@thisnerdblog / thisnerdblog.tumblr.com
*When Nat’s family met Bruce for the first time*
Alexei: *drunk* Well, I’m gonna turn in.
Alexei: *shakes Natasha’s hand and pats her on the back* It was nice to meet you, young man.
Alexei: *kisses Bruce on the forehead* Goodnight, sweetie.
Natasha: Papa…
Natasha: *sigh* Never mind.
AVENGERS: ENDGAME (2019) dir. Anthony & Joe Russo
I have never seen better advertisement!!!
I immediately preordered this game solely based on ‘this TikTok!
I wanna start writing Brucenat fics again (or just writing in general).
Would anybody be kind enough to send over some prompts?
Imma put the kibash on anything remotely smutty as apparently I’m forever 12 and my mind just goes blank when it comes to that.
When Bruce thinks the plan is a bad idea but he can’t say no.
@bruteandbrawn via Twitter
My sweet baby boy. I’m not sorry.
This whole photo set is unfair....
“You’re stronger than her, you’re smarter than her, you’re Bruce Banner.”
I didn’t realize you were waiting.
Hulk by Nic Klein.
RAAAHHHH!!!
Here’s a drawing of mine that I abandoned for numerous reasons, but I love the idea of it so I couldn't let it sit and gather dust.
I just... really like drawing these two. So, so much.
Reblog for the day crowd!
I just... really like drawing these two. So, so much.
Could you do a piece (fanfic or art) of Natasha having a nightmare of her time in the red room and Bruce comforting her? Thanks!
Look here, it’s a miracle! I’ve actually finished up a request!!
I think he’ll might have frozen over🤪
Seriously tho, thanks so much for the request and ALL the patients while I lollygaged and waffled around.
~*~
First Position.
Plie.
Slice the windpipe to minimize sound.
Fifth Position.
Releve.
Fucking is more successful than pulling fingernails.
Second Position.
Look down the sight and pull the trigger.
Sauté.
Assemble.
You belong to Russia.
Pirouette.
Tour en L’air.
Where Russia points, you go.
Arabesque.
Croisé.
The blood on your hands is an honor.
Bow.
Natasha’s eyes snapped open and for a moment she was a girl agin. The frigid Russian winter rattled the glass in the windows, the entire Manor creaking with each frosty bellow. She lay in one of the twenty-eight thin spindly cots, her right arm curling next to her ear and over the crown of her head, the chill of the manacle biting into her thin wrist . The breathing of the other twenty-seven girls was barely audible, careless sounds having long been beaten out of them.
For a moment she was back in the Red Room, back to unspeakable horrors trussed up as lessons, back to placing every thought and emotion into a tidy drawer in the back of her mind, back to having an indescribable yawning ache in her chest that she learned years later was yearning, yearning for freedom and her own autonomy. The yearning to do what she wanted when she wanted without having a handler breathing down her neck.
But then she realized her wrist didn't ache and the bed was soft and warm and the body groggily rolling over wasn't that of a young girl.
”Y’all right?” a bit of midwestern twang snuck into Bruce’s voice as he blinked sleep from his eyes.
She brought a hand to her face and scrubbed her palm over her mouth and nose, nodding her head.
”Ya wanna talk about it?”
She shook her head hand still clasped over her mouth.
”You wanna cuddle?” he asked opening up his arms.
Natasha nodded and scooted into his chest, the smell of warm skin, sleep and soap did more to calm her nerves than anything else she has ever found.
