Not even a lullaby can soothe my guilty conscience;

An independent (indie) roleplaying blog for the character Doctor Robert ‘Bruce’ Banner; the portrayal of this character will mainly be influenced by the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) but there may be references and crossovers with the Marvel Comic Universe. Tracking: alulledmindandradiation Mun & Muse are 21+

[markruffalo-daily]

2012 // 2015

[alulledmindandradiation]

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Got to run some errands. I’ll tend to replies when I get back!

[alulledmindandradiation]

|| Closed @Black-Wiidow-Baby

‘Death of a Bachelor’ Meme ||  “I’m sitting pretty in my brand new scars.”

@black-wiidow-baby

When Bruce had been told the proverbial storm had cleared, he began to notice the extent of the damage both collateral and direct. The situation’s finer detail were still smoggy and unclear but one thing was rather apparent from the on-set.

                                       Everyone was H U R T I N G.

Bruce was b i t t e r l y fortunate with his GREEN COMPLEX. Despite the violent torrent of noise and broken images gushing and flickering between his ears and behind closed eyelids and the exhaustion that chased his every movement, he was very much still in ONE piece.

                                              Still functioning. …Or moderately so.

His co-workers – his F R I E N D S – did not get the protection he did when they stepped out on the front-lines. When they were shot or stabbed it was like twisting the wheel of fate. It could be their last injury.

Bruce lifted his hand to his face and his index finger rubbed at the bridge of his nose restlessly before he corrected his glasses, pushing them back into place. Bruce looked rough around the edges; he looked exhausted and needed a shave.

                                                         And yet, here he was.

“—I was told by someone that scars are like little souvenirs you can collect. Souvenirs that you’ll never lose,” he commented quietly as he moved a hand towards Natasha. His hand moved for the massive wad of sterile linen that had been secured against her arm. How long it had been there, he didn’t know; all he knew was that blood had long since soaked through and left it discoloured.

He moved c a r e f u l l y, not wanting to startle the Russian Widow. He tried to pry the bloodied linen away and replace it with a new wad of sterile cloth.

“I see scars and injuries more as proof that you’re capable of surviving the worst,” he continued with a distant tone. He spared Natasha an uneasy smile as he scooted back on his stool a little. There was something mentally distant about Bruce as he worked; like he was shutting part of his thought process or was simply attempting to focus upon Natasha’s state.

He paused for a long moment and the only noise that filled the silence he created was his lilted rasping when he breathed; he sounded like he had a sore throat.    “You don’t have to answer me – but Natasha, what exactly happened?”

[black-wiidow-baby]

Natasha gave Bruce a wary smile trying to ignore the burning sensation running through her arm. She honestly didn’t know what to tell him. She had tried to take care of it herself with the gauze, but apparently the wounds were deeper and more severe than she thought. 

“Umm, I was just being careless I guess.. I didn’t see this loose brick in the building that I was leaning on, I think it was at a wrecking site, so it was coming down. When I tried to put my hand on it, the cement brick gave way and a few more fell along with it as well. They fell on my arm, cutting and scraping it up. I thought they were just minor scrapes, so that’s why I tried to take care of it myself, but there was just so much blood, I didn’t kn0w what to do Bruce.”

[alulledmindandradiation]

Bruce remained respectfully quiet when Natasha finally spoke. His tired eyes watched her with an easy and soft gaze; one that was silently understanding of her situation. Bruce held no intentions on pushing the Soviet Widow to speak so it came as a tidal wave of relief when she chose to speak without further pressuring.

“It happens,” Bruce spoke before his mind had processed the entirety of his comment. He paused after the second word of his response and caught the end of his tongue between his front teeth. With a staggered and wheezed huff, Bruce opted to offer an apologetic and awfully crooked-looking smile.

                      “It happens,” he repeated simply, leaving his response at that.

Bruce’s hands were careful. He removed the soiled gauze from Natasha’s arm with a steady and gentle grace. As professional as Bruce tried to be – both for his sake and in this case for the sake of his patient – he could not help but part with a small wince as he eyed the extent of Natasha’s injuries.

From the state of her arm – from the small bruises to the very telling gashes in torn skin – Bruce doubted that she was lying to him. Despite trusting her word, a small fragment of his mind remained vaguely sceptical.                            Everyone had things they wanted to keep concealed.

“I guess the good news is that you managed to keep the wounds clean enough. I don’t think they’re infected – a little swollen but I suspect that’s from the bruising,” Bruce added in a quieter and lighter tone as he reached back and padded his hand against the metal medical tray.

After retrieving the clean gauze and a bottle of antiseptic cleaning fluid, he spared Natasha an apologetic smile before he reached forwards and attempted to clean the worst of dried blood from her wounds.

                                       “Just your arm was injured, right?”

[alulledmindandradiation]

Compromise || Closed

[alulledmindandradiation]

                                                            Honesty.

Of all of the things, potential outcomes, Bruce had e x p e c t e d  from Alexandria, honesty in her spoken words was not one of them. He had expected a scenario that was akin to walking into the den of starving Lion and their cub.                                                           No honesty. Just brutality.

“Given I NEED your assistance, I’m certain you’ll get another chance to see an ‘exchange’,” Bruce commented almost h o l l o w l y. There was something notably DEAFENING about the way he sounded distracted and oh, so distant.

                He knew the Manor’s floor plan. He knew every window, door and emergency exit.                                          Bruce had ONCE been a w e l c o m e d guest.

                                 Perhaps even considered FAMILY?

And yet, even knowing every escape route in the building did not soothe the persistent itching in the base of his skull. It was an itch he was LESS familiar with and by far, LESS fond of.

                                                                              F E A R.

Bruce Banner was filled with nervous TICKS; particularly when his chords and strings were played and plucked in the right way. Even the most seasoned agent had something that could compromise their professional front within a mere breath.

His fingers absently twitched at his side as he FINALLY stilled his jaw. He seemed to clock onto the motion he had been thoughtlessly repeating; the way he had been flexing the muscles surrounding his jaw and pressing his teeth together made him look  r e s t l e s s.

The way he had failed to LOCK DOWN some of his nervous ticks after years of training was ALMOST endearing.

                               And it was a pleasant reminder that he was in fact  HUMAN.

                                                    Alexandria stole his attention.

The click of her heels against the floor brought his attention away from his tangent train of thoughts that had been hyper-focused upon the floor-plan of the Stark Manor and the gnawing sensation at the base of his skull.

                          Bruce’s attention was drawn back to the VERY PRESENT moment.

He would never admit it – not even under compromising conditions –but Alexandria had NERVE playing T H I S game with him; especially when Anthony Stark was in the very SAME building.

Bruce turned his head enough to catch the subtle sway of Alexandria’s hips before his eyes chased their way to her face. He watched her with a p e r f e c t l y placed mask; his expression was tailored like one of his nice suits. An eyebrow was perched at a questioning slant and the corner of his slightly swollen and bloodied lips were quirked upwards ever so noticeably.

“—Wouldn’t be the FIRST to make that claim.” Bruce commented in a tone that was SO much more aware and in the moment than his previous one. It sounded steady and well-versed.

                                                           And deceptively soft.

That ROGUE hand on his face, cupping at his abused cheek was a small and unpredicted surprise. One that did not initially sit well with Bruce.  Despite his c a l m edge – one that could predictably be hanging by a mere loose thread – his physical response gave him away.

Muscles in his jaw flexed once again. It was like he was t r y i n g to fight the urge not to BRISTLE at the contact. Bruce was not a fool; he knew this wasn’t a true or well-meaning LOVER’S touch.

                                                     This was a GAME.

              Bruce knew he shouldn’t have laughed. But the moment was simply too P E R F E C T.

The deep rumble of dark amusement shook through Bruce’s chest as he turned his gaze upon Alexandria, nudging her hand with his cheek so he could meet her gaze head on.        Her eyes were far LESS distracting than her breath ghosting against the shell of his ear.

“—Prize?”

Bruce moved his hand to the hand Alexandria had placed upon his abused and still flushed cheek. He attempted to cup the back of her hand with his fingers and PRY her touch a mere inch from his face. “A bold and p o s s e s s i v e statement from someone who wants me in a shallow grave, no?”

Bruce’s splayed fingers tightened their grip against her hand and sought to apply enough pressure to make pain spark and flare through her nerve endings. He wanted to remind her that he wasn’t about to roll over and S U B M I T.

                                                               Regardless of his location.

“Though, you can consider me ENDEARED and THRILLED to know that the last person I’ll see as I choke on my own breath and spit will be you, A l e x a n d r i a.”

[that-stark-brat-alex-deactivate]

                                                                 Laughter.

                                 Calm.                                                              Collective.                                                                                               Laughter. 

Banner sounded like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Whether it was due to the claim that the young Stark had made, or just the absurdity of the situation in general, Alex could not say. But the amused sound that bounced off the walls was unnerving. The smirk slipped from her lips, teeth g r i n d i n g.         Realizing the spy had turned his face to her own, and that his breath was fanning across her cheek, the young woman stiffened. Bruce’s face was INCHES from her own — to turn and meet his gaze head on would make it mere CENTIMETERS of space that separated them.

                        BUT SHE STILL TURNED HER FACE TOWARDS HIS OWN.

Had someone not known any better, they would have mistaken the two for lovers. Alexandria’s body was pressed against Bruce’s, their noses almost brushed, and their lips were a mere hair’s breadth apart.

                                                             I n t i m a t e.

The ghost of a young girl overtook her with such force that time seemed to stop altogether. 

Once upon a time, Bruce Banner had been welcomed in the Stark’s home. He’d been family then, and had as much influence over the small brunette child as Anthony Stark had. Feelings had developed through time; her hand now rested upon the cheek of the man whom the brat not only admired, but had placed her childhood affections on.                               A little girl’s school crush — turned to a teenager’s first love.

Alexandria Stark had been head over heels for this man once. It was always easily hidden. Shy smiles were taken to be nothing more than that. The moments spent close by, observing the pair work were assumed to be a chance at learning their trade. It was SO EASY to hide how she had truly felt about her father’s partner back then.

               Even easier to bury said feelings when the mess with Anthony happened.                                               He had tried to murder her father.

The reminder was now locked in some dark box, tucked away in a distant corner of the mind while old emotions clouded her judgement. The love that she had buried came rushing back with a vengeance that took the very breath from her lungs. Alex’s blue eyes, usual frigid with hatred, melted and flicked to Bruce’s lips —

                                                          her breath hitched  —

                                                                                                  her body molded to his own —  Alex licked her lips, tossing a single idea around in her head. One moment wouldn’t hurt. A small kiss could do no real harm…

Except to Give Banner something to hold over her head. She’d fought too long to forget the feelings he’d once instilled in her as a fourteen-year-old. Years of hatred had built up to keep such emotions locked away. They would not be brought back merely by the tilt of his head.         The simple touch of his fingers against her hand was like electricity, and the brat jolted as if shocked. Her gaze flicked back up to his, but Alex did not move away. Even her voice did not hold the venom it usually did when speaking to her worst enemy.

     ‘ Shallow? Hardly  — I want you buried in the ninth circle of hell, Bruce.        That way I know you can’t dig yourself out. ‘

An explosion of pain spiked through her hand. It wasn’t terrible, but so unexpected that once more, the spy mistress jerked and a grimace took over. DISCOMFORT, that’s all it really was. Alex attempted to snatch her hand from the ‘good doctor’s’ hold, but he’d said her name, rolled it over his tongue like a prayer. 

Half the time she wondered if he knew how it turned her stomach to butterflies, and wanted to use such a disgusting feeling against her. But rather than the fury and agitation that usually caused her to make a snarky remark and demand he keep her name out of his mouth, her stomach did that uncomfortable back flip, and again she was caught off guard. Despite the pain prickling at the delicate palm, despite the ever-growing animosity that flowed between them, Alexandria Stark was still standing against Bruce Banner, so close that she could just reach up and kiss —

     ‘ Get your hands OFF my daughter—                                                           —or I’ll blow your brains out, Banner. ’

Tony’s voice boomed through the main hall. Alex snapped out of her daze, focused on the numbness of her hand. There was no need to look back to know that the elder Stark was holding a small pistol, pointing it right at the doctor’s head. A wrong move and Banner would be on the floor, brains splattering the lovely marble floors.          The brunette tried to yank her hand from out of Banner’s grip, her voice low and hoarse. Don’t let Tony hear the desperation.

     ‘ Better do as my father says, Bruce.’

               So that she could step back and gather her common sense once again.

                        So that she could return to planning his funeral, as usual.

[alulledmindandradiation]

                                              The ninth circle of Hell?

Now that – Bruce had to silently admit to himself in the confines of his own skull – was a threat he had yet to hear, and it brought a curl to his lips. He watched Alexandria from over the rim of his glasses.                   His gaze was attentive, like he was trying to pry into her motives.                                                    Her thoughts.

His smirk looked far too amused for a man who was pressed almost too closely against the daughter of the man – his former colleague – he had tried and FAILED to assassinate; and truth be told, Anthony Stark was not the only threat in the Manor.

Each breath the Spy Mistress parted with reminded Bruce of the very situation he was in. Something ugly and unwanted gnawed at the base of his skull, reminding him all too well that Alexandria Marie Stark was dangerous – if not more dangerous than her father – and held a vendetta so violent that it would only end when his own blood painted each perfectly polished surface within the Stark Manor.

Bruce wanted to speak.

                                 He had even opened his mouth to comment.

He would have given a l m o s t  anything to have had a breath of a moment to taunt the younger Stark further – but his half-formed quip died against the back of his tongue and lingered in his mouth. The words he never spoke felt like dead weights, like discarded bullet shells, in his mouth as he heard that all too familiar noise.

                                          The cocking of a loaded gun.

           The sound of the gun readying registered first. Tony’s words processed second.

The immediate threat of having his own skull and brain matter spray the walls in a fine mist – like a morbid attempt at a fine art piece – took Bruce’s primary concern.

Bruce’s grip against Alexandria’s hand yielded without protest in an almost obedient manner. His hand slackened and he took two firm and broad paces backwards and away from Alexandria, being certain to make his retreat obvious and slow.

   One sudden movement and he was certain Tony would fire without a second thought.

Bruce drew his hands down to his sides and turns his palms outwards in a discreet gesture. His calloused palms were turned outwards and towards Tony. It was a subtle gesture; a gesture that might mean nothing to a fleeting glance, but in this case, it spoke for Bruce.                                         It indicated he was unarmed.                            Or at the very least, he intended to bluff as such.

“Forgive me, Stark,” Bruce’s voice was the almost perfect guise for feigning sincerity.

“The unfortunate circumstances of this whole ‘ordeal’ has left me on edge. You know how my nerves get when I’m in a situation I do not want to be in.”

Whether Bruce was attempting to pull upon an old, worn, sympathetic string of lost friendship or whether he was simply being honest, it was hard to tell. His voice didn’t waver or change pace – his intentions remained obscured.

Beyond his fingers giving an idle and nervous flex under the trained sight-lines of Tony’s gun, Bruce didn’t make a single move to prevent the decompression of Tony’s finger against the trigger.  Rather, he held his ground with a FALSE calmness.

                              “I’m not here to paint these walls with blood.”

The words were aimed at Tony, yet Bruce directed his attention once more to Alexandria. Somewhere between the word ‘here’ and ‘to’ Bruce had turned his head enough to try and catch her gaze and hold it. Despite the pointed edge to his words – words sharpened like his beloved blade – his expression was CALM.

                                        Not a fleck of anger in sight.

                            “If he won’t listen to me – tell him to lower that gun.” 

[alulledmindandradiation]

-

I’ve started working through replies and have some completed. I plan to proof read them tomorrow and then post them!

Sorry for the wait, I’m just awfully tired tonight.

[heartfulloffandoms-deactivated2]

[alulledmindandradiation]

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For anyone interested in resuming threads with me, like this post so I can dig them up from my drafts! If you want to start a new thread or anything else, please do drop me a personal message!

(I plan to get replies out at some point tomorrow!!)

[be-loved-moon-deactivated202510]

[alulledmindandradiation]

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Wow, okay.

I’m gonna start by apologising to each and every one of my lovely RP partners and my just as lovely followers.

The last two or so months have been unreal and horribly hectic to the point I barely had time to function outside of university work. I had multiple deadlines, one of which was abruptly shifted to before the new year which put  a bit too much pressure on me. Then, after sorting those, I spent a good few weeks battling with the flu.

So, yes, with my excuses/reasons aside, I’m sorry for being a massive pain in the rear and vanishing into the abyss without a word.

...The good news is, I have a month(ish) free now and starting next semester, my classes should be more manageable. Meaning I shouldn’t be vanishing nearly as much (or at all, really).

I’m not expecting anyone to wish to continue RPing with me but if you would like to continue threads, start new ones or anything else, even just have a chat, please let me know!!

- - - -

 // @that-stark-brat-alex​ // @hydrastxrk​ // @snipcrlegacy​ // @libri-e-amore​ // @bettyrosstalbotbanner // @russianmadewidow // and @ anyone else who has RP’d with me and I’ve missed mentioning you!

[alulledmindandradiation]

-

My term-time officially started yesterday so I may be a little busy for the next few days as I try to get back into a normal routine!

I do however finish Uni at about lunch time tomorrow so I may come home and poke at some drafts then!!

Thanks for being patient with me! 

[all-movie-stuff]

[hirxeth]

Shutter Island (2010) dir. Martin Scorsese

[godstrigger-deactivated20161020]

Don’t expect fucked up characters to treat their loved ones properly, in a healthy way.

Issues, traumas, and personality traits don’t just disappear depending on who a person is interacting with.

They are part of them.

Permanently.

Genuine feelings don’t necessarily mean a healthy relationship.

[delustive]

[alulledmindandradiation]

Compromise || Closed

[alulledmindandradiation]

Alexandria’s palm was a SOLID force against Bruce’s cheek and the momentum she put into the gesture was near enough unholy. The lances of pain flared across his cheek and rattled his teeth against each other. He could taste the faint coppery twang of blood from where the inside of his cheek had been forced against his teeth awkwardly.

 His glasses fared no better. They were struck askew across his face, barely perched on his nose.

The pain mixed with the taste of his own blood was a DELICIOUSLY tempting edge that sparked his mental nerves; it was kindling to the fire of his rage.

He reacted. He  h a d  to react. Had Bruce dismissed the strike entirely, he may have gave away that he was intending to try and keep his CALM demeanour.  Bruce Banner was not known for his passiveness when confronted with violence.

              This was not a situation where anxiety could be coaxed into dangerous levels.

One hand pushed his glasses back into place before he cupped his tender cheek. A grin split across his lips and his tongue probed against the torn inner wall of his cheek. He had to admit, Alexandria Stark could strike HARD.

“—The last person to call me Robert is currently – or so I presume – laying in a ditch somewhere in the mountains of South America. I admit, it was a T H R I L L I N G exchange. A shame it ended with having to literally silence them.”

When Alexandria stepped closer, Bruce turned his head away and from her and simply regarded the expansive grounds of the Manor. The gesture feigned a look that he had no intentions of playing her games just yet.

     At least not while he was at the disadvantage. She was capable of fighting. And successfully.

“I know why I am here A l e x a n d r i a, I do not need the lecture and I am certain you would rather waste your breath on another pursuit.” A sigh stole the weight from his own words as he looked back to Alexandria and crooked a brow at her.

Behind that calm façade was SOMETHING MORE. It was like a loose thread was waiting to be unravelled. The thread that when pulled made it all too hard to distinguish the lines between the Good Doctor and the man who had a track record of a l w a y s eliminating his target.

                                               REGARDLESS OF THE COST.

“Yes, I N E E D your assistance,” Bruce added in a tone that was all too recognisable. His tone carried that f l e c k of anger that someone not versed in his mannerisms would have missed. But, it was there, like a veiled dagger. The threads of his mask were starting to fray.

When Alexandria moved back into the Manor, Bruce was hesitant to follow and with GOOD reason. He lingered by the doorway, allowing a distance to form between himself and the spy-mistress before following her.

                              With each step, he could feel his pulse hammering in his ears.

“You may have ensured your own safety but things can change, Alexandria,” Bruce commented as he eyed the interior of the Manor with a calculative and sharp gaze. His attentive gaze wandered the walls, the doorways before settling back to the very person he was addressing.

“If you truly believed you and your father would be safe and not compromised, then why, and do tell me why, did you agree to work with me?”

                  His voice trailed off and something near enough predatory played on his lips.                                                      It was an unspoken T A U N T.

                    There was a flash of teeth mixed with an almost too perfectly timed G R I N.

                                         “Because I know YOU do not take pity on me.”

[that-stark-brat-alex-deactivate]

     ‘ A shame I MISSED such an exchange. ’ The girl shot back with frank honesty. There had been a time, as a young teenager, when watching Bruce Banner train had been the highlight of her days. There were hours, weeks, months spent watching him work with Tony. To have been able to see him kill in action would have been a dream come true.

It still was, not that he would ever know it. And of course, using her as the next victim did not count in the category of ‘watching’.

The disappointment was overwhelming when realizing that the only retaliation that would come was the warning. Alexandria had expected more: physical force of some sort, maybe the prick of his   b e l o v e d  blade against her delicate skin.       Then again, the doctor was in HER territory. Banner was a smart man, always had been. He would only go so far when playing on the Stark’s turf.

                     There would be other times to antagonize him.

Once in the house, she glanced back numerous time to ensure he was still following. The disappointment was replaced by satisfaction seeing how he reacted. Uncomfortable was a good word for it.                        Eyes flicked around the halls.                                                                                A nervous tick in his jaw.

                                                                                                                            ALL GOOD.

Here, in these walls, Alex held the power. She made the rules, and Banner would do well to remember that. He wasn’t welcomed here as he once had been. He’d ruined that when trying to kill Tony  — a story she still did not know the details of.

                                 If he set foot near her father — she’d bury him ALIVE.

Alexandria stopped at that last statement, and turned to fully look at him. Those cold blue eyes looked the man over before turning as mischievous as her voice.

     ‘ Why Bruce, I’m surprised at you. I thought you would have figured it out — ’ His grin sent a shiver down her spine. Alex pushed her shoulders back to hide it, and began sauntering over to him as if he was a lover she had not seen in years. Her head tipped slightly, one corner of her mouth turning up. She was almost pressed against him and cupped the side of his face which her hand had come across minutes before as she leaned up, breath fanning against his ear.

     ‘ Because the only person who gets the privilege of killing you, is me.        I don’t intend on letting ANYONE take my PRIZE from me. ’

[alulledmindandradiation]

                                                            Honesty.

Of all of the things, potential outcomes, Bruce had e x p e c t e d  from Alexandria, honesty in her spoken words was not one of them. He had expected a scenario that was akin to walking into the den of starving Lion and their cub.                                                           No honesty. Just brutality.

“Given I NEED your assistance, I’m certain you’ll get another chance to see an ‘exchange’,” Bruce commented almost h o l l o w l y. There was something notably DEAFENING about the way he sounded distracted and oh, so distant.

                He knew the Manor’s floor plan. He knew every window, door and emergency exit.                                          Bruce had ONCE been a w e l c o m e d guest.

                                 Perhaps even considered FAMILY?

And yet, even knowing every escape route in the building did not soothe the persistent itching in the base of his skull. It was an itch he was LESS familiar with and by far, LESS fond of.

                                                                              F E A R.

Bruce Banner was filled with nervous TICKS; particularly when his chords and strings were played and plucked in the right way. Even the most seasoned agent had something that could compromise their professional front within a mere breath.

His fingers absently twitched at his side as he FINALLY stilled his jaw. He seemed to clock onto the motion he had been thoughtlessly repeating; the way he had been flexing the muscles surrounding his jaw and pressing his teeth together made him look  r e s t l e s s.

The way he had failed to LOCK DOWN some of his nervous ticks after years of training was ALMOST endearing.

                               And it was a pleasant reminder that he was in fact  HUMAN.

                                                    Alexandria stole his attention.

The click of her heels against the floor brought his attention away from his tangent train of thoughts that had been hyper-focused upon the floor-plan of the Stark Manor and the gnawing sensation at the base of his skull.

                          Bruce’s attention was drawn back to the VERY PRESENT moment.

He would never admit it – not even under compromising conditions –but Alexandria had NERVE playing T H I S game with him; especially when Anthony Stark was in the very SAME building.

Bruce turned his head enough to catch the subtle sway of Alexandria’s hips before his eyes chased their way to her face. He watched her with a p e r f e c t l y placed mask; his expression was tailored like one of his nice suits. An eyebrow was perched at a questioning slant and the corner of his slightly swollen and bloodied lips were quirked upwards ever so noticeably.

“---Wouldn’t be the FIRST to make that claim.” Bruce commented in a tone that was SO much more aware and in the moment than his previous one. It sounded steady and well-versed.

                                                           And deceptively soft.

That ROGUE hand on his face, cupping at his abused cheek was a small and unpredicted surprise. One that did not initially sit well with Bruce.  Despite his c a l m edge – one that could predictably be hanging by a mere loose thread – his physical response gave him away.

Muscles in his jaw flexed once again. It was like he was t r y i n g to fight the urge not to BRISTLE at the contact. Bruce was not a fool; he knew this wasn’t a true or well-meaning LOVER’S touch.

                                                     This was a GAME.

              Bruce knew he shouldn’t have laughed. But the moment was simply too P E R F E C T.

The deep rumble of dark amusement shook through Bruce’s chest as he turned his gaze upon Alexandria, nudging her hand with his cheek so he could meet her gaze head on.        Her eyes were far LESS distracting than her breath ghosting against the shell of his ear.

“—Prize?”

Bruce moved his hand to the hand Alexandria had placed upon his abused and still flushed cheek. He attempted to cup the back of her hand with his fingers and PRY her touch a mere inch from his face. “A bold and p o s s e s s i v e statement from someone who wants me in a shallow grave, no?”

Bruce’s splayed fingers tightened their grip against her hand and sought to apply enough pressure to make pain spark and flare through her nerve endings. He wanted to remind her that he wasn’t about to roll over and S U B M I T.

                                                               Regardless of his location.

“Though, you can consider me ENDEARED and THRILLED to know that the last person I’ll see as I choke on my own breath and spit will be you, A l e x a n d r i a.”

[neverlandswriter]

as an rper, i don’t mind having an rp partner who takes forever replying to stuff, or isn’t always spamming me with headcanons and aus and drowning in feels with me 24/7. it’s totally fine if sometimes your muse goes dormant and i definitely get it and you don’t have to be enthusiastic all the time with me. i get that sometimes muses are unbelievably loud but during other times they just refuse to cooperate. as long as you’re still passionate about the character that you’re playing and you’re still into our plot, then it’s cool with me. 

[alulledmindandradiation]

Traitor| Espionage AU | That-Stark-Brat-Alex

[alulledmindandradiation]

The mission dossier had been concise and very ‘to the point’. Unlike his last mission that had ended with Alexandria Stark BRIEFLY killing him, this mission was far from the public domain. There were no guests to charm, to avoid or to distract; and there was certainly no need to silence the lengths of BRUTALITY displayed.

The mission was an ‘internal’ affair – the removal of a T H R E A T to their own agency.  These mission held no rules beyond simply not getting caught or further compromised out on the field.

And with the location being in one of the remotest reaches of Russia, Bruce had held little concern regarding being caught by a civilian or some form of government official. Bruce doubted anyone would even find the body for M O N T H S, if at all. The shack has no postal address and was not marked on any maps.

                                        The closest road was a thirty minute walk.                    The location was intended to remain hidden, missed by the public’s view.                                     And now this shack would be all but forgotten.

The FIRST shot was fired by Bruce. The heated lead sliced through the window pane and threw shattered glass across the muddied yard. The noise – the song of A N G U I S H and C O M B A T –washed from the broken window and from behind the moth-eaten curtains, shadowed figures danced in dim light.

                                               Bruce led the dangerous dance. Two more gunshots pieced the air. Both times, the recoil and CRACK of the gun did not sound like Bruce’s gun. There was no attempt to muffle the shot either.

                          An unnerving wash of silence chased the sound of gunshots.

                                         Then the S C R E A M I N G started.

The masculine voice started out as hateful and resenting. He lashed CURSES and DEATH THREATS at the ‘Good Doctor’ in a mixture of Russian and coarse English before the words slowly distorted and bled into something more H A U N T I N G.

                           Between hiccups of p a i n, the voice began to beg for mercy.                                                 Asking for the PAIN to just STOP.

Minutes drained on and S L O W L Y the voice died out. The pained babbling washed into silence.

Bruce had BARELY been given the chance to wipe the still warm blood from his beloved blade before his well-earned silence was interrupted. Behind him, the hinges of the door squeaked in protest and instantly Bruce b r i s t l e d.

He knew his target had been SCREAMING. The kill had been far from clean but he doubted in HELL’S FURY that someone would have caught the sounds. Not unless—

  —Oh no, this was FAR  W O R S E  than any situation Bruce’s mind had briefly leafed through.

Bruce was a G O R Y sight to behold. His sleeves were rolled up at his elbows and his forearms were painted with drying blood. His beloved blade was poised D A N G E R O U S L Y and D E F T L Y between his fingers.

His victim was a masterpiece. His rib-cage was exposed and the blade had keenly severed and m u t i l a t e d  vital organs.

                       There was no mercy in the killing. The victim was left to haemorrhage.

The way Alexandria stared at him; it made Bruce’s blood boil with an unspoken R A G E.  It was like she was taunting him with nothing more than her eyes. When she spoke, she added kindling to that rage. The way she addressed him made his fingers tighten against the hilt of his blade. The leather grip creaked under the applied pressure.

“You almost sound disappointed—,”Bruce retorted with a rough edge to his voice. He sounded like he had run a marathon or had been eating nothing but sand and gravel for the last few days.

                The lag when coming down from an adrenaline spike was never favourable.

Bruce’s free hand splayed against the bloodied floor and he pushed his weight up off the F I L T H Y floorboards. Scattered across the room were bloodied footprints and strewn papers and what looked to be blood-blotted micro-film images.

            Whoever Bruce’s target had been had obtained a collection of rather valuable data.

         “—it’s going to take more than two bullets to send me knocking on Hell’s front door—“

For a M E R E beat of a second, Bruce stilled before he expertly twisted the blade between his fingers. Under his bloodied suit, his healing injuries were protesting for rest; muscle was still not entirely repaired and scar tissue was still F R A G I L E. Easily torn with overexertion.

                                      Not that Bruce intended to have that STOP him.

Bruce moved for Alexandria. The bloodied hand that wasn’t gripping his blade like a life-line moved for her throat with the intentions of forcing her backwards and applying JUST ENOUGH pressure to sever her breathing.

                              “— And if I do go, I’ll be certain TO TAKE  Y O U   WITH   M E.”

[that-stark-brat-alex-deactivate]

The little light pouring into the room from the open doorway caught the blade, and that small flash of it drew her eyes. The young Stark watched as he slipped it between his fingers, the very movement memorizing. A distraction, and a damned beautiful one at that.      How EXACTLY did Banner’s thick fingers pull off such a trick so gracefully?

                                                                       Sudden  p r e s s u r e. 

                                                                                           The wall HARD against her back.

Tightness in her chest — her throat. Alex gasped for air, but only a small breath made it through to her lungs. The rest was efficiently cut off by Bruce’s fingers wrapped harshly around the column of her throat. Crimson flooded into those pale cheeks, the nails of her free hand clawing at his grip.                                            How could she have been so stupid?                          Here was her WORST ENEMY —

                                                                                  — and she’d let her guard down.

         ‘ How kind of you to offer, but I’d like to live, thanks. ’ Gritting her teeth, the brat shoved the barrel of her pistol into the soft flesh of his stomach, the other hand still fighting to get the fingers around her throat off.

                                                          Can’t breathe  — CAN’T BREATHE.

Another attempt at a gulp of air, but still not enough entered the body. In another few minutes, the vision would darken, spots would pop up into her line of sight. Her mind screamed to take the shot now, but her hand had become clammy and the grip on the trigger was not secure.      This had not happened since she had first started with the agency, since her first mission as a spy. She’d been calm then, however; able to think straight. And that had been a simple agent she’d taken down. This, the man before her, was far from simple. Bruce Banner, the good doctor, was the most dangerous man alive to Alexandria Stark —

                                                                                                   — spots started to appearing.

STAY CALM.

     ‘ You ought to know better than to bring a knife to a gun fight, Bruce… before         you can even leave a slice on me, I’ll have a bullet in your stomach… and         you’ll be on the ground bleeding to death… Do you really want to play this         game? ’

Gone was the seductive tone she was used to using. Her words were punctured with gasps and desperate heaves. There was no trace of confidence even. Alex knew full well that this time, Banner was w i n n i n g this game.

[alulledmindandradiation]

Bruce’s grip was unyielding and near-enough CRUSHING against the reddening column of Alexandria’s throat. He exerted his muscles and unseen strength in a measured and oddly C O N T R O L L E D manner. The fabric of his shirt pulled awkwardly against his arm as he kept Alexandria pressed flush against the filthy and blood-spattered wall.

                                       He was CROWDING her all too intentionally.                                  To make a DAMNED point to the cocky Stark  B R A T.

The smell of fresh blood, sweat, cigarette smoke and the faintest edges of his cologne was still clinging to his clothing and skin.

                               It was a DISGUSTINGLY appropriate cocktail for the senses.

Each G A S P and swallowed breath Alexandria fought to find made something twist on Bruce’s features. He could FEEL her throat pulling and constricting under his rough finger-pads and he could practically feel her unspoken struggle for air.

                                                               For a chance to breathe.

Alexandria’s nails raked across Bruce’s hands and left ANGRY red welts and half-crescent gouges in the backs of his hands; the small spikes of  P A I N  added an edge of kindling to his already surfacing rage.

     Alexandria certainly knew how to fuel the ‘Good Doctor’s’ rage.

“—We don’t always get what we want or would like to have, do we?” Bruce retorted as the edges of what looked to be a B I T T E R grimace snared and claimed his expression.

                                                    Little Alexandria Marie Stark.

He’d watched her grow up—

                                                             —and now she was a damned professional MONSTER.

                     A BEAUTIFUL Stark MONSTER fuelled by ANGER.

                        And how he wanted to watch the life burn out of her blue eyes.

The clawing at his hand was overshadowed and almost DISMISSED the moment the barrel of Alexandria’s favoured gun pressed snugly against his stomach. The muscles reflexively tensed as the COLD metal pressed too close to a scar that he was  c e r t a i n  Alexandria did not know about. He knew in a heartbeat and a SINGLE decompression of Alexandria’s finger, he would be compromised. His skin would be once again MANGLED and torn open by a perfectly placed round of heated lead.

                                            But TWO could E A S I L Y play this game.

That d a m n e d knife. The hand that was all too familiar with that bloodied blade was raised and the blood-spattered metal caught the dim light of the room. How on earth Robert Bruce Banner managed to be so deft and skilled with a blade was a mystery.

                                                WHO had even TAUGHT him to fight?

                                         Not a breath of a word was on his file about it.

Bruce had been working in the field of science before he was employed as a spy and covert agent. Even if he had received training in his previous field employment; he would have been trained with a surgical blade, right?

                                            And not a DAMNED razor-edged dagger.

“Should I, Alexandria?”

Bruce’s voice was so c l o s e. The rough and worn syllables of his own amusement seemed to echo through his simmering anger. Accompanying that subtle amusement was something else.

                               A   g r i n  crept onto Bruce’s lips for a mere moment.

“Or should YOU know better than to taunt me with that gun of yours? I was half-hoping you’d AT LEAST try to carve me up.”

His words dripped with CRUEL taunts. The small verbal lines were laced with hooks intending to snare Alexandria’s anger and reel it into the present moment. Bruce wanted to d r a g the anger out of her and PLAY it like an INSTRUMENT.

                                       His words were followed by a taunting gesture.

His fingers pressed closer to the flesh of her neck. Bruce’s hand sought to TRY and tighten against her neck and force her gaze upwards, enough to reveal the length of her neck.

                                  The hand that was holding the blade moved closer.      

The blade’s edge danced closer to her skin; the fine point was mere inches from carving her up.

                                                       “...Well?”