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apocalypse-shuffle · 9 days ago

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THE SPIDER SOCIETY (atsv)

—

How the Spider-Men react to being given a plush of themselves (Spider-Men x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

CHARACTERS: MIGUEL O’HARA, HOBIE BROWN, & PETER B PARKER (ft.mayday parker)

SFW, fluff, crack treated seriously, pre-canon, some canon divergence

Pic source: Spider-Man: Across The Spiderverse

MIGUEL O’HARA | SPIDER-MAN 2099

Miguel is, quite thoroughly, not impressed when you present the little chibi-esq recreation of his spider suit: cape, little claws and all, to him. A few years ago he would’ve laughed, teased you about your obsession with him and poked at you as he worked in the lab about how you stumbled across the plush anyway. Now, though?

Now Miguel's biggest reaction is how he squints at you in utter silence for a slew of seconds before heaving a sigh that has all of your enthusiasm seeping out of you with that one exhale. Mostly he just grumbles about how he can’t believe you’re distracting him from his monitoring for this and how much such a close approximation of his suit could be a breach of security with an even more severe furrow to his brows than usual.

It’s stress; anxiety too, you’d bet. It looks like anger. Despite the fact you know what it is you still feel yourself getting irritated in turn.

You’re gearing up to throw it in his face and stomp off when the platform finally stops as near to floor level as it gets and he…holds out his hand. Miguel’s expression is still pinched, and the set of his shoulders still high, but he takes the plush from you (mindful of his talons), hums and makes a remark about it not being as accurate as he thought considering there’s claws on the toy instead of what he actually has. Miguel meets your gaze when he says thank you.

For a moment all you do is blink over at him as he starts back up muttering to himself over whatever data he’s reviewing. It isn’t until he turns back to cut you a look that you remember yourself and fall back to earth, smiling big big up at him and then finally rushing away while heat flushes your face and you struggle to bite down on the urge to cheer while still in front of your hotheaded boss.

A few hours later you stop by his floating overcompensation platform office to deliver some information from Jess and you catch sight of the little plush leant up against the corner of one of his monitors. You keep your smugness to yourself, though, not heckling Miggy lest he get too embarrassed and hide the plush away.

Lyla blitzes excitedly around the plush when she first catches sight of it. And, unlike you, she teases Miguel about it so bad the vein at his temple starts to show. You’re eating lunch at one point in the dining hall when she appears sitting criss-cross over your tray and yaps all about how she’s caught Miguel holding the plush. How he rubs the pad of his thumb carefully over the red stitched detailing of its itty bitty mask, his face stern with focus.

Apparently Spider-Plush (the spider society member, not the inanimate object) is very disquieted and a little insulted by the appearance of the toy. His voiceless horror and displeasure was decipherable enough that Miguel started blushing as he stammered out a choppy explanation, and then an apology, all while trying to find some place to hide his mini-me before just settling on holding the stuffing filled version of him behind his back, fangs glinting as he smiled fleetingly at Spider-Plush before starting to save face.

At some point while you're griping about some universe he wants you to check out you watch him turn to the plush leant back against his monitor and go: “Right, Miguelito? You agree, don’t you?” after he feels he’s got you beat— and in a way he does because for the rest of the day you can’t catch nary a glimpse of him without breaking out into laughter so hard it has you turning in circles and coughing.

The smirk he gives your dark, flushed face every time starts making sense by the end of the day once you realize he still got you to agree with him. Even if it was by omission.

HOBIE BROWN | SPIDER-PUNK

Hobie thinks it’s adorable and immediately starts cooing over the plush when you brandish it to him.

He starts cooing over you too but that’s to be expected. You’re his partner, of course he makes a production out of telling you thanks; sweeping you off your feet into a hug and “obnoxiously” peppering kisses all over the brown planes of your face until you're laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

After his initial reaction he does get concerned about the origins of the plush, though. He’s not letting Norman’s estate or any other billionaire twat pull that Spider-Man copyright shit on him (ala that time where Peter found out Otto had trademarked the Spider-Man moniker and that the Spider-Man name and likeness was copyrighted). When you tell him it’s homemade and that you got it from a vendor at a showcase he makes a promise to visit the artist so he can give his thanks personally, grin turning mischievous.

Hobie takes to carrying the little plush around in a web sling. He treats it like his baby, dropping Lil’ Spidey off for you to “babysit” and everything.

Hobes walks in on you oiling your scalp and doing up your kinky hair or re-twisting your locs after a successful wash day — all while singing and dancing for your audience of one: that being the chibi “Itsy Bitsy” plush of him that you’ve leant up against the mirror in front of you — and is instantly so taken by you that he doesn’t even leave the ceiling before pulling his mask up past his nose and urging you into an upside down kiss, no matter that he startles the fuck out of you at first.

He likes making the plush give you little pecks on the cheek from him too, especially when he’s Spider-Man and you two are too easy to view from the rooftops or distance by the civilian them for him to be as affectionate as he’d like.

There’s multiple occasions where you meet him up on a roof to grab a bite together or find him curled up on your ceiling or under your covers while he sews Itsy Bitsy back together and/or replaces his stuffing.

He gets incredibly incensed when goons target his plush lookalike cause there ain’t no need for all that, Boss Man.

It’s not just Hobie liking the plush and loving that it’s a gift from you either, Lil’ Spidey is also incredibly useful when he’s dealing with panicking kids (and adults even). The plush is a cute calming presence and he gets very good at using it to his advantage when he’s got to corral people or convince kids he’s safe enough to let him carry them to safety.

At some point you do have to talk Hobie out of commissioning the artist who made the initial Spider-Man plush into making a similar plush of him in the suit with his mask off and wicks out and cotton stuffed recreations of his piercings on display. “Are you forgetting you have a whole ass secret identity?” “We don’t know if they’re not trustworthy,” he volleys, voice going nearly reedy as he rubs bashfully at his neck. “We don’t know if they’re trustworthy either, Hobie. Chill, Babe.”

Hobie lets himself see sense eventually, but not before his disappointed pout almost makes you cave.

Hobie will absolutely serenade you and the Spider-Punk plushie with his crude vocals whenever he feels like playing on his downtime or is working on a new song. The clear upside is that he’s got only eyes for you in the moment— and that he’s always been a delight to hear when he’s playing his guitar. He tries to keep the vibe acoustic and mostly succeeds.

PETER B PARKER | SPIDER-MAN

— featuring MJ!Variant!Reader & Biracial!Mayday

“Oh hey! Now this? This is one attractive little guy!”

Peter loves Spider-Man merch as much as the next guy, honestly, so he’s pretty excited when you first show him the plush.

Hell, he’s got a small collection of his own merch that’s been gifted to him by people around New York over the years mounted on a shelf above the tv in your bedroom.

—

“Aw man! They even got the differences in the spiders on my chest and back correct!” Peter twists the thing around in his hands, lighter brown eyes wide with wonder as he looks for a misprint that he’s apparently not finding. “This thing is surprisingly detailed.”

“Mm, I mean they are missing one key feature,” you murmur, eyeing Peter heavily for a second before meeting the brown of his eyes once more.

Peter blinks up at you, expression owlish, but doesn’t object when you press into him. One of his arms comes up like second nature to wrap around your waist and pull you closer. “I mean where? I guess maybe the kind of reflective — pearlescent? — lenses could be what’s throwing you off, but it’s easy enough to overlook…”

Your husband trails off as he keeps looking for whatever objection you could have for the aesthetics of the Spider-Man plushie.

He’s still missing the mark on all fronts when you reach up to lower the hand he’s holding the toy with. Immediately, Peter meets your eyes over the plush’s tiny head and you smile at him. He recognizes the coy lilt to it if the way he goes liquid and malleable for you is any indication, his body pulling into yours easily when you tug at his hips despite all that super strength and his ability to stick that would absolutely stop you from moving him if he didn’t want to be moved.

When you drop your hand over his hip Peter doesn’t stop you, moves to meet your mouth when you move to kiss him too. Which, kiss him you do, moving to cup one hand over his cheek while your other trails from his waist to rest against the soft bulge of his stomach.

“He’s missing your belly,” you say, the tilt of your plush lips wry and your big brown eyes glittering.

Peter smiles back at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“Oh,” he snorts then, and thankfully it’s not as self-deprecating as it used to be. “I don’t mind, not a lot of people like their heroes pudgy.”

“Well I like mine that way, Tiger,” you purr, reaching your hand around to tug at the shorter hair towards the back of his head and rubbing your thumb softly over his stomach. “So now what?”

“I— god,” Peter stammers, blushing like crazy. You chuckle, moving to squeeze lightly at his side and making his flush travel even more over his face until his ears are beet red and he’s ducking his head to rest against your shoulder.

Eventually he lets out a rush of sigh, shoulders slumping, and admits defeat.

“Flatterer,” he mumbles into your neck, tone playfully accusing, before pressing a kiss to the dark dewy skin at his disposal and wrapping both arms around you despite the plushie still clutched in his other hand.

“Guilty,” you hum, voice low as you run the tip of your broader nose across the pale overheated skin over his jawline.

And then Mayday starts to babble in the distance — clearly over her nap — and you and Pete have to pull apart.

Not before he sweeps you into one more lingering kiss, though. One of his hands tightening around your waist while the other fists into the thick naturally red curls atop your head as he practically dips you. It’s the type of kiss that leaves your dark two-toned lips tingling and has you panting lightly as Peter walks away to go retrieve your child with a wink in your direction and such a cheeky grin splitting his lips that you have to laugh.

—

Mayday gets her hands on the thing in minutes. You can’t be upset at her chewing on the plush’s little hands when she was clearly so excited to see the tiny version of her daddy though.

At one point she does hand it back to you so you can see her dad too. You tell her she’s lucky she’s so cute as you accept the slobber soaked plushie by pinching it between two fingers— this is where a nice set of acrylics can come in handy as some very cute and very impromptu tweezers.

The impromptu tweezer is a familiar tool used in you and Peter’s household btw.

The little chibi-esq Spidey plush, and Mayday’s fascination with it, becomes a spectacular way to keep her from whining and twisting all over the place whenever you sit her down to put in her hairstyle for the rest of the week on Sundays. With the plush held tight in her pudgy hands and her preoccupied by either you and Peter engaging her in conversation the entire time or a slew of Gracie’s Corner videos Mayday is practically a saint as you put anything from Bantu knots to afro puffs to cornrows in her big poof of red hair. Hell, sometimes you even take to letting her hang upside down while you comb out the tangles from her hair and apply any product to her looser coils while she hugs the plush tight to her chest.

Bath time and wash days for Mayday are still absolutely a hassle though considering you won’t allow her to take the Spider-Man plushie into the water. Thankfully that’s Peter’s appointed cuhruckle to deal with; giving you a break to do your own hair and relax a bit.

Peter takes to using the Spider-Man plush as a learning tool pretty quickly too. Showing Mayday how to watch her enhanced strength with demonstrations he puppets the toy to show her how to behave. How she has to be gentle and careful when she touches people or things, and etc.

The plush makes the lessons easier on them both, especially as more of Mayday’s powers manifest that you guys can’t procrastinate on dealing with. The lessons being made easier, too, fights back that little bit of guilt you know Peter still carries for passing on his spider powers to her. Win win, then.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

Hopefully everyone’s characterizations weren’t too off because I haven’t seen ATSV in a hot minute, but yeah! This was just a cute little thing to do, and you can pry mj!variant black!reader from my cold dead hands.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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apocalypse-shuffle · 26 days ago

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Walk of shame: closing all of the ao3 tabs you didn't get around to reading before the hyperfixation ran out 😔

#prev tags:#and also all the google docs tabs of unfinished wips #end]#yeahhhh #*cringes guiltily*

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 month ago

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“Adapting Accordingly” w/ Bruce•B (mcu)

NSFW, 18+, minors dni, fem!reader, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, praise

Bruce Banner talks you through it. Maybe he can’t participate (would rather not risk “hulking out” balls deep in your pretty dark cunt) but he can take you apart.

Bruce takes his time too, coaches himself through breathing exercises as he rubs languidly over your clit and murmurs praise into your brown skin. His big fluffy curls tickle the side of your face when he pulls you even more flush against him and starts peppering kisses down your neck in between his slick words.

It feels mean when his shaky breath brushing over your pulse makes you shutter against him and he starts teasing you about being cold; maybe he should stop and turn the thermostat down, huh? He makes you beg for him not to stop, moans into your neck as he nips at your throat, and slides his hand down so he can rub over your dark, two-toned lips then dip a little lower to circle the pads of two of his fingers around the opening of your vagina as he blushes and his glasses fog up badly enough he has to rip them off. You gasp, head resting on his shoulder and thick curls brushing over his paler skin, and Bruce chuckles.

By the time he’s slowly hammering his fingers past the knuckle into your pussy you’re gushing so much arousal it’s coated his hands in your juices (of which he can’t help but to tease you for getting him so messy) and Bruce’s eyes are just barely tinged green as he growls compliments into your sucked bruised neck.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I know Hulk manifests due to Bruce’s anger, but my reasoning here is that because Bruce is still nervous about hulking out his pulse jumping makes him panic (no matter if he’s having a good time) and if that panic sweeps him up then he starts to get angry he can’t even have some normalcy, then he hulks out. It’s less that his heart rate rising is the trigger (kind of like it is — at least on the surface — in the 2008 movie) and more that his heart rate rising makes him panic and the following anger at that fear triggers Hulk out.

Ultimately the Hulk is usually triggered due to Bruce’s stress response going off so I think this works regardless, but also this is smut so it’s really not that serious even if I’m taking it that way. Essentially Bruce has enough control not to “hulk out” but that reality is still a constant part of his life.

Or it could just be that, like in the 2008 movie, his pulse is jumping and Hulk is just reacting to that a lil bit (plus maybe the Big Guy wants to see too, idk😉). Really, I just wanted his eyes to turn green like that one scene in AOU when he’s pissed at Wanda fr; that was very sexy of Bruce.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 month ago

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BRUCE BANNER & THE HULK (mcu)

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How Bruce / Hulk reacts to being given a Hulk plush (Bruce Banner x Fem!Reader) and (Hulk & Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

SFW, established relationship, fluff, crack treated seriously, hints at canon divergence

Picture source: Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015)

2k+ words (some of which are from one Spurt - or mini fic - w/ Bruce and another w/ Hulk)

BRUCE BANNER

Bruce stares at you like you’re insane when you come up to him brandishing the plushie Hulk like a trophy.

Of course a second later he fixes his face to smile at you in greeting, even with his hair fluffier than usual from him having been running his hands through it so much and his smile tinged with fatigue, but his initial opinion of the plush itself still doesn’t actually improve.

For your part you remain unphased, making sure he’s not handling anything sensitive as you study the little Hulk in your hands some more before slipping behind his desk and shaking it at Bruce with a proclamation of: “It’s you!”

Bruce laughs at your antics despite the way both his brows have started furrowing, and finally reaches out for the plush.

❤︎

“And people, what? They buy these?”

“They did,” you shrug, you’re not going to sugarcoat it for Bruce. He’s likely to go looking for the distributor on his own time anyway.

Bruce goes quiet then, but it’s the type of silence from him that only half worries you. He was thinking, certainly, but not in a way that would make him spiral. At least not immediately.

“Right,” Bruce hums. He turns the little green plush over in his hands — both having come off his keyboard where he was inputting notes into his computer the moment you walked into his office. “No parent wants their child playing with a toy modeled after a proverbial natural disaster on legs, huh?”

He cracks a small lopsided grin at that, scoffing to himself. You give him a long look in response and Bruce only offers a shrug, ducking his head and reaching up to squeeze the back of his neck for a moment.

Your lips purse.

“I didn’t say that, B.”

He nods, “It’s the truth though, Y/n, I’m well aware of that.” The scientist stands from his stool, leaving the plush beside his keyboard, moving closer to you and wrapping you up in his arms. Softly, he nudges his nose with your broader one and you smile. “Plus, you’re far nicer than me. Of course you wouldn’t have said that.”

The soft, pale inside of his palm presses to your darker skin as he brings up his hand to cup over your cheek. Before you let yourself lean into his touch you give him a measured look, eyes narrowed, but Bruce doesn’t budge despite the apologetic look he’s giving you.

“Goddamnit, Bruce,” you grumble, giving into his touch after pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

The corners of Bruce’s eyes crinkle. He snorts.

“For what it’s worth it’s actually pretty cute,” he looks over the Hulk plushie with a more critical eye before shrugging, “even if it’s likeness is off.”

You heave a sigh.

“It’s too cute,” you guess.

Bruce nods.

“It’s way too cute,” he confirms, the arm he still has around your waist squeezing playfully at you.

Laughing, you shake your head at him, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pressing a quick peck of a kiss to his lips.

The hand he had on your face drops from your dewy skin to join the other around your waist like a moth drawn to flame, and you grin as he shifts fast to kiss you back, his grip on you tightening.

You put a finger over his lips to keep him from chasing your mouth for more, staring at him with lidded eyes and a sly curve to your lips.

“I feel it pertinent to remind you that Hulk and you share a face, Honey.” Bruce’s eyes widen and he looks about two seconds away from pressing a hand to his chest and acting wounded. “And,” you say before he can take his hands off you, “that I happen to think you’re both plenty cute. In my humble opinion that is.”

“Oh in your ‘humble’ opinion? Is that what we’re calling it?” Bruce snorts again, but when he kisses you next it’s sweeter than it needs to be.

❤︎

Overall, Bruce doesn’t hate the plush toy, which is nice, he just doesn’t particularly care for it. Though he does raise an amused brow once he tracks down the small Brazilian factory that used to make the plushies, a small fond smile curling his lips.

In general his relationship with Hulk is a lot better than it’s been even before everything with Wanda, but post The Avengers forming (hell, after having helped create Ultron with Tony his relationship with himself is the best it’s been since), so he isn’t disgusted like he once would’ve been by the prospect of a company making Hulk plushies.

The Hulk protected him on Sakaar (even if he did a lot of other things Bruce likes less too), and saved his life during The Battle of Wakanda. Bruce could give the Big Guy his props now. Especially after he himself got to kick ass in the HulkBuster, but could still admit to himself that fighting droves of bad guys wasn’t the type of challenge he particularly enjoyed.

Bruce largely disregards the plush after your initial conversation about it. Forgets about the thing, really. When he finds you one night — after he’s been away with the team for a few days on a particularly grueling mission — curled up on the couch with the plush against your chest and your arms wrapped tight around it he finds a kind of fondness for the little Hulk, though.

Cuddling with the plush like that you cut both the most adorable and the most heartbreakingly sweet figure he’s ever seen.

When Bruce scoops you up to carry you off to y’all’s shared bedroom it’s with a small groan (Hulk’s been in charge for the better part of 72 hours, his body was all bruise and still in the process of completely healing from the prolonged transformation, his ass is exhausted), but it’s completely worth it to feel the brush of your soft kinky hair over his cheek and to have you subconsciously curl into him — Hulk plush still held tightly and smushed between both of your bodies — in your sleep.

By the time you’re both in bed you’ve started to stir awake and give him the ‘welcome home’ he always looks forward to, insistent arms locked tight around his shoulders in a hug as he squeezes you flush to him from around your waist. He still makes sure the Hulk plush doesn’t tumble to the floor in your excitement though, handing it back to you and watching with fond russet eyes as you curl up with it again while he spoons you from behind and presses sweet, longing kisses into the brown expanse of your skin.

THE HULK

Hulk is borderline insulted at first until you explain what it is.

When you first come up to him brandishing his plush lookalike you’re not expecting him to both simultaneously respond like you’re about to burn him in effigy and as if you’re betraying him by trying to replace his big green ass with a plushie, of all things, but you suppose that with his reputation and general possessiveness towards you that you should’ve expected his reaction on both accounts.

After a quick explanation, and a pat of your tiny hand over his giant one in reassurance, you’re good to go though.

Once Hulk’s certain you're not trying to replace him or hurt and piss him off, though….

…Hulk immediately hits you with a “But…people hate Hulk,” and you're so caught off guard that you just blink up at him for a few silent moments.

Hulk has your mind going haywire as you think of an answer for him — vetoing “not everyone,” as an acceptable response almost immediately at the impatient grumble he lets out at you taking so long to answer.

Hulk hears your eventual answer of: “Some people still do, yeah, but a few people definitely don’t. I don’t,” and deflates.

The Big Guy slumps forward, resting his elbow onto his thigh where he’s sitting criss-cross in front of you, so he can prop his head up with his fist as he effectively pouts. You feel horrible that you can’t give him any other answer, but that was the truth and you wouldn’t lie to him; especially when you’d be so easily disproved if the Big Guy actually showed his face anywhere.

Hulk’s public perception wasn’t completely in the gutter, with a ton of work and a good deal of care it could be salvaged some, but he definitely wasn’t trusted by the majority of the public anymore (and the trust he and Bruce did have before the incident in South Africa had been faint at best even back in the day).

❤︎

“Fine.” Hulk gives a great big huff that makes your lips quirk. “Hulk look.” He holds out his hand, and you promptly rise on the tips of your toes to place the Hulk plushie delicately in his palm.

Plush now in his free hand; he doesn’t actually move it from where you placed it, just moves his hand this way and that and gives the toy a grave amount of inspection.

“Hulk never wore purple,” he grunts after a few moments, and you laugh.

Hulk wasn’t exactly wrong though. Bruce certainly wore a lot of purple, it was his favorite color after all, but Hulk didn’t touch the color if he could help it outside of the short block of purple that lined the top sides of his uniform pants.

Hulk’s completely unphased when you lean over his thigh opposite from where he’s propping his head up so you can inspect the plush with him. Even drops his hand enough for you to be able to see it at eye level.

After a few of your own silent seconds you nod and solemnly agree that you’ve never actually seen him wear full-on purple, yes, but guess that the color is for color theory purposes as the plush was made for children and would need appealing color coding to match.

“That’s dumb,” Hulk grunts, but he leaves it at that.

He goes right back to staring at the thing in silence again and you’re perfectly content to let him, humming softly and letting yourself rest your upper body over his muscled thigh.

Hulk runs hot so you won’t stay pressed to him for too long (unless it’s cold, then you’re stuck to him like glue) but his jade skin is surprisingly soft for such a force of nature and he’s never once objected to you climbing all over him.

❤︎

Eventually you reach up to take the plush back (mostly bcs Hulk’s had enough of it and is twisting his hand sideways, so if you don’t take it, it’ll fall) and keep talking lightly with Hulk about Avengers shit and whatnot. Absentmindedly, though, you take to running your thumbs softly over the plush’s head area or through its short tufts of fake black “hair”, self soothing with the feel of the plush.

Hulk notices. Hell, Hulk points it out to you.

❤︎

“Y/n not touch Hulk like that.”

A blink.

Freezing, you pause to look down at your fidgeting hands and the soft colorful fabric beneath the pads of your fingers. Your brows furrow.

Another blink— still from you.

Only after a few more beats of silence — only broken by a grumble from the Big Guy as he shifts restlessly — do you look up and turn your blank stare onto Hulk.

Hulk, whose lips are downturned into a frown and who's also watching you like he’s half expecting you to catch a whole conniption over his words.

What you finally, eloquently, settle on saying is: “What?”

❤︎

And that’s how you end up finding out Hulk likes when you run your nails along his scalp as hard as you can (he’s got some tough ass skin, there’s no other way; and if you wear acrylics or gels they’re gonna need to be strong) and when you run gentle hands over his face. Likes it so much he falls asleep, in fact.

It’s also how you end up with literal tons worth of jade green giant lying flat on his back with his head inches away from your lap while you sit criss-cross on the plush carpet behind him with your back leant against his shoulder and hands working overtime as you essentially pet him.

Call him “handsome” while you brush his hair behind his ears and he’ll crack an eye open to drop large eyes down to look at you then grin hard enough to have you cracking up. Press kisses all over his giant cheeks and forehead and over his closed eyelids and he’ll be eating out of your palm for a week— this shit is dangerous.

Overall, after any misunderstandings have been corrected, he’s more readily forgiving of the plush than Bruce, but that’s mostly because he has the benefit of feeling flattered that you’re so eagerly snuggling with a green plushie made in his likeness even as you’re curled up by his side.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!!

Bonus scrapped scene: “Hulk not grey either” “I know, Big Guy, but copyright. The distributors probably didn’t want to get sued for using your likeness.” “Still not grey,” he grumbles, expression turning mulish and petulant. You pat him on the arm in solidarity.

I am in a fucking mood I can’t help myself, the Bruce/Hulk stuff just keeps coming.

So, yeah, I went for the alternate version of Endgame (ie: one of the deleted Hulk/Bruce scenes) and changed the story a bit so that I don’t have to deal with MCU “Smart Hulk” and so that I could have Hulk smash from the HulkBuster armor after Bruce and his back and forth where they come to an understanding (also a deleted scene), but instead of kind of erasing Hulk I’m just making it so now he and Bruce have come to an equilibrium together. I’ve also technically retconned the fuck out of Ragnarok, but I don’t go into that here.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

—

Bonus(+)Banner —

—

Also, honestly, it bothers me (to a fictional extent) that Wanda never had to own up to or make up for what she did to Bruce and her making the conscious decision to set the Hulk off in that area of South Africa bcs she was irritated and as a distraction. We know that once Bruce came back to earth and did that ridiculous “Smart Hulk” thing that he had to rebuild his image and public perception of him and that even by She-Hulk: Attorney at Law it’s not stable enough for him to just be around the regular public as a Hulk. Even when in Endgame we see that he’s regained trust and has some amount of celebrity, his position on earth is still clearly tentative. And that’s despite being a big factor in helping save the world.

Bruce had to build himself out of that hole that Wanda dug for him and whatever legal mess and guilt that would’ve naturally followed, Hulk had to sit with that guilt and that confusion (you can see the emotions on his face right before Tony — using Veronica — knocks him out and he’s the one who leaves on the quinjet) then was subsequently erased by the narrative because the writers didn’t want to actually write a Hulk redemption arc, and Wanda got off completely scot free without having to make up for or let herself be rightfully prosecuted for destroying those South Africans’ lives, because the Hulk might not have murdered anyone but Hulk’s rampage (by its very nature) is tantamount to an impromptu natural disaster having torn through that city. A city that Wanda purposely targeted because she was mad at one man, and an infraction that she never made up for or is even seriously mentioned after AOU.

—

Bonus(+)Pic —

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apocalypse-shuffle · 2 months ago

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no you do not need to hold fictional characters "accountable". they are not real.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 2 months ago

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THE HULK & BRUCE BANNER (avengers: earth’s mightiest heroes)

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“Just My Luck” (Hulk x Fem!Reader) and (Bruce Banner x Fem!Reader)

| Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross tries to pull one over on the Avengers when they go to get Bruce Banner released from government detainment; acting as their consultant, however, you’re more than primed to go head to head with the General for your partners’ freedom.

| SFW, arguing, my shit understanding of military procedure of any kind, drugged characters, some angst, some fluff -professional!irritation!reader

| This exists purely because I want to scream at Ross every time he shows up on the screen or in comic panels. (Pic sources: “Hulk vs The World” - S1EP3 & “Gamma World, Part 2” - S1EP13)

| 4k+ words

“Actually, Stark…”

Uh oh.

You knew Ross not being the one to intercept you all once you got to the Raft wasn’t a good sign.

Talbot, your escort for the afternoon, turns around so he can look Tony in the eyes where his helmet’s faceplate is popped up.

“…we’re pushing for him not to be released, if you’d like to sit in on the meeting,” Talbot finishes, the Major’s mustache twitching as his eyes pass distastefully first over the teams’ leader and then the rest of the Avengers in turn.

Dark blue eyes then stick to your form where you’re standing behind Steve.

Teeth clicking together, you don’t let yourself shift like you want to. His gaze is a physical enough thing you want to shrug it off— want to flip him off too for good measure, but that’s beside the point.

Talbot’s lips quirk as he glances over you, something sharp in his gaze that reminds you conveniently of a rat in that moment.

Except the rat would be far cuter.

The man doesn’t say anything more though, only waiting for Tony’s affirmative before starting down the poorly lit hallway again.

When Talbot turns down a corridor that is clearly not leading to a secure containment cell you can’t even pretend to be surprised. In all but name this was an ambush after all.

And now you were officially irritated.

The room you all are led into is large for a conference room, but there’s absolutely no mistaking it as such either. It’s also packed with plenty of official looking people with all sorts of indicators of military rankings you don’t know or care to know.

Clint curses as he comes up behind you and notices the sheer amount of people in the room and seems to recognize the direct importance of at least a couple of them.

For your part you hardly spare them more than a seconds glance upon entering, eyes sweeping across the crowd in search of one thing and one thing only.

Or one person as it were.

The sight of him once your gaze lands on the dark corner they’ve got him tucked into makes your breath hitch.

The sight of him in prison orange ill-fitting enough to be baggy over his pale frame makes your blood boil and you barely stop yourself from sucking your teeth as you lay eyes on him for the first time in nearly two months.

Bruce’s brown eyes are far away and sunken, dark bags diminishing his usually wry gaze and hands twitching intermittently where they’re strapped down at his sides.

The back of your teeth grind together without your say-so, molars twinging.

Yeah, you didn’t care if you had to fight this entire room, nothing short of death was going to keep you from getting him out of this place.

─────

By the time the meeting’s officially begun your gums have begun to twinge with every press of your molars and Ross has been talking so much shit for the last twenty or so minutes you’re surprised he isn’t throwing it up too.

Just then he starts up about Hulk being an out of control beast without a conscience and it’s so absurd a claim you can’t stop yourself from commenting out loud, even if it is just to yourself.

“Huh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes while staring at your hands in your lap, “that’s a lie,” you grunt quietly.

Not quietly enough it would seem.

From across the room Ross instantly jerks his head up to look at you, the frown already etched onto his face turning severe as if he’d not noticed you until then.

If only you had the same privilege of ignorance when it came to him.

Jaw working as your mind reels, you look the man head on with an arch of one of your brows.

Catching his attention might not have been a part of the plan you’d been attempting to form in your head but you weren’t in the business of giving Ross any inches.

You’d just have to think on your feet.

“Stark,” Ross starts, voice tight, “control your—”

“��Yeah, no,” you assert, talking over him with a level tone and completely skipping over Tony in the process. He knew better than to answer for you anyway. “I’m not Stark’s anything, General. He doesn’t control me.”

“Hn,” Ross grumbles, grinding his teeth together. The ‘somebody ought to,’ goes unsaid but you can see it in the clench of his jaw and the way he tries to…to glare you into submission or some shit.

‘Hn’, indeed.

“Fine,” he grounds out, “Do you have something to add?”

He speaks as if he thinks he’s tripped you up. A large part of you wants to make him regret giving you the room.

Even still, for a moment you contemplate not stirring the pot, taking the out and letting someone else handle him, but really the choice is obvious. There Bruce was stood up in the corner chained and shackled to hell on a stretcher like he was Cletus Fucking Kasady or something, power suppressor collar locked tight around his neck with probably enough sedatives in him to kill an elephant given just how impossibly high he looked, and actively struggling to get a good read on the room.

Bruce’s eyes were so unfocused and glassy, his head so heavy, that you barely caught your frown before the wider room could see it upon first seeing him. Let alone hid the show of emotion how you would’ve liked to as a whole.

Ross wanted to keep him, that much was obvious. But he didn’t care about the man or the so-called monster, which was just as easily noticeable.

General Thaddeus Ross wasn’t fit to keep Bruce Banner or The Hulk safe — captured, sure, but unlike the others on the team that wasn’t something you even remotely cared about — and seemed too inclined to keep them tortured and in easy reach to be experimented on instead for your liking.

“I do,” you say. Tony looks surprised when you glance over to him, but it’s about the only request for permission he’s going to get from you. When he nods, just once, you turn back to Ross and his crossed arms and you smile. “I think that over the years the General and the military have proven untrustworthy when it comes to matters of The Hulk.”

One man huffs in the back, curls cropped short and that same air about him that Ross has. The type of urge to commandeer everything that gave you hives on a good day.

You grit your teeth. Today was not a ‘good day’.

“We captured that beast, didn't we? Banner’s been dozing in his cage for weeks before today, a non threat.”

Cage.

The way your eye twitches is small enough you’d bet no one without a heads up display or enhanced vision could see it.

You shift in your seat, gesturing to the wider room.

“Only after breaking form, though, correct? And stop me if I’m wrong, but both times you successfully captured the Hulk were S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers not present and providing crucial aid? So it’s just the same to say that the Avengers have an even better track record of keeping Hulk out of trouble than even the Hulkbusters do, and a room is about as much containment to someone so powerful as Thee Hulk as a cell is.”

“You’re proposing we treat that thing like a—”

“Like a person, yeah. It’s no coincidence that both times you captured the man was because he was reasoned with or otherwise distracted by saving an agent’s life. The Hulk is a person, and he can be stabilized after an episode — which rarely happen without provocation by the way — just like any other man.”

“Other men don’t usually possess the ability to tears tanks apart with their bare hands, Miss.”

“Other men also usually don’t respond rationally when being shot at…” you lean forward to read the man’s name off the gold plate pinned to his breast, “…Fortean.”

Immediately, he clarifies you on his rank, on the fact that you should put it in front of his name. As if you respect him enough for that; these people were lucky you haven’t devolved to schoolyard taunts yet considering just how little you respected them.

“Sure,” you shrug. Fortean grits his teeth, standing up a little taller as he fixes his mouth to say something that he’ll want to be cutting but you know you’ll just blow off.

“Now, Y/n,” Ross cuts the younger man off, pressing him back into the corner like a good obedient lapdog, and swinging the conversation back in his control. “Our hands are the most capable to keep Hulk from sowing destruction everywhere he goes, even if you think being nice to it and letting it play dress up with the Avengers is a suitable containment method that doesn’t account for the fact that everywhere the Hulk goes destruction follows.”

Rogers pipes up before you even can. “Pardon my forwardness, General Ross, but any destruction caused while we fought beside Hulk was due to the impromptu establishment of a battle field in civilian spaces by our enemies, enemies which we stopped with the help of Hulk. The Hulk is a hero, and he was doing his job the same as any other Avenger, Sir.”

Ross smiles, it’s not pleasant but it isn’t condescending either. Lucky Cap.

“And before he joined your team? What of the destruction that followed him then, Captain?”

“Well,” you cut in, doing away with caring about being too forward entirely, “that was mainly you and the Hulkbusters, so the answer is fairly obvious.”

To that Ross stares at you for a second, mouth ticking, and then promptly lets out a gruff bout of laughter. The other military personnel and military officials in the room give a resound chuckle as well.

It echoes around the room for a couple of seconds and each new laugh feels like needles burrowing deeper and deeper into your brain.

You didn’t tell anything nearing a joke so the only reason for this was that they were all laughing at you.

“I’m sorry,” you pipe up, unlocking your jaw to speak after swallowing down the angry tremble you could feel crawling up your throat, “I don’t recall telling a joke.”

Despite your words the room still sobers at everyone else’s own pace and you can’t help but to wish the man would drop dead when you chance a look Fortean’s way and catch the smug upturn of his mouth.

Hulk probably wouldn’t approve, Bruce definitely wouldn’t. You don’t think either would object to you socking him in the jaw though, knocking the smirk right off his face.

“Apologies, Miss,” Ross grunts once he’s finished, eyes glinting. “You’ve provided me with my counter argument though, haven’t you? Or the Captain did. We responded to Hulk’s presence after he made an impromptu battlefield out of a civilian area and people got hurt at his fault when we engaged in our duty to this country. We did our jobs”

“That’s not how I see it.”

Ross stops just short of glowering at you, pausing in the pointed looks he’s giving the officials in the room to narrow his eyes your way.

“Well then you’re seeing it wrong.”

“No.” Ross’s eye twitches. It’s visible. Same as the vein that protrudes across his temple. You cross your arms, shrugging even as you narrow your gaze on him a little more in tandem. “Is it incorrect to assume that you track both Bruce Banner and The Hulk, General?”

“It’s not.”

“Good,” you hum, tapping a steady rhythm with the pads of your fingers into your forearm. “How about the target on sight orders for them both? That true as well?”

“Yes,” Ross says, voice dropping down. He’s wary about where you’re going with this but isn’t sure of your angle yet, most likely.

Thaddeus Ross wasn’t an idiot — especially where being a tactician was concerned, and that was all the props you’d ever give the man.

At the very least it meant he was giving you something of a challenge.

You nod to yourself, biting back a smile, “And you would agree that most times you catch up to Bruce Banner he’s not at immediate risk of transforming?”

“Not always, but—

“—And that provocation of the target — already agitated or otherwise — never fails to escalate tensions and make the situation more dangerous, correct?”

There was more to it than just Bruce or Hulk’s temperaments though, and you knew that well. But fighting the Hulk angle here wouldn’t be as helpful — even though every time Ross’s team have ever ran into Hulk already in control was because he was dealing with an even bigger threat, saving people, and the only thing the Hulkbusters ever succeeded in doing in those situation was exasperating the collateral; simply put Hulk wasn’t the aphantomable monster everyone wanted to paint him as, but paint their hearts out people would regardless — as you’d want with this audience, so stressing the Hulkbusters being nothing but a trigger in an otherwise calm situation was what you’d do.

Ross shifts to run his hand over his mustache, lips pursed.

“That’s…an affirmative, but—”

“So then, if you stand by your word, of course, you admit that any collateral damage caused by Hulk after you or your Hulkbusters have arrived on scene is not the fault of Hulk himself since you actively and willfully provoke him into violence and initiate battle in civilian areas with him for your own means?” You pause to swallow, blinking faux innocently up at Ross in the process, “Whatever they may be,” you finish, raising your brows at him in challenge before relaxing back into your seat.

Everything was in his court now.

You’ve put him in an uncomfortable place. He’s either got to admit that all his tracking down of the Hulk is no more than posturing on his part, posturing that willingly puts civilians in danger for little acceptable reason, or he’s got to admit exactly what it is he wants the Hulk for to a room of the type of military personnel who cared about at least appearing too civilized for human experimentation and the utilization of mind controlled bio weapons.

“Now I did not say that,” Ross says in a huff.

You just shrug. If the shoe fit and all that.

“You’d think finding a better strategy than shooting a barrage of ineffectual weapons at a man in public who gets stronger and less coherent the angrier he gets would tip you off that you are indeed not as capable as you think you are at keeping your constituents safe,” you reiterate, expression remaining unchanged.

“Nonsense,” Ross snaps. Looking around at the officials in the room he seems to get even angrier at the contemplative looks on their faces. “What are you all doing? This woman hardly qualifies as a superhero, let alone an Avenger. She doesn’t mean jacksquat as far as this conference is concerned.”

“But, General—”

“Don’t ‘but general’ me, Stevens. Buck the hell up!” He swings his head around after chewing the younger man out then, and when his gaze snaps back to you he bares his teeth. “You! You and your bleeding heart bull! What do you know about the danger that monster inside Banner poses?”

Sucking your teeth, you stand, roller chair threatening to topple over in your rush.

“Oh get real,” you snap lowly, planting a hand on the table and leaning over it in a bid to match Ross’s big irritated movements and gestures toward you, “Hulk hasn’t been a serious threat to human life in years.”

“There’s no sufficient evidence of that!”

“As much as I’d been worried about that too, Thunderbolt,” Tony starts quickly, voice turning mocking as he tosses out the other man’s nickname, “the stats don’t lie. Hulk hasn’t caused actual human collateral in…ever, really.”

Ross glowers his way, “I have men who’d say otherwise, Stark.”

Tony shrugs, “Frankly, Ross, if they can still say anything at all then you’ve already disproven your argument here.”

“Exactly,” you sniff, rocking back on your heels and crossing your arms. “And it wouldn’t be too hard to prove that over the last few years Hulk has saved more lives than he’s ever truly hurt either.”

Some of the Suits in the room begin nodding shallowly to themselves.

At the sight of them Ross starts up another sheet of yelling in your direction: “You damned blight, who do you think you are, you’re nothing,” he rattles in the next breath, but doesn’t get any further than that before you take personal offense.

“Um, hello!” you say, voice rising for the first time the entire meeting as you attempt to talk over him, “is your name either of my parents’?”

Ross sputters at your question, “What?”

“Exactly! So don’t come up here yelling at me like I’m some child! Only two people get to just barely yell at me, and you’re not either of them, so you need to come better!”

“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he growls out, clearly stopping himself from advancing towards you with a sneer. “Women your age have no damn respect. You are a subordinate, act like it!”

“First of all: not your subordinate,” you clarify, face scrunching at the idea alone. “Second of all: I wasn’t aware that as a so-called ‘subordinate’ I couldn’t speak my mind, you must want a pack of mindless slaves that agree with your every word if that’s the case.”

He grins something nasty.

Behind him Fortean scoffs.

“Oh I see. I don’t care what goddamn race you are, insubordination is insubordination—”

“—I literally didn’t say anything about race. I said that with the way, as your so-called ‘subordinate’, you do not think people should talk back to you in ways you personally deem disrespectful is akin to you wanting a bunch of slaves working under you.” Scoffing, you shake your head. What a pack of clowns. “Last time I checked slaves aren’t allowed to oppose their Masters, General, whereas subordinates are meant to keep you in check which requires opposing opinions to be—”

Ross starts to stammer badly enough you’re stopped from continuing because you honestly aren’t sure he'll be able to hear you over the stuttered flapping of his gums, the gnashing of his teeth and the blood rushing to his face at an alarming speed.

Not that you gave a fuck about his health, but still.

He stutters for a few more seconds, fists balling where you can see them from where his arms are now crossed tightly across his chest, before eventually giving up with a harsh curse and pointing angrily at you, voice going up an octave or two.

“Missy, you will get off of my base right now! I’m not running a hen house. Talbot, escort her out!”

Both your eyebrows jump towards your hairline. Your response is on the tip of your tongue too: ‘Missy’! Excuse you, I am a grown ass woman, but, again, you’re stopped before you can get anymore riled up by a sudden bout of noise.

When you knock your head up to lock fiery brown eyes onto the source of the sound towards the back of the room you do so fast enough for your neck to crack.

A snort.

Someone’s laughing.

Your eyes narrow.

Unlike last time, no one else is joining in, however. No, instead everyone’s looking at a still drugged Bruce — who your eyes finally land on before promptly widening as his bleary gaze locks coherently onto yours for less than a second. It’s an eternity of a second, though.

In the meantime Bruce’s snort turns into stilted chuckles that swiftly morph into low gasps of laughter as his shoulders shake and his heavy head lists to the side.

Then, against all odds considering the boatload of drugs he’s visibly on and the suppressor collar around his neck, he starts to transform.

Bruce’s voice shifts to Hulk’s in the ensuing moments and his voice becomes significantly more disruptive even above the sound of the collar snapping in half. Hulk breaks out into booming laughter with a bellow of: “Flustered Ross?”, absolutely amused by how fucked up you’ve gotten his oldest foe.

“Wha—? Bruce— Hulk,” you cut yourself off, just staring at the jade giant as he full belly laughs, head thrown back and everything.

It’s adorable.

A little bit of you perks up at the rumbling sound and the heaviness that’s been anchoring your feet, making every step harder and heavier than the next, seems to lift.

Every non-Avenger in the room freezes bar Ross, who twitches and seems to get notably redder around the edges.

Honestly though, you don’t think anything would have supported your case any better than Bruce — your sweet, usually dry humored man — laughing so hard he cedes control to Hulk, who’s laughter is even more infectious. In real time you can even see the officials in the room having their perceptions shift as well.

Didn’t hurt that the evidence of their ineffectual Hulk containment methods when Hulk actually wanted out had just clattered into pieces on the ground either.

A little giggle bubbles past your lips almost in spite of the fury still firing through you. Alright, Ross’s beet red flush and slew of tripped over words in the face of confrontation from a black woman who was no better than a civilian skill wise was pretty funny.

For the first time since the team and you were redirected to this stupid fucking room the anxiety and irritation tightening your abdomen to aching relaxes.

Subconsciously you feel yourself sigh, straightening up from where you were leaned over the table to better get in Ross’s face the same way he felt he needed to get into yours first, and shifting to pop your back in the process.

Shit you were wound up.

You had to get yourself together because Ross’s ass was not worth putting all this strain on your body.

Eventually Hulk’s boisterous laughter peters off naturally. A smile sticks to his face still though, a boyish type of grin that shows enough teeth to make most of the big men strewn throughout the room shift uncomfortably and have your stomach fluttering welcomely.

Shoulders dropping and jaw unclenching you smile over at him in turn, his green eyes locking onto your brown for a slew of moments before some Suit clears his throat— then immediately ends up loosening his tie as that drags Hulk’s attention squarely his way.

The man clears his throat two more times before he finds his nerve, “Well the way I see it the best course of action to keeping Hulk…stable would be to let the Avengers keep an — um — eye on him and Bruce Banner. As I see it, at least,” he adds in a rush at the unblinking stares the Hulkbusters start giving him.

Ross seems to double take: “What,” he barks out, “you can’t be seriously considering this!”

“General, I think it’s about time we consider the option of least resistance.” And the Suit considers you now, gaze on you noticeable but one that you refuse to return with anything but a bland expression and raised brow. He sighs. “Not constantly waging clearly avoidable war on The Hulk, especially when the money going into the Hulkbusters can be utilized better elsewhere, seems like a solid plan to me, and I can only imagine my compatriots agree.”

Ross sputters for a few moments, Fortean’s frown crests hard enough you hope it sticks, and then the General’s mouth shuts with a snap. His pivot to turn your way is accompanied by a low growl from Hulk, but for once Ross is mad enough at someone else to not blow the rumble out of proportion.

“Get out,” he snaps, and like ants all the people who aren’t his (or The Avengers) in the conference room scatter.

You’d laugh if it weren’t so pathetic. Ross was only one single goddamn man, explosive anger or not.

Staring him down you cross your arms, cocking your head and hip and not hesitating to let a smirk grace your dark lips.

“Bitter?” You question before he can start.

Behind you some one of your partners’ teammates snorts.

You’d put your money on Clint.

Ross snarls and turns sharply to Tony somewhere behind you and to your left, features twisting nastily.

“Stark, take your team and get her the hell out of here now!” He jerks his hand towards the entrance, pointing some more. “She’s the most disrespectful, surefire example of why women shouldn’t be apart of discussions like this I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting—!”

When you laugh it’s a mean melodic thing. Overly loud just to be as obnoxious as you can manage.

The others start to move around you too, mainly Cap and Clint, to push past Ross’s unit and get to Hulk. When they start releasing him from his bonds and he stomps from the trolley he’d been tied to, two feet finally firmly planted on the floor and making the room tremble for a moment, the Hulkbusters collectively recoil and bristle all at once.

Somehow you find it in you to laugh a little harder. Apparently it was your turn to bust a gut in Ross’s face.

Talbot and Fortean glowering your way in response makes you feel doubly accomplished on top of everything too.

“Oh, screw you, Ross! You’re nothing but a sore fucking loser on a power trip and, quite frankly— ah shit!”

In one singular movement you’re swooped up. Eyes widening you gasp, hands flying down to grasp onto the nearest thing you can as your balance is thrown off. Really you needn’t have worried though, the lighter palms of brown hands — the lightest part on you beside the bottom of your feet, honestly — meet the stern knuckles of warm green skin and your spirit instantly re-enters your body as you realize what’s happening.

Unfortunately though you’re covering ground too fast for it to mean much.

Ross shouts, “God-damn—” and then he’s cut off and you can’t do a single thing about it.

Well then.

Doors close with an unsatisfactory but resounding finality in your face, the image of Ross red and belligerent lost behind it, and you scowl; still huffing and puffing even after being swept up into a carry by the very man you were arguing over.

From where you’re being carried partially laying over Hulk’s shoulder, you glare at the empty corridor he’s stomping down with the rest of the Avengers, heart hammering in your chest.

That’s when you’re finally aware enough for it to truly click that you’ve been tossed over his shoulder and you balk.

“Hulk!”

“Y/n relax now,” Hulk rumbles, large thumb patting you on the back from where he’s holding you to him.

At that you have no choice, really. You slump. Arms hanging limply at your sides and head resting on his shoulder, you pant too. Sucking in large gulps of air and trying to get your heartrate back under control before your anger spurs on a headache.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter into green skin, relaxing into Hulk’s hold, “but only because you said it so nicely.”

Hulk hums. It’s too pointed to be anything but him calling you out on your bullshitting, but you’re too tired to riff on him in your defense and start a playful back and forth right then.

“Well,” Tony chirps from the corner of the large industrial elevator once you’ve all finally settled back into it for the day, “At least you riled old Thunderbolt up enough for him to let us go with the Big Guy pretty easily.”

Lips splitting into a grin, even slightly out of breath as you are, you push up from Hulk’s shoulder a little and turn your head to the side so you’re not staring at the side of his neck and the wisps of green hair that curls some at the base of it.

When Tony sees the smile on your face he balks. By the time you’ve started up a sheet of poorly held back laughter he’s caught on.

“I should’ve known,” Tony snorts, shaking his head. “You did have a plan.”

“Of course she had a plan,” Hulk intones, tone deadly serious even though you can feel the way he huffs out a laugh.

“Hold on,” Clint starts, “you mean you picked a fight with Ross on purpose?”

“Sure did,” you start, curling back into Hulk’s hold and turning away from everyone else again. “Ross hates Hulk, yeah, but he can’t stand a woman stepping up to him either. I knew if I screwed him over he’d focus on tempering my loud mouth more so than fighting to keep his arch enemy or whatever.” You raise a limp hand to wave in their direction, “Plus, with only Cap as backup somebody had to pick up the Hulk Defense slack.”

“Okay, don’t do us like that now,” Tony complains, the metal of the Iron Man suit clanging lightly as he shifts.

“Oh, I’m gonna,” you scoff. You snort too, though, as a bout of Hulk’s more subdued laughter reaches your ears and shakes your entire body. “Just a little.”

Still, you didn’t miss the team’s broader unwillingness to stick up for the bigger and greener of your partners before today, though— and your reclusive white man too, by extension. Hulk didn’t miss it either, you'd bet, and some definite developments would have to come of that.

For now though, that could wait till you were no longer in a fucking American military base.

Once this was all over, and things settled back down, you’d have to ask Hulk if he wouldn’t mind letting you talk to Bruce. If Bruce wouldn’t mind coming up for a conversation.

That was something for later though, for now you’d just let your nerves calm and bask in not having to worry about walking.

Without another word you curl more securely into Hulk’s hold, tucking your head into his neck, your umber skin and tight curls brushing over the protruding veins there, and moving one of your arms up to wrap around Hulk’s neck.

As you all make your way down the elevator and back to the quinjet you’re fully content to keeping silent. Fingers tangled lightly in the dark hair at the base of Hulk’s neck you lean in to press plump two-toned lips to his skin in a lingering kiss.

Hulk huffs. Big hands secure you to his chest even more than you already are and his thumb and forefinger squeeze fondly, delicately, around your waist, his giant head leaning just enough to press lightly over yours for a second.

Eyes watering, you smile into him, hands trembling in his hair as you hug him harder.

You missed him, and you missed Bruce (missed the knowledge that he was safe even when you couldn’t directly talk to him because Hulk was safe) and that had strained on you badly.

At least you had them back now though. And this time around you’d be far meaner and a lot less lenient about parting from them again.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!! Didn’t expect that this would be the first fic out of all the Bruce/Hulk fics I’ve started this year that I’d post, but it worked out anyway.

Also, honestly, I forgot how the episode began and was sequenced so this is more inspired by “The Deadliest Man Alive” - S2EP22 episode of EMH than a rewrite of it. Fortean is here too so that doubly doesn’t support this being a direct rewrite; I just needed to throw some shots his way too though so that’s why he’s here.

And the title is from the Coco Jones song bcs I was listening to it on repeat while finishing writing this, the fic isn’t inspired by the song tho.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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apocalypse-shuffle · 2 months ago

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Texas’ HB 3399 bill will kill people if it passes. It will make hormone therapy illegal. For all ages. Period. This was never about women’s sports. It was never about bathrooms. It was never about “protecting the children”. They want us dead. If you’re a fellow trans person and you live in Texas, I strongly urge you to be ready to move somewhere safer.

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apocalypse-shuffle · 2 months ago

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Let me just remind you guys that...

AI fanfiction is not fanfiction

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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months ago

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⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆DROLTA TZUENTES⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ | THE HIGH PRIESTESS (castlevania: nocturne)

—

Being a priestess under Drolta (Drolta & Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

SFW, fluff, egypt -high priestess!drolta

Self-indulgence thy name is Trixie, but I don’t even care. (Pic source: “The Widows Window” S2EP3)

Drolta is not an easy high priestess. She lures you in from squalor, fattens you with devotion for a goddess that has long since been banished from open speech, and she houses you beneath that very goddess’s temple. She trains you too, convinces you to take her blood, and shows you how to hunt under the sun’s blocked beams.

Your high priestess was a devoted woman, one that took her position and your sanctity incredibly seriously. She regalled you with tails of raiders and theft and then she trained you hard, honed your skills until your fangs and the tip of a blade were just as familiar to you as your own hands and their newly sprung claws.

She shows you how fulfilling the hunt for the vein can be. You watch her lure travelers in with a slick tongue and saccharine smile and realize there really are things better than human food. Drolta favors men with helmets most. High pointed silver helmeted men who carry the swords of interlopers and hold themselves with too much self importance; who act as if they have all the right to you.

Drolta teaches you to hate them. She teaches you to scowl in the directions of all humans on a whole, teaches you that they’re beneath you and shows you how to stand tall with that truth.

Drolta was not overly harsh, however. When you cry tears over one of the more experienced of your sisters failing to take Sekhmet in, she presses kisses to each of your heads and encourages you all to shed tears of life. After all, whenever one of you failed the collective took that failure on as their own as well.

There were times dedicated to more than learning. Nights where she’d take a handful of followers to search for information, to kill for it if need be. She could not assure Sekhmet’s place at the top of everything if she was uninformed after all.

When standing over your mauled lessers with blood running down your chin and crimson staining your lips begins to weigh on your shoulders, begins not to seem like such a position you have a right to hold, Drolta takes you aside to assuage your hesitancy alone.

Her voice is light as the breeze and more brazen than gold as she tells you of the raiders and the vampire. Of Sekhmet’s sign and Drolta’s answered prayers. Reminds you of all that Sekhmet is; both healing and war.

She braids sparkling twine into your hair or wraps the thin rope around your locs. Decorates your curls or bundles with threaded beads and gold clasps.

Drolta presses kisses to your temples and grabs your hands to hold as she procures incense to burn and draws lines of your vampiric blood beneath the goddess’ statue in further offering.

When you pray to Sekhmet, a feline skull offered between you two, Drolta leads you through a prayer for Sekhmet to point her towards a worthy host who won’t burn upon consuming her sacred presence— her blood was all Drolta had; and she knew it wasn’t truly enough, but she was doing what she could so the goddess could walk the earth once again.

Drolta’s eyes gleam like two glowing fuschia dots in an abyss — every new followers' enhanced senses made it so that the golden glow of candlelight now scarcely graced the temple — as she pleads. Her gaze is enchanting in the darkness and the smile she gives you is sharp only for her fangs, her expression so startlingly open for a few moments that you get a glimpse of the softer human woman she used to be even though you couldn’t recognize that.

When she realizes you're having trouble getting to sleep due to your new enhanced senses she grounds smoked poppyseeds with blood then wafts the mixture near your tomb until you nod off. Most of it is the placebo effect taking over your vampiric brain, as a member of the un-dead nothing could truly sustain you that wasn’t blood and even less could affect you enough to cause adverse symptoms, but she still takes the time to mix the elixir up for you anyway.

Overall, Drolta is not an unfair high priestess so long as you are devoted to the cause, and to Sekhmet in turn.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

Once again, me and Egypt might as well be total fucking strangers, and all the reading I did for this was relatively cursory so don’t take my lil headcanons at face value when it comes to historical accuracy.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months ago

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if you're posting a whole fanfiction to tumblr you've got to put it under a readmore boss

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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months ago

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Doechii Best Rap Album acceptance speech at the 67th Annual GRAMMY Awards | February 2, 2025

#doechii #gifs #not my post

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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months ago

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I respect an "I can fix him" villainfucker 50x more than a "he didn't do anything wrong, he's just misunderstood!" villainfucker. like yeah they both get the cute domestic happily ever after, but man the first guy has depth they have nuance and most importantly they are actually aware they're a villainfucker

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apocalypse-shuffle · 3 months ago

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JASON TODD | RED HOOD (arkhamverse)

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Jason w/ an S/O who has locs (Jason Todd x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

SFW, 18+, minors dni, some smut, the reader-insert’s hair is long - some Caribbean-American!Reader as well

Pic source — Batman: Arkham Knight video game & Batman: Arkham Knight - Red Hood Story Pack DLC

Jason first sees you when you're coming out of the corner store, and he might be in a rush, but he remembers your hair: long and full with little naturally formed curls at some of the ends from when he’d knocked into you a little as you were going in and him out.

You’d sucked your teeth and cussed at him a little under your breath, but ultimately didn’t kick up much fuss after his low grunt of an apology.

He’d taken note of the accent, and the voice accompanying it, that had rolled off your tongue when you’d cussed at him though. Which he capitalized on the next time he was in your area of the Alley, recognizing you by your voice enough to strike up a conversation with you even though he’s in the middle of bulldozing through what’s left of the stubborn stranglers of Black Mask’s old operation.

Jason probably shouldn’t be hitting on you, but he doesn’t care and you don’t know any better. He is embarrassingly rusty at regular (non vigilante) socialization and too blunt at times. He’s pretty though, and with his scar relatively covered by the shadows cast by the big hood he slips back over his head part way through your conversation after you start fully watching him, and a little concealer, you don’t question the trouble he might get up to either. He’s able to secure a promise to meet up for coffee after giving you the number of his least incriminating burner like he’s a real boy or something too.

Some of the members of his militia (before they disbanded) that he was closer to had tried urging him to form some kind of life outside of ‘work’, so he figures he’ll at least try something casual with you now.

Eventually he’s been seeing you for long enough that he knows how much he finds your untouched hair and new growth adorable and knows about all the hangups you have with people automatically assuming your hair is dirty when you don’t have a fresh re-twist.

He likes to plant his hands in your hair and scratch at your scalp whenever you’re just chilling when you’ve got new growth best. Your roots are soft like that and he likes maneuvering around the bundles where each of your locs are sectioned off. Plus, how you shiver and press into his touch or bare your neck for him like there isn’t a knife in the sleeve of his motorcycle jacket that could be in his hand in seconds and groan happily is more therapeutic than he’d ever thought something so small could be.

After one long day of your stilted responses Jason comes up to your flat expecting to find you asleep during the last two hours left in the afternoon. What he finds instead is the aftermath of you having worked your ass off that Saturday and you using the last of the sun's rays to your advantage to dry your thick head of hair so your head doesn’t end up smelling like a wet mop at the end of the day.

You’re clearly a little tired when you greet him and Jason is a little shocked at just how much effort you put into your locs and their maintenance.

He’s seen you get ready most other days and do little more than oil your scalp, moisturize your roots, and rub the remaining oil on your palms over the actual length of your locked up hair to tame some of your locs’ fuzziness. The level of work you put into bigger more comprehensive wash days is definitely unexpected for him based on that.

It’s after that that he just asks if he can accompany you when he isn’t busy on your wash days so he isn’t being deprived of you for ‘no good reason’. It’s not too long after that when he asks if he can help you out, especially once he sees you getting ready to strip down for a shower.

Something which is only possible if Jason is comfortable with you seeing the ‘J’ brand carved into his cheek at all.

Acts of service, especially, are what he’s best at when it comes to connecting with you, but he might have to cajole you to agree. Being with you, also, is a reprieve from his skull busting as the Red Hood. A reprieve from the steaming piles of shit he faces every night. He actively cherishes and looks forward to his time with you even if you can’t always tell due to how hard Jason’s grisled face is to read.

Rough as his hands typically are (especially with you sometimes, when you’re hooking up) a part of Jason craves the open excuse he has to be soft with you when dealing with your locs.

He likes the show of trust from you, too, even if he’d hardly even admit that you being so open with him makes his stomach hurt and makes him want to duck his head like a nervous school girl with a crush.

The feeling of you relaxing into him more when his hands are so close to your throat is so overwhelming that first time that he has to grit his teeth so he doesn’t tear up anymore than he already is. He’s not a killer around you, not a mistake or a pawn or one large walking bruise, he’s just Jason; sometimes that can feel like a curse but that day it feels like a gift he won’t ever be worthy of deserving.

Good thing for him that he’s a selfish vindictive bastard and doesn’t care about what the universe thinks. It’s taken enough from him as is, he isn’t looking to defer to it for anything so ridiculous as permission.

You’re nervous and embarrassed as hell about soaking your hair in apple cider vinegar around him for the first time. It’s not just that the smell of diluted vinegar mixture in and of itself makes your nose permanently scrunch until you’re done and has you sneezing for just as long either; you’re detoxing your hair and getting rid of any product and/or dirt buildup, the liquid mixture in the basin won’t exactly be clear afterwards.

Jason doesn’t even give a shit, though, and is mostly just worried about the position of your neck as you’re soaking your locs. He knows it’s only twenty or so minutes but he’s worried anyway, and don’t let you start cracking your neck afterwards either, you’ll send that man into a frenzy.

He gives you a massage afterwards, calloused hands inexperienced and far too touchy for a masseuse, but effective enough to have you moaning. His voice gets low and breathy when you give way to him like this, and Jason ends up nursing a chub for the better part of the rest of your afternoon together.

He’ll do your locs outside if you prefer (so long as there’s shade for him to hide in while you take in enough sun for you both), but mostly you just go outside to let the sun catch the top of your head while you do some work so you don’t have to sit up underneath a dryer or hold a dryer up to your head for way longer than you’d like.

If you are outside though (for whichever reason) Jason always humors the neighborhood kids walking around or playing, even more than you’d initially thought he would. Anyone older who strikes up a conversation with you, too, Jason will passingly interact with, even if he leaves most of the conversation up to you and only really engages with the other person whenever you cue him into the conversation in some way.

He doesn’t tend to look at people head on when they’re actually paying attention to him, and it’s less so from anything like shame and more so because he’s angling his head down so nobody sees the scar, the brand. The gawking pisses him off so he’d rather just avoid it entirely.

Jason is also just fine with being the one to hold your hair dryer up to your head and move your locks around so every bit gets dry the way you need them to.

You help him figure out the direction that your locs twist (either clockwise or counter clockwise) so he doesn’t mess up the strength of your roots by twisting against their natural direction and thinning them out; he follows through with all the rest of your locs immediately.

You can see him contemplating whether or not he’s supposed to take the rat-tail comb to your head in order to retwist your locs before you slip it from his fingers and apply oil to his hands yourself, demonstrate how to palm roll your locs yourself, and then letting him have at it.

Even at his big ass age Jason’s legitimately terrified he might mess up your hair (and of your tears and retribution thereafter) and so he’s paying extra attention, but he also keeps having to rub his palms dry on his pants when you’re going over everything.

You might laugh at him about his nerves a little, but you’ve got a whole very specific and very purposeful hair care routine going on, he’s just trying to concentrate.

Despite how much you tease him for worrying about messing up your hair you still make sure to inspect the first of your locs that he oils and retwists — two mirrors, aerial pictures, and all — just to make absolutely sure he’s really got it.

Jason’s brows climb high up his forehead and he whistles when you pull out the bag you keep all of your hair supplies in.

He still makes sure to note the brands and the unique labels of your hair products just in case he wants to get you some later; he does not want to end up bumbling around the beauty supply store racking his brain for what you use and having to interact with more people than he definitely wants to.

He scoffs a laugh the second he realizes most of the bag’s contents are hair jewelry and beads. You just smile at him.

When one of your relatives sends over homemade coconut oil and you offer him some he nearly passes away he’s so frazzled. You hord that shit like it’s gold, he’s flattered you want to share with him.

He loves the way your hair supplies smell too, though he wasn’t quite ready for the smell of homemade coconut oil.

More often than not Jason will pull you close just to catch a whiff of the products you use. Usually though it’s when your scalp is free of your more heavier products and the natural scent of your scalp is prominent that he’ll stop you in the middle of you walking somewhere or come up behind you when you’re busy to wrap his arms around you and just plant his nose in your scalp for a few moments.

The first time he did this you called him a freak and then laughed so hard you started to hiccup. You love it though.

Jason carries oversized hair ties with him once you start regularly seeing each other in case you need a backup and so that he can put your hair up himself whenever need may be without having to worry about the elastic snapping.

Whenever you’re riding him he prefers for you to leave your hair down and let your locs hang around your head for as long as possible. Loves how you look above him with your hair haloing your ecstasy strewn face and the little curtain of intimacy it gives you two.

How solidly he’s able to fist your hair and pull is something he appreciates about your locs too. If he knows some of your locs are thin or otherwise in recovery he won’t pull on your hair though.

If you’re doing a bigger or more complicated style with your hair he likes to sit and watch you when he can. There’s likely something else he was supposed to be doing too but he can’t help but stop to watch how your lips purse in concentration or your eyes cross as you’re trying to look at the back of your head in the mirror.

He doesn’t typically interfere — and really he couldn’t if he wanted to considering he can barely put your hair into a decent looking ponytail no matter how effective they are at staying in — but if you’re struggling to get a loc in place or to wrap a bundle of your hair and he sees you getting frustrated and tired he’ll move to hold your arms in place to give you a break from holding them up to your head for so long. He might not kiss you but he will rub little circles into the brown of your skin to help ease how your muscles ache.

You get Jason some sympywyby (ie: an aloe plant) as a gift because it’s supposed to be low maintenance and because he’d mentioned certain grounding techniques people used in passing. Given how absentminded he can be, especially if he tells you about being the Red Hood and/or the Arkham Knight, you get him the plant to help ground him. It’s immature when you gift it to him and generally allows him to track the passing of time if he loses himself to the weight of his memories and doesn’t want you coming to visit him just in case he lashes out.

He goes out of his way to harvest some of the plant to make a gel for you to put into your hair. He forgets to cook out the toxins at first and so when you ask him about it and he looks at you blankly you laugh, fondly rolling your eyes with your phone to your ear, and just tell him you’re flattered anyway. The next night he’s got the toxins taken cared of and is brandishing a recycled jar of gel (from a past product you had that ran out) wrapped with a ribbon tied into an absolutely immaculate bow for you to take.

The first time Jason ever sees you put your hair up quick quick while you’re in a rush without a hair tie he squints for a few long beats. You take two-three of your locs and wrap them around the bundle of the rest of your hair in your fist and use those couple of stray locs like a hair tie before probably rushing in to help someone and his first thought is that you’re fucking amazing. His second thought is about why the fuck he’s been buying and carying around special hair ties for you if you could just do that the whole time?!

It’s because you don’t want to put too much tension on your roots, but he doesn’t know that yet.

If you’re putting hair jewelry or beads in your hair he always offers to help if he’s around. He likes helping you and inexplicably feels closer to you whenever he’s winding colorful thread around your locs or beading them or just helping you clip on decorations and jewels attached to spun wire.

When you jingle when you walk due to how much beads or rings you’re wearing in your hair he finds it more comforting than he’d like to admit that he’s able to pinpoint where you are instantly no matter how soft your movement. It’s good, too, knowing that you trust Jason so explicitly that it doesn’t even cross your mind to be worried about the fact that he can find you instantly when you’re around him.

Beads do make it harder for ayo to cuddle the way he likes though, so there is that downside even though he still thinks you’re pretty as fuck. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice.

The first time you lose a loc around Jason it’s because of stress, you’d been pulling at your roots and worn them thin, and when it just comes off in the middle of the two of you talking you’re so embarrassed you burst into tears right then and there. Jason panics hard and has no option with how incoherent you get through your tears but to fail at reassuring you there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and to throw every method he knows has cheered you up in the past at you until you stop. Breathing exercises are not off the table, and with Jason’s low cadence (even as boyishly overconfident as it could get sometimes) letting him coach you down isn’t too much of a struggle.

If you lose a loc just due to regular tension and traction then the same proceedings on Jason’s end will occur too, don’t worry.

Jason doesn’t hesitate to help you reattach and strengthen your loc(s) to the best of his ability. He’s gentle with your hair, fingers as precise as if he were connecting the wires of a bomb and his demeanor just as serious; his breath steady as it fans over the exposed parts of your scalp.

After he’s finished (and you’ve inspected his work) he pulls you onto his lap and you rest your head over his heart as he carefully massages oil into your scalp and curbs the urge he has to intermittently press kisses to your hairline by instead occasionally ghosting his lips over your hairline while you two talk.

He reassures you everything is honestly fine and when you pull him into an air stealing make-out session in thanks he grips you tighter and sighs into it, completely unphased when your hair knocks softly onto his face in turn. Even when your locs brush over the ‘J’ brand he doesn’t stop, can’t say he hates the feel of them catching against any of his scars in general and he’s got no idea why.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!!

I honestly don’t have much else to say besides that.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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