When they first meet, though she is an ally, the darker haired woman has a stare that places her as an unbeatable enemy. They mirror each others stances, it is a battle hardened stance on each, a cold armoured salute of scars – but it also keeps them away from each other, able to study each other.
They cannot come closer. Their eyes build an impregnable force field, so they move around each other, edging and testing. Their eyes, light and dark, pull and push each other away in a perfect, painful synergy. Their hearts were shields, yet both of their little lonely beaters ebbed and flowed like the sea, black to red and back again.
She comes back, that goddess of war, after the last battle, to a place that can never be her home, and her face is cut and bruised. Though she had survived the same as her, the red haired woman cannot look at her. This is because when she does, she is gripped with a childish icy fear that clutches at her with the stubby fingers of a mewling child. It is the fear that the Lady Sif is not the same anymore somehow. That Sif had grown, been somehow affected like a regular person, a human person, when Natasha had not. She wondered if her life had dehumanized her without her permission, like someone in your room whilst you slept.
Sif’s eyes had softened. She was full of sweetness and delicacy now – as if whatever had emboldened her before had been released with her wrath during the fighting, and so would begin anew, building until the next battle. Natasha hated this. She hated the fact Sif had taken her to a new impasse, with her sugary sweet whimpering doll eyes that had killed men. She wanted to get rid of the expression, replace it with the wary anger that came before it. She wanted to hit away the smallness, kiss it away with roughness and strength she knew lay behind it, buried somewhere.
She did. They pulled and clung in the cold night, with teeth and nails and hearts. Crushing against each other they swapped their own skins, strength and weakness, becoming intrinsically entwined underneath the cosmos that called one of them home.
Sif also found herself affected, unable to make any journey, except to her luring spider, whenever Natasha’s eyes met hers and said “come here.”
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When they first meet, though she is an ally, the darker haired woman has a stare that places her as an unbeatable enemy.
They mirror each others stances, it is a battle hardened stance on each, a cold armoured salute of scars – but it also keeps them away from each other, able to study each other.
They cannot come closer. Their eyes build an impregnable force field, so they move around each other, edging and testing. Their eyes, light and dark, pull and push each other away in a perfect, painful synergy. Their hearts were shields, yet both of their little lonely beaters ebbed and flowed like the sea, black to red and back again.
She comes back, that goddess of war, after the last battle, to a place that can never be her home, and her face is cut and bruised. Though she had survived the same as her, the red haired woman cannot look at her. This is because when she does, she is gripped with a childish icy fear that clutches at her with the stubby fingers of a mewling child. It is the fear that the Lady Sif is not the same anymore somehow. That Sif had grown, been somehow affected like a regular person, a human person, when Natasha had not. She wondered if her life had dehumanized her without her permission, like someone in your room whilst you slept.
Sif’s eyes had softened. She was full of sweetness and delicacy now – as if whatever had emboldened her before had been released with her wrath during the fighting, and so would begin anew, building until the next battle. Natasha hated this. She hated the fact Sif had taken her to a new impasse, with her sugary sweet whimpering doll eyes that had killed men. She wanted to get rid of the expression, replace it with the wary anger that came before it. She wanted to hit away the smallness, kiss it away with roughness and strength she knew lay behind it, buried somewhere.
She did. They pulled and clung in the cold night, with teeth and nails and hearts. Crushing against each other they swapped their own skins, strength and weakness, becoming intrinsically entwined underneath the cosmos that called one of them home.
Sif also found herself affected, unable to make any journey, except to her luring spider, whenever Natasha’s eyes met hers and said “come here.”