H U N T R E S S

[predctory]

#PREDCTORY -- private & selective blog for Marvel's GREER GRANT NELSON aka TIGRA, THE WERE-WOMAN.

a study in -- grief, trauma, motherhood, animal instinct, losing your humanity, helping others instead of yourself, inferiority complex, feminism.

rules & stats ☾ physicality ☾ headcanons ☾ verses ☾ prompts ☾ pinterest ☾ spotify

as petted by Tash ( she / her ) 30+ Australian.

BLOGROLL : @medusx / @madamasque

[predctory]

Tell me what you need from me. I'll do it

THE SPACE BETWEEN US // accepting

Everything seems so much louder these days. There’s so much noise, so much static. Seems like she’s hearing all the same things, too. I’m so sorry. He was a hero. We’re all going to miss him.

Funny, how death changes peoples opinions of somebody. They only seem to remember the good. Well it’s a little too late, she thinks. Hank needed to hear these things before. She needed to not be the only one who was telling him. Maybe if other people said it, maybe he’d really, actually, believe it.

Maybe he wouldn’t have made a martyr out of himself if he had.

Hank’s voice was the only one that could ever drown out the noise. The voice that she could hear from a mile away & that grounded her. That made her feel safe & seen. That comforted her.

For a moment she thinks she can hear it; blinks away the maddening static & hones in on reality. She blinks again at Scott, & she lets out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding with a short, heavy sigh.

“I uh — I need you t’go through his lab.” she tells him, voice dry & croaky. “I can’t go in there, it…”

Greer sighs again, longer & heavier this time as she scrubs a paw over her face. “it still smells like him.”

[predctory]

come here, let me look at you. / from marc

MAKING DEMANDS // accepting

for @bloodpinning’s moon knight !

Black pupils stare back at her from the mirror, pointy ears twitching to her left in the direction of his voice. Paws drop from her auburn mane, she’d been contemplating tying it up when his sharp footsteps started echoing down the hall of the Mission & into her sensitive ears. He was wearing his dress shoes, that three-piece, that Mr Knight costume & attitude to match.

Her tail is a dead giveaway, swinging slow & wide & excitedly behind her as she takes one last look at herself in the mirror. Admires the tight green dress while she can, before she soaks it in vampire blood, before she’s compelled in his direction by the command in his voice. It wasn’t a suggestion — Marc is probably the only person other than Clint who can get away with telling her what to do.

But for different reasons.

Greer stops in front of him with barely any space between them, only an inch between his shoes & her clawed feet. He reaches up with a gloved hand to gently tip her head back enough to peer down his nose at her. It takes more effort than a lady’d care to admit to keep herself from purring.

Her slow blink might give him an inkling on how she’s feeling, though. “See somethin’ y’like?”

[neonwebs]

@predctory // “why are you staring at us?”

ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛᴇᴅ || ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ!

"Because what do you mean I smell funny?" My face twists under the mask. She and her son have mentioned this a couple of times; they think I can't hear what they're saying. Overhearing is one of the many "perks" of being Spider-Man. Until it's something that you don't want to hear. "I've got at least twelve different expensive scents back at my apartment; I'm not supposed to smell funny."

[predctory]

Greer frowned as he leant in menacingly toward her, reaching forward to snatch her son back by the arm. Okay, pal — chill out. We just asked a question. Also she thought she was the only one round here with super hearing.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean it in like — a bad way. Different, I guess. You smell a little… musty.”

Gods only knew what they smelled like to other people.

“Also, pro-tip: cologne makes us sneeze. Anyway, you smell fine, promise. Kid just can’t keep his mouth shut — gets that from me.”

[predctory]

anyway if we haven’t interacted yet / don’t have threads / you miss me send me memes !

[hammared-haxa]

Point Vicente / Palos Verdes, California

[predctory]

let me drive – you can enjoy the scenery. ( it's an ant. he's driving an ant. a giant ant. )

“You got a licence for this thing?”

This was not her idea of an ant ride. Although it was a little more literal than what she was thinking. Furry arms tightened around @aston1sh1ng’s waist from behind as she leant her head over to the side to get a look out over the city, long mane whipping behind her in the wind.

“You gotta get Hank t’hook you up with a Dimensional Door, Scott — don’t you get cold on this thing?”

[predctory]

…….hm.

[predctory]

me while you guys react to mcu content for ur characters: 🧍🏻‍♀️

[imaxyxia-xj]

[ma1nmenu]

Greer is tougher than nails. And far more resilient too. Still, despite her many strengths, Marc doesn't treat her roughly. He treats her with the respect she deserve, his feet giving himself a small push up as she tugs him forward. Just because she can lift a car over her head doesn't mean he should go limp and useless while she helps him stand up.

He squeezes her hand back in turn as she tugs him along. He can't resist the urge to have their hands swing back and forth a bit as they walk. "So I should get ready for my wallet to be empty after this, got it," Marc remarks with a soft laugh. It's a heartfelt laugh, one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

[predctory]

"I'll get the next one." she promises, turning her body round head before tail so she can walk by his side as they push out through the doors of the Midnight Mission. Greer follows his lead as they walk down the street together, ignoring (as ever) the few eyes around that can't help but be drawn in her direction. Even in the dead of night she sticks out like a sore thumb. Hard to beat her at a staring contest -- truthfully it's the whispers that bug her most. But she's had about ten years of practice at this point, blocking them out. Blocking out the haters, Brandon used to say.

"So uh, how's that shrink of yours goin'?" Probably not the most subtle way of asking how he's doing but, Greer is anything but subtle. Hopefully he still finds it endearing. "Sterman, right? Read her book a while back, pretty interestin' read." Honestly Greer thought it was a bit on the nose back then, but after dealing with all of her own shit in the last five or so years, she found it a little less cliché.

Still not enough to get her into the chair, though.

[predctory]

[hightideblues11]

[predctory]

when Greer gets too hot she unfortunately does become a mouth breather

[predctory]

[werewolfbynite]

"don't let it get to your head, sweetheart. I could drop you." it was an idle threat, one he wouldn't follow through on--- not while he was using his hold on her to cop a feel. he couldn't move as gracefully as she could, but he navigated well enough for being so top heavy. out the door, one turn, a short jaunt down a short hallway, and he was using his precious cargo to push his bedroom door open.

the curtains were already drawn open around the platformed bed, clearing the way for him to toss her onto it like a sack of flour. as always, the werewolf was looking to get a rise out of her, like the satisfied little smirk he wore suggested. "easy on the mattress, it's new." and it hadn't been properly broken in. yet.

jack would admire the view between the articles of clothing he stripped off. his shirt went first, tossed carelessly across the room. his socks went next and joined the shirt. fumbling with his his belt made it jingle in protest, but it joined the pile on the floor all the same. he was about to drop the green pants, too, when he decided it would be more fun to have them taken off of him. so they stayed on while he climbed onto the foot of the bed.

every inch of space he took was an inch she drew back, and he didn't give up the chase until her back was against the padded headboard, and his face hovering between her legs. it didn't take a visionary to see what he had in mind. "lose the bottoms, pussycat." if she didn't know then, the tongue running over his bottom lip defnitely gave him away.

[predctory]

Greer had to chuckle at that. “Guess y’haven’t heard th’one about cats always landin’ on their feet?” she quipped back, pressing her chest a little more firmly against his as he so graciously carried her back to his den. Though his was less so as he unceremoniously tossed her onto the bed. She had enough time to twist enough so's she wouldn't land on her tail, stretching out languidly along the edge of the bed; her tail swishing wide -- & somewhat -- impatiently he started giving her a private little strip show.

Woof. "Ouch -- still sore about th'bed, huh?" Honestly, Jack, you're lucky a water bed lasted this long with these claws.

Pointy ears twitched at the metallic jingle of the belt buckle as Jack fumbled with it, keen eyes tracking the movement of his hands as they stalled at the waist of his pants. A curious, animal tilt of her head was all she gave him before he began stalking her. She decided to play along, a playful little smirk pulling at the corner of her black lips as she shuffled onto paws & knees & began to slowly back up. When her footpads hit the pillows, Greer swung her legs around beneath her, sitting on top of them so she wouldn't squish her tail as she leant against the headboard. He wanted to play predator, did he?

Yeah, good luck, Jacky boy.

Soft footpads pressed firm against his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks as he crawled towards her. Pupils narrowed at the command, every instinct & need for control flaring. But she put a lid on it, for now. Maybe she could be enticed to play nicely... Paws slowly made their way to her hips. Normally she would just cut them away, she had long since hidden a couple of emergency bikinis in his underwear drawer, but she'd already decided she was going to make him work for his place on top tonight. Greer hooked her thumbs into the waistband, & with an aching slowness she drew her foot away from him, planted both on the mattress, & began the agonising decent of those bottoms to her ankles.

[phantom-threaded]

The Aristocats 1970, dir. Wolfgang Reitherman