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March 28
The first time that I shot and killed someone was on a mission. I was seven. It was my first foreign mission, and also the first time that I met her. I remember sitting in the helicopter with her as we recited our names and backstories to Madam Yurievna, the language instructor. My name was Fleur Belinou, her’s was Gigi Belinou. We were recently orphaned sisters from the countryside, and we had come to Paris to meet Aunt Camille Belinou, a wealthy heiress who would become our new guardian. In reality, Madame Yurievna played Camille Belinou and was tasked with overseeing our mission. Together my partner and I were to infiltrate a concert and discreetly take out a Russian ambassador who had recently been exposed as a traitor to nation. Madame would aid us only in getting into the theatre, but we were completely on our own for the rest of the mission.
My partner’s name?
Polina.
I remember the view stepping out of the helicopter as it hovered a few miles away from Paris. Polina and I were dressed identically in a short blue gingham dress and petticoats, a small hat tilted and perched above twin blond braids. The wind whipped against the ruffled socks around my ankles as I slid down the rope to the ground Polina followed suite and the helicopter sped away, leaving us alone in the countryside.
France was nice. It was early spring so the air was slightly chilly, but after spending a winter in Siberia nothing really feels that cold anymore. We were able to make it into Paris by the evening, with the help of a slightly pervy bus driver and an elder lady who gave us bread and peaches once she saw we had no food. Polina and I met Madame Yurievna outside the Palais Garnier a half hour before the ballet was scheduled to start, and she checked that we had properly outfitted our weapons underneath our clothes before she sent us in to complete our mission.
I remember how we sat in the back of the mezzanine for the first act, simply enjoying being able to watch a ballet. The dancers were not as well trained as those in Russia, but there was something captivating about the small mistakes that they made. The prima ballerina, who took on the role of the main character Giselle, performed quite well in my opinion and I clapped with enthusiasm after her variations. At one point Polina tapped my arm and whispered in my ear.
“Хватит хлопать так громко, то привлечешь внимание.”
I shrug, softening my claps a bit as per her request.
“она танцевала хорошо.”
At intermission we single out our target at the bar. We split, and Polina approached him first, tugging on his pant leg childishly.
“Monsieur?”
He turns, looking down at Polina in surprise.
“Monsieur, avez-vous vu ma Mama?”
Her eyes are so convincing, fear and innocence swimming in tears threatening to spill over, and I knew that his heart was captured. I approach behind him, slipping a vial out from my dress.
“Ah, princesse, êtes-vous perdu?”
She nods and blinks away tears, moving closer to him as people brush past. I take my shot and uncap the vial, swiftly pouring its contents into his drink. The target smiles and clicks his tongue, scooping Polina up into his lap and gesturing towards the crowd.
“Maintenant, à quoi ressemble-t-elle?”
Polina twists her face in thought and pretends to look around, glancing my way. We make eye contact and I gesture towards myself, indicating that I intend to pour a second vial to speed up the process. She blinks twice in agreement before faking an epiphany.
“Mmm… Elle a une robe rouge!”
Quickly, I remove the second vial from the holster strapped to my thigh and slip the contents into the drink. As I smooth down my dress, I slip away back into the crowd while still keeping a close eye on Polina. She is still on the target’s lap, and her expressions are very convincing.
“Rouge, eh? Hmm, la voyez-vous?”
I wait, forcing my breathing and pulse to quicken, before running back towards the bar.
“Gigi! Gigi!”
I dart through the crowd and squeal at Polina, who hops down from her spot on the target’s lap. We embrace tightly as he looks on in amusement.
“Gigi, où étiez-vous?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pick up his drink and take a small sip as he watches us.
“J'essayais de vous trouver et Mama!”
She replies with an embarrassed expression, and I giggle.
“Nous essayions de vous trouver!”
I embrace her again, stealing a glance at the target. He is smiling and the drink is now half-empty.
“Allons, Mama est en attente.”
I take her hand and head back towards the theatre, but she turns away from me to call over her shoulder.
“Merci monsieur!”
The target waves to Polina and we disappear into the crowd, darting up the stairs to watch the target from a safer distance. Intermission finishes soon afterwards, as does his drink, and we watch as he returns to the theatre. Polina looks at me and I look at her and fiddle with my gun. We sit and wait, the music of the ballet accompanying our dutiful watch over the entrances. I remember listening to Giselle’s theme from Act Two and itching to get up from my spot and dance on the marble floors of the now-empty atrium. Needless to say, I didn’t.
I look over at Polina. We haven’t been introduced.
“Как тебя зовут?”
She looks at me, furrowing her brow.
“Polina. A тебя?”
“Natalia.”
She nods, turning her gaze back towards the atrium. We sit there for a minute before I decide to speak again, this time in English.
“How old are you?”
The words are still slightly accented, and I remind myself to fix my r’s. Polina looks at me quizzically.
“Почему ты говоришь английский?”
“Practice.”
My r is right this time. Polina nods in understanding, switching over to English as well.
“I’m seven.”
Her English is slightly better than mine, and I silently catalogue her so I can seek her out later for more practice.
“Me too, we are in the same class then.”
She leans over, examining my face for a minute before lighting up in recognition.
“I know you!”
“You do?”
“Yes, you are the girl who can do triple pirouettes.”
I nod, surprised at her compliment.
“You have a lovely arabesque.”
She beams at me with what appears to be real sincerity, and I return the smile. She is good, I’ll make her an ally.
“I’m from Kiev. What about you?”
“Stalingrad.”
I reply and she nods, thinking. We settle back into silence, listening to the ballet.
Soon the target emerges, looking very unwell. We look on as he stumbles into the restroom, a handkerchief pressed to his forehead. I nod and she removes the restraints and gag from under her petticoat as I place the silencer on my gun.
“готовый?”
She nods and we slip down from the balcony and dart into the bathroom. He doesn’t see us for a minute, giving Polina the perfect opportunity to tackle and cuff him. She throws the gag to me and I rush forward to silence his screaming. He kicks and rolls trying to throw me off, but I am already perched on his chest. Polina stands and pins his legs down as I press the barrel of the gun against his forehead. In the theatre the music crescendos as Giselle begs the Willies to spare her lover. The Queen of the Willies denies Giselle’s lover any mercy. The strings rise.
And then I shoot.
Time slows as my finger squeezes the trigger. The world slows down and I hear a deafening bang. The target’s head jerks back violently, slamming against the floor as his body goes limp. His blood splatters over my dress and I get up, rolling his body over and tossing the restraints and gag back to Polina.
“пойдем.”
She looks at the body, frozen, and I grab her wrist as I leave the scene. Despite everything that went right, people would be here soon. A gunshot is still a gunshot.
“лучше бы ты использовал нож. Даже с глушителем, выстрела по-прежнему является выстрела.”
Polina doesn’t react but moves with me as I dash out of the restroom and towards the side exit. The door opens easily and fresh air hits me. Time returns to me and I’m suddenly aware of the commotion of the city around me.
We’re in an alleyway, bright lights and danger to our left, shadows and safety on our right. I drag her into the darkness and holster my gun as we make our way to the rendezvous point. Madame Yurievna is there waiting for us and the moment we get in, the car takes off out of the city.
“ты всё сделал?”
Polina nods.
“Все прошло гладко. Ни свидетелей, ни камер наблюдения, работать не с чем.”
Madame Yurievna seems pleased.
“Отлично.”
We fly back that night and our lives resume the routine that they have always had. Word of the ambassador’s mysterious assassination reaches us, but we are too busy training to take any notice.
The next time I see Polina is in ballet class. I make sure that all of my pirouettes are at least triples.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#french#red room#natalia romanova#polina#russian#black widow backstory#natasha romanoff backstory#diary#natasha's diary#natasha romanoff drabble#black widow drabble#scarlett johansson#music#playlist#8tracks#8tracks playlist#long post#text#natalya romanova#natasha#nr#ballet#ballet!nat#ballet!natasha#1 of 28
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March 27
I’m sick. And I hate it.
Despite my best intentions I think I caught something, and I’ve been miserable for the past week. However, this has helped me explain why I haven’t been playing venues when people ask; my voice sounds terrible if I try singing while sick.
The sore throat is gone thankfully, tea with ginger, lemon and honey cured that, but the constant sniffles are driving me insane. I haven’t seen a doctor, for obvious reasons, but I don’t think it’s anything more than a common cold. They’re quite common in the spring as the weather finally changes into something more pleasant.
I’m just really annoyed now, because the sickness is taking a physical toll on by body as it tries to combat whatever I have. I’ve been uncommonly groggy when I wake up and can’t usually hold a decent conversation until mid-morning. Have finally gotten the energy to go back to running in the mornings, so that’s nice.
If anyone has any suggestions on things to do to clear a runny nose, please let me know. I swear I’ve tried everything and I hate being sick.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#diary#memoirs#natalya romanova#natalia romanova#avengers#sick#sick!nat#natasha romanoff one shot#sick!natasha#natasha romanoff drabble#black widow one shot#black widow drabble#f
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March 16
Aliases are fun. It’s kinda fun trying different civilian lifestyles and I've had numerous aliases and identities over the years. With that comes a fair share of rather interesting things and amusing stories.
Multiple points in time, I've been a musician; they're easy to work with, easy to lie around. Anything out of the norm can be dismissed as an artistic statement or a side-effect of my lifestyle; neighbor see you come home too late a night with a suspicious case? You were working late and had an epiphany, then bought an obscure instrument to use in your music. I've found that wind chimes work well, but cimbalons work better.
Here’s a playlist of some of my favorite songs that I’ve made as a “musician.”
NR
#8tracks#playlist#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#scarlett johansson#red room#Scarlett Johansson#Scarlett#Pete Yorn#music#natasha romanoff drabbles#black widow headcanon#natasha romanoff headcanon#avengers#black widow playlist#natasha romanoff playlist#scarlett johansson singing#j. ralph#indie music#natalia romanova#the red room#diary
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March 15
After a slump in the afternoon I hit a peak of productivity in the early evening, which was super nice. I was finally able to track down a file that I was searching for, and started making plans for its extraction.
Maybe I should explain what exactly I’m doing. A few weeks after the whole Sokovia Accords incident, I found out that I had a shadow. Lyanne, that one new agent who had arrived a few years ago, was following me. I slipped out of the country but she tracked me down and found me two days later in Tuscany. I was able to shake her off after a wild goose chase, but it was difficult. It’s only a matter of time before she tracks me down again.
Now I’m [redacted] with a new alias, trying to find out exactly who she is, because she is good. Infiltrating SHIELD for multiple years, having a nearly flawless alias and then being able to track me for this long… but I think I know where she comes from.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#natalia romanova#natasha romanoff drabble#black widow diary#red room#natasha romanoff diary#diary#natalya romanova#avengers#shield#lyanne#yelena belova
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March 14
I’ve been really tired for most of today; I think the depression kicked back in again since I ran out of this painkillers yesterday. Yes, the same painkillers that Steve took and hid from me; I got them back.
Went for a run this morning, but it was snowing so I had to cut it short before I wore out my shoes too badly. Spent most of the day inside today, trying to find the will to do anything.
Heard parts of Giselle on the radio which triggered some memories of
I couldn’t stand looking at the files I had, so I did laundry instead. At least that’s something.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#polina#natasha romanoff#black widow#Natalia Romanova#natasha romanoff one shot#red room#diary#personal#one shots#avengers
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March 13
Today was not a good day. The weekend had gone pretty well - I was able to run some errands and even went out Sunday afternoon. I stumbled upon this amazing Vietnamese place for lunch and ordered too much on accident so I just sat on my bed and ate cold phó and spring rolls for dinner while watching old Russian soaps. I though that I’d be prepared and well rested for the week ahead. Cut to not even one day in and shit’s already hit the fan.
I lost one of my potentially major leads today, which is important because I’m running an intel mission here and they were taken out before I could get to them. Basically my entire multi-year plan has been fucked up and I’m not sure if my plan B is actually going to work. I’m also having second guesses if this was the best course of action. Maybe I should have just layed low and taken the time off to try and live a normal, civilian life instead of chasing nearly invisible threads all over the place. I guess I could still try and do that, but I’ve already poured so much effort into this personal mission of mine that I feel like it would just be a waste to quit now. Right?
Had some memories come up today, but I’ll discuss them when I’m in a better state of mind.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#red room#diary#avengers#personal#Natalya Romanova#Natalia Romanova#black widow red room#natasha romanoff drabbles#black widow drabbles#drabbles
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March 10
It’s been a year since I last posted anything here and honestly, so much has changed... The Sokovia Accords divided us, something that I don’t want to see ever again because the result was truly...
I can’t think about that right now... After everything happened I needed to go somewhere where I could work on my own, so I’m now stationed in [redacted] on a an undercover long-term mission. All I can tell you at the moment is that it’s solely intel (at least for now) and completely personal. I’m keeping a low profile, dying my hair and running with a new alias, and the time I have now is really proving to be good for me.
I hope Clint’s ok...
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#Natalia Romanova#black widow#avengers#red room#diary#clint barton#captain america civil war#civil war#sokovia accords#post civil war#Natalya Romanova#hawkeye
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Back at the Red Room
“Plies. Two demis, one grande, stretch however you like.”
She readies herself, her back finally popping into place as she takes first position, her left hand placed delicately on the barre.
“And five, six… seven, eight… And…”
Her ankles try to roll in almost instantly. Furrowing her brow in amused frustration, she pulls up out of her shoes and tries again, knees bending with effortless grace. The next plie is much better and, satisfied with the minute improvement, the assassin focuses once again on her reflection in the mirror. Her pointe shoes, new and shiny, are placed under the barre; a pair of worn canvas flats, in her opinion, are easier to warm up in.
Exhaling out she folds over, sore muscles protesting as she pulls her head in towards her legs. A few beats here, roll up and take a breath in as the right foot moves to second position. Again. Breathe in. Demi plie, demi plie. Breathe out and grande…
She watches as the instructor gives out a correction. An arm was misplaced, and the girl’s shoulders had tensed to accommodate it. Gently, he returns it to the correct position and chats briefly with the student. Then he moves on.
Back at the Red Room, she would have been left with shame and the ruler’s mark.
The combination finishes too quickly, but there is another one to take its place. The door opens, and everyone’s head swivels to watch as a girl in a pink leotard carrying a huge bag slips in. She waves tentatively. The instructor waves back, throwing a quip about being late in her direction. She simply laughs and sets her bag on the floor. As the girl sits and pulls out her ballet slippers, the instructor goes back to teaching the next combination.
Back at the Red Room, she wouldn’t have been allowed food that night.
Too quickly, barrework is over. As the students wandered to the center of the room, she slides to the ground, peeling off her flats and reaching for her pointe shoes. The light pink satin shines in under the bright light of the studio. They are new and hard to work with, not yet curved to the shape of her foot. Swiftly slips them on and ties the ribbons tight around her ankles. A minute later and she is back on her feet, claiming a spot in the corner but in the front row.
For a while she struggles. This instructor is different; his combinations are fluid and fast, without the high extensions or perfectly balanced arabesques she was trained in. The footwork is blindingly quick, requiring her utmost focus to execute. She is thankful that the choreography is so different; it silences the demons that threaten to consume her.
The turn combination is not hard, but she falls out of her triple pirouette at the end. Shame spilling over her features, she runs off to the side to practice as the next group begins dancing. Fear threatens to take over, but is held in check by her drive for perfection. Or perhaps her perfectionist nature held back her fear.
Prepare, plie, turn!
She executes a double, flawlessly landing.
Prepare, plie, turn!
She makes it around two and a half times before tilting off to the side.
Prepare, plie…
Soft footstep behind her, the second group is finished. She glances back, catching the eye of the instructor. There is still one more group left before they move onto the next combination; she still has time to redeem herself.
Prepare, plie, turn!
Again, two and a half turns are completed before she tilts to the right and stumbles out of her sloppy landing.
“Try a slightly larger fourth.”
She turns to see the instructor, his face displaying only support where she so often was met with criticism. She nods quickly and settles back into her plie, shifting her back foot out so her stance is widened. Before she can spring into a turn, the instructor’s voice stops her.
“You’re sitting back at little bit…”
He glances at her and she nods, watching in the mirror as he presses a hand to her lower back gently to correct her form.
“Pull up through here… yup, good. Ok, now try.”
Steadying herself as he pulls back to watch her, she realizes that the last group has already finished. The dancers mill about near the edges of the room, some stretching, others taking the opportunity to grab a breath or a drink. She’s taking up time, wasting precious moments of class to fix something that she should have caught herself…
Prepare, adjust, prepare again, plie, turn!
When she turns her focus isn’t there, and she neglects to spot correctly, causing her to careen off to the side after just one rotation and fall out of the turn in the most ungraceful manner. Mentally curses she apologizes to the instructor, feeling utterly embarrassed by her incompetence as she rolls her left ankle in small circles.
“No, no, you’re fine. You ok?”
Instead of being upset with her, he seems concerned for her wellbeing. She’s never had an instructor like this before... She nods quickly, resetting herself for her next turn.
“Spot faster. Ready, and…”
Prepare, plie, turn!
Her head whips around, focused only on a small dot in the corner. She hears him, voice encouraging, and her body registers the words before she even understands them.
“Spot, spot, spot..! Pull up! There. Good!”
She pulls up through her last rotation and is able to stretch her three turns to four before landing cleanly. The instructor seems buoyantly happy with her success, running over the tips he gave her before smiling and heading back to teach continue with the next combination.
Back at the Red Room, success would have been met with little more than a nod.
The rest of classes flies by. She breezes through combination after combination, testing her limits but being careful not to fail again. However, try as she might, her body doesn’t work the way she wants it to and she’s left slightly flustered after each combination. So, of course, she hauls herself off to the side and practices the little things that she messed up, tagging along with the other groups to correct her mistakes. Of course in the eyes of those around her, even her sloppiest movements still are magnificent to watch; her ballet training, whether or not it was real, had certainly helped create a beautiful dancer. At the end of class she curtseys to the pianist first and then to her instructor, as she was trained to do. But the instructor pulls her aside for a brief moment before she leaves.
“Your technique is wonderful, may I ask where you were trained?”
An urge to explain her past bubbled up through her mind, but she quickly tamped it down. Perhaps someday she would, but not today.
“Thank you, I was taught in a small studio in Russia…”
He nods knowingly.
“Are you a professional dancer now?”
She shakes her head.
“Oh no! I’ve only recently picked it back up, I had stopped dancing a while ago.”
“Well, it’s certainly nice to have you here in class. You’re very dedicated student.”
She thanks him and turns away, slightly flattered. She had never been commended for being dedicated before.
Back at the Red Room, dedication wasn’t a choice. It was the key to survival.
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#natasha romanoff imagines#one shots#ballet!nat#red room#black widow#avengers#black widow imagines#black widow one shots#natasha romanoff imagine#natasha romanoff one shot#natasha romanoff drabble#black widow drabble#ballet!natasha#avengers aou#ballet#dance#dance!natasha
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February 16
I got this odd feeling the other day after Clint and I got into a bit of an argument. I had to alter training schedule because of a mission last week, and I thought I had the room to myself like I usually do, but Clint decided to come in to work on some stuff before heading out on a support team for Lyanne, one of our new agents. She got herself into a bit of a sticky situation in [redacted], and although Fury thinks she can handle it, Maria decided to send Clint to keep an eye on her. Lyanne’s very talented, though she seems a little too confident in her abilities.
At any rate, we got somehow got to talking about registration, a topic that’s been slowly gaining momentum since Sokovia. After everything that happened there, and the damage that was caused in Wakanda, people have been talking about whether or not we - the Avengers and other ‘superheroes’ - should be required to register under the government. Personally, I like the idea; it's so easy, especially for some of us, to feel like we have unlimited power because of our abilities, and power can very easily go to your head. I know from experience what can happen.
Clint disagrees with me.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#black widow#natasha romanoff#natalia romanova#diary#red room#natasha romanoff drabbles#clint barton#avengers#registration act#avengers 2#hawkeye#sokovia accords
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January 27
Sorry for the temporary hiatus; I just got back in from a two and a half week long mission in [redacted]. It went surprisingly well, considering I did not throw myself a balcony this time. The mark took a while to track down, but once I found them they was easy to dispose of.
It’s been awhile since my last breakdown, and people are kind of avoiding me; at least those who don’t know me well. Usually if one of SHIELD’s top assassins is scared, there’s a good reason for everyone else to be scared as well. Besides, basically half the building heard me screaming that night.
The Dark Eyes Incident, as I’ve began referring to it, I guess really helped show me that I can’t bury my past forever, and to be honest… Clint’s right. I need to come to terms with it. He was the one that found me screaming and crying in my room that day, he was the one who shook me out of my dream, he was the one who took me away, far away from everyone, and sat me down and talked the sense back into me. He forced me to tell him what I had remembered, what I had seen, what had happened. He helped me understand that it was ok, that now I was ok, that I was safe, and that he’d always be there if I needed.
My concentration on missions has really improved, and I haven’t fucked anything up yet, so I think it’s safe to say that it worked. Clint, if you’re reading this, as you almost certainly am, I can’t say thank you enough. It was something small, and something that I’ll need from now on. Also, thanks for the free ice cream! You really do know exactly how to cheer me up.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#black widow#natasha romanoff#diary#avengers#Dark Eyes#SHIELD#natashas past#red room#drabbles#natasha romanoff drabbles
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January 18
They told me that this would be hard, but not how hard. Life has gotten really tough for me lately; I’ve been having flashbacks of feelings. One moment I would be fine and the next I become absolutely terrified of everything. It was really bad last Tuesday, thank goodness I wasn’t anywhere important. I was just sitting in my room with takeout, watching some really cheesy horror flick when something triggered me. Before I could even register what was happening, I was screaming. According to the eyewitness I was crying too. I think it was the sound of shackles from that film that set me off. Usually I’m fine, but something about the tone of the girl’s voice crying out in, albeit mock, fear. It sounded like Dark Eyes. Her name was Anastasia. And we killed her.
It was the end of winter. It was always the end of winter when someone tried to run away. That morning they told us there would be a special training course for the day, and that was the first clue. Whispers flew around faster than they could be stopped, word got out that someone had tried to escape, a blonde girl with dark eyes. When they dragged her in by her chains, it was obvious what was going to happen. It was only my third year too. I was seven, and stood in the front because I was put there. I had done well in training so far, so I was given the opportunity to go first… if you went first, it always meant you were at the top of the class. I remember thanking them, stepping forward to meet my classmate. She was so helpless, pale body bound to a cold metal slab, thick leather around tiny wrists. She is beautiful…. her dark eyes shone with tears, blonde hair hanging is loose ringlets around her face… I brace myself, relaxing my shoulder and taking a deep breath. And then I begin. Today’s lesson was on interrogation and I, as always, am determined to be the best. The instructor shows me how to place my hands to cut off blood flow, where to press to cause the most pain, which nerves to cut to damage her memory. I remember taking a knife and pressing its sharp tip deeper into the wound, watching rivulets of blood flow out from countless gashes in the skin. I remember her screaming, the words tumbling out like a waterfall. For a moment I stopped, my knife poised above her chest. I looked her in the eye but I didn’t see her. I only saw a target. “Natalia… пожалуйста…остановись…” She begs me to stop, dark eyes pleading with me. “нет.” Ignoring her protests I continue, to their delight. The first round of techniques finished, I place the knife back onto the tray, thanking the instructor and dutifully returning to my spot with the other girls.
It took two hours, each girl getting three turns, before she finally died.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#Natasha Romanoff#black widow#black widow drabbles#Natalia romanova#natasha romanoff imagines#diary#avengers#avengers 2#red room#Dark Eyes#natasha romanoff drabbles#Natalya Romanova
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January 11
I can’t do this anymore. The pain, the memory. It’s too much of a risk to take. I have to bury it; I need to bury it.
It stops now.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#drabbles#diary#natalia romanova#natasha romanov#avengers
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January 7 at 2:00 am
Liliya. Katya. Elena. Polina.
I never really liked Liliya, and she never really liked me. She was too showy in her work, preferring a more theatrical approach to a clean one. Many times they reprimanded her for messiness, comparing her to me. Maybe this is why she hated me so much. This translated to her dancing as well; she would often let her arms fly wildly out of position in an effort to draw attention. Unfortunately for her, it was the wrong kind of attention.
Katya. Katya was shy and quiet. She was the only girl with pitch black hair, due in part perhaps to a mixed ethnicity. Of course, the Red Room had to keep a close eye on her for that very reason. I only spoke to her a few times, but I knew from the start that she wouldn’t be able to make it; she was much too timid. Her dancing was safe and she only pushed herself to the breaking point, not any further. When she fell behind me during the ballet examination, I knew that her time had come.
Elena. I remember her well. Generous. Loving. Loyal. Trusting. All things you couldn’t find in the Red Room. She was ruthless, like all of us, when time called for it, but the true nature of her heart was much too soft. My only memory of her was when we made cookies. It was during a one time class where we learned the art of disguising poisons into foods, taught by a terrified teacher who was shot behind the training grounds in the room the next day. Elena managed to smuggle a batch of non-lethal cookies out of the room. That was the first time I had ever tasted something ‘normal’. Her variation of Coppelia was very beautiful, but she was found out of her room after hours… I was told I was to play Coppelia the next morning.
The tiny brunette Polina, a cheerful and sweet soul, shared quite a few memories with me. Ever youthful, she was able to transform herself into the most innocent of girls, and would have never been suspected as being a product of the Red Room in the outside world.. She and I were allies in a struggle of survival, and we were two of the four who made it to the end. Almost to the end.
I miss her…
NR
#memoirs from the red room#midnight memories#natasha romanoff#black widow#natasha romanova#red room#ballet#polina#natalia romanova#natasha romonov#ballet natasha#ballet!nat#diary#avengers#avengers 2
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Jan 1
And down goes the ball. Happy New Year from New York City.
Tony dragged Wanda out to his party in Malibu this year, with Pepper and Jane to keep her company, Thor is still up in Asgard, and I presume Steve will be spending his time with Peggy. So it’s just been me for the past few days, and things have been blissfully quiet.
Clint flew in yesterday, apparently earlier than necessary because of a mission that sets off tomorrow morning, but I suspect it’s just so I won’t feel lonely now that the Tower is empty. Not that I would be lonely, I have FRIDAY to keep me company. We’ve been enjoying the view from inside the A on the Tower with a couple of beers after deciding it was best not to try repeat last years wine feat, because we somehow ended up crushing two of Tony’s best wine glasses in the process of getting back out of the A. We’ve made it a sort of contest to see if we can hit passerbys with the beer caps; so far Clint’s winning, 5:3.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#new year#jan 1#natasha romanoff#black widow#clint barton#hawkeye#tony stark#avengers#diary#natasha romanoff drabbles#natasha romanov#natalia romanova
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December 28
Keeping myself busy has worked. It’s been about a week that I haven’t had any significant memories. It’s also been about a week since I’ve last written. I’m only writing in this now because I’m at Stark/Avengers/whatever-the-fuck-it’s-called-now Tower and Tony has locked the door to my room until I write an entry and I’m much too lazy to pick the lock. Besides, it’s not even an actual lock; I’d have to pick apart the code to FRIDAY. Much too lazy to do that.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#natasha romanov#black widow#natasha romanova#diary#avengers
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December 24
Nothing. Today was busy, trying to help Tony organize and carry out his spontaneous Christmas party, and my mind was much too occupied with the present to worry about the past.
NR
#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#Christmas Natasha#diary#avengers#natasha romanov#natasha romanova
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December 24 (at 2:00 in the goddamn morning)
Why am I awake?
Oh right. I can’t get to sleep because Tony doesn’t know how to decorate. Apparently, he wants to throw a Christmas party and rebuilding the entire building at two in the morning is the way to go. At least I’m the only one here; Thor went back, Wanda is staying with Clint’s family, and Steve is... Actually Steve should be here. He flew in today to keep me company... Weird, I didn’t see his stuff.
All of this spare time hasn’t been good for my memory issues. There’s a name that I’ve been trying to recall for the past several hours, and for some reason it just won’t condense into an actual word. I know the person, she was the small one. Dark hair, equally dark eyes, my mind has been plagued my memories of her dancing. She is, or rather was, extremely light and quick on her feet, and I remember she often was placed towards the front during our petite allegro exercises. Petite allegros in the Red Room were challenging too, a seemingly endless sequence of small and sharp jumps that had to be executed with cleanliness and extreme precision. But what was her name...?
Well, if I’m not getting any sleep tonight, I might as well help Tony.
NR
#midnight memories#memoirs from the red room#natasha romanoff#black widow#red room#natasha romanoff drabbles#natasha romanoff imagines#tony stark#avengers#diary#memoirs#natasha romanov
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