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kweenhera · 21 days ago

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Kleya as Mon's head of security, New Republic

[Excerpt from fanfic Rebellions Eat Their Own]

Coruscant, New Republic Interim Capital,5 ABY

“I still say she should have been Supreme Chancellor,” Admiral Ackbar grumbled. “A thousand-year tradition tossed overboard, and for what? Optics?” That last word was delivered in a tone that suggested little respect for the concept and less for its proponents.

“Reminds people too much of Palpatine. You might as well make her Emperor then, that’s what the Gerrerists say.” This was General Organa’s husband, the Navy Liaison Secretary. He spoke casually, as if he was only half-paying attention to the proceedings. His companion, the Wookiee, growled noncommittally in Shyriiwook.

“Gerrerists, pah! They despise her, always have. The day I take advice from their camp, feel free to have me court-martialed for incompetence. We should have distanced ourselves from those cranks after Yavin, you mark my words Solo.”

“Easy now, Gial. Think about your blood pressure. I don’t want to be the one to tell your wife if you collapse on the Senate floor.” This prompted an almost certainly performative display of offense from the Mon Calamari, and the two soldiers kept up their banter for the remainder of the investiture ceremony. Kleya Marki cursed the event planner that had seated her next to the two most tedious members of the interim government.

Like Secretary Solo, Kleya was not giving the ceremony her full attention. As Director of Capital Security, her mind was instead fully occupied by the myriad of security risks which were her responsibility. Her mind was a labyrinth of ingress and egress points, dead angles, threat assessment reports and an exhaustive list of every bounty hunter and blaster-for-hire that had entered Coruscant over the last six months. She had personally overseen the deactivation of every KX-series droid in storage on Coruscant, and dedicated a not-insignificant portion of her budget to set bounties on those that remained unaccounted for. Her team had near-enough disassembled every single repulsorpod platform in the Senate Chamber as part of their inspections. They’d come away with a treasure trove of Imperial surveillance devices, but no signs of sabotage. Predictably, this did not ease her nerves. Later in the evening, when things began to go wrong, she would have reason to appreciate the sensitive nerves that a lifetime of subterfuge had cultivated in her.

It began when Chancellor Mothma’s repulsorpod docked at the wrong door. On any other day, Kleya might have chalked this up as a simple mistake or a spur-of-the-moment detour. But her instructions to the Senatorial Guard had left no room for misunderstanding. They had even rehearsed it. She felt the pit of her stomach tighten.

“Something’s wrong,” Kleya said. "Raaaarrrgh!", said Chewbacca.

“Quite right!” agreed Ackbar. “She does look grandiose in that outfit. Reminds one of the good old days of Chancellor Valorum…”

“Shut up, all of you. Come with me.” She rose suddenly and began to walk quickly to the turbolift in the exterior corridor. The three veterans she had been seated with followed with looks of confusion on their faces. Solo and Ackbar looked confused, anyway. The Wookiee was difficult to read.

“You’re armed?” she asked with a glance back at them. “Sure,” Secretary Solo drawled. “Chewie has two of them, right Chewie?” The Wookiee growled affirmatively and brandished his muscular arms. Kleya had to hold back a rude comment. Whatever it was that a woman like Leia Organa had seen in this two-bit HoloNet comedian continued to evade her. Though to be fair , she thought, she’d hardly be the first aristocratic girl to look for comfort with a ruffian like him . They entered the turbolift and she punched their destination into the console.

“Director Marki, you’ll oblige me by telling me right now what’s going on.” She found herself standing to attention by pure force of habit. The stodgy, quarrelsome Mon Calamari who just minutes ago had been complaining about ceremonial propriety was nowhere to be found. Ackbar was cool-headed under pressure, she reflected, which was perhaps what she respected most about him. She collected her thoughts and replied.

“They’re going to try to kill the Chancellor. I don’t know who’s responsible or what their plan is, but it’s happening. We need to get to her right now, or she’s gone.” A hush settled on the cramped turbolift that felt like it lasted for an eternity.

“Elaborate,” Ackbar barked, like a starship commander addressing a panicked junior officer. Not too far from the truth, Kleya admitted to herself. She had served on his bridge as an ensign at Endor.

“She’s due on the Presidium in,” glancing at her chrono, “eighteen minutes and fifteen seconds. There’s one route through this building that gets her there on time, and she’s not on it. I mapped it out myself.” She turned and met Ackbar’s gaze. “If I’m wrong, feel free to have me court-martialed for incompetence.” The admiral nodded.

“I won’t,” he said after a moment. “Though I can’t speak for the rest of the Council, even if you’re right.” He crouched, reached into his long-flippered boot and retrieved a hold-out blaster. Solo was also holding a blaster now, though she hadn’t seen where he’d had it stuffed away. Almost automatically, she made a note to include pat-down checks of senior Alliance officials in future security protocols. If I’m ever in a position to set security protocols again , she reflected.

They caught up with the Chancellor’s entourage just a moment too late. They were walking at a brisk pace, apparently having realized they’d taken a detour. Mothma was at the head of the party, chatting politely with Senator Jebel, the Minister of Finance. Two blue-armored Senatorial Guards flanked the group, armed with ceremonial force pikes. A maintenance droid was working on a power coupling ahead of the group. Kleya knew there was no maintenance scheduled for this sector today. She broke into a sprint just as the droid turned towards Chancellor Mothma. As it raised its left arm, the exterior chassis retracted to reveal the double barrels of a wrist-mounted blaster. Baktoid Combat Automata, B-2 series , Kleya’s mind noted automatically.

“D-death to the Corporate Sector Authority!” the droid’s tinny voice rang out. “Senator Jebel!” she cried, and the man turned and caught the blaster bolt in his shoulder. The air smelled of ozone and burning flesh as he fell, the droid pinned to the ground by the Senatorial Guard. A wave of relief began to wash over Kleya, but it dried up instantly when she saw the look on Mon Mothma’s face.

...

While she waited for Mon Mothma in the Chancellor’s office, Kleya ran down her list of questions again in her mind. How had the Chancellor’s route been diverted? Who could have access to a weapons system from the Clone Wars and the know-how required to hide it in a maintenance droid? Who had authorized that droid to perform maintenance at this exact time and place? She dearly wanted answers to these questions and so would the Chancellor. She found herself again standing to attention as she heard the low hiss of the door sliding open.

Mon Mothma didn’t ask her to sit, which was a bad sign. “Senator Jebel is dead,” she said as she took her own seat behind her desk. “They tell me the residual heat from the blaster bolt had burned out half his heart before the medical team arrived. There was nothing they could do.” She paused. “I’m sorry,” was the only thing Kleya could think to say. Mon Mothma wasn’t finished, however.

“I just spoke with his husband. He’s a teacher at the Academy in Uyter. I thought it best he heard the news from me and not the HoloNet. When he asked me how this could have happened, I didn’t have an answer.” The Chancellor looked Kleya dead in the eyes. “Do you?”

“Chancellor, if you want my resignation…” Kleya began.

“That’s not what I asked for. Do you know how this happened?”

“No,” Kleya forced herself to admit. Mothma sank back in her chair, looking suddenly very tired.

“I wanted you for this job, you know. When the others - Jebel, Pamlo, Dravits - said you’d always be Luthen’s creature, it seemed so… unfair to me. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for you and Luthen, none of us would be, we both know that. They could never forgive you for it. And now I can’t shield you from this.” Kleya lowered her head. This was it. All her work, everything she'd sacrificed, all undone in an afternoon because of a mistake she hadn’t even begun to understand.

“You’ll be reassigned to a less public-facing post with diminished responsibilities. That’s the best I can do.” Mothma’s apologetic tone made her want to cry. Anger, outrage, insults even, she could have weathered. But the disappointment of someone who had genuinely wanted a better outcome for her - that was almost too much to bear.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” the Chancellor continued in a tone that meant it was time for Kleya to leave. “I’m meeting with the delegation from Uyter to announce a planetary day of mourning.”

“Chancellor,” she said, managing to keep her voice steady as she saluted, turned and left the office.

#andor #andor series #star wars #kleya marki #kleya star wars #mon mothma #han solo #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 link

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chil-aglia · 1 month ago

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𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗜𝘀 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗿 𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗪𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗿 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

~𝑼𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎 𝑹𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒕~

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

Didn’t have time to draw anything for this chapter but PLEASE feel free to make your own art and idk tag me in it or something. Please I’m begging for fanart for this chapter and series in general. On my knees—

Warnings: Usual angst stuff I suppose, past abuse, etc

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The lair was a cacophony of noise—yelling, thudding, and what sounded suspiciously like something shattering in the next room. Three lay curled on his bed, one arm draped over his face, the other clutching a pillow with enough force to tear it in half.

He wasn’t used to this. The lab had been quiet. Still. Predictable. The only sounds had been the constant hum of Draxum’s machines, the occasional buzz of a containment field, or the quiet murmuring of Huginn and Muninn—just enough background to remind him he wasn’t entirely alone, but never intrusive. Never this.

A crash.

“Nardo!” Donatello’s voice rang through the walls, full of righteous fury. “I told you not to touch my stuff!”

“You know the rules!” Came the sing-song reply—Leonardo, naturally, as if taunting Donnie were a sport. “We call dibs on your stuff too!”

“Leo!” Michelangelo now, hyped and way too loud. “Pass it here! I’ll use my skills to make sure Donatello doesn’t get it back!”

“Guys, stop messin’ around!” That was Raphael. The voice of reason, theoretically. Though Three was quickly learning, Raphael’s attempts at peacekeeping often sounded just as chaotic as the fighting.

Three’s eyes twitched.

Another thud. Laughter. Running feet. Something—maybe someone—slammed into the wall and shook it hard enough that Three felt the vibration enough to rattle his teeth.

With a low growl, Three yanked the pillow from under his head and shoved it hard over his face, muffling both the racket and his increasingly desperate thoughts. Maybe if he held it down long enough, he’d pass out. Maybe suffocation was preferable to another hour of this insanity.

“Maybe I should’ve just let Draxum finish me off.” He muttered into the pillow, voice muffled and dry.

Another crash.

Sitting up, he decided that he couldn’t stay cooped up in his new room any longer, he got dressed in his usual uniform, making sure his body was covered in the familiar fabric and armor.

With much annoyance he opens the door to see what chaos would unfold before him. He steps out, hearing the commotion coming from the living room that he briefly saw a few times since coming here.

It had only been a week since he came here, and for the week, Three tried to find anything that would be worth reporting to Draxum about, but there was nothing, and he was slowly getting ticked off by it.

The moment Three stepped inside the living room, the noise hit him like a wave—full-bodied and unrelenting. Voices overlapping, furniture scraping against the floor, and the unmistakable sound of something ceramic shattering into tiny, irreparable pieces.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, glaring down the hallway like it had personally offended him.

“Donnie, it’s already broken! Let it go!” Leonardo called, smirking proudly.

“It wasn’t broken until you touched it!” Donatello thundered, groaning.

Three stopped at the threshold, arms crossed, leaning just slightly against the doorway. He took in the scene like one might examine a dumpster fire—fascinated in the worst way.

They were playing a video game on the projector, clearly way too into it for his tastes. He narrowed his eyes at the sight.

Three didn’t like this. How could he? Watching everyone be so close together was almost making him physically ill.

He watched as the brothers laughed and teased each other over a simple video game. All seated in a line in front of the projector, a racing game it looks like, with Donatello and Leonardo versing each other to get the highest score.

Three watched with bored eyes, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his plastron. He could never understand how someone could be so close to each other. It was a weakness in his eyes, but he also never had that…love while growing up with Draxum.

Not that he needed it. No way.

“Hey Three! Wanna join?” Michelangelo called out, noticing his older brother who was at the back of the living room. All eyes trained onto Three who briefly gave them a glance over, he then huffs with a stern look and pushes himself off the wall, not saying a word he walks away.

I’m not weak…not like them.

He barely made it two steps before bumping into something soft but solid.

Splinter.

The old rat blinked up at him, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “Oh. You're awake now?” he asked gently, hands tucked behind his back. “How’d you sleep?”

Three gave him a look—dry, unamused, laced with annoyance—and rolled his eyes. “Loudly.”

He sidestepped Splinter with no ceremony, brushing past him and heading toward the kitchen. Splinter watched him go, his expression thoughtful and quiet.

Perhaps some food could help him feel more awake and less stressed. He opens the fridge only to tilt his head in confusion. It was stocked, but with stuff he’s never seen before and he wouldn’t know how to cook it up.

“Great…just what I needed.” He grumbled under his breath, closing the fridge and placing his hands on his hips, tapping his foot to decide on what to do next with his morning.

He was hungry. But he didn’t want to risk trying something he didn’t know. Draxum had him on a strict diet, to keep him in shape, and Three didn’t want to disturb that. He’s the perfect warrior after all; his body is a temple after all.

He glanced toward the cabinets, eyeing the unfamiliar shapes and bright packaging like they were alien tech.

Draxum had been precise. Regimented. Three had been raised on bland nutrient paste, calculated calorie ratios, and exact timing down to the minute. Everything was controlled—because control created strength. Predictability created perfection.

These…snack cakes and fizzy sodas looked like poison in comparison.

His muscles twitch with irritation. Everything about this place was soft. Messy. Undisciplined. And yet, here he was—here, because Draxum left him here to spy on this family even though there was nothing of importance to take note of.

He looked back to the fridge, considering opening it again. Maybe there’s something raw. Eggs. Meat. Anything. But the idea of asking for help—to cook, to understand—made his skin crawl. He was built to survive, not to ask.

Perfect warriors don’t need help.

He could feel his hunger building now, a slow simmer just beneath the surface. It made him irritable. Restless. Weak.

A shuffle of feet made him snap his head toward the entrance.

Leonardo.

“Yo.” The slider leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You look like you’re trying to solve a crime scene instead of making breakfast.”

Three glared at him in silence.

Leonardo raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “You know you can just…eat right? The food’s not going to fight back. Probably.”

Three scoffed, turning away. “I don’t need your help.”

There was a beat of silence, “…You ever had cereal?” Leonardo asked, tone lighter now, almost teasing.

Three bristled. “I don’t eat garbage.”

The blue masked mutant smirked. “You will eventually. Mikey makes these banana pancakes that’ll break even the grumpiest turtle.”

“I’m not one of you.” Three snapped, turning sharply. “So stop acting like I am.”

Leonardo’s smirk faltered—just slightly—but he recovered quickly.

“Your family. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Three blinked. That wasn't the answer he expected.

Leonardo then grins at an idea, “I actually know the perfect food to have for breakfast.” He announces, turning around and shouting out to the others. “Guys get in here; we’re having pizza for breakfast!”

Pizza…?

Three watched as the other three stalked in, curious and eager at the mention of this pizza. Michelangelo beams, “Oh! I’ll make it. I’ve been dying to make pizza to advance my culinary skills.” He brightens up, shooing everyone out the kitchen as Three watches on in suspicion.

Three stood frozen, arms stiff at his sides as the kitchen was suddenly flooded with energy.

“Chef Mikey is in the building, baby!” He declared, snapping the apron strings behind his shell with an expert tug. “Get ready to have your tastebuds demolished.”

“Again, with the apron,” Donatello muttered from behind, adjusting his goggles with a sigh. “Every time.”

“You’re just jealous you don’t have one,” Michelangelo said, already rummaging through the fridge like it owed him money. “Now out, out, out—no audience in the kitchen while the maestro’s at work!”

Leonardo grinned and leaned into the counter lazily, tossing Three a quick glance. “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.” Three said flatly.

“Yeah, well, I don’t trust myself either. That’s how you know it’s fun.”

Raphael shrugged on his way out. “Just don’t burn the place down, Mikey.”

“You wound me, Raph!” The youngest called dramatically as he began chopping something that looked suspiciously like pineapples.

Three’s eyes narrowed. Fruit? On a breakfast dish? This couldn’t be real food. This had to be some elaborate trap—a test of loyalty, maybe. Or worse, a prank.

He backed up a step, wary, bumping lightly into Leonardo who had decided not to leave the kitchen despite Michelangelo’s orders. “Relax,” The red eared slider said, grabbing a stool and plopping down on it. “It’s not like we’re gonna poison you. That’s Raph’s department.”

A beat.

“...Kidding.” He added, though not quickly enough to be reassuring.

Three remained near the fridge, stiff, arms crossed, gaze flicking between the brothers. He didn’t sit. He didn’t speak. But he didn’t leave, either.

Michelangelo moved with surprising precision, twirling dough in the air like he’d been born in a pizzeria instead of a sewer. He ladled sauce with flourish, tossed toppings with flair, and hummed a tune that made Three’s eye twitch every time it hit a high note.

“Alrighty!” Michelangelo declared with a clap, sliding the pan into the oven. “Ten minutes, and the greatest breakfast pizza this side of the multiverse will be yours to behold.”

“You’re not using anchovies again, are you?” Donatello deadpans at him, sitting next to Leonardo.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dee! This is morning cuisine. Bacon, eggs, cheese, hash browns, and just a little bit of maple syrup for that classy touch.”

Three’s expression contorted like someone had just stepped on his foot.

What kind of monstrosity…?

And yet… his stomach growled again, louder this time.

Leonardo didn’t comment, but Three caught the tiny smirk tugging at his “twin’s” lips.

When the timer dinged, the smell that filled the lair was intoxicating—warm, greasy, and sugary all at once. Three tried not to react, but his nostrils flared involuntarily. Something primal stirred. He hated it.

“Behold!” Michelangelo declared, placing the steaming tray on the counter with the grace of a proud artist unveiling his masterpiece. “The Breakfast Supreme!”

Slices were passed around. Donatello grabbed his with one hand while tinkering with his wrist tech. Raphael took his and gave Michelangelo a quick nod of approval. Leonardo made a dramatic show of savoring the first bite like he was in a commercial.

Michelangelo, beaming, slid the last slice toward Three.

He stared at it. It stared back.

Egg. Bacon. Syrup. Cheese. Bread. A Frankenstein’s monster of flavors.

“You gonna stand there glaring at it, or are you gonna try it?” Leonardo asked, already halfway through his second slice.

Three said nothing. He picked up the slice slowly, like it might explode. He sniffed it once. Then bites it.

Silence.

Then… another bite.

He chewed.

And for the first time since arriving in the lair, Three didn’t look completely disgusted by something. Michelangelo leaned over to Leonardo and whispered loudly, “That’s what we call a culinary breakthrough.”

Three finished the slice in silence, eyes still narrowed, but no longer burning with annoyance.

He placed the plate down and gave a simple grunt. “...It’s edible.”

Leonardo laughed. “Have you seriously never had pizza before?”

Three shrugged, eyes still narrow. “No.”

All of them gawked to which he scowled at their surprised expressions. “What?” He hisses, making them clear their throats. “It’s just…pizza is so good. It's a little shocking to hear someone say they’ve never had it.” Raphael comments, rubbing the back of his neck as Three scoffs, standing up.

“Well, I guess not everyone has the pleasure of doing what they want.”

This comment even had Three himself flinching, eyes widened as he bites his lip. Was he seriously getting worked up over this? Over something dumb and not worth his energy to get mad at?

He was starting to feel stir crazy.

He turns around, stomping towards the exit as he ignores the looks from everyone. He had one hand over his face slightly to try and ground himself. He cannot get mad…not over that conversation of food.

“Donnie, I need help with my science homework!”

A voice that Three hadn’t registered who it belonged came hurtling towards him. It was the human girl that he saw briefly on their first meeting in Draxum’s lab. She had come running in, holding some liquid of sorts in jars, but neither of them had a chance to move out the way, bunking into one another as the strange liquid got all over Three.

Three blinked, shocked as the feeling of whatever it was the human made started to slightly burn. He hisses, jumping back slightly as he scratched at his armor.

It wasn’t doing anything to help.

“Whoa, Three, April. You okay?” Raphael suddenly called out, making his way over in a hurry as the others followed in concern. Three clicked his tongue, the sensation of the slight burn becoming irritating as he cursed under his breath.

“Off…gotta get it off—!” Three announced in slight panic, grabbing at his armor and began stripping it off hastily, he didn’t care if they were watching as he threw off everything, mask included as he pants heavily.

He steps back, staring at the armor and fabric that sprawled on the floor.

-----

“Stop! It burns!”

Three choked out, violently shaking as the liquid that Draxum made burned at his arms. He was strapped down, eyes red with tears of pain.

This was his punishment. All because he was slower than usual in training. He had stayed up late and as a result his performance was poor and sloppy. Draxum figured that this was a way to both wake him up and to punish his creation.

Creating a liquid of sorts that had the sensation of burning without actually leaving marks behind on his skin.

“I’ll do better, m-master! Just stop…”

-----

Three came to when he felt someone shaking his shoulder, snapping him to reality as he jerked away from the touch.

Michelangelo retracted his hand away; concern clear on his face as the others stood and stared at him. “You okay Three? You're looking, uh…pale?” Leonardo states gently, tilting his head as Three remains silent.

It was only a memory…one that was triggered by the brief pain of whatever liquid was spilled into his clothes.

That human…!

He growls, glaring at April who remained stunned at the sight of the turtle. “You damn idiot! I should cut you down!” He hissed out, stalking forward but was held back by Raphael who had his hand out in front of him.

“It was an accident. No harm done.”

“No harm? I have nothing to wear!”

He points down at the fabric that he was most definitely not going to wear for a while now. Or ever. He’d have to ask Draxum to make him a new outfit, and that was embarrassing.

“Aren’t you the guy who tried to kill us?” April raised her brow at him, hand on hip as Three huffs at her. “I can still kill you if that’ll jog your memory.” He threatens, clearly bitter. “What the hell did you even make that thing hurt?” He inquired, pointing at the empty jar of where the liquid once was.

“I don’t know. It’s why I was needing Donnie to help me!”

The two glared at each other, as Leonardo gulped and got in between them to calm everyone down. “Let’s all settle down. Why don’t we just eat some breakfast pizza and—“ He began only to be cut off by Three.

“I’m going to the room.”

He pushed past Leonardo and the others that blocked the exit, turning the corner and heading to the bedroom that was his for the time being.

He slams the door shut behind him, staring at the ground with narrowed eyes. He felt strange without his outfit. Uncomfortable and naked and vulnerable.

“Why did it have to be me to do this damn spy work?” He grumbles to himself, leaning off the door and walking to the bed, settling down as he reaches over to the other side, grabbing his sword as he observes it quietly.

His reflection blinking back at him through the shimmer of the blade.

Just get this done…then I’ll be back to Draxum’s side.

-----

A knock on the door disturbed Three from meditating, planning, just overall trying to calm down from the situation a few hours ago in the morning.

It had been around midday by now.

Another knock, twice now had Three twitched his eye in utter annoyance as he stood up. Knowing that whoever was on the other side wasn’t going to leave him be.

He reached the door, prying it open with a blank look. “What?” He hissed, looking slightly down to see the youngest of the brothers.

Michelangelo gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry, um…I kinda have a little gift for you.”

“…gift?”

Three eyed him suspiciously, crossing his arms over his exposed plastron as he leaned against the door frame.

“With your uniform you had been wearing for days all messed up…we, or I, uh…”

Three watched as Michelangelo fumbled with his words, sweating buckets anxiously as he continued to hide whatever it was behind his back that he had been keeping a secret from Three.

Three rolled his eyes. This was sounding to be a waste of his time. He had better things to do. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, I’m going back to—“ He began only to be abruptly cut off when Michelangelo suddenly presented the gift in front of his brother.

Three was surprised, taken aback for a second as he stared at the fabrics.

A black mask, matching straps to go over his plastron and shell. Matching gloves and socks. It looked similar to Leo’s outfit but had, of course, its differences.

He made this…?

“More of a sorry gift I guess…we feel bad that your only clothes were ruined.”

Hesitantly, Three takes the gear from the young box turtle, his eyes scanning over it. It didn’t seem too bad, and Three did have to wear something after all.

“…very well. I, ugh, appreciate this.” He said through slight distaste of the comment, even deadpanning when Michelangelo beams at him, bright eyed and equally bright smile.

“I’ll leave ya to get changed then!”

He quickly scurried off, Three processing for a second before closing the door and going back to the bed. He lays the new gear down, quietly debating on even wearing it.

Have to gain their trust…

He reminded himself of the mission, which was more than enough to convince him to get dressed.

It was far easier and simpler in comparison to his old uniform, which he admitted felt a little constricting.

He picks up the black mask, tying it around his face as he lets the tail ends flow down behind his shell. He blinks, eyeing himself down as he pulls his arms out in front of him, looking at the gloves, he does the same by looking down at his feet.

The belt was secure around his waist, and there was a holster behind his shell for his sword.

He might have to get used to having so much of his body exposed but other than that, he didn’t mind it.

“Huh…not bad Michelangelo. Not bad at all.”

His gaze settled over the symbol on his strap that he noticed the brothers seemed to wear. He narrowed his eyes, his first instinct to rip off the emblem.

Gain their trust…leave it on.

His hands fall to his sides, breathing in.

He was good at adapting. He can adapt to this.

…right?

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GUYS I GOTTA LOCK IN CAUSE THIS STORY IS BECOMING MY ENEMY FR

Quotev - Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Ao3 - Blood Is Thicker Than Water - Chapter 1 - Chilaglia - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

First Chapter here

Next Chapter here

Taglist:

@turtl3sk3tch3s

@katiemaycreate

@tenurez

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ladyhoneydarlinglove · 3 months ago

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blunt force comfort — luffy & zoro

{previous chapters: nami | usopp | sanji | chopper | robin | franky | brook }

just this and jinbe's chapter left to go in this series! thank you so much to everyone who's read/liked/commented so far, it's been a while since i posted any kind of gen fic and it really means a lot that people have been so responsive to it 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

{Read on Ao3}

Rating: G Notes: takes place somewhere between fishman island and punk hazard.

~~~~~

Before the two year separation from his crew, Luffy hated taking watch, because watch was always long and boring and quiet. He wiggled out of it as much as he possibly could, and since half the time he ended up falling asleep anyway, the rest of the crew eventually just took him out of the rotation unless someone else was injured. Captain’s privileges, they called it, which Luffy knew was a nice way of sugar-coating the fact that they didn’t want him doing it anymore; but he took the out because it meant no more nights being bored out of his gourd.

So he can tell that Nami’s surprised when she’s drawing up the new rotations on their ascent from Fishman Island and Luffy asks to be included. Rayleigh told him that he needed to get more comfortable doing small things that he doesn’t like, and as annoying as it is, Luffy knows he’s right. He figures asking to be put on watch is as good a place to start as any.

“Oh, Luffy,” Nami says with a confused smile, “that’s okay, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” Luffy cuts her off. “I want to.”

She blinks at him a few times. “Um, okay. Sure.” She looks down at her chart and hums thoughtfully. “How about I put you in between Brook and Zoro?”

“Sounds great!” Luffy laughs and wraps her up in a rubber-armed hug. “Thanks Nami! You’re the best!”

He can tell she’s still confused, but she hugs him back regardless.

The night of Luffy’s watch doesn’t come until after they’ve already breached the surface and are on their way to their next destination. The moon is full and bright, the ocean calm, the breeze steady in Sunny’s sails. It’s exactly the kind of night that would have sent him straight to sleep two years ago, but now Luffy rests at his perch upon Sunny’s head, as wide-eyed and alert as he ever is. He still doesn’t like it, but he realizes now that it’s important for him to share in the crew’s menial duties, and that knowledge is enough to make it bearable.

He does wish it wasn’t quite so quiet, though. The absence of other voices leaves Luffy feeling off in a way that’s hard to describe. Like an itch under his skin that he can’t quite reach, or a hole in his chest that can’t quite be filled. Luffy breathes deeply and reaches out with his observation haki until it finds the sleeping forms of his crew mates tucked away in their beds; logically he knows that he saw everyone at dinner and there’s nowhere they could have gone since, but their presence at the edges of his senses is reassuring nonetheless, and the empty-itch feeling ebbs, just a little.

At some indeterminate point in the middle of the night, Luffy’s observation haki senses Zoro rising from his bunk and making his way to the kitchen to no doubt pilfer some booze before he heads out on deck, heading for the bow. He’s a little surprised when Zoro chucks something at him with no warning, mostly because his haki isn’t quite good enough to tell what it is until he catches it, but when he does, Luffy beams.

“Zoroooooooooooooo!” he calls, waving the leg of cured ham that the swordsman threw. “You figured out how to break into the fridge!”

“Yup,” Zoro grunts as he jumps up from the deck, landing soundlessly next to Luffy on Sunny’s head before plopping down beside him with a grunt.

“How? There must be a million combinations to that lock!”

“There’s ten thousand, and unfortunately for the cook, he’s extremely predictable,” Zoro says with a small smile; smaller than the ones he used to give, which makes Luffy’s own dim a little. He wonders how long it will be before Zoro smiles like that again. “But just so we’re clear, I’m not giving it to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luffy pouts. He still remembers the furious chewing out Zoro gave him that one time he ate all their food on the way to Alabasta, during which he threatened that if Luffy so much as even thought about doing something like that again, Zoro himself was going to be the one to throw him overboard. Which, in retrospect, Luffy realizes is extremely fair.

He tears into the ham leg with vigor while Zoro takes a long swig from his bottle of sake. “So how did you lose your eye?” Luffy asks around a mouthful of ham. It is approximately the hundredth time he has voiced this question, and every time so far, Zoro has shrugged him off. But he hasn’t actually been alone with his first mate since they left Sabaody, and Luffy thinks tonight might be a different story.

Sure enough, Zoro sighs and leans back on one hand, looking up at the sky. “You really wanna know?”

“Of course!”

Zoro lets out a little huff of laughter that makes Luffy grin broadly; Zoro hasn’t been laughing as much since the crew’s reunion either, and it’s good to hear it again.

“It was just a training accident,” Zoro says with a shrug. “Mihawk said he wasn’t going to hold back on me, and he didn’t. I slipped up and paid the price.”

“Aw, what?” Luffy blows a raspberry. “But that’s so boring!”

“Not everything can be an interesting story, captain,” Zoro says with a faint smirk, taking another swig from his sake.

“No, but you could pretend!” Luffy insists. “You could say—” He pitches his voice low and gravelly “—there was an army of killer bulls I had to fight to save a village full of orphans, and one of their horns got me right in the eye!”

“What the hell is with that voice?” Zoro demands. “I don’t sound like that!”

“Shishishi!” Luffy giggles. “Yeah you do! You’re all—” He drives it even lower, puffing his chest out and glaring the way Zoro does during battle “—I’m going to be the world’s greatest swords—”

He shrieks suddenly as Zoro lunges at him, wrapping one arm around his neck tightly. “Take it back!” he growls but Luffy just laughs and laughs.

“Never!”

“Alright then, you asked for it!”

Zoro drives the knuckles from his opposite hand deep into the top of Luffy’s skull, and Luffy squeals, putting up a token struggle against his brutal noogie. Or maybe not so token anymore; he can feel the new strength in Zoro’s arms where they’re wrapped around him, and Luffy thinks that if Zoro really wanted to keep him pinned down, he’d actually have to put some effort into breaking Zoro’s hold, which is saying something. The thought makes him swell with pride even as Zoro continues his assault.

“Okay, okay, I take it back!” Luffy yells, throwing his arms up and wiggling them in surrender. “Zoro doesn’t sound like that!”

“Hah!” Zoro shouts triumphantly, finally releasing him. Luffy rolls onto his back so that he’s looking up at Zoro, whose smile is at least showing some teeth now. Soon, Luffy hopes, it’ll be back to his old shit-eating grins.

He stays lying down while Zoro finishes his sake, staring up at the silver-bright moon and blanket of stars above him. “You don’t have to stay, you know,” he says after a while. “I promise I won’t fall asleep on watch anymore.”

Zoro frowns down at him. “I know that. That’s not why I came out,” he says, and Luffy blinks.

“Why then?”

Zoro shrugs, shifting his gaze to look out at the ocean while one hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck. It’s such a painfully familiar gesture that Luffy rolls over until his head is settled comfortably in Zoro’s lap, grinning widely up at him. Zoro rolls his eye, but Luffy doesn’t miss the faint upward turn at the corners of his mouth.

“I thought you might be lonely,” Zoro says, and Luffy blinks again.

“Lonely?”

“Yeah.” Zoro frowns down at him. “I know you were the one that called for the separation, but I think it must have been harder on you than any of us, losing your brother like that and then being without your crew for so long. Right?”

For a long moment, Luffy just stares up at him. Then he smiles, broad and bright as the sun.

Lonely. That’s what the empty-itch feeling is. Of course. And of course Zoro figured it out, too. Underneath his sharp, mean exterior, Zoro’s just as soft as the rest of them—maybe even softer. Luffy’s known that since he fed him a handful of onigiri scraps that had been stomped into the dirt and Zoro said to tell the little girl who made them that they were delicious, that he ate every bite.

People think Luffy picked Zoro to be his first mate because he’s strong. He didn’t; that’s just a bonus. The real reason Luffy picked him is because Zoro cares.

“Yeah,” he says with a small nod. “I was.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Zoro says with a shrug, like it’s not a big deal, even though it is. It’s always a big deal, whenever Zoro tries to help.

That’s what Luffy thinks, anyway.

#one piece #roronoa zoro #monkey d. luffy #one piece fic #sophie fic

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starscreativity101 · 10 months ago

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Hello, I know I haven't been here in a hot minute, which translates to like a full year give or take. Burn out, depression, anxiety, and the loss of technically two spleens will do that to a person.

But beyond that I am back to squeal about the episode thats been in all our minds, episode 8 of murder drones! So spoilers ahead.

Omg omg omg space! I mean I was hyped from episode 7 because of Uzi ending up in space. And space is a special interest and hyperfixation of mine. But the fact that Glitch went all out with the details, makes me so incredibly happy!

Like aaaaaaaaa there's no sound when they're in it, or the spaceship is broken making the space come in! That detail made me kick my feet so hard.

The whole spaceship causing so much force

And don't forget about that burning falling scene!

The fact that the entire cast is robots hit me so hard, cause none of them had to worry about breathing, in fact them interacting with space, gravity acting wonky, etc. I love it, I have a new favorite thing I want to see more of.

Also new favorite thing

Cyn piloting Tessa like a flesh puppet. Like her ankle legits twists and it gets repaired in a split second, holy hell it's horrifying but I love it! She even fucking bleeds and tries to lick her own blood.

Also J! She knew! She knew Tessa was Cyn! She went along cause she thought it was inevitable, she thought you couldn't win against that force!

That whole fight where they're having to fight not only Cyn but the illusions she conjures? Amazing. The nightcore being explained in universe by being on an mp3, hilarious.

Also Uzi is now the new host for the absolute solver, and that eye palette makes her look so frigging cool, I have a new design piece I wanna add to my characters now.

They also get to go back to a kind of normal life, and that's sweet. Yes their world is very fucked because of Cyn, but it's not unlivable for them. They are able to survive and go on. They get to watch shows together

While I didn't predict Uzi and N ending up dating each other. I legit don't mind, they're cute together and balance each other out in the immense amount of horror happening to them.

Also Uzi giving her tail a voice, only for Cyn later to be that voice? Foreshadowing I wasn't expecting? Yeah alright that's pretty cool ngl

All in all, I'm glad I got to watch this show. Even if I never finished my breaking down of the episodes, I still got to theorize and watch this amazing show to its conclusion. Plus now that's its ended, I can finally make ocs for it, because I tend to stray away from series that are ongoing for a couple reasons. I think a slice of life for the aftermath would be entertaining to make lol

#murder drones #murder drones spoilers #murder drones episode 8 #murder drones ep 8 #tw horror #tw injury

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harmonyspopculturecorner · 1 year ago

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The Queen of Nothing

!!SPOILER WARNING!!

All of Jude’s hard work in the shadows and in the light comes to a conclusion in the finale of her’s and Cardan’s epic story. From the beginning the plot was non-stop…from fighting Grima Mog, to sneaking back into Elfhame as Taryn, and finally the culmination of Madoc’s treason against the crown. I combed through this book so quickly because it felt like new information was revealed or things changed so quickly with every turn of the page. My already favorite characters got even better, and characters I didn’t necessarily like before had growth that made them more bearable. Though, I’ll admit…I don’t care that Taryn killed Locke and is pregnant, she is still very selfish and didn’t fully redeem herself in my eyes. One of my favorite parts was having Jude and Cardan finally address their feelings for each other in full honesty. These two are so hopeless when it comes to love, but it makes them as a couple so endearing. The cruel boy who didn’t know what love looked like, and the mortal girl who was forced to grow in a harsher world…it makes sense they have difficulty showing their true feelings. The way everything came to a conclusion was not something I could have predicted. I figured that Madoc would try and bring war to Elfhame for the crown, but I was not expecting that Cardan’s breaking of the crown would turn him into a giant snake. Nor the way things would work out in the end for everyone. Madoc has got to be one of the best written antagonists I’ve seen. His actions are questionable, but his motives are endearing and understandable. Though I do also see selfishness in him too from his decisions, much like Taryn. Overall, this conclusion was a masterpiece. I have truly grown to love this series and will miss this story and characters, but I am glad to now know it fully.

#entertainment #pop culture #journaling #review #book review #the queen of nothing

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spoilertv · 1 month ago

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#SpoilerTV

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percontaion-points · 5 months ago

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Arena chapter 8

Click here for the rest of the series!

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 8

…and Garth insisted they would be home in a month—she’d been here five weeks already…

I seriously have no idea where that month-long prediction is coming from.

And and [sic] she was tired and frustrated…

Editors, where art thou?

The Arena had no moon, and Manderia had no electricity. So where was the light coming from? The Gate? […] The Gate was breathtaking. Its bright, clear radiance shimmered against the velvet night. Now blue, now gold, now silver, it flowed with intertwined rivers of light that waxed and waned and waxed again. Pierced anew by the inexplicable longing, she ached to be near it, to touch it, to feel its glory on her face. We intend this for your benefit, Alex had said. For the first time she could almost believe it was true.

The author would have been less subtle if she’d whacked us upside the head with a chair.

“So are you thinking of signing up with Mander?” “Thinking of it.” Chills flooded her. “Don’t tell me you believe the Manderians are right.” “Okay.” Confused into silence, Callie toyed with the straw at her feet. “I hear it’s not unpleasant,” he added after a time. “But the manual doesn’t say anything about terms of indenture.” “No.” “So it’s got to be fraudulent.” “Only if you believe the manual.”

In my personal opinion, if you have to do work with some organisation in order to be accepted into heaven (go through the gate), then you’re probably being scammed. Simply be a good person. That’s it. That’s the goal. And I know that “being nice” doesn’t exactly make for a good story. But gestures broadly at 8 chapters of this book Neither does this.

“Has it occurred to you,” he said, “that they might not intend for us to leave?” “Then why put us here?”

Has it occurred to you… THAT THOSE ALIENS ARE FUCKING PSYCHOTIC?!

“You’re too new to know how they play with us, offer us hope only to snatch it away.” “Those are pretty grim thoughts, Pierce.”

I’m sorry, did you somehow miss how aliens kidnapped you and are now forcing you to remain here? “You can leave at any time!” they’d promised you, knowing full well that said escape is literally impossible.

For a long time afterward she sat staring at the living Gate and the dark cliff and the sleeping city, wondering, come morning, what she was going to do.

Chapter 8 summary: Callie joins the others in the tavern-inn for a while, but eventually gets fed up listening to the others talk about their grand plans. Much like everything else here, they’re only going to the inner part of the arena simply on a prayer that the rumours of the trogs having access to earth are true. She goes outside, with the intention of hiding out in the barn. But there’s people getting busy in one of the stalls, and the noise is making her uncomfortable. So she decides to go up to the loft… Which yes! 100% sound-proof, for some unholy reason?! Anyway, Pierce is up there, too. At first, Callie sits at the window and looks out at the glowing gate, which is something akin to the moon. Then she and Pierce start to talk about the temple. He says that he’s thinking about joining. Callie expresses that the manual said nothing about indentured servitude in order to escape the arena. However, Pierce is quick to point out that when Callie’s own manual was finally snatched by the mites that crave the ink from it… She did nothing to get it back. She’s now on team “this is fucking worthless”. So who knows what the actual truth is. Or why the aliens are doing all of this. Pierce goes to sleep. Callie sits up and contemplates what her next move should be.

#Arena by Karen Hancock #bookblr #book review #YA novel #action adventure #dystopia #scifi novel #Christian literature #religious novel

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alexsfictionaddiction · 7 months ago

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Alex Recommends: September Books

As predicted, things have got super busy at work. The initial very quiet, slow couple of months are over and the students are back in full force! The good thing is that I feel equipped to answer a lot of things that they ask, which is awesome. I'm not sure how I'd have coped starting the job while this onslaught of enquiries bombarded me all the time. So, having that quiet summer to learn everything was really beneficial.

I have also finished and submitted my MA dissertation! Naturally, this month has been full of long evenings writing the concluding chapters and round after round of edits. I'm pretty happy with the final version and I do think it's as good as it was ever going to be. I guess now it's just a waiting game to see how I did! I'm right on the border of a Merit and a Distinction, so this dissertation really REALLY matters. Scary stuff.

Mark has begun his first ever teaching job. I'm so proud of him because he seems to be acing it so far. He has his own Year 7 form class, which he'll have throughout their time in the school. Getting to see them grow up and progress through their teen years must be such a rewarding part of teaching. It's a really tough job though, so I'll do my best to look after him.

I have read some amazing books this month and I'm excited to share them with you here. From whimsical romance to extreme horror, it's a real mixed bag this month. Of course, not all of these will be for you but these monthly posts always try to provide a variety of genres. I guess I'm lucky I have such a wide reading taste, so I can let you guys know about a little bit of everything. Until next month, enjoy!

-Love, Alex x

FICTION: The Last Devil To Die by Richard Osman.

The Thursday Murder Club have received some terrible news. An old friend has been killed and something he was guarding has gone missing. Throughout their investigation, the gang come up against drug dealers, art forgers and internet criminals. Can they solve the case and get justice for their friend? The fourth and final instalment in this wonderfully British cosy mystery series was possibly my favourite. The mystery itself was really gripping and there were a lot of clever schemes going on that really made me smile. These characters are so loveable and I'll miss them so much. The humour in these books is very British, which is why I think this series is less popular in other countries but I adore it. The finale features some lovely themes of friendship (as all of these books do) and the importance of persevering love as well as grief and the fragility of life. Pretty emotional but a wonderful way to wrap up the series.

ROMANCE: The Seven Year Slip by Ashley Poston.

Clementine is guarding her heart against pain, when she discovers a strange man in her recently deceased aunt's apartment. He's handsome, kind and loves to cook and Clementine knows that there was a time when she would have fallen for him. But he lives seven years in the past and Clementine lives seven years in his future. Her aunt always said there was something odd about the place and Clementine knows that she definitely cannot fall in love this time. I really loved The Dead Romantics by Ashley Poston and I'd heard great things about this one. It is a very unique love story with a sweet clean romance. As you can probably tell from the nature of the story, it's very emotionally charged. There is also obviously a mystery around the magic that enables the time slip and that adds to the intrigue of the otherwise simple story. There is a repeated motif of love being all about getting the timing right and that's a sentiment that I can fully get on board with. A really lovely, intricate romance.

MIDDLE-GRADE: Alice Éclair Spy Extraordinaire: A Sprinkling of Danger by Sarah Todd Taylor.

The young baker turned spy, Alice's latest case sees her on a movie set at the Palace of Versailles. Big national secrets are being leaked by someone on set and it's Alice's mission to find out who. This is the third book in this fun, action-packed series and I'm still really enjoying it. This instalment features an engaging mystery with lots of intrigue and shady characters. These books are a fantastic introduction to the genre for children -Alice has an air of a young Miss Marple. There are also plenty of delicious baked goods in these books too!

HORROR: Maeve Fly by C. J. Leede.

Maeve Fly works at the happiest place in the world, portraying everyone's favourite ice princess but she also hangs out in LA bars, under the influence of misanthropic literary anti-heroes. When her best friend's brother moves to town, something within Maeve changes and she decides to evolve into something dark, dangerous and bloodthirsty. I haven't read a lot of extreme horror but I'm not averse to it. I spent my teens reading Stephen King, so gore on some level has always been present in most of the horror that I've read. I really need to warn you that Maeve Fly is full of extreme graphic horror, so if you're not OK with that, this book is not for you. Maeve is a very tragic but intriguing heroine. It is actually quite funny in some places -the scene where she tortures someone brutally while screeching along to Let It Go made me laugh. Uncomfortably obviously but it was still amusing. I really liked how the book exposed the dark side of the happiest place in the world (Disney) and I'd actually like to read more books that do that. The ending was a sad one but there was also a sense that Maeve could change her ways again. Strictly only for those with strong stomachs but much more digestible than American Psycho, which it does pay homage to.

THRILLER: None Of This Is True by Lisa Jewell.

Alix and Josie are both celebrating their 45th birthdays in a local pub. It turns out they were actually both born in the same hospital too. When they meet again a few days later, Josie tells Alix that she wants to appear on Alix's podcast, as she feels like her life is about to change. Although she finds Josie quite odd, Alix agrees. As their conversations develop, Alix realises that Josie's life is full of dark secrets and Josie has now fully embedded herself in Alix's home and life. But then she disappears and Alix realises that somehow, both she and her family are now in danger. I am a huge fan of Lisa Jewell and will always read whatever she writes. I devoured this book and simply couldn't put it down. It's a thoroughly gripping, twisty thriller and I still didn't know what the truth was at the end! Josie was a very fascinating creepy character and I thought the plotting was so clever and intricate. I can imagine the pinboard absolutely covered in string criss-crossing everywhere during the planning for this one! A highly compelling page-turner that even seasoned thriller readers may be shocked by.

#september books #book recommendations #recommendations #books #bookworm

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wack-ashimself · 2 years ago

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Got to vent about the X-files. Would not read i a die hard fan...

It is overreacted. Sure maybe cuz I am watching it 20 years after the fact but….ugh.

I like it. It is like twilight zone in the 90s. But there is SO MUCH FUCKING WASTED TIME. HOURS over the years that add up to…waiting for them to do something.

No joke, I have gotten so used to their predictable (made for tv commercials) format, until the last ½ of the show, I can just have it playing in the background, listening, and I won’t miss anything important because the dialogue is almost the ONLY important aspect.

The special effects are cheap. ESPCIALLY the first couple seasons. The make up looked like it was done by high schoolers. You could see the glue, the bad fade between colors, etc. So watching for a monster scare usually ain’t fucking worth it.

And that’s ALL this show is: jump scares. I only keep watching cuz the plots/storylines are USUALLY solid. But to get there is 90%: looking at something, walking thru something, driving to something, slowly turning a corner at something, etc. It’s all hold your breath and either something scary or something that is NOTHING happen.

The acting is just one step (one TINY step) above a soap opera. I have no fucking idea how david D got and kept this job (kidding-he became a producer & writer. That’s how many of them keep this shit show going. Also found that’s why he left for so long-he wasn’t getting paid for also writing he claims). But after he leaves, it actually gets fucking worse! No joke, because of how bad everyone is after mulder leaves, not only are season 8 and 9 so far the worst things this show has EVER produced (so many plot holes and bad logics almost BREAK this series’ heart), but…I actually want him back? Ew. But the show was better when it was mulder and scully. Not fucking t2 bad guy & some mulder lady wanna be, with scully checking in for the paycheck.

I just have a rule when it comes to this shit. Most tv shows before digital were written explicitly to get 100 episodes (can’t get good rerun money till 100 is hit), keep people invested and watching (even if NOTHING is fucking happening) and always hit that 44:44 run time. So subtract anything that makes you go over and put in filler (ANY) to get to that time. Put in filler they did. I would say 1/5 of each episode is. And….hold your breath moment/traveling moments/investigating moments when ALL they are doing is looking around IS NOT WRITING, IS NOT INTERESTING, and is fucking lazy. HOW this show won awards is beyond me. Maybe cuz I watched it well after it aired but…this feels like the bare minimum of quality, not the max. I guess they didn’t have much competition in the 90s…

I will finish the series, and I don’t regret watching it. There are enough episodes with twists, turns, and I didn’t see that comings to make it worthwhile. The bare minimum I ask for is to be surprised, and this show usually turns that out. But…seasons 8 & 9 (ain’t looking forward to 10 & 11, tho I know mulder does come back) are what I would feel if someone was given all the past lore of the x-files, forced to use 2 new characters that…have no real depth, and said ‘make it as good as it was before.’ NO. You are giving me nothing to work with besides a budget; you ain’t giving me time or more writers. Ugh.

Twilight zone was way better tho. Their Special effects (for the time) were ASTOUNDING. And to this day (like x-files, I will admit) there are clear as day shows/movies totally stolen from these series. In the first….3-4 seasons of the x-files, swear to god there were at least….5 movies that I KNOW were heavily influenced if not outright stolen from the x-files. Nothing is original. Cuz a lot of these x-files were, go figured, based on the twilight zone. THAT is a series I need to watch in full. But I think they had even more episodes than x files….

Either way: X-files is solid sci fi, but with so much filler, and it going to shit after season 7, they honestly should have let it die…

I just want a sci fi/horror/thriller not to be majority hold your breath moments. They’re way too fucking easy, predictable (either something happens or nothing happens. Ain’t no fence on this one), and rarely add. I mean, seriously, how long are jump scares going to be scary? Especially when you see them coming…fuck it. Now I want to do the opposite: make a movie consisting ONLY of jump scares. But I heard that’s the conjuring so….

#xfiles #the x-files #mulder #scully

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firstdegreefangirl · 2 years ago

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July 2023 Reading Wrap-Up

Total books read: 6

Total pages read: 2,048

Days read: 24/31

Average star rating: 4.46/5

Challenge Prompts Filled: 8 in July; 74 total. Popsugar: 1(24)/40. Romanceopoly: 4 (22)/36. CRAD: 1(7)/12. BTBL: 2(21)/52

Mini-reviews under the cut!

Christmas Angels by Nancy Naigle ⭐⭐⭐(½) What a way to kick off Christmas in July reading! I wanted something that would read with Hallmark movie vibes, and this was PERFECT. Big city exec moves to a small town and takes over the family inn? Where she hires a handsome construction man to help get it ready for open? Sign me UP. It was funny, it was light hearted, merry and bright, and gave me warm fuzzy emotions in just the right places. I loved the motif with the angels coming up with a sort of spiritual reverence, but still finding a logical, yet meaningful closure at the end. Very cute, very sweet, made me want to give up my corporate hospitality job and go buy a tiny mountain lodge of my own.

Prompts filled: BTBL – Cozy read or cover; Romanceopoly – Winter/cover is blue, black or silver; or winter holiday book

The Christmas Wedding Guest by Susan Mallery ⭐⭐⭐⭐(½) I meant to get to this one back at the holidays, and I’m SO glad I finally made the time now. As usual, Susan Mallery hits it out of the park, this time with an added boost of holiday spirit! It’s a double romance – rockstar/small town girl and teacher/parent, two EXCELLENT tropes. I think it’s supposed to kick off her new series, and I can’t wait to see what else comes of the worldbuilding. There are a few characters I’m already eyeing for hopeful plots in the next stories. And yes, again, there’s a hotel at the holidays involved. What can I say? I have a type.

Prompts filled: BTBL – All the romance; Romanceopoly – Autumn/red or green cover; or has trees and leaves on the cover; or has a cozy vibe

Home for Christmas by Camille Isley ⭐⭐⭐ ⭐ ⭐ No hotel this time, but still lots of holiday travel! This was laugh out loud funny, sweet, romantic, grumpy, sunshine-y and everything in between. I blew through it in like three days and have already downloaded two other books by the same author. We love a writer romance, and a not-quite-only-one-bed, but definitely not enough beds forced proximity setup. This one was different than I usually read too, because not ONLY was there a romance budding, but family dynamics fitting together right out of the gate. It’s a predictable plot, but as we know, sometimes that’s exactly what I want. Give me a prank war with a guaranteed happy ending and lots of Christmas merriment, and I am a happy camper.

Prompts filled: Popsugar – A book that was self-published

A Very Merry Bromance by Lissa Kay Adams ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Listen. I knew I would like this one. Anyone who’s listened to me talk about my taste in books probably knew I would like this one. And I LOVED it. Bromance Book Club is possibly the best series I’ve read in a long time, and this one is right in line with the rest of them. It’s funny, it’s sweet, it’s … I mean, the romance goes without saying, but it’s romantic. And this one is Christmassy too, which just makes things better. It’s so fun reading not only the Bromance stories, but the little snippets of the stories the guy are reading throughout the book, but as usual my one regret is that those books don’t exist in full. I’d read the CRAP out of them. As it is, I’ve been thinking about Colton and Gretchen even DAYS after I finished the book. 15/10 recommended to anyone who’s looking for something bright and fun and festive, with just enough emotion to bring tears to your eyes, and always, ALWAYS a big gesture before the happy ending.

Prompts filled: None, I just really wanted to read it!

Christmas at the Island Hotel by Jenny Colgan ⭐⭐⭐ (¾) A last minute pick, designed to fit the CRAD prompt for the month. I own many Christmas books, but as it turns out, all of them are set here in the US. Ended up with this one as an eBook from the library, following some very specific search parameters. It was … alright, and I enjoyed almost every minute of reading it, but it’s not something I think I’d choose to read again. Generally I’m more romance, less women’s fiction, but this book was definitely more women’s fiction than romance. And sure, it’s good to read outside my comfort zone – and this was a good story, without a doubt – but I found myself frustrated a couple of times when it felt like the author was dancing around the romantic elements. The relationships are there, a couple of them are hinted at, but I would have liked to see them fleshed out a little further. That said, Isla and Konstantin are definitely one of the cutest relationship arcs I’ve read in a hot minute. I just wish the other pairings had gotten a little bit of that depth too.

Prompts filled: Romanceopoly – Post Office/set in a different country to where you live; CRAD July – set in a different country or world [to June]

The Christmas Wager by Holly Cassidy ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Alright, full disclosure: I technically finished this at like 1 a.m. on 1 August. But I hadn’t gone to bed yet, and the day isn’t over until I go to sleep, and I would have been done earlier if half a dozen things had gone differently over the weekend. And it was good enough for me to stay up past midnight, running on like three hours of sleep. Of all the books I read this month, it’s definitely top two (and that’s up with some tough competition). I loved the fun, silly competitions, and the heartwarming family dynamics. This book would make an EXCELLENT movie; I could picture so many of the scenes playing out clearly inside my head. It read just like a romance novel should, from start to end, and I’m already eager to find more of the author’s work to read in the future!

Prompts filled: Romanceopoly – Library/free choice

#katie reads #kr23 #july #katie christmases #christmas in july

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ultraericthered · 2 years ago

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Anime Update V2 53

Tokyo Magnitude 8.0 - Wasn’t much feeling this one. The focus being on Mari isn’t quite as interesting as when it’s on Mirai, I guess.

Hunter x Hunter - Kite revealed he’s got a whole research team working with him as they, Gon and Killua along with them, start looking into the recent strange activities by the Chimera Ants. And oh boy do we learn more about them! This dumb kid named Kurt and his little sister get abducted, killed, and eaten by the ants and it’s through this that the Queen has developed a taste for humans. Spawning not just new ants but beast men who take on the features of whatever she consumed to spawn them, including Kurt now reborn as the winged “Colt”, the Queen is demanding more humans to feast upon!

Fruits Basket - The famed episode with the school play, titled “It’s Cinderella-ish!” (the episode AND the play itself) was both every bit as gloriously off-the-walls and entertaining as promised and also a bit of a letdown since the play lasts for only half the episode when I’d have rather it carried on for most of it, I was enjoying it so much. Not to say the content we got after the play was bad, but it inevitably fades from memory in comparison to what we saw in the first half.

Re:ZERO - Another set of three episodes, these ones covering the big chase and fight against the gluttonous White Whale that Subaru initiates by finally putting all the knowledge he gained from previous loops of trial and error to the best use, sucessfully negotiating with both the Crusch and Anastasia camps and uniting their forces to valiantly hunt the whale even at risk of all its horrors. In particular, Wilhelm van Astrea plays the Captain Ahab role when it’s revealed he lost his wife, the realm’s previous Swordsmaster, to the whale and has long yearned for vengeance and closure. This backstory sort of comes out of left field and it is impressive how much I gave a damn about Wilhelm here, it’s so well done in selling to you that all of these people have their own lives and own stories regardless of what Subaru does or does not know about them. Seeing Subaru actually figthing smarter and braving the odds against his own weakness, and that being a source of inspiration for others, was so satisfying. He’s actually growing up and doing better now! And how in the end he earned the respect of Crush and Wilhelm really warmed my heart.

Speaking of heartwarming - Rem! Yeah, last time I’d said I was not keen on how Rem’s feelings of love for Subaru got set up despite the payoff being specatacular, if semi-lacking. But now that said payoff has come and gone, Rem and Subaru get to settle into the sort of relationship they’ll be having from here on out, and it could not be more delightful. I love not only how selfless Rem’s love is but how comfortable she is with loving, protecting, fighting alongside, and simping for a guy she knows full well isn’t going to return her exact feelings and satisfy her romantically. It sets such a good precedent for Subaru himself to follow whenever he gets back with Emilia, and makes Rem very reliable as a sidekick. Subaru is truly blessed!

Fate/Stay Night Unlimited Blade Works - At the part where at school after hours, Rin finally makes her move to try and kill Shirou herself only for them to end up helping each other in an encounter with Rider outside, forcing another armistace between the two.

Symphogear GX - Just as I’d predicted, Maria wants to fight alongside Tsubasa and the others, and she’s taking this as an out for her forced continous idol career. Also learned more about how Carol does alchemy, how her doll underlings and the Alcanoise are made from it, and why her clone homuculus Elfnein defected from her - Carol seeks to complete some sort of super weapon to destroy the world! Hibiki is starting to get on my nerves in this series with her sudden “I don’t want to use these cool powers and arsenal to fight anyone anymore!” pacifism, but at least the episode gave me ever more Kirika and Shirabe goodness to offset this. Anything else? ...Oh. Oh yeah. The beef stroganoff song. What. even. WAS THAT?

Eureka Seven - Cracks are already beginning to show in Renton’s new life with Gekko State. He’s made to do chores he’s not used to doing, no one takes him that seriously, Holland ignores him, Talho is a busybody towards him, and he’s not even informed when he has to carry a box with a smuggled human organ! To be fair, he brings much of it on himself at this point in time and having absurd notions like that the little kids Eureka looks after might be her actual biological children does him no favors. Matthieu proves to be a really nice guy and I’m glad to have him, though Kirk Thornton voicing a black guy is something unthinkable in this day and age, so it’s a nice sort of time capsule effect. On the sidelines, the united federation council decide they’ll grant Dewey Novak freedom from prison and get him back in a position of leadership within the military. Real solid idea there, guys!

Gintama - Something about Shinpachi’s estranged childhood friend showing up as a member of a bike gang only he’s still just as bullied as he used to be, Odd Jobs fighting with the bike gang, and a big wacky race against the gang leader where it all came down to him VS Shinpachi, and Otae was also there being funny and awesome as always. Another silly episode but one that works surprisingly well as character development for Shinpachi too. Gintama can do both!

#Anime Update V2 #Anime Update

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teriwrites · 5 months ago

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Below (Rewrite) Wrap-Up

In response to that prediction I jotted down in the pre-reading thoughts, I do have to say, the writing in this second draft of Below did, in fact, show remarkable growth compared to the first. It did lead to a significantly less wild, and ultimately less fun, read, without the wild narration being given its full reign to use words like 'oi!' or throw insane contradictions between every other sentence.

But the writing in this draft took on a much calmer perspective than its predecessor's angry Kristen, deepened the angst of Raevin, and gave a little more space for Lea, Ben, and Nick to show off.

Despite largely following the same trajectory of the first draft's plot, it also introduced us to a new character, Max (whose powers we NEVER LEARN, I need to point out). Apparently, having one love triangle simply was not enough, and Kristen had to have boys fighting over her in addition to fighting with another girl over a boy. Oy vey.

For drafts like this, drafts that were never finished, I'm going to include an extra little section to either wrap-up the plot or explain things that would've come after what I wrote out.

Beyond the Draft

Most of the plot continues in the same vein as we saw in draft 1. They run to find a more comfortable distance between themselves and the Institute and Mr. J. Ultimately have a showdown with Mr. J in some type of warehouse/funhouse situation, in which he's injured and sent out of commission for a time, opening the chance for the teens to flee.

The significant difference here is that Max... IS ALIVE. His character arc follows as sort of an anti-Raevin, being convinced by Mr. J's ideas of supremacy after his friends leave him for dead and agreeing to hunt them down for retribution. His eventual reveal (idk if it was meant to be in book 1 or 2, or even 3, but it was going to happen eventually!) would bring a lot of conflict and guilt to Kristen's already-overflowing plate.

Since this book was meant to be the first of a trilogy, I have a very basic rundown of each book in the series.

Book 1: Introducing the different forces at play - Institute (oppressive force), Mr. J (looks to solve oppression by creating oppression) and the Teens (oppressed and fighting back). Teens seek a comfortable distance from the others.

Book 2: More focus on the Teens themselves and crafting actual goals. Ideas about how long they can run and looking to maybe face off against their pursuers. Meeting other mutants, building a circuit opposed to the Institute, mostly focused on eliminating the imminent threat of Mr. J and his scouts.

Book 3: Pulling together their now-growing forces to contend with the Institute. Involves both literal fighting and whistleblowing to the public at large. Mostly vibes, never got around to plotting much of it bc, alas, I was a dedicated Pantser.

Strengths

Genre: I believe that, despite its definitely requiring probably a dozen more drafts before it would ever become something to release into the world, 'Below' does follow in step with the books that would've inspired it. I mean, in 2012, we were seeing releases for the Divergent trilogy, for Mortal Instruments, for Matched, for The Selection, The Lunar Chronicles, so many big YA series at the time. Not to sit here and compare Below to even the worst among these, quality-wise, but I think a lot of its foundations do line up with the ultimate aim I had for the series. Badass teenagers escaping from unlikely scenarios, organizing against The System, and, yes, love triangles. The book is quintessentially 2012 YA.

Weaknesses

Repetitive: I feel like this story could've been told in half the amount of words that it took. So many instances of them sitting around planning, without actual discussion of a plan. So many instances of Raevin hating her 'coworkers' and Mr. J and sitting in a tree. So many instances of the whole group deciding to hang out in a field. Not that there shouldn't be downtime in a novel, not that there was no merit to the conversations they were having, but the plot got stretched real thin during a lot of these 61.5K words.

Final (Written) Line

"I'll have you know I'm always alone!"

Live Reactions

November 2012: Below (Rewrite)

Wordcount | 61,500 Status | Incomplete Draft, Retired

First Line

I knew I was in the middle of a dream.

Changes Between Drafts

It'd feel silly to write up a whole new introduction for the second draft of a WIP I already introduced. This happens twice during my run of Novembers, although the next one wasn't until over a decade later. While I don't remember too much about the changes that were made between the first and second drafts of Below, I'm pretty sure I introduced an extra character to the beginning of the story - another mutant named Max. Can't remember what his powers were, or what exactly his role was, but I think he winds up as a reverse-Raevin and joining the opposition?? I'd say I guess we'll find out, but honestly, I don't think I wrote far enough into the story for that. That 61.5K didn't ever make a full second draft, iirc, so it's possible there was a planned reveal that never came to fruition.

Pre-Reading Thoughts

'Teri, why do you have two entries for 2012?' Well, you see, after I started writing my stolen story idea, I quickly realized I didn't actually enjoy writing it. All I wanted to do while writing it was go back to my fun little YA series. So, after cutting Hell Hath Frozen Over with a very abrupt and thematically inappropriate ending, I immediately jumped back over and began rewriting Below. My rewriting process was, in a word, unplanned. I approached second drafts the exact same way I approached first drafts at the time - armed with a vibe and maybe an idea for a plot. I assumed that, simply by virtue of writing More, I was therefore a better writer, and therefore more well-equipped to tell the story I was writing. Thus I could go about writing the draft in exactly the same way I wrote the first one, and naturally, it would have no choice but to be better. I'll let you know how that pans out.

#teriwrites down memory lane

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dearmantis · 2 years ago

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There's no love like our love

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x wife!Reader

Summary: When the Royal Family finally turns on the Grisha, you find yourself caught in the crossfire. Alone, of course. You're always alone, it seems.

Warnings: murder, death, canonical persecution of Grisha, violence, mentioned death of children, sexual harassment, slutshaming, mentions of sex and cheating, suicidal thoughts, self hatred

Word Count: 6.6k words

Authors' Note: I DID IT! HERE IS YOUR PART TWO FOR A LOST EMBRACE! IT ONLY TOOK 76 YEARS! BUT I GOT IT DONE BEFORE THE END OF APRIL (this is also very not edited, and I'm still not a native English speaker).

Also, funfact: I cut the ending of this, just like I did with part 1. There was a whole other ending, but that was basically just a lot of fluff. I wasn't sure if people would want that from this series/twoshot specifically so I cut it. I can't tell of cutting the ending is a good or a really bad habit.

The title is from Lights are on by Tom Rosenthal!

Part 1: A lost embrace | Masterlist

The universe is filled with light. Billions of beautiful stars, all different sizes and temperatures, burning brightly and sending their energy out into the universe to bring warmth and light.

But there is even more darkness in the universe than there are stars, filling the space between the celestial bodies. An all surrounding nothingness that acts as a playing field for all of the beautiful, weird and wonderful things hiding in the endless sky. A canvas for everything else in the universe that hugs and surrounds all.

And one day, at least according to the most popular theories, the last stars will die and the universe will be entirely engulfed in darkness.

It began with a loud burst of light, and it will die quietly in shadows.

That knowledge used to bring you comfort and a feeling of belonging. The darkness became your new home, a special, safe place right next to your husband, but there is no safety and love to be found in the darkness now.

It was predictable, honestly. You should've known the second Vasily allowed the Darkling to travel Ravka to search of the Sun Summoner with only a few First Army soldiers for protection, but you simply didn't pay attention to the signs, too caught up in your own frustration and bitterness.

He didn't realise it either, it seems, because he simply left without even saying goodbye, leaving you behind to run the Little Palace in his absence. One night you fall asleep next to him, back turned towards him to visibly reject his presence, and the next morning he is gone, his side of the bed made and all of his most important belongings gone. No letter, no announcement beforehand, nothing.

Maybe his head was simply too focused on Alina to even remember that he still had a wife.

It doesn't matter anymore.

You're still awake when they come, three nights after the General left the Little Palace.

You're laying in bed, humming an old lullaby – one of the really old ones that you learned because he sometimes sings them to you when you can't sleep – while working on fixing the embroidery on the kefta of one of the younger students.

The disappearance of the Sun Summoner has led to chaos in all of Ravka, and there hasn't been a calm moment in the palace in weeks. You are forced, just like everyone else, to work until you pass out while keeping up appearances in front of the royal family. Everything needs to be immaculate despite the fact that the whole country is in a state of emergency, so you push small detail work like this into every free second of your day in hopes of doing something good.

You're so focused on your project that you don't even hear them approach your windows from the outside.

They sneak around, quietly taking out the guards until they're sure that they won't meet too much resistance, and then, suddenly, everything is very loud.

You don't remember what happens. Just flashes of memories. Little pieces that simply aren't enough to form a full picture, as if your body simply wasn't able to take it all in. Or maybe it refuses to remember.

Glass shatters, loud and unfamiliar steps echo like thunder through the halls of what was supposed to be your home, men with bad intentions are in your bedroom, in your house, in your garden.

And your husband is nowhere to be found.

The air smells like fire, panic and fear crackling in the air like electricity and the screams of the Grisha you swore to protect as if they were your own children echo through the building and outside.

Shots are fired in the distance, you're on the floor, the barrel of a gun pressed tightly against the back of your head.

There are more screams slicing through the night. You think you hear someone yelling your name, but before you can answer, one of the men who broke into your room slams their heavy gun against your head, and darkness welcomes you into it's familiar embrace.

When you finally wake it's to the sound of a gun shot ringing through the air, and though the bars of your new cage you watch through bleary eyes how one of your fellow Grisha runs away, his bright purple kefta unfortunately doing very little to hide his movements between the trees. You can't tell who it is, not in the dark.

A second shot gets fired. You see how it hits the Durast in the head, his body falling to the ground and staying there, unmoving. Nobody goes to check if he's dead or to drag him off and bury or burn his corpse. It's just left right there, next to a large ash tree.

Someone whimpers and sobs, begs for their life, but you can't take your eyes off the corpse. The way it just lays there, like it's nothing.

You haven't seen an actual battle in centuries. The Darkling is too paranoid to let you go, convinced that his enemies will target you in a fight and take you away from him. The thought alone used to turn his eyes cold and hard like ice, his whole body shaking with anger at the idea of you being in a dangerous situation. You haven't seen death like this, so fast and seemingly insignificant, in forever.

There is no triumph visible in the body language of the soldier that shot the Durast, but no shame either. A job done, nothing more. He doesn't celebrate or pat himself on the back. He just sits back down next to the fire in the middle of the camp and takes a sip of water, like the life he just took was worth less than even the life of a rabbit.

The other guards move to check the handcuffs of the others after that incident, making sure that everything works and no one is able to use their powers. Your heart races so fast it makes you dizzy, the fog in your head thickening and threatening to drag you back into unconsciousness.

It's hard to stay focused enough to take the whole situation in, but you try anyway, tearing your gaze away from the corpse. There are nine cages, including yours, one of them now empty.

The Grisha in the cages are, just like you, handcuffed with their hands far apart. Three of them are wearing their keftas - two of them being Alkemis, and you ask yourself if the Materialki were all still down in the workshops when the raid began - but the others, including you, are wearing whatever you wore to sleep that night. All of you are dirty, and you pray silently that none of them are hurt. It's hard to see with the lack of light. The cages all stand a bit too far away from the fire to truly see much.

The men who guard you, on the other hand, all look like they dressed up for a military parade. Their First Army uniforms sparkle almost, their faces clean shaven or decorated with carefully trimmed beards. This was planned. This whole raid was planned, probably for weeks, and you didn't notice. The idea most likely came up as soon as the General returned from the Fold, and no one ever picked up on it.

It feels like a relic from a time you're supposed to have left behind, a time you didn't even experience and only heard about from the Darkling and on rare occasions his mother.

The First Army doesn't hunt Grisha anymore. The king doesn't put you into cages. They just hate you, insult you, and harass you, but they don't physically harm you anymore. Yet... here you are.

Ravka isn't supposed to be like Fjerda, like Shu Han, like Kerch. The Darkling had made sure of that, worked for this one singular goal for centuries, and dedicated his whole life to it.

The thought of him makes your heart sting painfully, and you suppress the urge to worry for him, to wonder where he is and if he's safe. You have bigger issues than him right now. He's fine. There's no room for argument. He has survived wars and centuries of persecution. This won't kill him. He's probably out there somewhere, completely safe, trying to track down his sun summoner while you rot in this cage alongside the others.

After the handcuffs are checked you watch as four of the five soldiers walk to the cages of the two Alkemi, Ivanna and Ole, and pull them out, the fifth still sitting at the fire and watching the whole situation with mild interest.

You hear one of the guards make a suggestion on how to deal with them, and your stomach turns.

In your mind, you are 12 years old, hiding behind your mothers skirt. Her hand rests on your head, trying to soothe you as you watch with the other people your village how a woman gets dragged out of the cage they kept her in. You remember her face. She works as a seamstress. She gives you pretty ribbons to tie around your wrist or into your hair whenever your mother buys something from her.

The man – was he the mayor? The village head? You don't remember what he called himself – who pulled her out of the cage pushes her to the ground, right in front of a large rock, and motions for someone hiding in the crowd to come closer.

Another man steps forward, the blacksmith, in his hands the biggest hammer you have ever seen.

The woman starts screaming now, her voice breaking under the force of her violent sobs. Her body shakes horribly, and your own shaking hands dig deeper into the material of your mothers skirt.

"Please, please, I swear it. This is a misunderstanding. I did nothing wrong. I swear it. Please, just listen to me," the woman begs while the mayor grabs the thick rope attacked to her handcuffs and pulls her arms and hands to rest on the rock.

The noise the hammer made when it slammed down on her hands haunts you for centuries, just like her screams do.

Just like the screams of the Materialki probably will if you survive this when the guards push them to the ground. The only difference is that the soldiers have no large hammers to break their hands.

You can't move, can't speak, can't do anything, completely frozen in fear while the soldiers hold them down, each of them pressing an arm down onto the cold ground. The two have no chance to defend themselves.

The man at the fire finally stands up slowly, grabbing one of the rocks lining the fire to prevent forest fires, and walks over to the six people on the ground.

You watch him do it. You have to. You failed to protect your Grisha, and the least you can do is witness the horrors they have to go through because of your own mistakes.

Because you should've known. You should've known. Of course the royal family would turn on Grisha. Of course they would send the Darkling away before they raided the Little Palace. He is the last line of defence for the Grisha in this country.

You should've noticed the signs. You should've talked to the General about it, maybe even with Baghra. You should've started to prepare to evacuate the whole Palace, organized a place to hide with food and beds and water.

But you didn't. You didn't because you were too blinded by your own stupid quarrel with the Darkling. This is your fault. Every drop of blood that was shed that night, every bit of pain and suffering that your Grisha experienced, clings to you.

It's all your fault.

When the soldiers are sure that they broke every bone in Alkemis' hands, they put the cuffs back on and throw them back into their cages.

And then they walk back to the fire in the middle of the camp and begin to eat, ignoring the sobbing of the Grisha only a few metres away from them and the corpse still peacefully resting between the bushes and trees.

You wake up the next morning with aching muscles and the knowledge that you probably won't get out of this camp alive. Because as much as you would like to pretend otherwise, these people know you. If Vasily gives the command to have you killed, these men know that you're their target. And he would. You can't even blame him for it. You're the wife of the General, just as much of a symbol for the Second Army as the Darkling. Killing you would be a message to all of Ravka.

They don't treat you much differently than they treat the others, to your surprise. You get starved like the others, glared at like the others, and dehydrated like the others.

You could almost believe that they somehow don't know who you are if it wasn't for the insults.

Every Grisha gets insulted, some more creatively than the others. Especially the two Alkemi get made fun of for their broken, swollen, and discoloured hands by the soldiers, like they aren't the reason why they look like that. Other insults directed at other Grisha in the camp, on the other hand, are overused and boring, like when they asked Lena, an Inferni, where her spark is, why her fire has disappeared.

"I thought Infernis are always so hot-headed? Come on, give us a show!" One of the older men in the camp says to her on your second day awake, and it makes your skin crawl. You wish you could claw those mens eyes out, make them bleed.

But the insults they direct at you, those are personal. They prove that they know exactly who you are despite never saying your name once.

The Darklings slut. That's what you are to them.

His favourite toy. A bedwarmer. A plaything. A whore to entertain him. A distraction from the war. A thing he can let his frustrations out on.

That's who you are in their eyes. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that deserves respect or should be feared. The fact that you and the other Grisha can't use the small science makes them braver.

The worst insults are the ones they come up with after the third day in the cage, right after the soldiers get a quick visit from one of Vasilys messengers, because their words are suddenly no longer insults. They are observations and a horrible, new truth that convince you that their earlier insults are true, working hand in hand with the thoughts and fears you had before any of this even started.

"Don't look at me like that, whore. Everybody, even us fools in the First Army, know how enamoured your husband was with the sun summoner. How many times do you think he fucked her before she ran? Probably did it right behind your back in your shared bed, you stupid thing. I bet she was the last thing he thought of before the guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

The soldiers celebrate the news of the Darklings death like they just won the wars with Fjerda and Shu Han and tore down the Fold with their bare hands, drinking alcohol and eating freshly hunted deer meat while you and the other Grisha grieve and starve. You don't allow yourself to cry like the others, but you can feel your soul rip itself apart.

You begin to lose yourself after that.

Your sanity runs through your hands like sand, your mind desperate to escape the smell of the Durasts rotting corpse that the soldiers never bothered to remove, the insults, the screams of the other Grisha when they get pulled out of their cages (one a day, always only one a day, like they're trying to drag it out), the desperate hunger that burns in your stomach, the thirst that tears your throat apart, the death of your husband: reality in all it's horrible shapes and colours.

First, you spend a few minutes caught up in a nice memory, like a short conversation in the gardens of the Little Palace, drinking tea and leaning on his shoulder while he tells you about his day. Then the daydreams get longer and take more control over you until you spend days staring at nothing, buried so deep in your own mind that you're no longer aware of what happens around you.

A small part of you hopes that they'll kill you while you're in that state, caught up in the past. Everything is better than reality, and with every second that passes when you're fully aware of your surroundings, that reality becomes more unbearable.

You love remembering the time before Alina the most. You know that her only sin is shining a light onto the lies, destruction, and rot surrounding you, but without her light, you were able to pretend.

You are good at pretending.

The light just makes it harder, and sometimes you slip up and accidentally sink into a more recent memory, your mind racing through different thoughts so fast that you're unable to stop it.

Like how the girl whose kefta you repaired that night, little Bibi, probably ended up dying without it after working so hard to prove to everyone that she earned it. And now her corpse lays somewhere in Ravka with no one to take care of it, to lay it to rest.

The kids are easily the worst thing to remember. Every time you do, it feels like the guilt eats your heart or whatever is left of it right out of your chest, ripping and tearing on the muscle like a wolf on a bone.

How many of them got out of the Palace in time and are now hiding somewhere, probably scared and alone with no one to help them and no idea how to get to other Grisha or back to their families? How many of them are stuck in cages just like you, starving and terrified of the First Army men who are only waiting to get the command to kill them? How many of them didn't even make it out of the Little Palace and died at the hand of the soldiers during the raid?

How many children were buried and burned that night?

Your husband isn't much better to remember either. The words of the First Army soldiers burn themselves into your mind like hot coals. You don't want to think about it. You've never wanted to think about something less in your entire life, but no matter what you do, the pain of losing someone you've known for almost your whole life feels like a knife stuck in your chest.

"... guards that accompanied him shot him in the head."

It's odd, really, how all consuming grief can be even if a part of you hates the person you lost. Almost surreal.

There have always been chapters of your life subtitled with "before the Darkling". There aren't supposed to be chapters subtitled "after the Darkling", not even a single one. It's wrong. It's entirely wrong. He's supposed to be a constant. Something that doesn't move, doesn't change, doesn't leave. He was supposed to be here until the end of everything.

He wasn't supposed to leave you behind. You can't do this without him. You can't lose him. This isn't right.

It's the last piece. The last drop required to convince you that giving up might not be the worst option. If they succeeded in killing the Darkling... what can truly be done anymore? What can you do? You can't free the Grisha in your camp, not with your hands cuffed so far apart from each other that your arms regularly start cramping, and a stomach so empty that it feels like your entire body is trying to collapse in on itself to fill the void. You can't convince the soldiers to free you. You can't save the children and rebuild Ravka into a safe place once more, not alone. You can't do anything on your own. You are nothing.

So why shouldn't you die? Why not join your husbands soul, wherever it may be now? What is left for you to do here? What can you do?

Death haunts your sense of smell and vision. It haunts your mind, and it haunts all of Ravka. Why not let it carry you off? Away from the pain, the suffering, the fear and grief and rot.

There is only more to come. More horrors that linger in the unpredictable future, and no one left to fix it. You certainly can't do it, Baghra - if she still lives, that is - doesn't care enough about others to even attempt to fix anything, and the sun summoner evidently can't do it either. All she can do is shine light on the evil lingering in the dark, but she's not strong or persuasive enough to improve and change the nightmares she exposes.

The Darkling could've done it. He would fight tooth and nail, drench his hands in blood and ash to free the others. He has fought his whole life, after all. He could've done it again.

But you can't. You can't take his position in this war, as much as you wish you could. You can't even get your hands out of your stupid cuffs, no matter how hard you try.

Baghra was right in the end, it seems. You really are too weak to stay at her and her sons side as their equal. You are dust, nothing more.

Now that you're here, stuck in a cage and unable to defend yourself in any way, you ask yourself once more how she and her son could've possibly survived this long. How did they not give up? What do they have that you lack?

"When the entire world hates you and wants you dead, the best thing you can do is live."

That's what she said back then, but you simply don't understand how she found the strength to keep going. You can't find it in you, no matter how much you look. Your whole life is gone. Your friends are probably all in cages or dead. Your husband is dead. Your home is gone. There is nothing left, no reason for you to continue.

Your husband would want you to keep going, a voice in the back of your mind answers, and you can feel the sharp stinging in your chest return at the thought.

You miss him. You miss him so much that it feels like you're being torn apart from the inside. And if you're really honest with yourself, you have to admit that you have been in this state for a while.

All of that anger and jealousy was just your bodies way to avoid facing the fact that you were lonely. No wonder you immediately fell back into routine like a desperate little cat when he finally gifted you some attention after Alina fled. Your entire being was begging to get him back.

And now you will never have him again because you were both too stubborn to simply talk with each other. He will never understand how much it hurt to see him obsess over someone else, and you will never know why you suddenly weren't enough for him anymore.

You will never hear his voice again, or knit him a new scarf for winter, or wash his hair for him after an exhausting day. You will never be comforted by him when you have a headache or watch the first snow of the year cover the grass outside of the Little Palace. You will never fall asleep next to him again, his arms wrapped around you and your face pressed against his chest as his heartbeat and calm breathing lull you to sleep.

He will never hug you again or surprise you with breakfast. He will never help you choose jewelry for an event again, give you his cloak when you're cold, kiss you, laugh at your horrible jokes, or moan your name into your ear, his voice raspy with love and desire while he tries to bring you to another orgasm before his own crashes down on him.

You will never do anything with him ever again.

Turning your head slightly, you stare at the soldiers sitting at the fire, eating some form of stew. You can't smell it. The stench of the decomposing body is too strong, and you wonder how the soldiers can stomach food in this environment.

You can barely breathe on some days without gagging every few seconds. It's so horrible that it drives tears into your eyes.

They talk and laugh about some servant girl, and you silently ask yourself what fate the servants of the Little Palace met. How many of them died that night? How many fled? Did any of them try to help the Grisha that might've fled? And saints, what happened to the Oprichniki?

Slowly closing your eyes again, you pray that the wind changes direction and starts blowing the smell away while you try to think of something that gives you strength.

The first thing that comes to mind is your amplifier.

You haven't thought about that day in a while, not since Alina came to the Palace and your heart and soul drowned themselves in jealousy and hate.

But it's not right to forget something so special. You should remember.

Who else in all of Ravka got proposed to, not with a ring but with a barn owl and a knife?

He has been gone for months, looking for something in West Ravka, choosing to trave through Fjerda and around the Fold to avoid going through it, and the constant worry that he would be discovered keeps you awake on some nights. He sends a letter once a month and promises you over and over that he would be back in the spring, but you still end up surprised when one of your friends drags you out of your bed in the middle of the night and ushers you towards the Generals quarters.

And when you open the doors you find him leaning against his desk, a knife next to him on the table and a barn owl sitting quietly in a cage, large eyes looking at you curiously, but you don't even see those things. Not at first, at least.

You just see him.

"You're back!"

Quickly jumping over to him, you throw your arms around him and press your face against him, a deep laugh bubbling in his chest as he moves to embrace you tightly.

"Careful, my love," he murmurs, his hands finding the back of your neck and pressing you closer to him.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other tightly while he whispers soft words into your ear.

"I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much, little love. I hope you weren't too lonely without me," he coos, pressing a long kiss onto your head.

You're about to answer him when the bird finally makes himself known. Turning your head quickly you look at it, and the owl turns it's head to the side as if it's trying to do assess you carefully as well, it's dark eyes looking you over a few times. You feel a bit self-conscious in your night dress, but instead of shying away, you decide to let it look.

"Is that what you were looking for in West Ravka?" you ask, gazing back up at him.

"I did a lot of research over the past year, and I think this amplifier would be strong enough," he explains, his voice as soft as a feather.

"Strong enough?"

"To keep you with me. I didn't believe it at first either, but this little bird could give you forever. Time would no longer be able to take you from me. I could keep you for eternity."

Tears well up in your eyes, your hands moving to hold onto the front of his kefta as he reaches over to the knife and holds it out to you.

"You don't have to do it right now. You can get to know the owl and see if it feels right. Think about it for a while. It's a big commitment, after all." His empty hand moves up to cup your face, and the tenderness in his gaze makes your heart race. "If you chose the amplifier, I will stay with you. I will be at your side until the end of everything, I promise it. I will take care of you when you're hurt, hold you when you're sad, and laugh with you when you're happy. I will fight at your side, protect you with my life, and take care of you until I die."

Biting your lip weakly, you look up into his eyes, somehow darker than the night sky. "And if I don't choose to take the amplifier?"

"Then I'll still do all of those things. I will just have less time by your side, but I will cherish that time just as much, sweet girl."

You don't know when it happens because you start to loose track of time after the first week is over, but at some point in a random night one of the soldiers goes into the forest to get fresh water from a nearby river and doesn't return.

You're not conscious enough to notice it, and the soldiers are too caught up in their preparations for tonight's entertainment.

You don't even notice how they move through the camp, their eyes looking at each and every grisha they have, and judging who would be able to provide the most fun tonight. You just wish you were lying on the floor.

If you laid down, you could pretend that the heaviness on your chest is your husbands weight and not a heavy mountain of grief that tries to drag you down into the heart of the world.

He liked to do that. Lay on top of you to make sure that every single centimetre of you touched him in some way. You used to jokingly complain about it, but he never stopped. Every time he knew you needed comfort he would lay down on top of you, his heavy, strong body pressing you deep into the mattress while he talked, either asking questions about your day and whatever might be bothering you, or telling you about his, always carefully pressing small kisses onto your face and neck.

He must've known that his weight comforted you, made you feel safe. You've never wanted to be crushed into a mattress by him so badly in your whole life.

You don't hear it when they discuss if you're weak enough now to remove you from the cuffs. You don't even hear it when they open your cage, the old metal screeching loudly.

You don't realize that anything is wrong until one of the soldiers unlocks the cuffs and your body falls to the floor like a wet sack of flour. A loud groan leaves your mouth, your voice rough from lack of use.

The soldier grabs your ankles and drags you out of the cage, your upper body dragging over the floor. After being hung up for so long, you realise very quickly that you can't move your arms at all. The muscles start twitching as soon as you even attempt to bring them together, and a horrible, sharp tingling sensation makes itself noticeable. You bite your teeth together to stop yourself from screaming out.

A wave of panic crashes over you as soon as you fully understand what's going on, trying to kick the man dragging you closer to the fire, but none of your movements seem to really bother him.

As soon as you're close enough to the fire, someone flips you onto your stomach and buries their hand in your hair to pull your head up. Your back bends horribly, and you hiss out in pain as your eyes find those of the soldier who broke the Alkemis hands with a rock.

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, eyes taking in every flinch and twitch in your face.

You stay like this for a few seconds staring at each other, when he suddenly spits directly into your face, a wide grin splitting his face into two a few seconds later before he slaps you. Your head drops to the ground quickly.

"Let's get started. Markus can join us later when he's done," someone says. Three seconds later, before you have time to register what he means, you have a small knife in your back.

A blood curdling scream leaves your throat and tears well up in your eyes. You want to beg, to humiliate yourself even further and kiss their shoes in hopes of escaping this, but the last shred of pride left in you won't let you.

One of the soldiers steps onto one of your hands, twisting his shoe a bit in the process to make it hurt more. Someone else grabs your other arm and twists it behind your back until you scream out once more. This time, you scream your husbands name, unable to stop yourself in time. It's a broken, pathetic sound that echoes through the trees like a gunshot.

You know he won't come, but something about saying his name again feels almost cathartic, so you continue to scream it out with your full heart and soul. With every hit, every kick, and every stab wound, you scream the real name of the black heretic out into the endless night and beg death to bring you to him.

When the first gunshots get fired into the forest, you mistakenly assume that they're shooting at you and tightly close your eyes. Your heartbeat rushes loudly in your ears, and your mind replays the events of the first day when the Durast got shot. You can't even stand up and run. Your whole body is consumed by pain.

This is it, you think. Loud screams pierce through the air, gruelling, blood curling screams that scare you half to death.

Your mind races, trying to quickly find a last memory to remember before a bullet pierces your chest or head and kills you, something sweet and soft and perfect, like your wedding night, or your first kiss, or your-.

A loud scream rips itself out of your throat when a bullet hits you right into your leg. The man who shot it is dead seconds later, torn to shreds by darkness itself, but you don't see it, your eyes still rightly closed as you wait for the next bullet to hit you.

It never comes.

Instead someone yells your name, and you think it sounds familiar.

"Ivan!" the man screams, and a second later, someone carefully turns you onto your back and falls to their knees next to you, pulling your head up into their lap, their large hands cupping your face.

You don't want to die. You're not ready.

"My love, my love, it's me. Can you hear me?," he speaks. Fabric ruffles and something wide is dropped over your shaking, weak form, and your whole body feels warm for the first time in days. A familiar scent enters your lungs, somehow overpowering the stench of rotting corpse and fresh blood.

"Sasha?" Squinting your eyes, you look up, trying to focus on the blurry face hovering above yours. He's easy to recognize. The ink black lines over his face are unique to him, almost out of place in this world, just like him. You want to reach up and touch him, but you can't. Your muscles won't cooperate.

"I'm here, my little love. I'm right here. I found you. And I'm so proud of you. So, so proud of you. And I'm sorry," Aleksander answers. His eyes sparkle like stars, tears rolling down his face and dripping onto yours like raindrops. In the back of your mind, you realize that you've never seen him cry in front of people like this before. Only ever in private. Now his voice is almost breaking, his sobs so loud it drowns out the noise of your own hammering heartbeat. It must be a dream. He would never allow himself to show weakness like this.

Ivan appears next to him like a ghost, his hands covered in blood as he carefully lifts the thick black cloak Aleksander covered you with from your legs to look at the injuries there.

"Sasha," you rasp out again. You want him to hold you so badly, but you can barely speak. All you want is to be held by your husband.

"Right here. I'm so sorry, sweet girl. So sorry. I promised I would protect you, and I failed. I'm so sorry, I will never make that mistake again, I swear. I'll never take you for granted again. I'm so sorry for being late."

You want to respond, to calm him down, but he doesn't give you a chance to talk. He just continues with his panicked, slightly hysterical rambling, his whole body shaking under the force of his sobs.

"I'll take care of you. I'll make sure you're safe, and I will never leave your side again. No one will ever hurt you again."

His thumb strokes your cheek gently, and the love in his gaze almost feels like a punch in the gut. He looks absolutely in love and absolutely devastated as well. "I thought I lost you. I kept looking for you in every camp I found, but you were never there, and none of the soldiers would tell me where you are. I was so sure they killed you. I was so scared. I thought-"

Aleksanders voice shatters like glass, his body almost curling in on itself as he presses his forehead against yours. You recognize the breathing pattern he uses, an old trick he taught you a few years ago when you were still new to your position as the Darklings wife. He's trying to stop a panic attack from taking over.

"I'm so proud of you. You're so strong and brave, my darling girl. My lovely wife. I love you so much. You're so good, so good for me. I don't know what I would do without you. What I would do if they... I'm so sorry. I don't deserve you. I'm sorry."

He sounds broken, you notice. You've never heard him like this in your entire life. Tears flood your eyes, and you take a deep breath, more of his familiar scent entering your lungs. Rosemary and ash, with a hint of something sweet.

"I'm never going away again, I promise. I will never leave you again, sweet girl. Never again. You will never be able to get rid of me. I will bind myself to you, body and soul, until the end of everything, I swear it."

You're starting to get dizzy. Everything is so overwhelming.

"Am I dead?" You hear yourself asking, your vision dimming slowly, and you're sure you will be dragged back into unconsciousness by your body soon. Aleksander laughs, and it's oddly light and relieved, considering the context.

"No. No, you're alive. You survived. We both survived."

You smile.

Part 3: So I stayed in the darkness with you

Taglist: @savagejane1 @deadunicorn159

#aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #darkling x reader

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theblackestvalkyrie · 2 years ago

Text

#2 - Hulk - Oneshot (Pipe Game Series)

Pairing: Hulk (Bruce Banner) x Giantess!Reader

Summary: Hulk comes back from fighting in the arena and you couldn’t help but get turned on by his performance. Unfortunately, he takes “Hulk Smash” a little too literally.

Warning: Kind of awkward smut, dubcon, rough sex, hulk’s fat girthy cock, sex positive reader, unrealistic cervix fucking, pissing/piss kink, painful sex, accidental/surprise orgasm, slight somnophilia, size difference, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN

A/N: Keep in mind that there is no Bruce in this fic. It’s strictly Hulk in this one. Comic fans, y’all know they are NOT the same person like the movies try to make it so really, they should be in different tags but whatever. Unfortunately, the rating was 5/10 but I personally think he’d be a 9/10 just on size alone 🤤. Reader is sex positive Is that coded for whore? Maybe lmao. Don’t be offended as I am a proud whore myself and is also a giantess (when compared to other species). Kind of like Bilquis from ‘American Gods’. If you know you know 😏. I took this one too far and a bit off track but I am pent tf up sexually so please be easy on me lol.

PG Chapters: Tony //

Based on this post.

https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchbaby300/pseuds/theblackestvalkyrie

The crowd was electric. Their enthusiastic cries and cheers echoed throughout the arena rising and falling with the wins and losses of warriors as they fought for their lives in the arena. On any other night, you’d be on the prowl looking for someone to bed or drink with but tonight was different. The new champion was fighting tonight.

You licked your lips at the thought as you watched his enormous green figure leap around and smash through the opponents put in front of him. He had hardly debuted and fought just a handful of times but ‘The Incredible Hulk’, as he was introduced before fights, was someone who was quickly making a name for himself.

The Hulk wouldn’t be the first champion you had approached sexually but judging by how thick he was all around; he might just be the last. You couldn’t contain your sexually charged thoughts as you watched him from the seat of your aircraft hovering above the arena.

Tonight would be the night you would make your move. You had been planning and plotting the entire week while also remaining celibate. Going without sex for a week while not ideal, would be doable but that one week stretched into a month as your schedules never seemed to align. But tonight the stars aligned. You had no scheduled fights and Hulk only had one match scheduled. So, you suffered through the entire thing squirming with legs crossed and slightly out of breath from just watching Hulk fight. Your clit mashed desperately against the seat, pelvis tilting back and forth in wanton desire.

You gripped the steering wheel to stop yourself from shoving your fingers where you needed them the most. The fight predictably ended in Hulk’s favor with the crowd and the Grandmaster going wild. Waiting was the hardest part. It would take some time for him to make his way back to his quarters which gave you plenty of time to land, park, and make your way to his room. You arrived just a few minutes after he entered his apartment you didn’t bother knocking. There was no privacy on Sakaar.

The red and white theme of the room just screamed Hulk. Trophies, both gifted and taken from his opponents by force, littered the floor and made up what little furniture he had. His room even had a full bar of high-end quality liquors and other mind-altering beverages on a fully stocked cabinet.

The Grandmaster's favoritism was blatantly obvious.

There he sat, a warm washcloth draped over his face, arms draped across his heated bathing pool, not a care in the world. You let your eyes trace downward towards his muscular thick chest and the sparse dark chest hair growing there trailing down his abdomen and obscured by the water.

In an effort to make yourself fully known, you let your footsteps become louder making more noise. Immediately he sat up alert and uncovered his eyes watching you like a predator. You and Hulk had never interacted up close but had seen each other in passing so were familiar yet complete strangers to each other.

“You did so well tonight, Hulk. I wanted to help you relax after such a hard job. Will you let me help you? Will you let me be your tool?”

Silence sat between you both as Hulk tilted his head in deep contemplation. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as his dark eyes pierced right through you.

“Hulk owns you?”

You could have come on the spot at his response. This was better than you could imagine. He must have thought you were one of the contracted sex workers the Grandmaster employed, and why wouldn’t he when you showed up with no underwear, a sheer bodycon dress, and zero inhibitions? Having a sexual tryst for a night was good but having someone sexually own you was a new level to you entirely.

“Yes.” No hesitation on your part.

“Strip.” A forceful command that left no room for argument.

You eagerly shed the thin soft fabric of your dress letting it pool around your feet. You could feel his eyes roaming your body studying your perky hard nipples and the intricate design of your pubic hair.

“Come” He gestured waving a wet hand out of the water and splashing water around without a care in the world for the surroundings. The first steps up to the pool were nerve-racking. While he made no move up to come to you, you could see him shifting around in anticipation.

It only made you more excited at the fact that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

Once you were fully into the warm pool the water settled above your belly button leaving your breasts dry and fully on display. You stopped a little shorter than an arm’s length in front of Hulk wondering if this was too close. It was almost comical to be worried about personal space when you entered his room without permission on the basis of fucking his brains out.

Hulk’s hand rose out of the water and cupped your right breast in shameless desire. He looked to be studying your chest like he had never seen a pair before caressing them with a gentleness that betrayed his size. A sweet silence settled between you two as you enjoyed his soft touch but at some point, you started getting tired of the sweetness.

You wanted to get fucked through the floor.

In a move of pure seduction, you slipped a hand under the water and straight to his cock stroking smoothly thanks to the lubrication of the pool.

Your fingers brushed the fat mushroom head as you took in his size. The head was hot even under the warm water and you struggled to wrap your fingers around it. His entire length measured from the tips of your fingers to the end of your elbow and then some. So many nights of struggling because you were a giantess. Nights of accidentally killing men unlucky enough to get sucked up into you during sex and men too scared to partake after hearing the rumors. It all lead to this glorious moment.

Hulk took his cue from you and slipped his fingers between your legs as well just discovering and exploring to his heart's content.

“You a virgin big guy?” You purred squeezing his length lightly.

“Maybe.” He huffed, half in annoyance half in arousal.

You giggled wrapping your other hand around what you couldn’t reach with the other hand still pumping him but adding a little twist to your wrist.

“Will you let me take care of you?”

He nodded and that was all you needed. Apparently, this was all he needed before standing in the deep pool. The water glistened and rolled off his muscles and down his happy trail to the deep v- cut of his pelvis exposing him in all his glory.

Your mouth started watering at the sight of his curved length. It was even better than anything your imagination could conjure up.

His weeping cock head spread precum along your cheek and lips as Hulk prodded your mouth open with his member.

“You suck me.”

You were granted a few seconds to take in all his splendor up close before his swollen head was banging on the back of your throat in inexperienced thrusts. Even with your hands gripping his hips in a death drip didn’t slow him down and you doubted much would deter him from the warmth of your throat.

You could feel your vision going spotty the darkness calling you and you flailed in panic a little. Hulk pulled himself from your throat and you gasped and coughed for breath ignoring the way the mix of saliva and precum dripped down your chin and throat obscenely.

Hulk lifted you over his shoulder and lumbered out of the pool to his trophy bed smacking your ass once and then dumping you on the bed saturating the sheets from your soaking wet bodies.

Unceremoniously he split your legs wide and ground his bloated cock tip into you bumping the nose of your clit and sliding back between your slick lips to your taint and back up again. Sawing back and forth in slow calculated movements.

Back and forth.

Back.

And.

Forth.

“We fuck now.”

He wasn’t even looking at your face but between your legs at his lewd movements. It was like you weren’t even in the room.

Yes please.” You squealed gripping the sheets in anticipation.

He moved then splitting your vaginal opening bigger than your fist. The stretching burned like nothing you had ever felt and you wondered in the back of your mind if this was how giving birth felt.

“Please wait…...Too big… Please….”

He ignored you and continued to push past any tight resistance living up to his title as champion and hit the opening of your cervix. You cried out as his thick girth split you immediately regretting ever approaching Hulk. Thankfully Hulk had enough thought to stop when he hit the doors of your cervix.

His large green hands gripped your hips and overlapped around your smaller figure. You might have been bigger than everyone you came across but Hulk made you feel small this very moment.

The room filled with the wet squelching sounds of your pussy getting hammered all you could do was spread your legs and hold on. You couldn’t keep up with his pace and the fact that it was bringing equal parts pain and pleasure confused you yet brought a feral arousal like you had never known.

“Gods, slow the fuck down!”

Your flailing was starting to annoy Hulk so he pinned you down with his arms and whole body pressing you into the mattress breathing into the side of your face.

“Don’t fight it.”

Babbling in delirium as he worked you over on his shaft like a cock sleeve with reckless abandon. Again the fat tip of his cock was banging at the doors of your cervix nudging you open with every hit. You were helpless to stop him from taking what he wanted.

You could feel the beginning strings of your orgasm knotting up and building. You couldn’t even form words. Falling over the edge with a sob you could feel yourself releasing liquid all over the bed.

Holy shit you just pissed yourself.

You didn’t even have a chance to catch your breath or feel embarrassed as you continued to piss all over the Hulk yet this did nothing to deter him. In fact, it incensed his primal urges and made him go harder smacking into you at a bruising pace as he chased his climax.

Another orgasm hit you by surprise making your vision spotty. Your tightening walls were all the Hulk needed to slam past the opening of your cervix filling it with the swollen crown of his cock and continuing to pump into you sloppily as he came. Drooling into the sheets you faded into a blissed-out darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coming to, the first thing you could sense was the wet squelching of your pussy still getting fucked. Unable to do anything but watch yourself get fucked in the reflection of the window. Fucking against the window so everyone can see. The Hulk growled possessively into your neck as he came into your stretched-out cervix with a groan.

“Mine…….Mine….”

#Pipe Game Series #hulk x reader #the hulk x reader #black reader #oneshot #marvel fic

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