#also could look into the race situation in nyc at the time and have a subplot with Alfred and Adri | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

boop-le-snoot · 3 years ago

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@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

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emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n #Bruce Banner #bun writes #I haven't written shit in a month and boom #6k words in three hours #i don't like the ending #I'm bad at them #okay #okay .

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alatismeni-theitsa · 3 years ago

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I have no idea when you posted asking about the experiences of Greek diaspora / Greek heritage but I just saw it so I thought I’d send in my stuff.

I am so disconnected from it because my grandma didn’t want to pass the language into her children so she could have adult conversations they wouldn’t understand. And she didn’t pass on the culture because her husband was Jehovah’s Witness. And so I just feel an intense feeling of grief over a culture that I’m apart of but know very little about. I have some recipes my Yiayia made, a cookbook by women from the Greek Orthodox Church in NYC, and two lullaby’s. (We lived in the US with my great grandma so we had more interaction with Greek culture than our cousins who’s lived with my grandma in Ireland)

And there’s not much out that I’ve found where I’ve been able to learn about my culture and not felt like I’m intruding. Especially because I don’t “look Greek” like some of the other greek kids at my school. I look Irish. I don’t have a Greek name and I don’t speak any of the language. The only way I’ve found to connect is through food but I’m limited to the cookbook because if you look online it’s hard to find recipes that aren’t just trendy mediterranen inspired health food. My mum is starting to reluctantly tell me a little about my family from Greece. And my grandmas cousin and her family is very very greek. So if I fly down to see her she’ll teach me stuff (though she’s the matriarch of the family so she’s pretty intimidating). Anyway. That’s my experience with my my greek heritage.

I just sent the long-ass ask about Greek heritage but I forgot the bit where I was Greek enough to get bullied over Greek food. Yay. Dolmades are good though I don’t care if they “look little poop”

___________________[END OF ASK] __________________________

Hey and sorry for the delay 💙 I asked some time ago but that doesn't mean newer answers aren't welcome anytime!

Dear, I am grieving with you for the loss 😔 I can't say the reasons the language wasn't passed on seem very logical to me. There are things that didn't get passed on to me because my grandparents thought I would automatically know, or they didn't bother teaching, so I can relate to that feeling 😔

You are definitely NOT intruding! I can understand why it feels this way after what you told me, but it seems to me you have every right to know! Greek culture welcomes anyone from Cameroon to Japan, so, realistically, nothing should stop you from having access to it. Plus, it's your own family!

Oh damn, the "I don't look Greek" plague 😩 As everyone knows there's no specific qualifier of appearance for being part of Hellenismos. On this particular occasion, I'll go one step further and say that, unless you have raid hair, you probably look like a lot of Greeks.

There are Greeks whose appearance is rare for this ethnicity, but "looking Irish" is a thing that 1/4 (at least?) of Greek people relate to. One thing Greeks of diaspora often hear is that "they don't look Greek enough", aka they look "too white". Your surrounding Greeks might not look like you but if you go through my tag #Greek people, which has hundreds of videos, portraits, and photos of Greeks from all eras, you might realize you look like many Greeks.

Again, appearance doesn't matter in the slightest when it comes to culture, but I sensed your appearance issue was the flavor of "too white looking" and it's the most infuriating thing to me because many, many Greeks look "too white looking" for the standards foreigners have made for them!

Anyways, on to the food! I am so happy you are trying some of the recipes :D (And that you are doing everything to connect to your heritage if it brings you joy!) How dare they speak badly about dolmades??? 😭 Many countries close to Greece also have that dish and we must find them so we can have a dolmades alliaaaaanceee!

I'd also like to add, don't feel pressured to get too much into the culture if you don't want to. Many Greeks in Greece keep different types of distance from their tradition and that should also be your right. Again, do and learn whatever pleases you! Just keep in mind that you are valid in your current state without going the extra mile to learn every Greek thing possible.

People across the globe can have various degrees of Greek heritage and if that "amount" of heritage is "less" then it's okay and natural because it's what happens when people immigrate. The more generations pass, the more this old part is left behind. For example, many Greeks in Greece can also come from other backgrounds (Austrian, Egyptian, Slavic (various countries), etc) and they, too have many parts of their older heritages lost. They practice Greek customs almost exclusively now.

There's a cultural plane that shifts all the time in countries around the world and families assimilate to a new culture as they adapt to a new place. At this moment you are also part of a US regional culture and there is no shame in *also* identifying as part of it. That won't erase any Greek part of you.

The above doesn't aim to discourage you in any way on searching more about Greek culture! It's only a general disclaimer. People from inside a culture (usually in diaspora) tend to judge those who participate less, as if any person with X heritage is in a place to keep the same amount of touch with it 🙄

Sure, tradition is very important but nobody should be forced to practice it if they don't want to - or if they just can't. Tradition is people, and some traditions change or die naturally because many individuals from the inside wanted it to.

It's hard being caught in between - not "American enough" and not "Greek enough". The paradox is that you must first feel secure in this position. Granted, it's easier said than done but mentally it will save you the mindset of needing to be "more American" or "more Greek". As you understand, you don't need to feel apologetic to Americans for who you are, and you don't need to feel apologetic to Greeks in America or anywhere else for the exact same reason.

Some Greeks of diaspora feel distressed about their accents in Greek (or they don't want to admit they have an accent) or for not being perceived as Greeks automatically by other Greeks when they visit the country. But that's unavoidable because these differences exist and people raised in Greece can spot them. Therefore, people in the US whom you are afraid might feel superior to you for knowing more things about Greece, may come to Greece and feel like foreigners.

So they shouldn't make this a race beacuse it's not one they would normally "win" by their own standards. Chances are, after you learn anything you can, you will also have distance from what is considered the "default" Greek culture. It's part of the organic process of time + distance from the country, and Greeks with half a brain won't look down on you for that.

What I mean to say is that there is no certain bar an ordinary person can ever pass to be given any prize of the "ultimate Έλληνας". Not even Greeks in Greece know where that bar is when it comes to their own touch with tradition. There is no golden standard, no finishing line!

I encourage you to continue your journey on learning Greek things and while you are at it, know that objectively you have nothing to prove to anyone, even though you might feel otherwise. I say, fly to your grandma's cousin and let her teach you stuff!

You know that the intimidating demeanor Greek aunties and grandmas have doesn't necessarily reflect their love for you. You might also know that older Greeks are more reserved in showing appreciation. And in the hypothetical scenario where they don't really like you that much, they are still bound to you because you are family, so feel free to use their expertise 👀 If they don't give their knowledge to their family, whom are they going to give it to?? The neighbor??

If they throw any shade at you for now knowing enough take a deeeeeep breath, remember this isn't a race, and continue learning from them. (And you will feel the Greek experience of not deemed worthy enough by your relatives 😂 It's a win win!) If you haven't, check the poem Ithaca by K.P. Kavafy! I think it applies to this situation in a way!

You can always come here and browse thousands of posts about Greece! (In the Desktop version the most important show up on the left of the main page). I have #modern Greece #Greek custom #Greek tradition #Greek dance #Greek cuisine #Greek literature and whatever else your heart desires!

If you want to slowly learn Greek, Greekpod 101 and Easy Greek channels on YouTube have great content! I also have my tag #learn Greek on this blog with sources and explanations. (#Greek language and #Greek word can also be useful!) They are all accessible to English speakers!

You now have a distant Greek auntie who is at your disposal for any type of question (even the "stupid" questions)! Literally, ask me anything and I will try to answer it or find more info for you! You can DM me if you don't want to leave an ask. You are not intruding and it's my pleasure to help!

#thank you for your message <3 #it's hard for me to give tone in text - i hope i wasnt too intimidating either :p #the blog is here for your questions about greece so dont hesitate to ask!#answered #greek diaspora #greeks in the us #greek speaks

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ladylynse · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 13 [FF | AO3] of Whirlwind (SQ fic): Jake should be used to ominous predictions by now. Randy should know better than to blindly follow McFist. Adrien should think twice before sneaking away. And Danny should’ve expected something like this when he got that phone call.

Previous | Timeline post

-|-

7:50 PM

Jake couldn’t see Danny as he winged around to the building where Hawk Moth stood with Susan, but he had a feeling he knew Danny’s plan: namely, get Nino out of danger. Specifically, do that by phasing him out of Susan’s claws. Randy—who was clinging to the edge of the roof and barely showing more than his eyes and fingertips—looked ready to jump into action the moment that happened, and Jake knew he should be, too, but….

This situation wasn’t just his fault.

It was the fault of the World Dragons in general.

If they’d ever found a replacement for the French Dragon or at least done a better job of checking up on France, this might not have happened.

Which meant it was Jake’s responsibility not just to diffuse this particular situation and deal with the fallout but also to, well, see what he could do about Hawk Moth so that he didn’t keep doing this in Paris.

Jake hovered in the air for a moment, knowing he’d been spotted, but despite the telling flick of her eyes, his mother didn’t call any attention to him. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was good or bad; she still recognized him, right? Was she ignoring him on purpose? She had to know he couldn’t let this slide. Between her letting everyone in the city—and, let’s face it, beyond—know that dragons exist and this Hawk Moth guy misusing magical artefacts, there was no way he couldn’t get involved.

Jake took a deep breath, folded his wings, and let fire burn away his scales. He landed on the roof with very human feet, rolling with the impact and rising from a crouch as Hawk Moth turned. Jake gave him a wide berth, ignoring Hawk Moth in favour of his mom. He edged around to keep her in sight, though he knew better than to turn his back on an enemy. “Mom,” he whispered, “don’t do this. Please.”

He saw Hawk Moth’s triumphant smile out of the corner of his eye. “So. This is your son, one of the city’s great protectors.”

Susan said nothing, though she held Jake’s gaze.

“You’re better than this,” Jake said when he noticed Hawk Moth open his mouth again. “You know what I’m fighting for. You know why I fight for it. You have to know this is wrong. Just step back and think about it for a moment, like you always taught me to do. This isn’t you. Please.”

“Dracona,” Hawk Moth said sharply. “Tell me what else I should know about your son.”

What else he should know.

That meant he already knew something.

That she’d already told him something.

How much?

“What? What did you tell him? Why did you tell him anything?”

For a few heartbeats, Jake was sure his mom wasn’t going to answer—him or Hawk Moth. He hoped she was ignoring his questions because they were ridiculous and she’d never tell someone like him anything important, whatever he demanded. He hoped he’d managed to get through to her when it came to Hawk Moth, too. She was still looking at him, and he was familiar enough with reading dragon expressions to see determination settle on her face. It gave him hope—until she opened her mouth and said, “I made a deal. I’ve realized that I have to fulfill it.”

“You don’t!”

“Fighting doesn’t work.” She sounded more resigned than she looked, which was weird, but whatever. “I’ve tried. I can’t.”

Jake wanted to wipe the smug expression off Hawk Moth’s face, but Danny was right. If Randy’s book did mean that he could talk his mom down, he had to try—and if he could do that without giving Hawk Moth any more information about the magical world, dragons included, then all the better. “You can, I swear,” Jake insisted. “You just said you’ve fought it before. You can do it again. And you know what it’s like to try to fight off mind control; G would’ve trained you, I know he would’ve. You can’t give up now, yo. You have to keep trying. You can do this!” She turned back to Hawk Moth, and he called again, “Please! I’m sorry about earlier! I’m sorry about everything. Just don’t do this. You know it’s not right!”

Susan ignored him, instead answering Hawk Moth’s question as if they hadn’t let him have his say at all. “My son is foolish, and he is brave.”

“Mom, just stop, okay?”

“He is young, and he is skilled.”

“Don’t tell him everything. You can’t.” If he didn’t think he’d lose against her in a straight up attack, he’d do it. Nino’s magic suit looked more durable than Randy’s and seemed to protect him from a lot; it should protect him from being crushed underfoot or impaled by a stray claw. Trouble was, Susan was still the bigger dragon, and even if she didn’t have as much practice as Jake when it came to being a dragon and moving around, that inexperience hadn’t shown up so far. Besides, she knew way more theory than he did, and if she didn’t have any trouble applying it….

Attacking her now would just make him more vulnerable.

And attacking Hawk Moth was likely to invite a retaliatory attack from her, and he didn’t particularly want that in either form. Randy was not enough back up for that. So where the heck was Danny?

“He makes mistakes, many of them, but he always tries his best to do what is right.”

Jake shifted on his feet. He hadn’t expected a glowing review, exactly, but he hadn’t thought his mom would put it quite like that. He could guess why Hawk Moth might ask—if he’d identified Jake as a protector of the NYC, if not the magical world, then he knew Jake was here to fight him—but he still didn’t know why Susan had answered.

For that matter, he didn’t know why neither of them had just attacked; he was a lot more vulnerable in this form, and Hawk Moth at least had no idea how quickly he could change…unless his mom had already passed on that bit of information.

A subtle movement caught Jake’s eye, and he tracked it in time to see the tips of Nino’s ears slide downwards and disappear through the roof.

Strangely, Susan said nothing about it, even though Jake knew she must have noticed. He turned to get a better view of Hawk Moth, but he didn’t seem to notice, either. He was still staring at Jake. Maybe this hadn’t been a bad plan, after all, even if Nino had gotten who was a suitable distraction completely wrong.

“He also possesses a greater magic than yours,” Susan said quietly, “because the magic you use is borrowed and not your own.”

Hawk Moth scowled and looked back at her. “My magic will be greater than either of you can imagine once I have the Miraculous I seek. Give me Chat Noir’s.”

“Gonna have a hard time with that,” Randy called, drawing everyone’s attention. He was sitting on the edge of the roof now; Jake hadn’t even noticed him climb up. Maybe he’d still been underestimating Randy’s Ninja skills, despite having ample evidence of exactly how good Randy could be. “I mean, you kinda gotta have something to give it in the first place.”

“What?” roared Hawk Moth. He spun back to Dracona, and Jake had to look twice at the cane in his hand to confirm that, yes, it had hidden a sword, and now Hawk Moth had discarded its sheath. “You let him escape?”

“I brought you his ring, as you asked. It’s hardly my fault you didn’t take it when you had the chance.” She tilted her head towards Jake and added, “I’ve also told you about our local hero. Consider our contract fulfilled.”

“The Miraculous is not in my hands!”

“But I did bring it to you,” she repeated, “and—”

Hawk Moth lunged.

Despite how focused he’d been on Susan, he came at Jake. Jake scrambled back and somehow tripped over his own feet. He handed hard on his bottom and breathed a spout of fire in Hawk Moth’s direction to encourage him to keep his distance, but Jake realized a split second later that that hadn’t been necessary. Jake had a brief glimpse of Randy’s scarf wrapping around Hawk Moth’s torso and forcing him to a stop before one of Susan’s wings spread out between them as protection.

“Get his Miraculous!”

Jake turned as he climbed to his feet and saw Nino already back on the roof, racing towards Hawk Moth. Susan dropped her wing, looking like she was preparing to breath her own fire instead, and Jake saw Hawk Moth snarl and twist back towards Randy. He raised his sword and severed the scarf in one quick swipe.

Randy let out a cry as the fabric fell, and Hawk Moth froze even as he turned his blade on Nino.

That’s where Danny was, then.

“It’s his brooch,” Nino explained as he started unravelling the layers of scarf that covered Hawk Moth’s chest. He had to duck around the sword but didn’t seem overly bothered by the inconvenience; Hawk Moth’s arm had frozen mid-swing, partially blocking his chest, and his sword was still held in a tight grip, judging by how it didn’t even tremble. “If we can get it, then we can stop everything right now, and—” He broke off.

Jake didn’t need to walk closer to see what the problem was—even he was sure the Miraculous wasn’t supposed to be glowing that bright green colour—but he reached Nino only a few steps ahead of Randy. On closer inspection, the situation looked worse, with cracks of bright purple spiderwebbing across the entire brooch that grew wider as Jake watched.

“Um. You probably don’t wanna touch that,” Randy said. “It looks like it’s about to explode. Can those things explode?”

“I didn’t think so,” Nino said, but he sounded as confident as he looked—which, when he was chewing on his lip and staring at the brooch instead of reaching for it, told Jake all he needed to know.

Jake felt a hand on his arm, and he turned back to see the familiar face of his mother. “I don’t know if I’m free of him,” she said quietly. “You need to end this now, before—”

Purple light exploded.

Jake stumbled forward, hearing multiple grunts behind him and more than one body hitting the rooftop.

As he hadn’t been looking directly at the Miraculous, he wasn’t blinded like the others undoubtedly were. Still, he was too stunned to react as Hawk Moth’s sword flashed towards Susan, slicing away her necklace—and into her flesh. He heard her scream. He heard himself scream as he scrambled forward to try to catch her.

There was so much blood.

There shouldn’t be this much blood.

Red smoke clouded his vision, but at that point, it didn’t matter; Jake couldn’t see through his tears anyway.

7:53 PM

McFist thought he had a plan. Rotwood claimed that it was more his plan than McFist’s. Haley just had a budding headache and a growing, panicked worry in her chest that wouldn’t go away without more information.

The plan, as it was, wasn’t very good. It required a lot of luck, which in Haley’s experience tended to go sour; a healthy dose of lies, which sounded terribly unbelievable to her ears; and the remaining supply of Ninja Cold Balls, which McFist had picked out with unnerving accuracy. “How long would a pop-up skating rink even last?” Haley asked, interrupting whatever Rotwood and McFist were arguing about.

“Ninja ice lasts longer than regular ice,” McFist said. “Magic. Figured you knew.”

“Right.”

“So we’ll expand on the patch you started. It’ll still be there. We’ll call it a teaser if anyone asks. People like sneak peeks.”

There was absolutely no way this would work.

“Little bit of fashion, little bit of skating. It’ll sell. People eat this stuff up all the time.”

Rotwood sniffed. “And when people call your bluff, I will tell them the real reason for all of this—don’t look at me like that; I respect the deals I make, so of course I do not mean the real real reason. I will insist it is the work of magical creatures and use the fight of the Ninja and the dragon as my proof.”

“At which point I remind people that the best advertising is the viral kind, and people believe me instead of him. Everyone loves a good show.”

There was no nice way to tell them this wouldn’t work, was there? “I’m not sure—”

“You can even come out and pretend to be a ninja if you like. Really sell it. You any good at skating?”

She was better at the violin. “I don’t even have skates.”

McFist shrugged. “No one else will, either. You ever wear an expensive pair of shoes meant for indoors? Those things have no grip. It’ll be fine.”

It wouldn’t be. Not on its own. Maybe she’d get lucky and think of what else they could do to supplement it once they got going, though. Haley glanced at Rotwood. “You’re really okay with your name being dragged through the mud again for making false claims?”

“I will hardly be the only one reporting on this magical creature sighting. Besides, I can always try to prove the existence of the magical world again later. A visit the Magus Bazaar—or whatever you will do for me instead of that—is worth more than an attempt to get people to see the truth when I know you are already working against me.” Rotwood spread his hands. “Think of it as me hedging my bets. I have more chance of success in the future, when you and your brother are not aware of my actions.”

Haley had no idea how Jake put up with Rotwood in school every day. She sincerely hoped Rotwood would find another job by the time she went to Millard Fillmore, at least if he didn’t change his tune. It was hard to admire his perseverance when she knew how much his success would cost the magical world.

Maybe Jake should just try to sit him down and strike a long-term bargain with him. Rotwood might not be so set on exposing the magical world if he finally understood what that exposure would mean. She doubted he’d be happy to consistently work to protect the magical world, but he might agree to keep silent about it—and keep his personal rivals away from it—in exchange for more information. From what Jake had told her, he was working off a lot more fiction than fact.

Heck, if Randy could come up with something better to offer McFist, he might think twice about working with the Sorcerer, too. She was less certain on that front, of course, but McFist seemed to be in it only for his reward. Dealing with a rogue sorcerer technically fell under the purview of the dragons, too, so Randy would be perfectly within his rights to ask for help. It just seemed to her like there might be a better way to do this, since McFist and Rotwood were acting more reasonable than she’d expected.

And a lot more helpful, too.

It was different with Nino. He didn’t know Hawk Moth’s identity, and from what she’d seen and heard, Hawk Moth wasn’t someone that could be easily talked down. He had an agenda, and he’d see it through no matter who got hurt in the process. That made him someone they needed to take down, not someone they might be able to negotiate with.

But if Jake didn’t defeat him now, he’d have to play politics himself to get help to Nino. It would be a lot easier if he didn’t have to go through the Dragon Council to get permission for something like that, if he and the others could just make some agreement and do it all under the table. Gramps might not wholly approve, but he wouldn’t disapprove, not if Jake was doing the right thing, and Fu would be more than willing to help. She could cover for him if he ever had business elsewhere, with Trixie and Spud for backup if they were still around, and—

“I’ll keep these throwing balls in case they come in handy later,” McFist said as he started to pocket everything that wasn’t a Ninja Cold Ball. “You start making the rink, and Rotwood and I will seed rumours.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” Haley asked. “What if no one believes us? What if they see through it?”

McFist jerked his thumb towards Rotwood. “So you’re saying people might believe him? I was getting the impression that he was a bit of a Cassandra type myself.”

“That’s not the worst comparison you could have made,” Rotwood muttered.

“No, but…. What’s our backup plan?”

“What was your backup plan?”

She bit her lip. “I trusted that I’d come up with something that would work if it came to that.”

McFist snorted. “Yeah, well, my backup plan is the simple fact that if you act like you know what’s going on and you’re good at selling it, people will believe you, even if it’s outrageous. I mean, my company cleans up the messes our own robots make, and we’re commended for it. It’s all about having good PR. I may not be good at inventing things to get the results I want, but I am good at handling the public. You follow through on your end of the deal, and I’ll make sure they don’t turn on you.”

7:54 PM

“Randy said he can help,” Danny said as he pulled Jake away from Susan. “Let him. He’ll help your mom. You and I need to catch that akuma. Nino’s going after Hawk Moth. He grabbed one of Randy’s smoke bombs and escaped. We’re lucky it wasn’t one of those bee balls.”

Jake didn’t respond.

He might not even be listening.

He wasn’t fighting in Danny’s grip anymore, not even when Randy bent over Susan and held his hands over her to do some Ninja thing. Jake was just dead weight, conscious but not home, which was not what Danny needed right now. It wasn’t what any of them needed, Susan included.

Danny formed a handful of ice cubes and dumped them down the back of Jake’s shirt.

The reaction was thankfully immediate, with Jake jerking away from him. “Yo, that is not cool, man!”

“Actually, it’s ice cold, which is why I did it.”

Jake turned to glare at Danny, but his anger was short-lived; Danny could see new tears forming in his eyes. He started to turn back to his mom, but Danny caught his arm. “Hey. We need to deal with the akuma. You’re the American Dragon. This is part of that.”

“I don’t care about the stupid akuma.”

“You will if it multiplies and you’re dealing with a whole lotta people who can turn into dragons. Let’s go.”

“Mom—”

“Randy is helping her,” Danny repeated. “Let him. Help from your friends, remember?”

“That’s not—”

“We need to go before we lose the akuma entirely,” Danny interrupted. He was two seconds away from leaving Jake behind and just going to look for it on its own, even if he didn’t know what he’d do if he caught it, but Jake had better night vision than he did.

Jake took a shuddering breath and ground out, “Fine,” before transforming without another word.

Danny flew up to join him in the air, deciding Jake didn’t care about the other details right now. With any luck, Nino would catch Hawk Moth. That would make dealing with the akuma easier. Maybe. They needed something to go their way for once.

Danny knew better than to ask if Jake had spotted it yet, so he just hovered and waited as Jake looked and listened. When he picked a direction and started flying, Danny followed. He didn’t see anything that look remotely like a butterfly, but he trusted Jake.

After about a minute of flying with no butterfly in sight, he started to question that. They weren’t flying that slowly. The butterfly shouldn’t have been this far in front of them. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Danny ventured. “I mean, I can always scout behind us if you’re not.”

“The last one we saw was flying in this direction,” Jake said. “I think it was going for higher ground.”

“This is a city of skyscrapers. Isn’t everywhere higher ground?”

“You know what I mean.”

He didn’t, but Danny didn’t bother pressing the point. There was a more important question to ask. “What makes you think this one is going to the same place the last one was?”

“I…don’t, really. But it makes sense.”

Danny tried to figure out what he could say to that that wouldn’t sound completely insensitive when he knew Jake was preoccupied with worry about his mom. The truth of it was, it didn’t make sense, at least not to Danny, and he really wasn’t keen on the idea of them not splitting up to look for this thing if Jake wasn’t sure.

“I think it’s like those zombie ants.”

Danny blinked. “What?” He couldn’t have heard that right.

“You know. Those zombie ants. That get infected with that fungus. It, like, takes over their mind and makes them go to higher ground to die and then it spreads. This might be like that.”

“Okay, one, how have I never heard about this before if it’s real, and two, pretty sure the magical butterflies aren’t infected with a fungus.”

“I didn’t say they were! Just that it would make sense with the higher ground thing.”

Danny groaned. “I don’t suppose you know if Spud found that thermos?”

“I’m not even sure if he’s looking for it. He’s doing something that he thinks will help.”

“With what?”

“I dunno. Everything, maybe. I trust him. He and Trix have my back.”

It would be a little hypocritical to argue against the whole ‘trust your friends and let them help you’ bit now, but it was hard. Jake might be clutching at straws because it was better to do that than to think about what he’d left behind. Danny really had no idea what Randy could do, but he’d sounded confident, so Danny hadn’t asked.

Maybe he should’ve; it would’ve made this conversation easier to navigate.

“Look, this akuma is as important as Hawk Moth right now. Pretty sure it won’t go away when he drops the mask, so we need to figure out how to contain it. Would Spud and Trixie know of anything that would help? Are they following a hunch?”

Jake didn’t answer.

Perfect.

Danny followed him in silence, debating the merits of breaking off to check any other direction and then deciding that if Nino wasn’t successful in catching Hawk Moth, it wouldn’t be in their best interest to leave Jake alone in this mood.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said when the silence started to stretch. “I know this sucks. I know you’re worried about your mom, and what the Dragon Council is going to do when they find out about this, and—”

“Two o’clock, maybe thirty degrees up,” Jake interrupted, altering his course.

Danny blinked, and in his moment of hesitation, Jake let out a plume of fire that lit up and then completely engulfed a butterfly.

It didn’t immediately incinerate, like Danny had expected. It bubbled, roiling magic boiling across wings that fluttered frantically to stay aloft. When the flame died, all Danny could see was the afterimage seared green and white into his eyes.

“You wanna catch it?”

“It’s still alive?” Danny asked, looking around as his vision started to go back to normal. “I don’t—” He broke off. The white butterfly wings stood out more clearly against the sky than the purple ones had, and he caught the butterfly in his hands with surprisingly little effort—or maybe it just felt that way after everything else.

It was hard to believe he’d been in Amity Park for lunch.

Of course, coming from Amity Park and having the experiences that he did, he wasn’t about to assume that the colour change of the butterfly (or, frankly, its survival) was a fluke. Chances were good Nino could explain what had happened, but Danny just hoped it was a good thing. If they’d just released the magic and now didn’t have something concrete to chase after, he didn’t know how they were going to gather it all back up. Well, maybe Pandora could tweak her box if he borrowed it, but—

“I was trying to kill it,” Jake admitted as Danny stopped to hover across from him. The butterfly’s wings beat against Danny’s closed fingers, but he couldn’t lead the way back to Nino and (hopefully) answers. He’d already gotten turned around, and he wasn’t sure where they were. “I just…. I dunno. I wanted this problem gone. I should’ve known it wouldn’t work. The last one survived, too.”

“What? Really?” Danny hadn’t thought much about the first butterfly, but in retrospect, he supposed it must’ve survived if Nino was right about Hawk Moth recalling it. Maybe this was the same butterfly? He glanced down at his hands. Maybe Jake had had the same thought. He didn’t typically go for straight up destroying stuff, but if the butterflies were the only way Hawk Moth could release his magic….

“Just don’t let go of it,” Jake said, as if Danny had had any intentions otherwise. He flew back faster than they’d flown out, likely because he wasn’t trying to track a butterfly this time, but Danny easily kept pace.

He didn’t try to force a conversation, though. It was obvious enough Jake still wasn’t in the mood to talk, and Danny’s dismal attempts earlier made it clear that he didn’t know what to say.

Hopefully, by the time they got back to Randy, they’d get some good news for a change.

(see more fics | next)

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jennifcrs · 4 years ago

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I saw [AMY KHON] at a coffee shop in [MANHATTAN] today. I forgot how much [SHE] looks like [ELODIE YUNG]. They are a [THIRTY FIVE] year old [BAR OWNER] who’s been in NYC for [SEVENTEEN YEARS] now. Every time we run into each other, they are always [INTRIGUING AND SHARP] but I’ve heard people say they can also be [ELUSIVE AND CLOSED-OFF]. [FAKE PLASTIC TREES BY RADIOHEAD] reminds me of them every time it comes on the radio.

background

amy was raised in a very restrictive home. born in russia, she and her family immigrated to the u.s. when she was just six. her parents had unwavering traditional values and often left her feeling suffocated in their tiny, conservative town.

the rebellious streak that followed into her teens was the obvious progression. she broke every rule they laid out for her, of which there were many, cozied up to the people she was warned away from, and dove head first into whatever substances she could get her hands on--cheap beer, mostly.

her parents had no problem kicking her out when they reached their breaking point, and the experience hardened amy. she couch surfed for a while before booking it to new york as soon as she could with what little money she’d saved up and a plan to figure it out as she went along

she adapted to city life seamlessly, finding comfort in the ability to get lost in a crowd. she took any and every job she could find, finding the most enjoyment in djing, her brief stint working in an art gallery, and bartending, the only real constant--the office jobs were consistently soul sucking, she hated the people at the gyms, and after a while stripping was too taxing on her body.

she developed a particular fondness for beer--lagers and sours, mostly-- after discovering they didn’t all taste like watered down piss and sought out bars with a good selection on tap.

after years of saving and networking, a fairly easy task when you’re liquoring up manhattan’s finest, she got the investors she needed to open a bar of her own, a taproom with a huge rotating list of international drafts & bottles, on top of the usual ritzy nyc cocktails

owning a business in the city is extremely stressful and she can be prone to overworking herself, but she’s incredibly proud of how far she’s come

personality

amy’s a scorpio

she’s got some abandonment issues and some anger issues, both of which probably helped her out quite a bit in the rough and tumble city. she’s pretty hardened by her experiences

she can be a little short-tempered and defensive. Can also be a little confrontational, though she mostly just comes off as unfazed

somehow doesn’t really like people but always wants to be around people. doesn’t enjoy alone time at all

dry dry dry sense of humor. deadpan or bust

perhaps shares her opinions a little too freely. walks the fine line between honest and bitchy. tough love

has a really calm way about her. even in a crisis situation or racing around at work she looks totally at ease.

some workaholic tendencies--does what she has to do to make it through long days and late nights.

some alcoholic tendencies--hazard of the job. can drink you under the table

has the faintest russian accent that you might not even notice unless you knew to listen for it, can also speak it fluently

aiming for her to have the kind of energy where people just unload on her all the time. she’s a keeper of many secrets

tldr; bad bitch who owns a sweet beer bar and can drink you under the table all the while calmly roasting you in fluent russian. the most introverted extrovert you’ll ever meet. come for the banter stay when you realize she’s a rock and makes you feel a little steadier on your feet, even five drinks in.

Feel free to message me for plots! Would love to brainstorm some fun stuff. Otherwise, I love exploring chemistry and seeing what happens~

#don't worry there's a tldr at the end #intro #villageintro #hello!!!!!

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huntergatherercreator · 4 years ago

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The Takedown | Part Nine

Pairing: Mob!Tom Holland x Detective Reader

Summary: NYC has a new drug lord determined to wipe out any and all competition in order to grow his empire. You're going undercover to stop him.

Warnings: Mentions of weapons, injuries and kidnapping

Notes: It’s taken me so long to get this part finished, I only hope it was worth the wait! Let me know what you think, any feedback is appreciated!

Part 9 - 1,686 Words

Wagner Cove was a fairly public area in Central Park. A small rustic log pavilion sitting on one of the many lakes, it’s a little slice of wilderness without ever having to leave the comforts of the city. It should have filled me with confidence that he’d arranged to meet there but it didn’t. All the city’s key players would know by now that there had been an attempt on his life that failed. Some would see it as a challenge, a chance to come out on top if they succeeded.

Knowing this I’d justified the risk of bringing along Arnold’s gun to the meeting. Feeling the weight of it strapped to my side was more reassuring than I ever thought it could be. I’d avoided being armed on the streets for my rounds. It was all too easy to be ambushed and have it used against me; it was safer to risk the chance of having a knife pulled and being able to fight my way out of the situation. However, last night cemented how deep I’d fallen down the rabbit hole. I wasn’t dealing with desperate users on the streets now. I was up against calculated murderers. Holland had been ready to have Arnold shot without a second thought. I needed to have a safety net. Even if the safety net was deadly, it put my mind at ease knowing I’d be on a level playing ground against them.

As we approached the Cherry Hill fountain I adjusted my cap, keeping my face down as we passed a gaggle of tourists. Hiding Arnold’s face was harder to manage. I’d washed off the blood from his nose but the beginning hues of what would become dark bruising had started to form under his eyes drawing several lingering glances. I tugged him closer, gaining a tighter grip on his arm, and a dark glower. I’d swapped out his ninety dollar hoodie for one of my own with a central pocket and zip tied his hands together within it. My arm entwined with his, the pretence of being a couple out for a leisurely stroll was an easy one to maintain. I hadn’t told him where we were going, but he knew who to expect at the end of our journey. Up until now, and throughout the cab ride, he’d played complacent and calm. Now we were out in the open in a park easy to get lost in there was a risk he’d try to run.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Arnold. Take a look around.” I inclined my head towards the fountain to point out the figure I’d spotted. Dressed in a casual sweater and jeans he lounged on the fountain lip with a tattered paperback in his hand. A book he’d been reading the same page of for the past five minutes.

Arnolds step faltered for a second as recognition hit and I had to pull him along to keep him walking.

“I count three for now.” His head swivelled trying to pinpoint the others; a runner cooling down by a bench who hadn’t broken a sweat, and a bum bag wearing tourist whose camera lay unused around their neck.

“I’m flattered he thinks I’m this much of a threat” he muttered dryly.

“You’re not. Your new boss, on the other hand, is.” I aimed us for the start of the trail that would lead to the water’s edge. “But you’d know that if you’d done proper research on him, wouldn’t you?”

His silence spoke volumes. I bit back the words I wanted to shout at him but couldn’t contain a frustrated sigh. He was a business man; someone who should hold the acumen to background check potential partners and deals, and also have a gut instinct for knowing when a deal would go south. Arnold clearly held neither of these qualities. He was all front, his inadequacies hidden by the net worth of his company.

It made me wonder if all Holland’s men were like this, chosen purely because they were high players in the normal world as opposed to having any real talents to contribute. Maybe their lack of intuition is exactly why Holland hires them, so they’re pliable and toe the line. It would explain why he had such a visceral reaction to finding out I had started upselling his product.

Reaching the final stretch of path the trees grew closer together blocking out most of the sunlight and view of the surrounding park. About five feet away from the entrance to the pavilion stood two guards. I recognised one from the other night, the one who had stepped in to diffuse the bomb that was our stand –off. He nodded briefly. The other I assumed was Morgan, stepping into fill Lenny’s shoes. The fact Holland hadn’t hired a new body guard right away told me he had respected his former one. That or he hadn’t had the chance to find someone new yet.

I looked past them to where Holland stood in the shade of the building. Facing out to the water his stance was wide, arms folded as he waited on us. In the warmth of the day he’d taken off his suit jacket exposing his holster. I instinctively did another sweep of the area making sure we were alone.

Removing my hold on Arnold, I relinquished him to the closest guard before continuing down the trail alone. I stopped short of entering the pavilion.

“You’re late.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at me before returning to stare out across the lake.

“Moving a hostage in the middle of the day isn’t exactly straight forward.”

“You could have killed him and come alone,” he suggested, as casual as noting the weather.

“It crossed my mind,” I lied. “However, if you suddenly decided that video evidence wasn’t proof enough then it would have left me at a disadvantage. Now you have him you can do what you want with him, and the information.”

Taking out Arnold’s phone I forced myself to take the last three steps needed to get me at his side. This close the scent of his aftershave wound around me, crisp and fresh but with an undercurrent of something muskier, darker. It was a heady mix. It suited him. I held the device out for him to take and watched him slip it into his front pocket without examining it.

“You’re not going to watch the rest of it?” My stomach tightened in apprehension. Something was off.

“Later. For now I’m more concerned with what you think you know about me.” When I didn’t answer right away he turned to face me. I got a hard eyed appraisal, one I’m sure would normally have his men squirming. I took it without flinching reminding myself that I held the cards no matter how outnumbered I was or how high my hackles had risen.

“I don’t deal in making assumptions. How I know,” I paused to eye the guards and assess whether they could overhear us before continuing, “that you’re not American, is because you slipped up.”

“I was born and raised in Queens.” He hadn’t moved at all when he said it. He had no telling quirk like Arnold’s to let me know that he was lying but the line had sounded well-rehearsed. My alarm bells were silently ringing to let me know I was treading thin ice but the insistent internal itch to dig down to the truth won out.

I took a measured step into his personal space and analysed his face as I quoted him. “You should listen to your own advice.” His lips tightened almost imperceptibly. I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a triumphant smile.

His arms slowly unfolded as he closed the gap between us to tower over me. “You’re going to forget everything you think you know.” His voice had deepened into a warning tone.

Before I had the chance to answer back he rounded on Arnold.

“It was Rivera who recruited you wasn’t it?” he barked. Unable to maintain eye contact Arnold focused on the water and nodded reluctantly.

In one swift movement he’d drawn his gun and aimed for Arnold. Without thinking my hand shot out to grab his wrist and he flinched, finger pulling back from the trigger slightly. I could feel his pulse beat steadily under my fingers as mine raced ahead. I couldn’t let him do it. Getting rid of Arnold would keep me safe but the thought of causing another death, even indirectly, gnawed away at me. Allowing him to be killed went against my morals. At least, it went against the ones I’d been able to hold onto.

“You can still use him,” I urged.

“I won’t have traitors working for me,” he growled.

“Not even if it gets you revenge?” He regarded me carefully with narrowed eyes. “Take out Rivera in response to his kill order and it’ll show you’re ten times more dangerous than he ever was. It’ll buy you safety, for a time.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m associated now. My life’s on the life from being seen in that alley with you. For saving you.”

His gaze went back to Arnold, fingers tightening on the gun. I squeezed his wrist to get his attention.

“He has a contact number. He can lure Rivera’s men to meet with him.” I was on the verge of pleading and given the glint in his eyes he knew it.

“Then we take his men and interrogate them?” he scoffed mockingly. “You think I haven’t already done that? I’ve had my men pulling Hellions off the street all night.”

“You’ve… what…?” I stuttered. My stomach plummeted. He’d been ahead of me the whole time. That’s why he didn’t need to watch the rest of the video. I’d underestimated him and now all I was to him was a loose end who knew too much.

“Like I said, don’t try to tell me how to deal with threats. This is my city. My business. I’ll do what I like.”

The gun fired.

----

Taglist: @spideylovin @lukesbabylon @panicattheeverywherekid @keep-bears-wild @unbelievableholland @tomholland-mcu @whattheheckparker @stargazerholland @gorillaglue23 @marvelpeters

Part Ten!

#Mob!Tom #mob!tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland

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carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory · 4 years ago

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Herd Immunity and the Anthropocene

When is getting an infection actually a good or a bad thing? Let’s start by talking about herd immunity. What exactly is it, and why have we been hearing about it so much during the Covid-19 pandemic?

Herd immunity, as described by the CDC, is a situation in which a sufficient proportion of a population is immune to an infectious disease (through vaccination and/or prior illness) to make its spread from person to person unlikely. When a group has a high enough percentage of immunity in its population, transmission becomes increasingly difficult for a disease to spread to even the more immunocompromised members of the community.

Although, herd immunity is obtained at different levels of community immunity depending on the disease. Some highly infectious diseases, such as measles, require about 94% herd immunity to stop community spread. According to the Mayo Clinic, about 70% of the US population would need to have immunity from Covid to stop our current pandemic.

So how do we even get herd immunity? Well, we can achieve herd immunity through two different methods. The first method is infection. Herd immunity can be achieved by having a large amount of the population getting the virus naturally. The downside of this method is that the population has to get sick and recover. Depending on the disease, short or long-term side effects or mortality rate can be very detrimental to the population.

Germs have most likely existed for around 3.5 billion years (the age of the oldest living organisms, bacteria). Modern humans have only been around for about 130,000 years. Humans have only been around for a fraction of the time diseases have, but they are both a part of nature. However, in response to their presence, humans have developed immune systems that have been a part of a back and forth protecting us from harmful germs. Terrestrial vertebrates such as humans have complex immune systems that have evolved to protect them from new immunological dangers. Getting sick is a part of life. Diseases have always been a part of nature, and that is especially true of the current time period, the Anthropocene. The Anthropocene is the current geologic age where humans have a substantial effect on their environment. During this time period, the way we interact with nature through contributing to climate change, deforestation, and urbanized lifestyles has increased the likelihood of pandemic-like illnesses to sweep over our communities. Deforestation causes loss of habitat; and with loss of habitat animals will be forced to come into contact with animals they originally wouldn’t have, including humans. This increases the chance for germs to spread to new hosts. Climate change and urbanization are also causing organisms to live closer together, allowing for diseases to spread more easily through communities. So, while diseases are a part of life and nature, occasionally there is one germ that can come around and have a profound effect on society.

I remember the news stories when NYC was first getting taken over by Covid. Medical personnel lacking PPE, hospitals overflowing, using ice trucks to store the deceased, and exhausted nurses and doctors. All of that resulted in just 22% herd immunity. At 22% herd immunity most of the population of NYC is still susceptible to Covid. If natural infection was the only way forward, so many more of NYC’s citizens would die or become severely ill. However, because this happened NYC was quick to understand the importance of instituting mitigating measures to slow the spread of the disease. Andrew Cuomo, the governor of New York, is similar to Rand Paul in that he is in a position that he can implement policies. When Andrew Cuomo, governor of New York, saw what was happening in his state, he used his ability to implement policies to follow scientific guidance surrounding closures, social distancing, masks, etc. As a result, the rates in NYC decreased. Not because of herd immunity, but because of serious measures against Covid. If we look at a different state, such as Florida, that did not take measures against Covid seriously, there were consecutive days in the state where they were having 10,000 to 15,000 new cases a day. This lacking approach to Covid caused thousands of preventable deaths. Even after months of lockdown the US is not close to herd immunity. All of the preventable deaths and long-term health complications that I’m seeing in people are going to continue with the natural spread. This is why the global race for a vaccine is so important.

The second method of reaching herd immunity is through vaccinations. By developing a vaccine for an infectious disease, we are able to reach herd immunity without having to subject our population, community, and families to the side effects and overall awful experience of falling ill. By using widespread vaccinations, we can also protect our most vulnerable members of society, like our loved ones in an older or younger age range, immunocompromised individuals, or those with allergic reactions making them unable to receive vaccines. Herd immunity is a good thing. When we have a disease like Covid, however, natural infection will cause crippling long-term effects in what were healthy people, and hundreds of thousands of preventable deaths. This is why herd immunity is good, but it depends on the method used to obtain it.

Immunity is an important part of preventing diseases in my home. Herd immunity helps me protect my family, friends, and people I come across every day. When paired with vaccines, I am able to protect more people in my community. I have a small child in my home, and older family members who I come into regular contact with. My family (my herd) and I get our vaccines and flu shots every year to help protect those more immunologically vulnerable members of our family. By doing this, my herd is creating a mutually benefiting environment where our personal actions protect those around us. The actions that we take to protect our family also protect the members of our communities and your herd too.

Humans are a part of nature, and so are diseases. Individual actions have a larger inter-connected effect on surrounding environments and society. The same thing could be said about the Covid virus spreading through the country. Society as a whole needs to develop a larger scope of thinking about how the actions of individuals affect the environment and planet. The factors I mentioned earlier, climate change, deforestation, and urbanization, are keeping steady and increasing. If these continue as they are currently, we can expect more pandemic-like diseases in our future. And when it happens, society will have to come together again to figure out the best way of adopting herd immunity to combat the disease.

As for my advice for the rest of this year, think critically, look at scientific data, vaccinations work, and in the words of Mr. Rogers, “Real strength has to do with helping others.”

Hannah Smith is an intern in the Section of Anthropocene Studies. Museum employees are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

Works Cited

Glossary

Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome (AIDS): A medical condition where the immune system cannot function properly and…

www.cdc.gov

https://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/terms/glossary.html#commimmunity

Herd immunity and COVID-19 (coronavirus): What you need to know

Understand what's known about herd immunity and what it means for coronavirus disease 2019 ( COVID-19). Curious as to…

www.mayoclinic.org

https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/coronavirus/in-depth/herd-immunity-and-coronavirus/art-20486808

Vaccines Protect Your Community

Did you know that when you get vaccinated, you're protecting yourself and your community? This concept is called…

www.vaccines.gov

https://www.vaccines.gov/basics/work/protection

Anthony S. Fauci, M.D.

Dr. Fauci was appointed director of NIAID in 1984. He oversees an extensive portfolio of basic and applied research to…

www.niaid.nih.gov

https://www.niaid.nih.gov/about/anthony-s-fauci-md-bio

https://www.nytimes.com/2002/02/26/science/when-humans-became-human.html

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/prehistoric-world/precambrian-time/

https://www.britannica.com/science/immune-system/Evolution-of-the-immune-system

https://www.hsph.harvard.edu/c-change/subtopics/coronavirus-and-climate-change/

https://www.inc.com/geoffrey-james/45-quotes-from-mr-rogers-that-we-all-need-today.html

#Carnegie Museum of Natural History #Herd immunity #COVID-19 #Pandemic #Public health

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frankendykes-monster · 4 years ago

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On revisiting Mothra vs. Godzilla (1964)

Mothra vs. Godzilla is an interesting film to say the least. On the surface it looks like nothing special, if anything you could call it an example of how Japanese science fiction films were stagnating only a decade after Godzilla (1954), considering this film barely does anything new, just aping material that was already handled by its two predecessors: Mothra (1961) and King Kong vs. Godzilla (1962). But somehow it’s become one of the most beloved entries in the series and something of a gold standard for everything that came after.

Mothra vs. Godzilla opens with a title credit sequence over a hurricane, with Godzilla’s theme from 1962 transitioning into an instrumental version of Mothra’s theme. The hurricane has caused property damage along the Japanese coast, but most notable is the washing ashore of a giant egg. We soon get introduced to Ichiro, a news reporter, Junko, a news photographer, and Dr. Miura, the leader of a scientific team called in to study the egg, who serve as our three main three heroes for this story. The egg is bought by Happy Enterprises, headed by a Mr. Kumayama, who is in turn financially backed by a younger Mr. Torahata, who plan to turn the area surrounding the egg into an amusement park. They and the three leads are both confronted by Mothra’s twin priestess fairies from Infant Island about returning the egg (the current adult Mothra is nearing the end of her life, and the egg secures Mothra’s legacy), and the efforts to retrieve it are also squashed, forcing the fairies and the indigenous people of Infant Island to turn their backs on the outside world. When Godzilla appears, having also been caught up in the hurricane and thrust onto the mainland, he immediately goes onto another rampage, and it seems the best option is to ask Mothra for help (personally I find it humorous that there needs to be some reason for monsters to fight in these early films given they’d eventually go at it on instinct). Some arguing is done but the fairies and Infant Islanders agree in return for the possibility of a better world to be built. Both Kumayama and Torahata are killed in Godzilla’s attacks, and the monster seemingly can’t be stopped, as even the adult Mothra succumbs to battle, before the newly hatched larvae from the egg eventually stop Godzilla, and all seemingly returns to normal, in a cautiously optimistic way, as the protagonists have vowed to make a world better for everyone.

Mothra vs. Godzilla switches from the intense anti-commercialism satire of King Kong vs. Godzilla to some more general anti-capitalist themes. Near the opening when the damage of the hurricane is being documented by Ichiro and Junko, and unnamed capitalist protests about such possible news coverage as it could damage public opinion on an industrial project being built there. Later the same capitalist protests about the protagonists returning to test the area for radiation (as Godzilla is buried in the general vicinity and is contaminating the soil). There’s some inherent ridiculousness that’s openly stated about Kumayama buying the egg in general, but the cost is 1,224,560 yen (i.e. the logic is since a chicken egg costs 8 yen, and the giant egg is approximately 153,820 times larger, it’s a fair price). It’s explained “[the egg is] not private property, the public can watch it incubate for an admission fee.” A musical cue used in the series to hint at some under-the-surface tension and dread is used in this film when we discover that the egg’s incubator has been built and is already operational. Kumayama later stiffs the fishing village who brought the egg to shore out of the money he owes them, only to later on in the film be scalped by his superior Torahata (the two of them turning on each forces Torahata to shoot Kumayama, and in turn Torahata has wasted too much time before Godzilla destroys the hotel they’re in). Torahata is explained to have originally been some trust fund kid to some larger businessman before heading up his own endeavors. When the public discovers that it’s Mothra’s egg and it will not be returned, Kumayama effortlessly throws a PR stunt to counteract.

Functionally it’s a repeat of the plot from the first Mothra film, only here it’s Mothra’s egg and not the twin fairies that have not been kidnapped. I feel as if everything works smoother here as this film definitely has more weight to the proceedings and isn’t nearly as theatrical; the villian in Mothra, Clark Nelson, is often times a bit too exaggerated. (There’s something to be said about how Kumayama and Torahata have zero concern about provoking the wrath of Mothra considering she partly destroyed Tokyo and NYC in the previous film in the effort to get her fairies back; I guess it’s more accurate than capitalists just giving up possible investments.) I’ve seen some fans vouch for Mothra as anti-colonialist story but this film allows concepts such as that much more room to breathe given how the Infant Islanders have actual agency in the story, turning down the possibility of Mothra fighting Godzilla on behalf of Japan, whereas in the previous film they didn’t have much of anything to do given Mothra immediately goes on the attack upon discovery that the fairies were kidnapped.

The rather dense first 30 minutes of the film gives way to the reveal that Godzilla was also thrust ashore by the hurricane, and buried underground in the process, before reawakening. The entire film shifts into a mode of immediate urgency, as everyone now has to confront Godzilla. A lot of Godzilla’s scenes are far more detached than what else the film has to offer, as we’re following mostly nameless crowds fleeing and evacuating and JSDF officials trying to handle the situation. Once again it resembles the previous film, which had all the main characters more closely associated with King Kong. This film spends a much more notable amount of time showcasing military strategies being implemented against Godzilla with tanks and land mines and air strikes and giant electrocuted nets being thrown at him. I think it’s this film that fully established that while Godzilla could take a beating, the character is functionally indestructible, as nothing leaves any lasting damage.

Even though this film isn’t as upfront with the nuclear text as the first Godzilla film (which openly compared the coming of Godzilla to the atomic bomb attacks and brought up Godzilla being born out of hydrogen bomb tests as the most likely origin), it’s still the only other entry in the Showa series aside from that first film which brings it up in any meaningful capacity. Initial news reports call Godzilla “the atomic monster”, and when our protagonists first ask for Mothra’s help because of the attacks, the Infant Island chief shoots back with, “it’s your fault for playing with the devil fire!” Both on a narrative and thematic level, Godzilla and the age of nuclear warfare are one and the same, and everyone from Kumayama/Torahata to any number of offscreen civilians to the people of Infant Island to even Mothra must contend with Godzilla; a deadly force that threatens everyone. Godzilla’s characterization in this matches with the first film more so than the previous two; Godzilla Raids Again doesn’t have much interesting to say given it’s a cash-in sequel, and the explicitly comedic tone of King Kong vs. Godzilla makes him out to be much more jovial than expected, taking delight in dishing out death and destruction. (An added detail in this film is the subtle inquiry that Godzilla is like a natural disaster, you can only move out of the way in the same capacity that you can’t physically fight a tsunami or a hurricane. This was an element of the first film with Godzilla’s first landing being obscured by a hurricane or the electrical towers set up outside Tokyo resembling sand bags defending against a flood.) But this film is the only sequel of the Showa era to maintain Godzilla in a purely threatening, antagonistic role.

The decision to feature both Mothra and Godzilla in a single film does produce more interesting results than having done so with King Kong. King Kong vs. Godzilla only really happened because Kong, in the real world, was the only extremely notable giant monster of the movies prior to Godzilla, and this limitation extends into the film with how the characters remarked over how their individual rampages were like a ratings battle, with constant “who’s going to win?” fights over the stronger of the two. There’s much more thematic depth with this entry, even on immediate visual level; Mothra is quite dainty and gentle compared to how dark and brutal Godzilla is. (Kong was blown up from approximately 20 feet to 45 meters to fight Godzilla for that film, and this film does so in turn. Mothra was absolutely massive in the first film with a wingspan of 250 meters, she’s been shrunk to 135 for this film. Whether it’s succumbing to radiation or just a natural part of Mothra’s life cycle is never openly mentioned.) The first Mothra film made mention of how nuclear testing occurred near Infant Island because no one knew an indigenous population lived there, and upon seeing it, both the characters and the audience discover a lush paradise that has somehow survived the radioactive fallout. This film stands in stark contrast; when the protagonists land on Infant Island, we discover it’s become a desolate graveyard, with only a hidden oasis being what sustains the local population. It’s not just that the egg was stolen, the Infant Islanders are initially non-compliant because their home has been destroyed. (For narrative purposes, Ichiro, Junko, and Miura function as representatives for the outside world, and are confronted about the atomic age despite them, you know, being Japanese. It works in context of the rest of the series wherein nuclear warfare isn’t blamed on any single country and is viewed as something that threatens the human race equally regardless of nationality.) Bringing in Godzilla as the overarching threat thematically completes the mythos surrounding Mothra. Mothra has the upper hand during the entire initial fight, what with her being able to fly and Godzilla being a slow lumbering animal, but one hit of Godzilla’s atomic breath is all it takes to finish her off.

Director Ishiro Honda has mentioned that the driving thesis across all his films (except maybe Matango) is the quest for peace amongst people, considering Honda embraced pacificism following WWII. Mothra vs. Godzilla is possibly the least subtle about this, with the scene where Junko makes a statement to the Infant Islanders might as well being directly aimed at the audience. “I understand why you don’t trust us, but even as we speak many are dying because of Godzilla. Many of them are good people, but even bad people have a right to live. You may call it divine retribution...but all are equal before the gods. They don’t choose sides. Please. We need your help.” Mothra eventually appearing to stop Godzilla comes alongside the fairies stating “we always keep our promises”, a reversal of the unnamed capitalist saying the same line about his industrial project being completed by the target date.

Some have complained that the final act loses steam, as the film has already finished on a thematic level, with the antagonists killed by Godzilla and the vows of a better future already ensured. To which I respond if some people have ever heard of the concept of a final action scene, but I digress; what caught my eye with this viewing is that Godzilla’s final targets are a group of schoolchildren on an island that can’t escape because all the boats have already left. The protagonists are able to have time to rescue them as the Mothra larvae contend with Godzilla, and it stands in contrast to the first Godzilla film where we know that children are amongst the body count, children suffer from radiation exposure by being in Godzilla’s presence alone, and had to see their parents die in front of them. Children in this film being rescued without harm feels like the closest this film gets to putting “a better world” into action, moreso than just a means to artificially increase the runtime.

The ending is what gets me. It essentially combines the endings of the first Godzilla and Mothra films. Godzilla was killed in the first film but forced back into the sea in this one, but regardless, while the immediate danger has been averted, nuclear testing still occurs, the conditions that allowed Godzilla to come into existence haven’t changed. With Mothra, she is able to return to Infant Island with what is hers and the Infant Islanders’ been rightfully returned. They’re sobering and delightful respectfully, but combined we know that forces that created Godzilla have also terribly weakened Mothra and her people, and a better world being made by the protagonists includes rectifying this specific situation. You know the scene in Ratatouille (2008) where Remy shows his brother that while strawberries and bananas taste good on their own, the flavor is far greater when eaten together? Yeah.

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rainbowglittr · 3 years ago

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Love and Marriage - Chapter 8 (Mature - Minors DNI)

Description:

After a loss in the family uncovers a family secret, Jaleia and her husband Jesse are forced to balance one family crisis after another along with their budding careers and their plans to expand their family. Will the pressure to keep everyone else together ruin their own relationship? Can ruined relationships be fixed before it’s too late?

Chapter 8:

"I cannot believe you!" Jesse's voiced raged.

I jumped up I had been taking a nap on the couch, waiting for Jesse and Diana to come home. Ever since the Trevor J concert they had been going to the studio in NYC together, Diana was "interning" and learning things about the music industry.

It had been two weeks since we saw the doctor. Despite the setback, Jesse and I were still determined to have a baby. Maybe even more so after that. We went to see of genetics had anything to do with the miscarriage but everything and every test they did looked good. So we had hope. I tried not to stress over it and hyper focus on getting pregnant and Jesse was really good at helping me. While disappointed, we weren't giving up yet.

I had already made dinner, I was just waiting for them both to come home. They stayed late today because Jesse was working with SZA and they had a short timeline to get a couple demos done before she flew back to LA. I checked my phone it was 11pm.

"Hey-" I started to say, getting interrupted by Diana. She walked right past me to the stairs.

"I'm sixteen, what do you expect!" She yelled as she stood at the bottom of the stairs.

"I expect you not to be doing THAT! You were supposed to be professional! Professionals don't make out in the studio!" Jesse walked over to where she stood.

"So what? You're not my mom, you're not my dad! Who even cares? The only reason why I even wanted to go to that stupid studio was so I could see Hakeem!"

"So, is that what you've been doing this whole time?"

"Yup. We hung out every single day." She said gloating.

"Oh, I'm so fucking glad, cause that's the last time you'll be seeing him! You're not coming back and I'm telling mom what you've been up to!" He yelled. My heart started pounding along with my head as I watched them scream at each other. I didn't know what to do so I just stood there, frozen, watching the mess unfold.

"Well if you tell mom, than I'll tell mom about the time I walked in on you!"

"Little girl, this is MY house, I can fuck wherever I want. I don't care if you tell, I'm a grown ass man. It's done up for you."

"I hate you, you're the worst brother. Shaun's a way better brother than you."

"Then go fucking live with him and see how great he is!" Jesse yelled. Diana stomped up the stairs and slammed her door.

"I know you are not stomping and slamming doors in my house, Diana! Have you lost your damn mind?" He yelled up the stairs. She slammed the door again.

"MAKE ME!" She screamed from her room.

"CUT THAT SHIT OUT, DIANA! DON'T KEEP FUCKING PUSHING ME GODDAMMIT!!"

I hadn't moved from my spot by the door. It was silent for the moment. Jesse knows that I just have a weird thing about people yelling or arguing. It really freaks me out and makes me uncomfortable. I hate it. But it's only angry yelling. That's what really gets me. I hate when people yell at me when they're mad, I hate when angry people yell. It's just one of the many things that freak me out.

"Did you hear her? Where's the fuck is the Advil?" Jesse yelled, looking around the room, still hyped up. I don't think he ever noticed I was there. Eventually he noticed me still standing in the same spot. I guess I looked freaked out because he came over and hugged me.

I hugged him back, leaning my head on his chest. His heart was racing and he was breathing heavy.

"I'm sorry for yelling. I know you hate it." He said resting his chin on my head.

"What happened? Why are you so upset?"

"So we finish working with SZA, all the writers producers clear the studio, ready to go home. I tell Di to go back there and make sure everything has been backed up and clean, right? So tell me why when I come back her and some other intern are sucking their faces off on the couch in there! I told the boy to get put of my face and that I would talk to him tomorrow, and Di tried to yell at me! Me! I told her not to say another damn word until we got home."

"Wow, well what are you going to do?"

"I'm telling my mom. I'm not covering up for her. She's out of control."

"I think we might've been enabling her a bit."

"I'm done with that. I'm not even mad at her doing it, like I know she's sixteen, I know she's going to like boys, but really at my studio? Anyone could've walked in on them."

"I think you're a little mad that she was kissing a boy. You still think of her as your baby sister."

"Yeah. I just wanted her to love what I love, you know. Music, I thought she was really into it. And it was just for skinny ass boy."

"Aww, your big brother ego is hurt. I'm sorry. But she had to find what her own passion is, even if it's not yours."

He sighed, "I know." I put my arms around his neck.

"I made dinner if you're hungry."

"Not anymore," he muttered, kissing my forehead, "but I'll try some."

"Come on. " I said, leading him to the kitchen.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The next day we had dinner with Jesse's mom.

It could not have been worse.

After explaining the whole situation to Aiesha, watching her lose her shit about it, I was scared for Diana. Jesse tried to explain to Di, that it wasn't about the fact that she liked a boy it was more about her not being professional about. He also tried to explain that he felt used by her. As nice as he tried to be, IT DID NOT GO OVER WELL. Diana, did exactly as she told Jesse she would and told his mom about the time she walked in on us and I have truly never been more mortified. That was one dinner where no one ate their food.

I could literally feel Aiesha's hatred of me increase. The end result was Diana being grounded for a month, no electronics, and she would be volunteering at an animal shelter that one of her mom's friends worked at for the rest of the summer. It wasn't even going to be that bad but she just wouldn't shut up, she had to have the last word. But the final straw for me and for Aiesha was when she cursed Jesse out. What really pissed me off is that I could tell even though he didn't say anything that Di really hurt his feelings. Having known him since elementary school, I knew how close he was to his sister. She didn't want for nothing with him and this whole acting out thing had to stop.

After Diana was sent to her room for the remainder of the "dinner" Jesse and I had to be subjected to a loooonnnnggggg lecture from his mom about "living with a teenager " and her personal tips for having sex with kids in the house. Including some examples from when Jesse was a kid. It was as awful as it sounded. Jesse's mom decided that for at least one night, Diana was going to stay with her. So tonight was our first night alone in a few weeks.

"See you later mom!" Jesse said as they walked out the door. Diana was not currently not speaking to Jesse or apparently me at the moment. Once they left Jesse sat down on the couch closed his eyes. I walked behind him and started rubbing his shoulders.

"That was a lot." I said.

He sighed, "Yeah it was."

"How ya doin?"

"Tired." He said. I slid my hands down his chest. My lips were close to his ear as I said, "Well, come upstairs and I'll show you something that might wake you up."

"Oh really?"He said as I started to suck on his neck.

"Come on. I got something I wanna show you."

>>>>>>>>>>>

"When do you have the time to work out?" I said to Jesse as he put his arm around my waist.

"What?" He said, kissing my shoulder blades. He was the big spoon. Our naked bodies were still cooling down from our previous activities.

"You have a sexy ass six pack and I never see you work out."

"You leave earlier than me in the morning. After you get up, I work out. Since Diana's been here I haven't had much time. But sometime late at night. You never seen me?"

"Nah, at least I've never noticed. Jess?" He paused his gentle kisses.

"Do you think...do you think that, we'll ever have a baby?"

"Turn around, Love." He said. I turned into his chest. One of his hands cupped my face.

"Jaleia, I promise you, we will have a baby. I know it's hard but we gotta be patient. Okay?"

"But what if-"

"Aye! No buts, no what ifs. I'll step it up I promise we're going to have a daughter. Trust me, okay?"

"Kay," I said, he kissed my nose and then my lips. Our lips moved almost in sync until we had to stop to take a breath. I smiled at him.

"You made me sweat out my hair." I said as I cuddled up to him again.

"And you scratched the hell out of my back." He said gently tickling me.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I put my keys down on living room table. Two seconds later Jesse yelled from the kitchen, "Put your keys in right spot before you lose them." I jumped as my heart skipped a beat. I wasn't expecting him to be home yet. I rolled my eyes as I put my keys in the key holder by the door.

"Babe, you tryna give me a heart attack? I didn't know you were home." I said walking to the kitchen.

"I called and left a voicemail, Dr. Michaels."

"You know I don't check those!" He stopped stirring a pot of pasta for a second to give me a kiss.

"You know you should." He said.

"There's a lot of things I should do, but I don't. Anyway why you making such a huge thing of pasta?" I asked, finding some potato chips to munch on. Jesse turned toward me.

"You look radiant today, is that a new highlighter?"

"You look sexy as hell today, is that a new bullshit you're wearing? Why are you making so much pasta?"

"Cause my mother and sister will be here any minute?" His sister hadn't been with us for a couple of days. Did we use that time to shamelessly have mindblowing sex around the house? Hell yeah.

"Jess!" I said stomping my foot. "You have to tell me these things!"

"I'm sorry, it was last minute! But, have you noticed my mom has been nice to you lately? I think she's starting to like you."

"Saying that your mom has been nice to me lately is like saying, 'Isn't nice the shark only ate half your leg instead of both your legs.' She's been preoccupied."

"I love you." Jesse sang.

"Yeah, yeah." I said, still shoving chips in my mouth.

"You're not really mad are you? She's only here for Diana." He said as he grabbed plates from the cabinet.

"No, I'm not mad. I just expected one thing and I'm getting something else. "

"Okay?" Jesse said Sounding confused. The doorbell rang. Jesse looked at me from where he was plating the pasta.

"Could you?" He smiled at me. I glared back at him before walking to the door.

"I'll buy you something sparkly tomorrow!" He yelled as I approached the door.

"You better, you owe me!" I answered back. I opened the door and as usual, before I could say anything Aiesha walked right past me. I motioned for Diana to come in because unlike her mother she had manners. I closed my eyes for a second and prayed that I would have the strength not to slap that woman tonight. After collecting myself I joined everyone in the kitchen. We had a kitchen "table" that we could fold out from the wall, and everyone was seated around it.

I sat down next to Jesse and we said grace. We started eating and the silence soon became awkward.

Aiesha decided to speak first. "Now I know the way we left things wasn't good. But I think Diana would like to use this time to set some things right." She said. Diana hadn't said anything since walking through the door. She stopped staring at the floor and looked at Jesse.

"I'm sorry." She said.

"For what? Don't act like you don't know what to say now." Aiesha nudged her.

"I'm sorry for being awful to you. You didn't deserve that and I'm sorry I got mad at you." She said.

"I get that you're going through a lot right now Di, but don't forget, we're all just trying to help you. Just talk to us." Jesse said.

"Okay."

"Come here." Jesse said, holding his arms out. Diana walked over and hugged Jesse and immediately started crying.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, don't hate me!" She cried into his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, I don't hate you Di, I get it. You've been through a lot lately, we wll have. It's okay. I love you. Alright? Hey, I'm serious. I'll always be here for you." He said. She started sniffing and let him go.

"Go ahead and wash your face off." Aiesha said. Diana nodded and walked out the room.

"We've done a lot of talking over the past couple of days with her therapist and we are, we're trying to work through this. It's been really hard for her- for all of us but especially her, and I think that she's finally getting the help she needs. If you don't mind her staying with you again-just until I find a new place. That would be great because she gets really bad night terrors staying at home, she hasn't slept a full night since we she left here." Aiesha said. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"You know our doors are always open. Diana is welcome anytime. " I said. Jesse gave my hand a gentle squeeze under the table.

"Yeah, mom. Anytime. But are you okay? I worry about you." Jesse said, standing up and walking to her. I had to admit his mom looked stressed as hell. She just didn't have the same energy as usual. Her eyes had a tired look to them and she had bags under her eyes, clearly she hadn't been sleeping.

"I'm just tired. It's hard adjusting to this new normal. I miss your father, a lot. He was my world. I keep expecting to see him come home. And-" she started tearing up. I handed Jesse a tissue, and just sat there awkwardly. I didn't want to leave but at the same time I was so uncomfortable and I didn't think Aiesha would want me near her but at the same time, it's hard for me to see someone crying and not comfort them. But Jesse held his mom while she cried on him.

"We had so many plans, we were going to travel, we had so much to do. It's not fair. My baby is all tore up about it and I'm trying to help her and it's a lot. Jess, it's a lot. I wish this was just a horrible nightmare." She cried. Jesse mouthed to me

"Can you check on Diana?" I nodded and quietly slipped out the room.

I felt bad for everyone, I know Jesse was still processing losing his dad, and while the waves of sadness seemed to be gone for now, I know he missed him. I could see how this was tearing Diana apart. Jesse, Ciara, and Shaun were face timing the other day and talking about him. Their dad was the reason why Jesse and Shaun were on good terms again, because during our senior year of high school they stopped speaking to each other-for years.

But his mom shocked me. I was so used to seeing her be demanding, confident, and domineering that this shift to her being confused, and sad, blew my mind. Jesse's dad was such a huge pillar of their family, and that was clear while he was alive, but strikingly clearer in his death. I wanted to help so bad but I didn't know what to do.

When I found Diana she was sniffling on the toliet seat lid. The door was open but I knocked anyway. She looked up at me with her bloodshot, puffy eyes.

"Can we talk for a minute?" I asked.

"Sure." She said. I sat on the counter and faced her.

"You know your brother could never hate you. Never. He just wants the best for you, and I know that sounds stupid but it's true. He may seem like he's trying to be your dad but he is just trying to look out for you and lead you. If that makes sense. And your brother is really good at not showing it but he's hurting too and he talks to me a lot and as much as I want to I can't always relate to how he's feeling. But you being his sister probably feel a lot of what he's feeling right now. So maybe, if you feel up to it, you can talk to him sometimes. Just a suggestion."

"Thank you." She said.

"For what?" I asked.

"Not kicking me out of your house. And I'm sorry for being rude to you too. I really like staying here, I can't sleep at home. And you guys are really nice. It's like having another sister." She said. I aww'd inside my head.

"You're always welcome, and having you here is cool too because I get to be an older sister for once. You ready to go back?" I gave her a hug.

"Yeah." She said.

"Great cause I can't feel my butt!" I said as we walked out the bathroom.

>>>>>>>>>>>

Later that night me and Jesse laid in bed, I had my head in his lap as he sat up against the headboard. His mom had gone home, amd she was doing okay for now. Diana went to bed in her room in our house. It was quiet as I let Jesse twist my hair.

"You're going to have to get up at some point." He said.

"I know, but keep twisting until you get to that point." I said.

"You know my dad used to do my hair?" He said.

"Really?" I said. He nodded.

"Yeah until high school, if it wasn't going to be cut short, all the braids I had were him, well mostly him, my brother and sister sometimes did it and my mom always tried to but she couldn't do it like dad."

"That's cute."

"He's the reason Shaun and I talk. He did so much for us."

"He was an amazing man, Jess. But speaking of Shaun, you never told me that story, you told me bits and pieces but never how you made up."

"Its a long ass story."

"We ain't doing nothing. Tell me." I said. "Ow! that hair your pulling is attached to a head!" I grabbed the strands he had just pulled.

"Sorry, there was a kink."

"Storytime."

"Okay, damn girl. So remember in high school when Shaun used to beat the shit out of me."

"Yeah, but you hid it well."

"I hated going home, he would just get annoyed at some random shit and just beat the fuck out of me." Shaun and Jesse were both in pretty good shape, but Jesse was only 5'11 and Shaun was 6'2. Jesse was about 170 pounds, Shaun was about 220. Even in high school Shaun was bigger and heavier. He was also a weightlifter.

"We that summer I stopped fucking with him, two years later he had a heart attack. The reason he had been so crazy and aggressive was because he had been taking steroids to keep up bodybuilding with his frat boys. He almost ruined his heart. But the steroids had him losing his mind. I didn't go see him in the hospital that's how much I hated him. My dad decided after I refused to see him that our relationship needed to be fixed. Shaun recovered and was fine but he made us sit down and talk. Which being the manly men that we are didn't go well and we almost fought again. My dad stopped us because we were still afraid of him. Not gon lie." I laughed.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"I'm dead ass. He threatened to beat us. I wasn't get my ass beat by my father as a grown man."

"But-"

"No more questions! But the next time my dad made us talk he brought in someone we feared even more than him. My sister."

"Ciara? Are you kidding me?"

"She has a twisted mind, you have never been on the other side of it. She won't get you physically, she gets you mentally. " he said as I laughed.

"Go on Jess."

"Ask her! She's got an evil side! Anyway, they made us talk and Shaun actually apologized for using me as punching bag and all the other shit he did. He was using steroids and doing other drugs and it really fucked him up for a while. But I'll always love my brother, I think I just need to hear him say it. I think I just needed him to give a fuck about me, you know."

"You're such a softie."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are, you're a turtle. You have a hard outer shell but underneath all that is just squishy stuff. And it's one of the reasons I love you. I didn't know your brother was on drugs, though."

"Yeah for a little bit. My dad sent him to rehab. To my understanding he wasn't addicted or on anything hard but it was enough for my dad to send him to rehab. But he won't talk about it so I don't ask."

"You have been through a lot. "

"Yeah, it's been real. But I'm glad. It made me who I am."

"I love you."

"Love you too."

#love and marriage #original story #writer on tumblr #black writers #black characters #tw drugs

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

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hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

#bun writes #bun writes: drabbles #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #black widow x reader

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julian-alderson · 4 years ago

Text

( 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙲𝙴 ��𝚁𝙰𝚆𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙳 + 𝙲𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝙰𝙽 ) — have you seen 𝙹𝚄𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙽 𝙰𝙻𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽 ? this 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚁𝚃𝚈-𝚃𝚆𝙾 year old is a 𝙽𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 who resides in 𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙷𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙰𝙽 . 𝙷𝙴 has been living in nyc for 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝚁𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴 , and is known to be 𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙸𝙽𝙴 & 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 , but can also be 𝙸𝙼𝙿𝚄𝙻𝚂𝙸𝚅𝙴 & 𝙵𝙾𝙾𝙻𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳𝚈 if you cross them. people tend to associate them with 𝙹𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙰𝙻𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂 , 𝙳𝚁𝙰𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚁𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂 & 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙲𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙾𝚃 .

––– 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 .

𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 julian francis laurent-alderson

𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴(𝚂) jules

𝙰𝙶𝙴 thirty-two

𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 july 5th

𝚉𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙰𝙲 𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽 cancer

𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 new york city , new york

𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 cis male

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚂 he / him

𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻 𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 bisexual

𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙲 𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 biromantic

𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴(𝚂) 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 english , french and others picked up during travels

𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 new york city , new york

––– 𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘 .

( neglect tw , cheating tw , drugs tw )

—— 𝙾𝙽 𝙹𝚄𝙻𝚈 𝟻𝚃𝙷 , 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟾 , julian francis laurent-alderson was born in new york city , new york , and grew up in a dysfunctional family . his mother , clarissa laurent , was a renowned painter , museum curator , and heiress to an old money & private banking fortune while his father , alexander alderson , was a hotshot lawyer turned politician from a long dynasty of lobbyists , lawyers , politicians , and business executives . it was a story as old as capitalism ; two affluent families consolidating their fortunes through marriage to gain more power and influence . both clarissa and alexander knew the profits of their relationship — and love was never supposed to be part of it . it was a marriage solely for mutual gain and practical purposes .

—— still , they thought that having a child would make their marriage more authentic , that raising a child together would make what they have more than what it was . but as expected , neither clarissa nor alexander were fit to raise a child — never even saw it as a priority that should be place above their business and personal interests . the responsibility to be julian’s caretakers were placed on a revolving door of nannies and tutors who were more focused on rearing him to meet alexander and clarissa’s expectations of how a heir should be , which resulted to a lack of an affectionate and consistent parenting during childhood .

—— they maintained the portrait of a perfect family for alexander’s political campaigns and clarissa’s socialite circles — only ever involving their heir for photo ops and to parade him around as their beautiful , picture perfect child . but despite the emotional neglect he suffered from his very own parents , julian still grew up to be a well-behaved , intelligent child . he found solace in literature , history , music and art — he read about greek adventures and wished he could be saved by the same heroes , he learned about the lives of people he wished he was , and tried to find a deeper meaning in art and music in a desperate search for the meaning of his own pain and experiences .

—— as he continued to read books and learned how to listen to his own and other people’s emotions , julian discovered his own affinity for writing stories . he began to write poetry , short stories , essays , and journals of his own everyday experiences — developing his talents throughout the years . he frequented bookstores and libraries , choosing to spend his time surrounded by the things he loved rather than feel the emptiness of his home .

—— nonetheless , there was always a part of himself that yearned for his parents’ love and attention . he entered writing competitions , won trophies and received praise from his peers and teachers — but still , they were not enough for alexander and clarissa to finally look at him and say they were proud of him . clarissa had always been apathetic , concerned with her own art and vanity , while alexander did not like how julian strayed away from the path they clearly paved for him to become the typical alderson in the political or business world . so came julian’s other attempts to get their attention .

—— it was a cliché , a story written thousands of times — a teenager rebelling against their parents’ wishes and getting involved with the bad crowd . but it was effective . the laurent-aldersons could not afford their name to be tarnished and when word of julian’s failing grades , absences , and use of illicit substances ( that they , too , use but knew how to be perfectly discreet about it ) , alexander and clarissa finally acknowledged their son . it didn’t matter to julian that the reaction he got was less than positive , only relieved that they finally saw him and he knew what it would take to get their attention again .

—— although his rebellious streak against his parents was somewhat short-lived , julian retained that thirst for the rush and adrenaline , the thrills and excitements of first times and following sudden impulses . exploring his sexuality , experimenting with drugs , meeting new people , doing things that made his heart race , fall in love once or twice — julian did it all , and he knew they would all be wonderful stories one day .

—— it was through his experiences that he realized that he didn’t really care anymore if he had his parents’ validation , decisions now made for himself rather than if it would impress or frustrate his parents . of course , college was an argument — julian always knew he wanted to be a writer while his parents wanted him to be capable of inheriting their legacies and businesses . and after sessions of fights and threats , they made a compromise for julian to pursue both — get his writing degree , then attend business school in his choice of country so he can have something to fall back on if his writing career didn’t work out . it was a win either way , a story he could write one day and a fresh environment for inspiration .

—— julian went to columbia university , graduating early after taking more than a full load of classes and attending summer and spring intersessions every year so that he could quickly focus on his writing career . sure , it was difficult and maybe , even failed some of his classes except for the important ones — but it was all worth it . and just before he graduated , he managed to publish a book titled sylvan dreams , a compilation of short stories he had written over the years starting from he was a teenager .

—— business school in paris was much more difficult , a struggle that needed the help of friends and tutors for him to push through but he made it . and to make it all better , julian fell in love with the city and living in such a place , maybe , he fell in love with a couple of people , too . he always managed to see the good in every situation , to see lessons in adversaries and sometimes , see pain just for what they were — pain . but whatever happened to him , julian didn’t want to regret any of it .

—— after he finished business school , julian began to travel around the rest of europe — falling in love with every city and every town . he never stayed in one place for too long , always on the move to see more of what the world had to offer as he wrote his books and sometimes , broke deals for his parents during his travels overseas . it was definitely all for the best as traveling prohibited himself from being too work-oriented and always being surrounded by different people meant new stories he could experiences and tell .

—— after years and years of temporary addresses and constant packing and unpacking , julian finally decided to come back to new york when his champagne-drunk mother told him about his father’s numerous affairs and how his father got someone pregnant and they had to pay the woman off to keep it a secret so that it wouldn’t ruin his campaign . it was a drunk confession , something his mother simply scoffed at and never mentioned again — but it was a story that he needed to learn more about , a lost sibling out there that he needed to find . under the guise of a novel he wanted to write , a book about a child given away for adoption and their sibling looking for them , julian began his research and interviewing people around new york that could fit the bill of his missing sibling .

––– 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 / 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

—— 𝚂𝚈𝙻𝚅𝙰𝙽 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼𝚂 ( open to anyone around the same age as him and grew up in new york ) — a compilation of short stories from his adolescence . this connections are for the friends he grew up and shared all his secrets with . and although they have all grown up to be different people and drifted apart in some ways throughout the years , they’re all still in each other’s teams and would never miss each other’s calls if they can help it .

—— 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙴 ( open to m / f / nb , must be same age as julian ) — a book loosely based on his first love . they have known each other since childhood and it was this thing were they always joked that they were gonna marry each other since they were kids . they didn’t actually start dating until the later part of high school but it was just this cute romance , voted prom king and queen , everyone was envious of their relationship . but after high school , they probably had different plans and slowly fell out of in love with each other during college until they had to make a mutual decision to break up . maybe , some old lingering feelings because of being each other’s first love but maybe , some what could have been but overall , it was all for the best .

—— 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳𝙽'𝚃 𝙸𝚃 𝙱𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙴 ? ( open to anyone ) — a book about two tourists who met in nice , france and fell in love . so , this is probably someone julian met while he was travelling throughout europe and they hit it off due to both being originally from new york . they probably spent a week together sightseeing , going to bars together , getting closer and intimate with each other . maybe , if given more time , they would have fallen in love each other but after that week , they had to move on with their lives . and now , imagine them bumping into each other again but in new york .

—— he probably has a couple more books but i can’t think of anything KFDSFKF so i’m definitely open to other connections if y’all have any ideas !!!

#codintro #neglect tw #drugs tw #cheating tw #its a wall of text again KSKFF MY BAD

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blueeyesspitfire · 4 years ago

Text

Another One

Someone asked when (and maybe, subconsciously, why) I decided to add another dog (Atlas!) to the team. While it might not seem like it, especially not to the average pet-owner, I have always been extremely strategic when increasing my numbers. I always tell non-mushers: comparatively, I actually have a very small team! It has also taken me more than ten years to get to ten dogs, so I consider my expansion pretty slow.

To answer the question, I started thinking back to how I got started in this sport (and hobby... and lifestyle). I had always wanted a Siberian Husky, but as a 20-year-old college student living in an apartment with a tiny, unfenced yard, no rescue would let me adopt one. My then-boyfriend (hi Rob) and I ended up adopting Dexter from a foster family that could tell we were more prepared than your average idiot kids. At this point, I was aware of mushing, but it was not part of my plan. I just wanted a dog that could accompany me on hikes and other outdoor adventures.

A few years later, and after volunteering for both a husky rescue and a wolf/wolfdog rescue, I finally had the credentials for husky ownership. I still had a hard time finding the right dog through adoption organizations, so I ended up looking into reputable breeders. One of them invited me to the Pine Barrens to attend a training meetup and "see the dogs in action". I was intrigued; this was New Jersey, where our winters weren’t known for their snow. It was also autumn, so there definitely wasn't snow on the ground. This is where it all began.

I met folks with only a few dogs and some with over a dozen. They used bikes, scooters, and non-motorized carts that looked like a mix between a shopping cart and a horse chariot. I started biking with Dexter and I was even able to hook him up with some borrowed dogs to see what true dog propulsion felt like. I was hooked before I even had my husky.

Denali was my first true sled dog and she paved the way for us. I started biking with her and Dexter, but I knew I wanted to get a third to pull a cart and, eventually, a sled. I adopted Knox six months after Denali came home. I remember everyone being shocked at this point. Three dogs? Wild.

For a time, the trio met my needs. I started a new job that required me to go into NYC a few times a week. I hung out with friends a lot. I traveled often. We mushed, too, but it wasn't all encompassing. Then Dexter started slowing down a bit. After all, he wasn't really built to keep up with two athletic young huskies. I started thinking about an eventual replacement for him. Denali's littermate, Mia, was due to have a litter, and I was quick to jump on the opportunity. Willow joined us in 2015, and shortly thereafter, I made my first "mistake".

When Willow was old enough to join the team, I kept Dexter on the line, since we were doing short and relatively easy runs that he could still handle. I was surprised to see him get a sort of second wind once he had a consistent running partner. In fact, the entire team seemed to do better in pairs. Eventually I had the girls leading with the boys in wheel, and Dex lasted through the whole season. And I realized, shit, I want to run a team of four.

Dexter's second wind was short lived, which I expected, and it wasn't long before I started thinking about another dog to take his place (for real this time). So a year after Willow, I added Blitz to the team. Ok, good, great, I should have been satisfied at this point, right? I wanted a team of four and I had it. Except there was a thought creeping in the back of my mind, almost since the beginning of this whole crazy journey. A friend had told me that you probably want at least six dogs to carry a passenger. I also really liked the idea of having leaders, team dogs, and wheel dogs. So I got to work.

I secured a fully remote job and found myself easing into a life more centered around mushing. Hubble joined the pack in 2017, a year after Blitz, and right before I moved to California. I thought, hell, let's make five work and see what comes next.

In 2018 I moved back to the Northeast, and finally had the space and setup to complete the six pack. Laika joined us in early 2019 and the following season was my first time competing in 6-dog classes. So now, certainly, I should be all set—right? Except...

Except it had taken me so long to build my six dog team that my oldest, Denali and Knox, were starting to show their age. Knox, a rescue with less than ideal structure, was having trouble keeping up with the younger dogs. Denali could still hold her own, but she seemed to be getting bored with the repetitive training we do at home. If I wanted to keep this whole thing going, I knew I had to start thinking about filling their places on the line.

So, later on in 2019, I found Sagan and Hopper to join the pack. I wanted to "try out" some Alaskan Huskies (mixed breeds specifically bred for mushing, not to adhere to a specific standard) and their lines synced up nicely with my existing dogs. Hopper is even half related to my existing crew, so I knew he’d fit well.

If you're keeping count, this brought me to nine dogs: one fully retired, two semi-retired, and six active team members. At this point in the journey, I'd been saying that my limit was ten. Mainly, I'm constrained by vehicle space: the dog van fits eight crates, two of which are big enough to be doubled up in. The dog truck has eight boxes with two dogs fitting in the cab. So, ten is possible, but was it really necessary?

When the pandemic first hit, and I knew I wouldn't be traveling for awhile, the thought of raising a pup crossed my mind. Then came the chaos of the Denali/Willow fights and my broken thumb, which quickly squashed the idea of adding more dogs to the mix. I didn't think about it again until the fall, when some exciting litters were planned, and my favorite breeder mentioned plans of moving to Alaska. I was training for my first mid-distance race with the 6-dog team. I knew I had room for one more, but I wasn't sure I had the justification for it.

Then Blitz had a seizure. This rocked me to my core and I'm still dealing with the shockwaves of PTSD it caused. Blitz has since been 100% fine and we've figured out a schedule that ensures his blood sugar levels stay in a safe range. All the races we were aiming for ended up canceled due to Covid, but I'm not sure we would've been ready to run them given how slow we got back on track with training.

Most "real" mushers have a larger pool of dogs than those they run in races. Many train an A team and a B team, or run larger strings than necessary for the class they intend to compete in. Then, when race day comes, they select the dogs who are running their best. If a dog gets a sore paw, or is more sensitive to warm temperatures, or refuses to eat, or just generally isn't enthusiastic, they can get "benched" without impacting the team's race. It felt like a gamble to train all season for some big (to me) races, only to have the possibility of being at a disadvantage (with a 5-dog team, if one dog couldn't run—most 6-dog classes allow as few as five) or not able to compete at all (if two couldn't run).

A seventh, active team member adds a bit of buffer, so I can more confidently chase after my goals. And yes, I also made the same mistake of running the semi-retirees with their yearling replacements. An 8-dog team is awesome to behold, but I didn't let myself get too comfortable with it. That's not to say things won't change as my goals and situation changes. If you couldn't tell, that's been the theme of this whole wild ride.

To conclude, I guess I should more specifically answer "why Atlas?", since he's the pup I chose. Atlas comes from some of my very favorite lines. Knowing that his breeder, Jaye, will be leaving the area to compete in Iditarod 2022 (go Jaye!!), I figured this might be my last opportunity for a pup from Sibersong. And of course, I’m still grounded from travel for several more months, making now an ideal time for puppy raising.

So, there you have it. A very long-winded explanation that nobody really asked for, but I hope it gives you some insight behind the decisions I've made.

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