My problem not problem
May. 6th, 2015 05:35 pmI started writing fic about young Natasha meeting Clint and it sort of became about the awesomeness that is Laura Barton.
Phil immediately pulls a gun and trains it on her with the speed that only the best agents have. “Natasha Romanoff. Do you even know how many crimes you’re guilty of? How much blood you’ve spilled?”
“Probably more than I know,” Natasha answers honestly at the same time Clint says, “Oh my God, Coulson! What have I said about guns in my house?”
“You said no guns. You didn’t say anything about shooting people,” Phil Coulson says.
“Well we’re adding it, right now!” Laura says, and she sounds more angry than scared. “No shooting people in our house. And I swear to God, Phil, if there is blood spilled here then you’re the one who’s going to be cleaning it up, and I’m telling Melinda.”
Phil immediately pulls a gun and trains it on her with the speed that only the best agents have. “Natasha Romanoff. Do you even know how many crimes you’re guilty of? How much blood you’ve spilled?”
“Probably more than I know,” Natasha answers honestly at the same time Clint says, “Oh my God, Coulson! What have I said about guns in my house?”
“You said no guns. You didn’t say anything about shooting people,” Phil Coulson says.
“Well we’re adding it, right now!” Laura says, and she sounds more angry than scared. “No shooting people in our house. And I swear to God, Phil, if there is blood spilled here then you’re the one who’s going to be cleaning it up, and I’m telling Melinda.”
(no subject)
Date: 2015-05-07 03:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2015-05-07 04:15 am (UTC)“I think I’m a little bit gay,” Natasha says.
“It’s okay,” Clint says with a shrug. “Most everyone is.”
“… For your wife,” she clarifies.
Clint stares at her, then blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “it’s not like I can fault your taste.”
(no subject)
Date: 2015-05-11 08:58 pm (UTC)I would read the hell out of that.
(no subject)
Date: 2015-05-12 03:33 am (UTC)This is my fav bit of ridiculousness so far:
“Have you ever heard of Chekov’s Gun?” Coulson asks.
Natasha stares at him. “I’m Russian,” she says.
Coulson pauses, then nods. “Yeah, that one’s on me. My bad.”