a few minutes later, her phone has a new ringtone.)
OOM: Paris, December 1955
Dec. 10th, 2013 04:21 pm
It just turns December by the time they get to Paris; the city is appropriately cold. Beautiful, different, Paris...and cold. As is the small apartment that James and Nancy Rushman are renting from a countess fallen on modern times, and Natasha bites back any complaints she might have over the heating because Nancy never grew up with ovens. (And yet, the point remains: she was warmer in Siberia.)
Natasha sits at the dressing table, carefully shading her eyelids. The make-up case is new, but she'd done her best to add some scratches and dents to it, so it'd actually look like it belonged to a woman who travelled. She'd done the same with the new wedding ring on her left hand, so it'd look like Nancy and James hadn't been married for less then five minutes. Of course, details like that wouldn't be worth a damn if no one reads them as being an item in the first place. Not for a married couple who are happy and stable, which is needed here. And which Alex has so far...somewhat failed at this aspect of James's life.
She sighs, and then carefully finishes applying her make-up. They have some time before they are due to go out, and she needs to talk to Alex. She slips on her coat, and then walks out into the living room.
"James?"
She thinks he'll listen.
Hopefully he'll listen.
OOM; Milliways inlet
Dec. 7th, 2013 08:21 pmMilliways is a very, very strange place. It should be expected for what it is, but she's still surprised.
An equatorial inlet. Okay. Okay.
Why not?
The only people to be surprised to find her in the shade of some trees at the inlet, jeans rolled up to her knee and sitting on the jacket Bar provided, reading a book, are people who do not actually know her.
An equatorial inlet. Okay. Okay.
Why not?
The only people to be surprised to find her in the shade of some trees at the inlet, jeans rolled up to her knee and sitting on the jacket Bar provided, reading a book, are people who do not actually know her.
Note to Fury, left with the Bar
Dec. 6th, 2013 05:40 pmBoss,
There is a Doc/Agent Simmons (5) from work who has arrived here. She's wondering if she can disclose information about the bar to Agent Leo Fitz, her partner.Given levels of co-depedence demonstraBest to address answer to her.
~ H
There is a Doc/Agent Simmons (5) from work who has arrived here. She's wondering if she can disclose information about the bar to Agent Leo Fitz, her partner.
~ H
Natasha is eighty-three. Old enough to be a grandmother. Old enough to be a great-grandmother, had the mother part had happened at all. Old enough, apparently, to acquire a certain degree of wisdom.
What she is doing at the moment isn't very wise.
She's sitting at the bar in Milliways, studying the bottles stacked up on the shelves. There is some logic: Milliways appeared in her apartment just when she was thinking that she'd really, really love to stop thinking, and it's a bar.
A bar at the end of the universe, where people from all times (like Nataliya Shostakova from 1952, whispers the annoyingly persistent part of her mind that won't let her forget it), so maybe they'd have something that'd get her drunk more easily than vodka.
Unfortunately for Natasha's drive for experimentation, another part of her is pointing out that getting drunk in a strange bar when she is freaked out over her memory is stupid.
But Natasha is eighty-three, and she's very, very tired of being careful when all she wants to do is not think for a few hours.
What she is doing at the moment isn't very wise.
She's sitting at the bar in Milliways, studying the bottles stacked up on the shelves. There is some logic: Milliways appeared in her apartment just when she was thinking that she'd really, really love to stop thinking, and it's a bar.
A bar at the end of the universe, where people from all times (like Nataliya Shostakova from 1952, whispers the annoyingly persistent part of her mind that won't let her forget it), so maybe they'd have something that'd get her drunk more easily than vodka.
Unfortunately for Natasha's drive for experimentation, another part of her is pointing out that getting drunk in a strange bar when she is freaked out over her memory is stupid.
But Natasha is eighty-three, and she's very, very tired of being careful when all she wants to do is not think for a few hours.
She kisses her husband when he walks through the door to their apartment. This is not an unusual occurrence for the Shostakovs, but instead of her normal light greeting, she's far more thorough. "Nata," Lyosha says, finally, "is everything...alright?" Unlike her, he's never dropped his Volga accent, and he just sounds like home.
"I can't kiss my own husband in our own living room?"
"Nata."
Natasha looks up at him, studying his face. For a moment, she entertains the thought of explaining things to him.
I spent a week being nine, and tried to start a socialist revolution, and then there was a zombie outbreak where I could have died, and currently I'm hiding a gun from I think the future behind some books, and I never did tell you about Milliways, did I?
Maybe not.
"I had a long day," she says simply. "And I missed you."
His expression turns complicated; he doesn't quite believe her, but there are some things you just don't ask about when your wife is a lieutenant in the NKVD. And, still, she can read in his face how much I missed you means, even after five years of marriage.
I missed you, I love you, I love you.
This time, he kisses her. And if they end up having dinner later than normal, well.
These things happen.
OOM: Khabarovsk, Siberia, USSR, 1955
Oct. 26th, 2013 08:36 pm
Outside the KGB field office in Khabarovsk, the September weather is turning towards winter with a vengeance. Inside, well. Given it's after six on a Saturday, Natasha doesn't quite care what the temperature is doing. The oven's heat will last until she feels up to go back to her apartment. But Izmaylov is back from China, and had stomped around pointedly until she let him fire up the oven.(He'd wanted her to do it; she had stared at him coolly, taping a letter-opener casually against her fingers until the agent backed off.)
Mostly, the office is nearly silent. Izmaylov is typing up a report at the other end, Natasha is sorting through (and fixing) the filing system, and occasionally Chigrakov the guard pokes his head in from the foyer.
It's much, much better than being in her apartment.
OOM: 2011, San Diego
Oct. 11th, 2013 03:07 pmSaturday is a day that Natasha is determined to spend being lazy. She and Clint had gone to SeaWorld (and patched things up) the day before, and although she decided to try sleeping in a bed last night instead of on the couch, her insomnia didn't miraculously vanish.
She managed to have a lazy morning, at least. By her standards. But her personal revelation is an itch at the back of her mind, and it feels dishonest not to tell him. There are risks to saying anything, but then again, there always are. Despite her track record, she's rarely let that stop her.
About the time she hits half an hour spent scrolling through I Can Has Cheese Burger, she can acknowledge that she's procrastinating about it. Looking at LOLcats is an entertaining way to procrastinate, but procrastination it is.
It's not that Natasha can't think of ways to bring the subject up. Although she doesn't spend as much time seducing as people think, she can still think of half a dozen ways of saying 'I love you'. It's that...
This is Clint. And she's fairly certain that all she's doing is playing catch-up, which never gives anyone confidence for negotiating relationships.
She's also fairly certain that she's been glancing over at him a bit too often to play it cool, but these things happen.
"Hey, Clint?"
She managed to have a lazy morning, at least. By her standards. But her personal revelation is an itch at the back of her mind, and it feels dishonest not to tell him. There are risks to saying anything, but then again, there always are. Despite her track record, she's rarely let that stop her.
About the time she hits half an hour spent scrolling through I Can Has Cheese Burger, she can acknowledge that she's procrastinating about it. Looking at LOLcats is an entertaining way to procrastinate, but procrastination it is.
It's not that Natasha can't think of ways to bring the subject up. Although she doesn't spend as much time seducing as people think, she can still think of half a dozen ways of saying 'I love you'. It's that...
This is Clint. And she's fairly certain that all she's doing is playing catch-up, which never gives anyone confidence for negotiating relationships.
She's also fairly certain that she's been glancing over at him a bit too often to play it cool, but these things happen.
"Hey, Clint?"
