Drafts: ThePurpleBug's Commissions
Hello there!
So, if you're not ThePurpleBug, please press that little left-pointing arrow in the upper left-hand corner of your screen.
But if you are....
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These are drafts. I like to make sure you like what I've written for you before I post it up for the general public (that is, Tumblr.....)
So....while I'm not finished with all of them, here are the finished first drafts of your commissions. :) And if there's anything you don't like, please, PLEASE let me know.
The reason I'm letting you look at them now is because it's been so LONG since I've promised your comissions. You've paid a fair amount, and I think it's fair that you, at least, should know what I've managed to do.
Here goes.
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Fandom: The Avengers (MCU)
Pairing: None
Rating: K+
Characters: Black Widow (Natasha), Thor
Synopsis: Turn the lights down low, walk these halls alone, we can feel so far, from so close. She has no siblings. How fortunate she is. Experimental story of 400 words, angst. No pairings.
Ships In The Night
He finds she has no siblings.
How fortunate she is.
Granted, she has no fond memories. Of mischief and keeping secrets from parents. Of oaths to support each other forever.
No brother to tease. No sister to confide in. No siblings, not even childhood friends.
Then again, she has no experience of betrayal. Of shock and stomach-turning horror. Of watching your closest friend become a complete stranger.
Mentally. The teeth-clamping feeling was in his mind always and forever.
Emotionally, however, he would always know Loki, and remember the good within him. He would always see his brother as hurt. Always as a man that needed help, and never as a selfish, power-hungry, corrupted royal.
It would kill him.
A curse, Erik Selvig had told him. To love someone unconditionally, to see both bad and good in the same person, is both a blessing and a curse.
When he asked how, there was only silence.
A defeated, “I don’t know.”
Then nothing more from the scientist on the matter.
Yet he needed answers.
He asked her. An assassin. A woman taught not to merely defeat, but to kill. A woman with molten steel in her blood and iron in her teeth.
He actually had the audacity to ask her.
“How do you kill someone you do not wish to kill? How to do it with no hesitation, and not feel shame afterwards?”
The fire-haired woman answers, with all the ice of Jotunheim in her eyes and the emptiness of space in her voice.
“I can’t say. If you’re the one to do it, it’s all up to you to find.”
Natasha stands right next to him, waiting before she approaches the man that is and isn’t his brother. Arm to arm, one fighter beside another, but he feels alone, feels like he’s been abandoned on a rock in the middle of a vast ocean.
It’s not an answer he wants.
So he watches her approach the clear barrier separating her from his brother, and she speaks to him the way he spoke to the Frost Giants months ago.
Was he so merciless once? Perhaps the reason Loki hated him so.
But interrogating a criminal? A murderer? She could do that. She was built for that. For justice and combat. Not for love or companionship. And even if she wasn’t….
She’s never had siblings.
How fortunate.
How fortunate she is.
END
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Fandom: The Avengers (MCU)
Pairing: None
Rating: M (for language)
Characters: Black Widow (Natasha), The Hulk (Bruce)
Synopsis: One day, Bruce. One day, I will figure you out. (Non-romantic)
I’m Only A Crack In This Castle
Congrats, Bruce.
With very little effort, you’d managed to screw up most everything I’ve been taught.
Or rather, it wasn’t you, but those gamma rays.
And the Hulk.
This is what I’ve been taught. To find the most vulnerable points in someone I’m trying to disarm and use it against them.
I have found that emotion is the strongest weakness in a human. The one thing I can easily manipulate, that I can distort (and generally fuck with) and have a one-hundred percent success rate in overwhelming people.
In all humans, every emotion is there and free for me to use to my advantage.
And in every human, there is:
Pride.
Guilt.
Sorrow.
Lust.
Vengeance.
Just a few of many emotional hooks I pull to get information out of a person.
Then I actually faced the Hulk. And when I did, he wasn’t you.
He most definitely was not my friend.
Only various shades of anger. Nothing that I could recognize, much less twist.
It’s as if he ate you whole.
I had to find a way to calm you down. Just so you didn’t hurt more people.
Not to mention you swatted Thor aside like a cardboard box.
For fuck’s sake, you pulverized a Norse deity with an alien army at his command. With no hesitation.
Even sitting here, with what feels like a broken rib (though I’m not too sure, since I feel slightly drugged), I’m still unnerved.
You were nearly unstoppable.
I can see why anyone tried to create the Hulk. A fighting machine with literally one emotion is an efficient tool of war. No guilt, no hesitation, no pride. Nothing but a mission and a motivator, and he could level cities.
The kind of being generals want their soldiers to become.
The kind of power that, in the wrong hands, would make Loki’s stunt look like a children’s play.
“Natasha?”
And yet you’re not. You are not mindless.
I found you in Calcutta. You like sharing snacks and talking science with Tony. And chatting about space and Pop-Tarts with Thor. And raiding the fridge with Steve. Alongside Thor.
You are Bruce Banner.
You can be stopped.
“You haven’t touched your food.”
For the first time in what feels like days, the exhaustion keeps me pinned to this chair. It takes actual willpower to move my lips into a smirk.
“I could say the same for you. But, yeah. Just tired. Maybe injured, too…”
“Ah. I was going to ask if you were going to use that mayo packet.”
I try to aim the mayonnaise packet flies to your limp hand, but it hits you in the chin before plopping uselessly on the table.
“Oh, sorry ‘bout that.”
“Is…everything alright, Natasha?”
Your eyes peer into mine, and, just for a second, I see a glint of green in your dark brown gaze.
The irony of your situation is that you are dangerous not for having too much, but having too little.
(I can’t say you know too little. That would be a lie.)
“Yeah.”
Watch, Bruce. One day, I’ll have you all figured out. You and your angry friend.
“I’m alright.”
END
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Fandom: The Avengers (MCU)
Pairing: None
Rating:
Characters: Black Widow (Natasha), The Hulk (Bruce)
Synopsis: Bruce is not a luxurious man, but damn, the guy does a lot. The good doctor deserves something fun now and then, and blind dates and drinking contests are not an option. Natasha notices he doesn't even have fuzzy slippers, and decides to do something about it. Non-romantic.
Fuzzy Slippers
Of course Bruce wouldn’t get drunk.
I find him in a suede lounge chair, the black fabric about to swallow him whole, as he sips his tea and watches the sunrise.
The first few blinding rays peek over the cityscape and illuminate his face, tired but calm.
“Hey.”
Dark eyes peer over to me. “Good morning, Natasha.”
I catch of a whiff of mint. Definitely from his tea.
“Strange not seeing you….how did Thor say it…..‘partake in drinking and merriment with your fellow warriors!’ Though….”, I mutter at him, pressing my palm to the decreasing pain on one side of my head, “…..you made the better choice, I think.”
He laughs. A small relieving laugh.
“I hope you took aspirin, or something for that. No one can out-drink Thor. Not even Tony. By the way, is ‘The Man Of Iron’ still passed out?”
“Probably.”
He was never the talkative type, and he yawns, then returns to watching the sunrise.
A part of me feels guilty, since he was the only fully sober one in the car. JARVIS drove the limo back, and Bruce was his only company. Tony was in no shape to drive last night, and it took him, Steve, and me to carry him off the ground and deposit him into the nearest bedroom.
How many bedrooms does he even need?
There is literally one side of the building that’s just bedrooms and bathrooms, and Clint lost his way to his own room twice.
“Are you the only one awake?”
I shake my head, blinking the last bit of sleep out of my eyes. “Thor’s awake, making pop-tarts and coffee for everyone.”
“Just pop-tarts?”
“Yeah, no, there’s probably some pancakes in there, too. I saw him putting brownie batter in a waffle iron---”
Bruce turns in my direction, eyes looking more lively. “That sounds really good! Maybe I might have breakfast after all.”
“Yeah, but we need milk with that. And maybe eggs on the side. There was bacon. Or maybe not, depending how hungry Clint is when he wakes up. He loves bacon.”
“Ah, Natasha---speaking of bacon, I’ve seen chocolate-dipped bacon in a store once. Do you know if they taste any good?”
“I tried once. I think they taste okay. Depends on your personal taste. It’s rich for me, though. Just pancakes with eggs, and some fruit, and I’m good. Oh, and coffee. I can’t forget the coffee.”
Bruce smiles fondly. “I think the kitchen will be a better place to discuss, well, food. I, for one, want to see what the Thunder God is making.”
He drains his tea to the last drop. I get up and head to the kitchen, but as I walk, I register a lack of footsteps behind me.
He is the Hulk. And even when in human form, his feet are big. I glance behind me and see him.
His arms and legs, anyway. The rest of him has been swallowed by the Blob Chair. Hands grasp at open air, and his bare feet flail uselessly. Apparently, the black blob is just a giant beanbag with a cheap frame in it.
He’s not wearing shoes. Or socks. Or anything on his feet. How did I not notice this before?
“Um, Natasha! Help! Help me please!”
My eyes roll, but I cartwheel over.
“I worry about you sometimes, Bruce, I do. Not as much as Clint or Steve, or Sam, but…..oh, come on. Fulcrum, Banner. Use your legs. 1….2….3!”
With a hard pull and a grunt of force, I yank him out.
“Woah, okay, thanks, Natasha.”
“Yeah. You’re welcome.”
He straightens himself up, folds in his purple baggy sweater smoothing out, before we stroll to the kitchen.
“The floor’s cold. I should’ve thought of socks.”
“Fuzzy slippers?”, I suggest.
“Wha---well, now that I think about it, maybe I should. Just one pair, though.” The scientist purses his lips, eyes deep in thought. “Maybe a novelty pair, like fuzzy rams….”
As he thinks, I peek at his bare feet. Short and blunt toes, with a bruise on his left foot. “Why aren’t you wearing anything for your feet?”
His response is to cradle his empty cup in his hands, arms crossed over his chest.
“Force of habit, Natasha. And you know some habits are hard to break. Even for the Hulk. And being the Hulk, you see……I’m used to not wanting much. A pair of shorts that expand when you become 50 times your size, well, that alone is difficult to make. Shoes that expand are impossible to find, and certainly pricier than clothes.”
He stops to show me the soles of his feet. The calluses are unlike any I’ve seen, looking more like lumpy bread dough or cobblestone paths than human skin. There are several bandages with blood stains under his right foot.
“I never had calluses like these before. Walking barefoot in streets was sometimes my only option after….calming down. My shoes tore a lot. I was always grateful just to find a pair that fit my big feet.”
“And what kind of shoes do you have now?”
“Just a pair of black, rubber, lace-up ones. The ones I wear every day. A pair of brown leather ones, the floppy kind that make you think of grandpas playing cards and drinking beer. And green rain boots. That’s it.”
Only three pairs of shoes? And no pair of sturdy leather boots. Or running shoes. Not even a pair of fuzzy slippers. Nick Fury has fuzzy rabbit slippers with eyepatches, for God’s sakes.
“You need to get better shoes.”
“And who will go with me? I’ll probably get frustrated at stuffing my foot in something, then I’ll Hulk out, then I’ll end up destroying the store, and I’ll leave with no shoes or clothes on plus there’ll probably be a busload of papers and forms no one wants to fill out and I’ll put people out of work oh my God---”
“---Bruce!”, I bark at him.
Out of my mouth it sounds harsh. He gets it, however, and takes a deep breath.
Then another breath. Then another.
“Thanks, Natasha.” He gently pats my shoulder in gratitude. “Now I hope Thor is really making brownie waffles, or whatever it is. Do we have milk? I’m gonna go see if we have milk. Or maybe even soymilk.”
The curly-haired man makes a beeline for the kitchen. I check around before smiling to myself, just strolling the rest of the way there.
“Bruce! Hey, good morning.”
Steve welcomes him to the kitchen. Wrapped in a blue robe and white shorts, he smiles weakly then downs his coffee in one go.
“Morning, Steve. You must be tired.”
I segue past and steal a blood orange off the counter.
“Don’t choke on your coffee, Captain.”
The blond glares at me, but with the fatigue in his face, he just looks constipated. I want to laugh.
“Well, good morning to you too”, he drawls. He then looks pitifully into his empty mug.
“I need more.”
“Have another!”, Thor booms, slamming down a coffee thermos and four mugs on the counter. The sealed thermos thumps and the steel-bottomed mugs clatter. Thankfully, nothing breaks.
There’s no sound that follows except irritation hissing out from between my teeth. Steve observes me worriedly, but silently picks up the thermos and refills his mug.
I have no patience to tell the Asgardian to pipe down again, so I merely put my blood orange down, grab myself some coffee and search for some sugar and creamer.
Oh, there’s honey. Lindenblossom honey from Germany.
Was that JARVIS’ idea?
Tony, you wealthy nerd.
I’ll try it anyway.
“What. Are. You. Wearing?”
I look up.
Well, Clint’s awake. Finally. He looks as hungover as I do.
In a pair of checkered purple pajama pants. God, just in my head that sounds weird.
“Morning, Clint”, I call out to him, yanking out the milk. “Your underwear’s hanging out. Those tighty-whities you’re rocking Hanes or Calvin Klein?”
“The God of Thunder here is wearing a lightning bolt apron over red pajamas…” he squeaks appallingly, “…and you want to know the brand of my underwear?”
“It matches your floppy pants, Clint”, Bruce chuckles from his seat at the table, scarfing down a piece of brownie waffle. “Speaking of your pants, may Natasha and I play chess on it after?”
I almost laugh. I do.
Clint just makes a pained face. “I’m too hungover for this.”
“And that’s why I turned down the drinks last night”, Bruce replies with a smug nod.
Thor brings over a plate of steaming bacon, and another piled high with pancakes. “This gift, one I find appropriate given the element I have presidence over, was from Erik Selvig. You remember him, do you not?”
A yawn. “Yeah, yeah, I remember him. Where did he even find that?”
“It matters not.” He throws a pancake in the air and consumes it when it falls in his mouth. “I like it!”
“Heh”, Clint mumbles, inhaling a piece of bacon. “Morning, ‘Tash. Your shorts look better than my pants.”
“I don’t know.” I look upon the cheerful cherries against the robin’s egg-blue background. “They remind me of summer. At least your print matches you.”
Clint spits his coffee into the mug. “I do not match with checkered purple pajama pants!”
I catch Bruce’s glance, and we both double over. He laughs at Clint.
“Oh my God, it sounds just perfect coming from your mouth!”
I can’t say anything, hanging off of Clint’s shoulder and trying my damnest not to laugh so loud.
“What’s sooooo funny?”
Tony.
“They chortle at the sight of the archer’s trousers, Man of Iron”, Thor explains as he pushes a cup of coffee to a hungover millionaire. “I know not why they laugh, but it is good to see you all in good spirits!”
“Except for me”, Clint mumbles as Banner and I wipe the saline from our eyes.
[Work In Progress]
Let me know what you're thinking when you want. :)
~Ylysha