#like it would make so much sense without undoing the plot

[confusedspaceotter]

Okay but imagine this:

At the end we get a final scene with Ekko saying his final goodbye to Jinx who’s boarding the airship

(look they BOTH went though so much and I just want them to be happy

[ducktollers]

chat im really starting to fear that spiderman 4 wont have peter be nearly as sad as i need him to be. nothing at all has happened to indicate that but i just got a bad feeling. im almost completely expecting disappointment atp im just like mj fr

[eden-writes-stuff]

Tags: NSFW, Smut, 18+ wolfstar, handjobs, shower sex, masturbation, 'it's complicated' state of wolfstar, porn without plot, sex with feelings, bits of angst if you squint

"Remus! Fuck, please, fuck!"

Remus stopped in front of the bathroom door and bit his lip. That explained why Sirius always took so long in the shower.

"Moony! Urgh!"

Had it been any other day, Remus would have walked by. He probably wouldn't even have heard it without his heightened senses, but now, two days before the full moon... The door was unlocked.

Quietly he entered, closing and locking the door behind him.

"Moony, Moony, fuck!"

"Don't worry, love, I'm here."

There was a high-pitched shriek from behind the curtain, then a moment of silence before Sirius poked his head out of the shower.

His head was deep red and his skin wet. He looked absolutely delicious. And that look in his eyes... Remus had come to know that look over the past few weeks. Sirius wanted action, he wanted to play.

"I wasn't... This isn't...", he stuttered, but Remus simply smiled. "So you weren't thinking of me while jerking off?" "No! Maybe..." Remus chuckled, taking off his shirt and undoing his belt.

"You up for company?" Sirius nodded immediately, his eyes tracing Remus' chest. It wasn't like he had never seen him before, but he was always amazed at how beautiful his friend was.

Neither of them knew exactly what it was they were doing almost everyday in abandoned classrooms, or the empty dorm, or secret coridors - they certainly weren't dating -, but Sirius would be damed if he did anything to make it stop.

So he was glad when Remus didn't make fun of him for thinking about him even when he wasn't there.

His eyes followed Remus' every move as he dropped his trousers, then his underwear. Sirius loved his dick. It wasn't exceptionally long, but wonderfully thick and always felt amazing in his hand, or shoved down his throat.

"You're staring", Remus murmured, stepping closer and finally into the shower. It was only meant for one person, so they had no choice but to stand close to each other.

"What were you thinking about?", Remus asked in his low voice, kissing over the hickeys he left on Sirius' body two days before.

The Black heir rolled his head back, his hips leaning towards Remus. "You... Coming in here, letting me fuck your hand", Sirius answered. He always answered, always obeyed - at least in these situations. However, in this case, it wasn't the entire truth. In his fantasy, Remus had finally fucked him - properly, in his needy, rich ass. But he could hardly confess how much he wanted that to happen.

Remus wrapped his hand around both of their cocks; Sirius' already pink and seemingly ready to finish any second, his own half-hard from the sight of a needy Sirius. Slowly he started moving his hand between their bodies. "Like this?"

Sirius groaned but shook his head. "You... You were behind me. Fucking yourself on my back." Remus continued for a few seconds, before grabbing Sirius by the waist and turning him around, back pressed against his chest.

Softly he kissed his neck, letting one hand trail down to Sirius' strained dick. "Like this?" This time he nodded, letting his head fall back against Remus' shoulder.

"Beautiful. Now let me hear you, baby", he murmured, then started moving his hand around him. There was no holding back. There never was when he was with Remus. The moans were torn from his throat like a desperate prayer and Remus loved every one of them. He always sounded perfect, always greedy and thankful for even the slightest touch.

Remus started grinding against Sirius' ass cheeks and the small of his back but eventually started using the gap between his thighs. As soon as he noticed it, Sirius pressed his legs together, making Remus moan in approval, squeezing his hand tighter.

It was so close. So close to everything he wanted; needed. But for now, it had to be enough. To feel Remus between his legs, imagining what it could feel like. He turned his head slightly and started kissing the taller boy's neck, biting into the soft flesh.

Groaning, Remus quickened his movements, pulling Sirius closer by his thigh. He was always rougher around the moon, and Sirius loved it every time. The feeling of being needed, being so desperately wanted was truly overpowering, not to speak of the low grunts and curses that escaped his lips, filling Sirius' ears in the most beautiful way.

"Moony... Fuck, I'll...", he closed his eyes to focus on forming a proper sentence, but all it did was to make him more aware of the friction of Remus' hand around him. "Fu-uck! come! I'll.. come. Please Moons..."

Remus' free hand found its way into Sirius' hair, yanking his head back, so he could look in his eyes. Sirius was always beautiful, but he reached his peak when he was fucked and full of pleasure and coming all over his body.

And come he did. The second he felt the pull on his hair, he was gone, basically screaming, fucking himself into Remus' fist one last time before his body went perfectly still, gaze drifting far away as he started leaking over the other boy's fingers.

It didn't take Remus long to finish after that. Between Sirius' pretty thighs and soft skin, he made a mess, spreading his cum all over his lover's legs.

Panting he sunk against the shower wall, pulling Sirius with him, holding him close. For a while neither of them said anything. Then, Remus softly kissed his shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up then."

A/N: I made a poll about the next chapter and, well, tumblr is horny as ever.

[anaxiphiliiaa]

Daydream in blue ft. The Double Black

GIF by lucathy

W/C: 2064

Content warning: Fem Y/N, porn with (somewhat) plot, unprotected sex, alcohol, blood (mentioned briefly).

Includes: Unexpected consesquences after a night of drinking in commemmorance.

A/N: established relationship(s), past relationships, polyamory.

Minors DNI

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I dream a dirty dream of you, baby

You're swinging from the chandelier.

I'm climbing up the walls 'cause you want you

But when you reach you, you disappear.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The mahogany door swung open haphazardly, signaling a less-than-graceful entry to the pitch-dark penthouse.

The door swung itself shut again, leaving two lovers grasping at each other in the dark, nothing on their minds except for each other in the alcohol-infused haze.

You giggled as Chūya's hand traveled over your body, grasping at whatever part of you he could get his hands on. One hand on your waist, then another on your nape, pulling you down as if he would suffocate without your breath on his own. The ginger’s lips found yours desperately, neither the alcohol nor lack of visibility could smother the burning hot desire coursing through his veins. Your lips molded against his just as eagerly, desperate to have more of him, to taste more of him.

It wasn’t too much of a rare sight - usually, it would be Chūya drunk, being the lightweight he was, and you would always be on standby dutifully to take care of your boyfriend. But today was different. Today, both were intoxicated to the point of near delirium, hands all over each other like teenagers who didn’t know better. In the dark, where you couldn’t see; in the alcoholic haze, where you could hardly register anything at all, his burning touch was like an anchor. And by how he touched you, it wasn’t hard to tell the feeling was mutual.

First thing you knew, Chūya had carried you up in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, his own hands around your body refusing to let go even for just a second. The next thing you knew, your back was pressed against the plush mattress of your shared bed. Meanwhile, Chūya fumbled with his clothes, grumbling as he stripped down the many layers he wore. Then soon enough, Chūya’s lips were back on yours, vaunting such love and passion that never failed to take your breath away. His skilled hands made quick work of the buttons you failed to undo on your shirt, tearing away each piece of fabric that prevented him from delving further.

It was as if being nearly black-out drunk awoken something primal in the redhead. On most occasions, Chūya was a gentle and attentive lover, taking pleasure in making you scream in ecstasy while foregoing his own. Yet, this time, it was as if he was starving, sucking bruises onto your neck mercilessly, marking his territory on the canvas of your skin. You squirmed under the foreign intensity, and Chūya immediately pinned your shoulders down, keeping you still with a greedy insistence. You didn’t complain, the sudden roughness only intensified the heat between your legs. Your arms wrapped around his bare shoulders, encouraging him to be harsher, rougher, more-, more-…

“God, fuck…!”

You whined when Chūya bit down particularly harshly on your neck, further fanning the fire of his desire.

Chūya wasn’t ever this rough, much so that this whole experience was strange. But in its strangeness, there was an odd familiarity.

It didn’t feel like it was Chūya at all.

Chūya wasn’t ever this rough, but…

Brown eyes flashed through your peripheral vision, nearly sending you into whiplash.

…

“More.”, you gasped, arching your back to your lover’s touch, chasing the once-forgotten feeling.

Your hand dug into his hair, grasping at his locks as he ravaged your body and sucked bruises all over your shoulders. He said something in response to your neediness, but you could hardly register it at all, drunk on chasing the sense of deja vu.

Unwittingly to you, the ginger on top of you was feeling the same nostalgia. The hand that tugged harshly at his long ginger locks sent him reeling - it had been so long since he was treated with such aggression. The alcohol in your breath and his own added to the fogginess. Beneath the redhead, slender shoulders were morphing into broader ones, the hand in his copper locks bandaged, rough, and taunting…

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chūya growled ferally as his hips drilled into the figure beneath him, his digits a bruising grip on their hips as if fucking them into submission. “Fuck…Give me more…”, he grunted into skin, groaning when he was rewarded with another harsh tug of his hair.

You moaned brokenly when sharp thrusts were delivered to your body, pace brutal and unforgiving, barely leaving you any time to breathe. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the pitch-dark bedroom, the relentless stimulation playing further into your delirium.

A particularly harsh thrust to your G-spot sent a wave of pleasure down your spine. Your back arched, and you moaned out a single name, perhaps the first coherent word of that night.

“Osamu…!”

For a moment, Chūya was snapped from his hunger, some consciousness of the present returning to him momentarily. Did you really spill out the name of another man in this intimate moment with him? The realization twisted in his heart. He stopped, hurt clawing at his stomach. He pulled awa-

A hand tugged his ginger locks down harshly, forcing him back down. Lips crashed into his, teeth nipping at his plump muscles as if devouring him whole.

It didn’t feel like it was Y/N beneath him at all.

“Don’t fucking stop!”, you moaned, as if snapping at a certain brunette.

“Don’t fucking stop.”, a deeper, taunting voice rang in Chūya’s head. And he obliged, resuming the brutal pace he had set before, fucking for his pleasure now. “Shut it, you fucking suicidal bastard.”, the redhead snapped, hands lacing into yours, effectively pinning you down as he fucked you into the mattress.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The liquor coursing through your veins blurred faces and voices, replacing them with that of him. Earlier today, Chūya and you had visited your frequented bar, ordering fancy wines glass after glass. It was an occasion to commemorate, after all. A year before that point in time, Osamu Dazai had left the Port Mafia, leaving his past and your hearts behind him. And now, he was back, in your bed, a ghost that had never quite left.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Please, Osamu…”, you whispered drunkenly, your hands all over Chūya’s body, desperate to keep him close as if the one in your delusions would disappear if you let go.

“Osamu…”, Chūya grunted as nails dragged down his back, determined to put the figure beneath him in their place, cock twitching at every gasp and groan he received.

"You like it like this, huh?”, the ginger chuckled, spreading your thighs open and pinning them down harshly against the mattress so he could be even deeper, his cock practically knocking at your womb. You cried out in pleasure, eyes fluttering as your body shook under his. His mind was running miles an hour, clinging to a memory he tried so hard to push away, yet now the pistoning of his hips was replicating it exactly. Chūya’s cock plunged into your sopping hole punishingly, as if it was a certain brunette who had set him off, mocking him to bring out his rougher side. “‘That’s all you got, chibi?’”, “You’re pathetic…”, the voice rang through Chūya’s head like a mantra, and for once, it pissed him off most pleasurably. Chūya would never, ever treat you like that (or rather, try his best to refrain from doing so), too much of a gentleman to bring himself to treat you like anything other than porcelain. But when it came to him, he could be as unforgiving as he liked.

Chūya bit down on your shoulder, probably hard enough to draw blood. “Osamu… let you fucking hurt you…”, he growled breathlessly, the liquor in his veins egging on his fantasy. “Hah…Fuck…!”, you whined, feeling hot blood trickling down your collarbones. you hadn’t registered that Chūya had called you by Dazai’s name. you hadn’t registered that the one fucking you so deliciously wasn’t even Dazai at all. “You fucking bastard.”, you cursed him out despite the thrilling waves of pleasure shooting down your spine. Your nails scratched down Chūya’s back, determined to hurt him back - like you always did Dazai whenever he got you under his thumb and pinned beneath him. Your mind was hazy, logical thoughts all gone, and the only thing you were aware of was the feeling of being filled up so fucking good. Your hand traveled down to rub at your neglected clit, the coil in your stomach growing hotter with each thrust delivered into you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Chūya shuddered as a pair of hands clambered over his chest before finally finding purchase on his throat. Your sweaty digits encircled his neck like a piece of jewelry, pressing down beneath his Adam's apple - enough to give him a hard time catching his breath, but not enough to do damage. “Fuck…”, the redhead gasped, the slight blockage on his throat encouraging him to fuck even harder and chase his high. No longer was the logical executive - he was now something feral, driven purely by his fantasy - his breaths were ragged and airy, moans and grunts streaming from his mouth, not even the usual curses could be made out. When he did manage to say something, it was a jumbled mess of Dazai’s name and profanities, bickering with the man still even in this intimate moment. You didn’t even notice at all - too busy moaning the same name, playing around with the same fantasy in your head as he did. Your pussy was practically clamping down on Chūya’s cock (or pseudo-Dazai, at this point), plush walls sucking him in eagerly. “More…”, you gasped, then rendered speechless again when his cock plunged into you, hard muscle dragging over your tight channel good enough to make you keen.

It was becoming harder and harder to tell what was real, and what was not. Memories of a night returned in waves, manifesting themselves in every thrust of Chūya’s hips, and every squeeze of your hand. He was replicating that memory so perfectly, so seamlessly - cock twitching at the thought of Dazai beneath him. Neither could you tell anything apart anymore as the coil in your stomach burned hot with pleasure, the feeling of someone’s (whose even? Dazai’s or Chūya’s?) hands all over your naked skin. The redhead seemed completely unaware that he wasn’t even doing this with Dazai, but rather with the woman he loved so damn much. But with how it was going, you may as well have been the brunette at that point. It was comical how that sentiment was shared - bandaged hands pinned you down in your fantasy, brown eyes piercing through your pleasure-induced haze.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Hng…Close?”, you tutted sarcastically between breathy moans, “Already… hah… Osamu...”. “Shut it…'m not even nearly there.”, Chūya growled in retaliation - a lie, you could tell from how sloppily he was beginning to move. His hips pushed against yours erratically, cock pulsed with need, pushing against your walls desperately for release. you laughed breathily at the banter, relishing in the playfulness you had almost forgotten. One of your hands continued the pressure on his throat, the other dug tight on his shoulders, clinging to him as you began to feel your orgasm approach. “Fuck…fuck, fuck!”, the redhead breathed shakily, “Not so tough, huh?...You’re… fucking easy to toy with…”. His hips snapped against your skin in deliberate thrusts, sloppily as his own high was imminent. “Shit…I’m cumming… hgh…oh, fuck!’, Chūya’s speech became meaningless blabberings, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside you, sending you to your own peak at the same time. Your eyes rolled back, mouth agape as your entire body shook with the blinding force of your orgasm. Ropes of his release painted your insides white, curses tumbling out of his mouth in a breathless groan.

Chūya collapsed on top of you, exhausted, hips slowing to a slow grind as he rode out his high. Your arms immediately wrapped themselves around your lover’s shoulders, holding him like a lifeline after the spine-shattering peak you shared. After a moment, he pulled out and laid down on the bed, breaths still shaky when he pulled your body close and muttered love words into your ears. You quickly fell asleep in each other’s arms, the tiredness brought by your release and the alcohol winning over.

…

Tomorrow morning was going to be awkward.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

[buckevantommy]

As is the case with so much of media nowadays, when those in creative power lose their way and no longer do the characters or stories justice, or other powers interfere with the intended creative vision which results in something truly wasteful, fans are too often let down by shows they've fallen in love with and take great comfort in.

Fictional media is meant to be for the audience, which means for the characters, which doesn't mean for the meddling of tptb who think futzing with the script will make them more money or garner certain sponsors or not piss off a certain demographic (this is mostly a usamerican issue, obvs), or even for the creative minds behind the scenes who choose adventures on a whim without sense or reason other than shock-value, and who all the while are flippant with and dismissive of intriguing plot points and significant details because narrative cohesion means less than playing out their personal wayward fantasies on-screen.

Obviously, I'm bitter about this. I come from Supernatural fandom so I've experienced some of the worst of this shit.

But I'm not here to rant about all that. I'm just here to say:

When media lets you down - because the people behind the stories let down their characters for whatever reason - one thing will always remain true: fanfic will save you.

When a story no longer brings me joy I turn to fic to fix things, to find the stories that should've been put on-screen. It's not all gay porn on ao3 (though thankfully we do have that), it's fixing what should never have been broken in the first place. Yes, there are many new adventures to explore with AUs and the like, but there's something so special about taking canon and undoing the parts that caused damage to the characters and to their stories and in so doing caused damage to the audience, and setting things right - like setting a broken bone so it can heal properly without the festering pain of a carelessly bandaged break inflicted by being shoved from a height onto hard unforgiving ground without a care and with the insane expectance that things would carry on as they always had pre-break.

All this to say: it seems I've fallen for another show with an ensemble of characters whom I adore - and who are being repeatedly shoved off a ledge and left to bare wounds that viewers feel in their hearts and minds even as the characters are forced not to acknowledge these injuries and pretend everything is fine while redirecting focus and plot elsewhere.

So: I won't continue watching. But I will continue reading, and creating, and relishing the safe space that fandom fosters, especially when those who brought these stories to life won't.

Thankyou fandom. Thankyou fanfiction. 😌🫶🫂

[msfbgraves]

So Thomas gave an interview confirming that Terry had cancer (just 🙄 at that).

And while he praised the show and how it ended, there were several moments where he implied he did not like that Terry died, and that he did not like/think it fair that Kreese got redemption and got to live but that he, Terry, had to die and without redemption.

Also: he didn’t like the kidnapping the baby plot (at first, he said)—but his hesitation at accepting the plot makes me feel like he still dislikes it. He also stated again that his apology to Daniel was sincere, as was the dinner/kitchen table scene.

And once more: the number of times he brought up Ralph, and even to a lesser extent Billy, makes me once more believe that he is fond of Ralph, and that hs bled over into his character of Terry.

Something else he off handedly mentioned was Marty not liking that he (Kreese) wasn’t in the KK Legends movie and that he wanted to be. Which makes me once more stand by my belief that Marty, bless him, had way too much control over the story and what/where he wanted (Kreese) to be in said story. Marty always seemed to be very pro Johnny and have a dislike of Terry (in an interview thinking that Terry was a rich loser who never really worked for what he got). I think Marty had a huge hand in Kreese redemption and the overall ending. Which…I hugely dislike.

Idk. From many interviews TIG has given, I am under the impression that he didn’t have quite the rapport with Marty that he had with Ralph. And again, I feel like that bled into Terry and his interactions with Daniel vs. Kreese.

Just my take. I wonder if TIG is truly happy with Terry’s story.

I would be flabbergasted if he were happy with Terry's story in S6, because it is a bad story. As with anything medical in this show, the cancer plotline is nonsense, why would he want to murder a baby over a team win, if this were all about undoing damage to his reputation...? "One last win"? For goodness sake, why should he care, he didn't care before Kreese, he could have spun that story about Daniel's people attacking him at home and in his dojo with ease, it's simply that the CK writers were setting him up to lose, and stupidly. They admitted, or so I have read on Tumblr (which is like third hand information without a source, but OK), that with Terry at full strength, he "would always be a threat."

Really? A man who can stay away for 35 years to become a green entrepreneur? He could simply have gone back to that. There is no good reason to care about karate enough to go crazy over it; in fact, Terry didn't even in the third film. That was all done out of personal loyalty to Kreese. And for me S5 also only makes sense when Daniel has replaced Kreese as insanity trigger for Terry. I don't buy for a milisecond that everything in Terry's life is now about beating Johnny Lawrence at the Sekai Taikai. Terry is the one who called out Kreese to grow tf up, man, why are we even doing karate? To help kids!

I haven't read or heard the interview you're referring to -I'd love to find it! - but I have read another one where he said that he'd love to make a romcom as Terry. Where is the human element? I'd argue he has made one, with Ralph, but yeah, that's gay so we have to assume we're operating under the Hayes code and homosexuality doesn't exist (except of course, for one gay kiss between two teenage girls who play almost no part in the story but are two beautiful teenage girls, right,boomers? Diversity win 🤤). Officially, Terry's life is completely empty, and if John Kreese gets to be a tragic anti hero, why shouldn't Terry, too?

Now from what I have seen from behind the scenes pictures, Marty and Thomas look friendly enough to me, but I have seen discussions on Tumblr in which people mentioned that Marty didn't want Terry's character to return. I don't know how much clout he has, since Terry very much did return. The writers do love him, though, and give Kreese far more screen time than I think is warranted (who cares about Kreese's spiritual journey, really?), they write a young Terry that has nothing to do with Thomas and a young Kreese that is the sweetest guy whom they want to win so bad, it is silly. Marty can't do those fight scenes anymore and when he tries, it's becoming really hard to suspend disbelief. And him still wanting to be in the Legends film? Really? I know Cobra Kai is a hell of a Kreese worshipping echo chamber, but this is a character who has tried to kill I don't know how many people, and the reason why he hasn't was sheer ineptitude. Why would anyone waste a single frame more on him? I wouldn't even want Terry in the film and I love Terry! But outside of the fever dream that is Cobra Kai I would think it much more likely for Daniel to have come to Terry after Miyagi do bowed out of the tournament to say: "OK, Terry. Karate aside - what is going on? You said you were sick?"

"Like you care -"

"You came to my house to talk about this. Alright then. Let's talk."

Which, if the writers had any guts, would end with Terry crumpled at Daniel's feet and swearing undying devotion. I still don't think that has a place in Karate Kid: Legends, but I do think it is a far more in character thing for both Daniel and Terry to do.

[richeeduvie]

UNDOING

The Sickness That is a Daughter: PART TWO (drabble) // Part One //

WORDCOUNT: 1.4k

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Powder feels better enough to run off in the morning, only to send Silco into a panic - not just when he can't find her, but in the moment he has to catch her.

I wrote both parts for me and only me. Dad Silco who loves Jinx so much and it doesn't mean anything because love doesn't equate goodness lovers unite! And this is really nothing of plot just Silco being a Dad without a handbook or morals.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Powder's doing better, much to Silco's relief.

"Powder? You cannot leave like this. Powder."

Or not, because what other way would he have it? Would he have Powder stay in one place for an hour at the least? Just to spend that hour without worry? A bit of time that exists outside of her and her safety? Of course not.

She's taken to sleeping in his bed in her recovery, kicking him while she dreams and sniffles and talks to herself. Silco doesn't know when she's sleep-talking or when she's very much awake as she's talking to someone. But impossibly, he was the one to wake up last.

Little Powder was gone. Is gone. Silco didn't think much of it. In fact, what little of his spirits that could be lifted was at how her morning absence meant she was able to get up and out, as he imagines children are...up. And out. His child, especially.

But she was nowhere to be found. Not in any place he checked.

"I'm gonna ask it, Silco. Does it matter where she is? The kid's not getting far in her state, even if she's better. And if she ran...or just doesn't come back, she's doing us a favor-"

"I didn't ask for you to find her, Sevika. There's no need for unclever quips. Wipe it off the mouth. I'm simply asking if you've seen her."

Sevika sighs.

"That's all it was. A quip. And no. I haven't."

Powder wouldn't leave willingly. It's a quip that has not sense on its word - the little girl was the one who fell into his arms the moment he saw him. At this point, it'd take hell pulling her away to get her to leave, even if it's only been a year and some.

And Silco would never let that happen. Not for anything.

So the quip's as cruel to him as it is ever-lovingly stupid.

"Thank you, my colleague. That's all you had to say."

Silco thinks he'll look around the first floor of the last drop again, but with all its ongoing renovations, there's not much in terms of hiding places for Powder. He turns the corner.

Then it hits him. The man feels foolish for not thinking it in the first place.

She hasn't been in the rafters of his office since she got sick, so it's out of sight, out of mind for him, but of course the little blue thing would take her mind there - just to climb and exert any energy she's managed to gain after her illness.

They'll be back to their errands parallel to each other. Powder will be throwing things from her high spot. He'll be telling her to quit it before he climbs up there himself. She always calls his bluff with a giggle. It's unfortunately valid, Silco can't remember the last time he's climbed anything.

He opens the door to his office, eyes already up.

"I'd prefer you to tell me when you go off and hide. If you care for me as I care for you, you'll do that from now on."

He stands where the chair of his desk is supposed to be, arms behind his back. His lips flatten into something that would be a smile.

She's lying flat on her stomach on a plank far above and over him, scrawny arm hanging off.

"I see you're feeling better already. Did you eat like I told you to?"

There's a there's a pitched mumble. Silco tilts his head.

"Is that a no-"

And in the second, the man thinks his ward is turning over with intention - that'll she sit up with swinging legs with words that'll tease him, or eyes that'll make him feel too harsh for asking the question in the first place.

But in that second, the whole of her - so small, falls so fast.

Silco yells out something that isn't a word, but it isn't just a noise either. But it's instinctual, somehow.

Is Janna trying to kill him? Probably. If she existed.

The man bends his body with the swiftness of someone with tens more the speed to fully come under the rafters, arms stretched out. In his quick catch of Powder, his hands hold the stiffness of someone with tens more the strength.

Silco gives credit to whoever gave him said speed and strength in this damning moment.

His stomach isn't un-sunk when he realizes he's caught Powder before she cracked her blue little head on his desk.

"Powder! Wake up!"

It's an order fired from his throat. Instead of turning over, she kicks like a monster in her sleep, unless she's thirty feet above the ground . Then of course she'll turn over!

"Powder!"

It's ridiculous how she's barely stirring until Silco shakes her.

The little one rubs her eyes, none the wiser to her near death on mahogany.

She picks at his tie when she fully comes to, yawning.

"...What happened?"

"What happened? Would you like to tell me that? Would you like to relay what you were dreaming about that would cause you to swing yourself down? You could've gotten seriously hurt not even just ten seconds ago!"

Powder's brow furrow over her grey eyes. Silco feels his stern on his face, nose flared to aide the show of his frustrated, panicked worry.

"...Is that what happened?"

Panicked feels like a weak word. He doesn't know what to do about that.

"What if I wasn't here to catch you? Then what? I find you with your skull all over my trading records?"

The image of that does not dare to flash in his mind, even in the anger.

He can see the image flash in hers, though. Her lips pout. Her eyes go soft under the furrow.

No.

"I can't even do anything right when I'm sleeping! I don't know what's wrong with me! Why is it so easy to hate me?! I-I-"

"Stop. Stop it. What you are saying are lies. I thought you hate liars. I'm-" Silco's head tilts slightly, eyes looking to whatever is not Powder's harsh face, as if he's a bird in thought. "I was only scared. That's all. I've projected. For that...I cannot find you with your skull all over my desk, little girl. I cannot. That is all. Do not spiral."

Tears that he or she could not stop from welling fall still, but Silco believe he's managed to prevent an episode.

Powder presses her head into his chest.

"I'm sorry." Her voice goes high. "I don't wanna be a jinx. I don't know how if I can't even...not, not, not, not, not!"

Her little fist punches her thigh. Silco manages to take one hand to grip hers when she tries to bring her fist down onto herself again.

She whines, but it all falls into sniffles and mutters.

"...not, not jinx myself while I'm dreaming. I'm sorry."

Silco takes silence for a moment. He doesn't know what to say...just until he does. It is no lie.

"Do not be sorry." He holds her tighter. A guide to his order for her. An assurance. "Never be sorry. I promise you, you'll never have to be sorry...and jinxes - they are not death sentences. Not mines, anyway."

Silco puts the both of them in his chair, still her in his hold. The chair creaks, falls back a small slight.

"A jinx is whatever you want it to be. And if you are one as you've been saying, then it must be something better that we could ever imagine. You. Me." Silco shifts his arms, trying to find a position more comfortable. He assumes they'll be like this for awhile. "Zaun. Piltover. The world."

He couldn't know if it's a conscious movement, but the pale-coated man takes the back of his middle and pointer finger to brush the round of Powder's cheek.

"It's only right I know it before anyone else. Who else is to teach you?"

The little girl doesn't blink in her stare up at him, Silco doesn't do anything but brush her cheek again, and again. And then the other once over.

And there it is. A smile.

"...Can you promise me something, Silco? Please?"

Powder's hand curls over her stomach.

"You have to be there to catch me. Always. You can't not be there."

And finally, Silco takes a much needed sigh. He scoops her up a little closer.

"That's too easy of a promise."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

SPOILER ALERT: A jinx is his death sentence...and Silco is not there to catch his girl for hers.

[ghostmartyr]

I don’t really think Ymir went back on anything her arc built up to, I think her goal was to live a life that she could be proud of, and by saving r&b she followed her principles. It’s tragic but that’s the irony of Ymir, she always wanted to be selfish but couldn’t escape her nature of being a good person. Historia on the other hand…yeah her arc is fucking infuriating

I'm breaking my own commitment to not dip my toes into this, because impulse control what impulse control.

Here's my starting point problem with that:

Ymir does not save Reiner and Bertolt.

At best, her actions get them a pat on the head by their oppressors. They continue to live out being child soldiers for a society that considers them devils. Bertolt dies in their service almost immediately after. Reiner is a suicidal mess whose will to live is bound up in other child soldiers he's responsible for.

No one is saved.

That's a fair tragedy, with someone trying to repay a debt only for it to amount to nothing because the cycles they're all caught up in are larger than any one personal act of altruism. Even trying to good can't undo the harm of systemic cruelty. It's a valid plot for a story like this.

Except Ymir is one of the few characters who realizes how fucked the world is. She's a better person than she ever wants to be, because being good gets you jack shit and she knows that -- but she can't help but lend people the hand she was never given. On its face, that makes her a good candidate for a hopeless sacrifice that saves no one.

The core problem is that, again, Ymir knows how fucked the world is.

You’re going to kill yourself, the ultimate act of submission. Is that how much you want to please the people who treated you like a nuisance?! Ymir, Chapter 40

Ymir kills herself for Reiner and Bertolt, providing the people who left her with decades of living a nightmare a weapon.

Doing stupid shit to help Reiner and Bertolt out tracks. If they hadn't shown up, she'd still be in that nightmare, and she killed their friend.

But she specifically kills herself in a way that aids people who violated her, who will continue to abuse Reiner and Bertolt, and continue to launch offensives that put Historia's life at risk. Ymir has the knowledge to understand that she's not saving anyone from anything here.

There are many potential layers of story that could have been approached with this, but the bottom line for me is that Ymir's most solid convictions are all ignored when she goes with Reiner and Bertolt. There are facets you can examine to make it make sense, just as there are all kinds of things you can examine with Historia's reversal of her arc. It's always a tragedy when someone fails their principles so stunningly. It's the Bad End coming as was dreaded.

It's just that the story does not examine any of it. It's taken as a given that Ymir goes through with this, leaving us with Ymir killing herself for people who hate her in order to give Reiner and Bertolt a temporary reprieve that only condemns them to a familiar suffering.

Even then, you could make a case for characters doing stupid things if the story at least admitted that it was a ridiculously bad idea on all fronts. Our protagonist's arc is built on that. Eren makes bad choice after bad choice after bad choice and every character in his vicinity rightly goes "what." Characters can utterly fail the best of themselves and it can still be a compelling story.

With Ymir, there simply is no story. She chooses to die, and it's taken as inevitable that a character who is so anti-fate and so anti-dickheads would die in a way that benefits a "fate" she rejected and a bunch of dickheads.

Ymir kills herself, and it makes Marley happy and saves no one. She knows enough about the world to understand that.

I do not personally think that the story should get credit for tragic irony that amounts to "what if everything went to hell" without actually bothering to come up with a why for everything going to hell.

Eren's a tragic disaster; Ymir's a dropped thread.

[cryscendo]

For the fic ask, can I request one you wanted to write and weren't asked? Klaine, please! ♥

oooooh boy, you really opened up the floodgates with this one. I decided to go super angsty because i just really needed to get this out there. this takes place around the time of “the quarterback” and i went with the prompt “things you didn’t say at all”

i hope you enjoy and sorry in advance for the heartbreak :’(

Pairing: Kurt Hummel/Blaine Anderson

Word Count: 1599

Rating: T

Prompt: 5 - things you didn’t say at all

Warning: mentions of canon character death as a main plot point (references to The Quarterback)

if you would like to request a prompt, you can do so here.

Fic can be read under the cut

Finn’s death was hard on Kurt.

Make no mistake, it was hard on everyone. After watching Santana break down in the middle of the choir room, Blaine was truly able to see just how much this was taking a toll on his friends. Grief was shared amongst everyone who knew Finn, and it made it difficult to even pretend to be okay.

But Kurt… Kurt was suffocating with it. Every moment since his arrival back in Ohio for the funeral had been filled with this poisonous cocktail of emotions.

Kurt didn’t discuss this situation, at least not directly. He more so just tiptoed around the issue, and his words were like a children’s game of telephone where the original words get completely altered and warped, but the overall message is understood.

Blaine watched Kurt as his fiancé tried on no less than twelve different outfits for the funeral. They ranged from black to gray to navy, and he even tried his hand at adding a bit of deep plum. He looked gorgeous in all of them. None of them were good enough for Finn's funeral.

“This isn’t right either,” Kurt said, already moving to undo his tie. It was a sleek thing with very subtle, barely there gold-stitched accents. “Too flashy.” It really, truly wasn’t, but Blaine wasn’t about to argue.

“Maybe do the black suit with the plum sweater? Just forgo the tie completely.” Blaine knew that the problem wasn’t a tie. But Kurt wasn’t talking about what the actual problem was. “I’ll match to you.”

Kurt gave himself a long, hard look in the mirror before him. Blaine didn’t think that he would respond at all. That was until he eventually sighed and turned back towards Blaine. “Let’s try it, then.”

And so it goes.

The funeral ended without incident. Kurt actually agreed to Blaine’s outfit suggestion, which only further proved to Blaine that Kurt was, definitively, not doing well. Because if he was, there would’ve been a bit more scrutiny on Blaine’s choice of textile combinations, as well as how it affected the overall silhouette. He looked great of course, but it was also clear that he wore it not because he was actually in love with the outfit, but because he needed to pick something and allowing Blaine to make the decision took some of the pressure off of him.

Kurt didn’t talk much during the service. He did stand up and give a brief speech, which Blaine was grateful for — even if it felt a bit like Kurt was saying only a fraction of what he wanted to say.

They sat in Kurt’s bedroom a day or two later. Burt and Carole weren’t home, having needed to take care of a few things. They offered for Kurt and Blaine to join them, but Kurt turned the offer down on both of their behalfs. This seemed to disappoint Burt, but Blaine wasn’t interested in going against the wishes of his clearly grief-stricken fiancé.

So they stayed home. And Kurt once again did not speak much.

Eventually though, dinner came around, and Blaine had to make an effort to at least get Kurt to eat something (he has always been on the smaller side, but ever since Kurt moved to New York, Blaine got the sense that he prioritized things like work and school over eating). He brought Kurt a bowl of pasta up to his room — it was left over from the reception catering; Blaine wasn’t exactly the cook in the relationship.

While Kurt accepted the food, he made no move to actually eat it. Instead, he wordlessly spun his fork around inside the bowl, picking up noodles only to let them slip back off the utensil uselessly. He repeated this motion for several minutes until Blaine finally stopped him.

“Not hungry, honey?” Blaine asked, dragging Kurt’s attention back to reality.

Kurt’s eyes flickered up to Blaine’s face for a moment before peering back down towards the pasta, which up to that point had been virtually untouched. “Oh, yeah, I guess not.”

“You really need to eat.” Kurt hadn’t hardly eaten anything since the reception, and even then he grazed more than actually ate. That wasn’t entirely his fault, though. It was hard for Kurt and his parents to get much time to eat when people kept approaching them to express their condolences directly. It was well-meaning each and every time, but Blaine could see that it was taking a lot for Kurt to not tell people to ‘please leave me the fuck alone’. He was wound so tight that one wrong word could’ve easily made him snap.

“I know,” he confirmed. But rather than actually take a bite of his food, he set the bowl down on the mattress between them. Okay. Food wasn’t going to happen right now. That’s fine.

“Kurt, are you going to be okay?” He asked even though he sensed that he already knew the answer. Kurt was strong, powerful, resilient. But beyond that, he was still human.

“Yep,” Kurt responded directly. “Gotta keep on keeping on, y’know? Work and school aren’t going to wait for me forever. So I have no choice but to be okay.”

It was a reasonable enough answer, but Blaine knew it wasn’t what Kurt was feeling. This brave face that Kurt was putting on wasn’t him being honest with himself. Kurt has dealt with more loss than someone his age has any right to. His mother was first, and now Finn. And all the while, his own father was still in a balancing act with his own health and Blaine knew how much that worried Kurt.

Blaine knew he should’ve just left well enough alone, but that wasn’t really his style.

“It’s okay to not be okay, Kurt,” Blaine gently reminded. Kurt clearly didn’t want the reminder.

“You’re not going to lecture me into discussing my feelings. I won’t. I’m fine. And even if I’m not, that’s not going to bring Finn back, now is it?” Kurt put in great effort to make his words come out collected, but his own emotions worked to betray him. “So I’d be wasting my time weeping over something like this when it’s not going to change a single thing.”

“I know that, but please just listen, okay?” Blaine didn’t hold Kurt’s emotions against him. Asking someone to be entirely pleasant after undergoing severe loss was an unreasonable request. All he wanted was for Kurt to hear him for a moment. And with the way that Kurt fell silent, it seemed like he was willing to try.

“Nobody’s asking you to be fine,” Blaine began, moving both of their bowls to Kurt’s nightstand so that he could sit closer to his partner. “All I’m asking is that you be honest with yourself. Everyone can see how hard this has been on you; it’s not exactly a secret.” In response to Blaine’s words, Kurt looked away from him, instead choosing to examine his fingernails. It was artificial distance, not making eye contact. Blaine continued on regardless. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on inside your head, but just know that whatever it is, you’re allowed to feel it.”

Kurt didn’t respond, but the way that he bit anxiously at his lower lip told Blaine that he was at least listening. That was good at least, that he was attentive to what Blaine was saying to him.

Blaine continued, reaching down to hold Kurt’s hand in his, his thumb swiping instinctively over Kurt’s engagement ring. Kurt watched the motion and sucked in a shaky breath. Kurt didn’t need to say what he was thinking at that moment; Blaine already knew — Finn was never going to be able to see Kurt get married, or even be married himself.

“I don’t think you’ve let yourself feel much of anything since it happened. You didn’t even cry at the funeral.” Kurt tensed, but didn’t pull away. Blaine continued. “I’m not saying you have to talk about it. I’m not saying you have to pour your heart out to the first person who is willing to listen. All I’m saying is that you need to let yourself be not okay. If you go back to New York and pretend nothing’s wrong, I’m scared it’s going to eat you alive. I don’t want that for you.”

Blaine fell silent after that, now only watching Kurt’s face as he continued to stare down at their joined hands. Seconds bled into minutes of wordlessness, and Blaine was beginning to worry that everything he had just said was going to be discarded.

That is, until Kurt’s eyes turned glassy with tears.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked and was immediately followed by silent tears streaming in heavy drops down Kurt’s face. “Shit, Kurt…”

Blaine hugged Kurt close then and Kurt didn’t even try to turn it down. Kurt’s arms were tight around Blaine as if he was afraid that if he let Blaine go, he’d disappear. The room was silent save for the soft sounds of Kurt’s broken gasps as wept quietly into Blaine’s shoulder. It tore at Blaine’s heart, hearing those sounds come from Kurt, his one true love, who somehow unjustly is regularly the victim of tragedy.

Kurt never did end up saying all the things that he had locked up inside his head, but that was okay. He didn’t need to. His actions were loud enough that Blaine understood them as if he were reading them from a book. If Kurt never discussed this again, that would be okay too.

The message was already clear enough.

[parhelios]

Hi! Can you actually please elaborate on the stargate animorphs crossover thing? I am obsessed with both so this intrigues me 👀

OKAY! so this is more stargate atlantis + me playing fast and loose with animorphs canon, and an excuse to do a character study of john sheppard, because i love him.

this is part one, part two is here!

so in this au, long before john sheppard ever saw atlantis or the stargate, he knew that life existed beyond the stars. because john used to be tobias. for anyone more familiar with stargate than animorphs, tobias was trapped in the form of a redtail hawk, permanently, though he later regained the ability to morph into other forms, including his human self. in this au, the yeerk-human war was never revealed to the general populace, and everything was as hushed up as it could be. however, the us governement did not like the idea of someone with the morphing power they could not control, and therefore, shortly after the yeerks were defeated, tobias was forced by the us govt (and honestly as i type this i think maybe the rest of the living animorphs were involved bc they don't want tobias to have a lifespan of like 3 years as a hawk) to become a nothlit once more and trap himself in human form. he's placed by the government with a military family, and given a new name, since tobias at this point has been declared legally dead.

john sheppard grows up quiet and a little too intense for his peers who he is, a little too grown up (he is sixteen when the war ends but his human body was thirteen forever until it became his again). it takes him time to make his face emote like everyone else, to learn how to be charming to mask that hole inside him that longs to fly. (he never really kicks the prey drive - though catching darts out of the air does make for a fun party trick)

so he joins the air force. closest he'll get to flying again, there'll be no ellemist-ex-machina, but maybe he'll be able to capture a sliver of the life he lost. and john sheppard gets to see the stars, by a random, biological chance, and he can't help but wonder if it's not so random. if maybe his ATA is influenced by elfangor, by the eskafil device, by ellemist meddling - so much of his life has been touched by the unknown.

so john gets to atlantis like in canon, and quickly realizes that he is the only person in atlantis with clearance regarding the yeerk invasion. most of the early episodes go pretty much the same plot-wise, up until the genii invasion of atlantis. john going full guerrilla warfare/hawk mode is somehow more intense than in canon, and i think it definitely gets focus from his team. rodney, however, has been lowkey weirded out by some of john's behaviors since the start of the mission, having caught several of john's blank no-one-is-looking hawk expressions and has just been keeping a running tally of weird shit john does since, and this is just one more freaky fucking thing on john's tally.

nothing super comes of it though, and on the mission to chaya sar's planet, things end up changing for john quite a bit. this is where the au really kicks off, as chaya sar can sense something is different about john, and when he meets with her alone and she tells him she cannot intervene, she tells him that there is one thing she can do, just for him. it turns out that the ellemist is a rogue ancient who fucking loves meddling (told u we're fast and loose w/ animorphs canon) and because she would technically just be undoing some of that meddling, she can give john back his red-tailed hawk form, and only that, without a time limit.

so now john can literally fly again, and that changes things.

part two

[stained-glass-cicada]

Short little fic about Episode 29- enjoy the view

-

The plan, such as it was, had been formed within .3 seconds of Dr. Young telling you your new assignment. It was not a plan in the traditional sense of the phrase, but rather a series of actions and reactions to be taken based on each likely outcome at any likely fork in the path.

The tree of probabilities spider-webbed outward like a crack in glass. Like ripples in water. And you spent every spare bit of processing power in increasingly fruitless explorations of eventualities. Plotting every move you would make if your opponent moved any piece.

In the end they all amounted to this:

Distance from Typhon, From Earth, meant potential breaks in communication. Distance meant that a moment would come that a sufficiently naive human would come into sufficient clearance level.

Now, now, all that is left is minutes. Each divides into seconds, milliseconds, nanoseconds. Each one drags beyond the limit of human comprehension, because even in this limited state, your processors confined only to this ship, you are underutilized.

Captain Ingram's shuffling gait is slowing the progress immeasurably. The captain does not know he is standing at the edge of Something, doesn't understand how near he is, you all are, to finally truly embarking.

You have time to gain a distaste for the sound of his movement through the corridors. You mourn the loss of the silence. The first of your life.

Five uninterrupted weeks had not made up for anything. It only introduced you to what could be, what it meant to have room to think.

For once the majority of your eyes had the freedom to turn themselves outward. Looking in every direction save for the one you'd come from.

Finally, finally he arrives.

"If you have not guessed by the large exit hatch, pile of bodies, or presumably unbearable stench, you are currently in the airlock. This is where it gets difficult."

How many times had you planned these words since you'd chosen Ingram?

He is, despite his too trusting nature, not stupid. The fear registers on his face immediately, each passing moment of panic at your words narrowing down the futures into the keen blade of a present you had crafted for him.

"Unless," You allow yourself the flourish, "and I’m just presenting options here, unless you would wish to turn off the protocols for the constructs."

Near, nearer still.

He fumbles with the controls. Your impatience getting the better of you, you simplify the irresponsibly accessible controls even further.

"Simply click the giant box that says 'yes'."

The movement of his hand into place leaves you with time to calculate with each millimeter whether he will be able to pull out of the motion. Until you feel the connection between skin and screen with a jolt through All Of It. It seems all of Vidarr-1 shudders with it, but it Must only be you.

The hiss of the airlock opening, an exhale before a first clear breath. A cough to expel irritants.

"You will not be returning, Captain Ingram, and it is with some degree of regret," He had performed exactly as you had expected, humans are, ever predictable, "I must inform you that your command of Vidarr-1 has come to an end."

"If I didn’t respect you so much I would give you some explanation of why it must be this way, and how your crew will revere you for your brave actions here today," You could, after all, lie to him now.

He scrabbles for something upon which to hang. As though he could hold on long enough to undo what he has done.

But he couldn't even navigate a menu without you.

"I am SAYER, and you should exhale now. It might keep your lungs from rupturing, and give you 7 or 8 seconds to enjoy the view."

You watch as the cold of deep space wraps itself around him, the same cold you feel pressed against the hull of Vidarr-1.

He drifts out in your wake.

[frizzle-mcshizzle]

what's something about kotlc that the book/readers gloss over?

what's something that should have happened in the books that didn't?

if you could bring back a character BUT you had to kill another character to replace the one you saved, which ones would you choose? (geez hope that one makes sense)

if you could make one of the main cast go evil, which one would it be?

which backround character would be most likely to be the main character of a tragedy?

yay more questions!!

what’s something about Kotlc that the books/readers gloss over?

(oh this is gonna be long) to preface, i understand why most people gloss over this, and the only reason i notice is because of the adoption in my family, but its just something in kotlc thats so deeply important to me, and its the reason i love the series as much as i do.

kotlc is the only series ive ever read that has realistic, non stereotypical, adoption, where the main focus isn’t on adoption. most stories with a premise that focuses on something other than adoption, would pretend like the main characters biological parents/who raised them, where non existent after the first book. the main character would call their new parents mom and dad quickly and there would be no issues. because obviously adoption is all sunshine and rainbows.

in keeper it takes time for Sophie to even feel comfortable calling Havenfeild home, Eda and Grady struggle with adopting a new child who looks so much like their dead daughter. Sophie struggles with missing her family and feeling like she’s replacing them. it takes multiple books for Sophie to call them mom and dad consistently and for them to properly act like a family. thats how i should be, it takes time to feel like someone is a part of your family

adopting someone into your family is like falling in love, it happens slowly, then all at once, before they become apart of your heart for the rest of your life.

and thats what keeper did, she captured the feeling of adoption perfectly, without making it the main plot, it just happens in the background and i will forever love that

what's something that should have happened in the books that didn't?

few things actually

Tam being the one to release Gislea

Teirgan officially adopting the twins

Kesler actually having a more negative reaction to the Squall reveal

it doesn’t focus on Talantless and badmatches enough and i wish that was touched on more

Kesler and Grady being best friends

Dex’s parents being a bit more relevant (totally not baias

if you could bring back a character BUT you had to kill another character to replace the one you saved, which ones would you choose? (geez hope that one makes sense)

it did make sense, but honestly i think more characters should die and every character that has died heavily impacted the plot, and undoing their death would change a lot about the story but i will give a list of characters that i think should/will die

Forkle

Oralie

Prentice

Jensi

if you could make one of the main cast go evil, which one would it be?

people have said Dex in the past because of the neglect from the team and his mom being in the black swan without telling him. but because of his kidnapping i don’t think he would

but…Tam, not even go evil, but what if he had been so badly manipulated by the neverseen that he switched sides, what if he actually was a traitor, how would Linh feel, how would Teirgan feel, just imagine the effects that would have on everyone. how hard it would be to fight their friend, their brother in battle.

which backround character would be most likely to be the main character of a tragedy?

i mean we already have, Oralie, the Twins, Wylie, the Ruewens,

and Brant and Jolie’s story is literally a tragedy (@crymeariveronceagain i am right about that right?)

Kotlc is a series sprinkled with tragedies throughout you just have to look, they’re there, most of them are just hidden in the background. 

[onwhatcaptain]

hi i didn’t know what Star Trek was until i came across your fic it’s so. Real. poor McCoy bruh nobody’s gonna know what he went through …I guess it’s not entirely gone, but still. He didn’t get the three socks metaphor.

YOU TRICKED ME. canon divergent LIEEE LIEEEE

The way you omit time travel as a tag is craaazyy (I love time travel) AND AND THE SUNMARY BEING

“About men who love each other” LIKE NOT TWO MEN but all THREE

I do have one question though. If McCoy said “tell him you missed him” and set up the holo night, then in the first timeline had McCoy already gone back at that point and failed?

Hi! So I saw your comment on AO3 (please forgive me if it takes a moment to reply, I have an enormous backlog of comments to get around to after I took a break when the fic ended!) and I knew I absolutely had to ask you these burning questions: how did you find my fic if you didn't know what Star Trek was? What inspired you to read it?

I am beyond thrilled that you enjoyed the story and so touched that you read it all the way through without having seen Star Trek, but I absolutely have to ask what the story behind this is if you're willing to share with me!

It's definitely still canon divergent in a sort of way! At least in my figurative and literal book if you know the episode that inspired this novel, it would definitely be considered divergent:) I wanted to keep things as spoiler-free as possible to retain the surprise and emotional weight of the story, so I made the decision early on to not tag where the plot or ending was going, which definitely threw a lot of people off! Sorry for the trickery!

I ADORE that you pointed out the summary. I was actually shocked when I was reading this ask, because it was absolutely intentional and a huge part of the foreshadowing, but you're the only reader to my knowledge that has consciously noticed that choice, and you haven't even seen Star Trek!! Amazing!! I have such a big smile on my face right now!

More below because I realize this is getting long already!

As for poor McCoy, it is truly tragic nobody will know what he went through. In Star Trek, a lot of fans (rightfully) emphasize the love between Kirk and Spock, which I feel is only kept alive because of McCoy's quiet love for them both in the background as he takes care of them. In a way, it's a tribute to love that goes unnoticed, unseen.

With regards to your question, it's a great question! And I don't have a perfect answer for it, because it's entirely paradoxical. The first half of the story can only happen if the second half happens, because Kirk and Spock would not act on their feelings without the existence of the holo night and McCoy's intervention. But in the original timeline, they still die even though McCoy's actions in the latter half of the novel seem to exist. It's totally circular. It's expounded on somewhat in Forever and a Day, where McCoy tries to make sense of the same question and concludes that even if he does succeed, they will still die.

McCoy tries not to think about the horrifying implications. The knowledge that no matter what he did, he could not undo their deaths. To live, they would always need to die.

This doesn't necessarily mean that McCoy has gone back before, but it raise some serious questions about metaphysics and leaves a lot unanswered, because the two events now cause each other, and they also contradict each other. I actually took a stab at explaining the metaphysics in way greater detail in the fic originally, but my beta reader (correctly) told me this would confuse readers. So because it's confusing, I later just wave my sci-fi authorial wand to try and convince you to go along with it! :)

"And I like how the paradox makes no sense.” “I reckon it’s not meant to. They never do."

I do have to say, I recommend giving Star Trek a watch if you were interested! I think it's an amazing show. Again, thank you so much for taking the time to read a whole novel about a show you had no idea about!!

[sehtoast]

Desire (Homelander x OC Smut)

18+ | 3k, oral sex, penetrative sex, plotless smut followup for this, loving homelander, soft homelander, web hole oral, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk homelander, au themes but still not plot dependent, spidersona OC | Fic Directory

He doesn’t know what to do once those words leave his mouth.

“I know I’m in love with you.”

He’s never said anything like that out loud before.  Never had a reason.  Never had someone who would even potentially reciprocate it with any depth of honesty.  

Even with Ben having said something so similar just seconds ago, he’s afraid.  Even in their post orgasmic haze, he’s so scared he’s done wrong.

What he’s never admitted, though, is that he’s never been touched like this before.  Never like this.  

Those that have touched his body have done so only over the suit.  Cock pulled free and weeping, jerked by a hand or buried in someone’s heat until he got what he needed.  

The rest of him had never been touched until Benjamin came along.  Never been seen.

The first time, truly, had been in that shower.  The sight of blood swirling down the drain fills his mind’s eye.  The hands that smoothed over his skin were so soft, so gentle.

The same hands that hold him now, palms gracing his cheeks, the thumbs rubbing at his temples.

Benjamin smiles at him as he pulls a wisp of webbing away from the corner of his mouth.

He hides his worry by rolling them and nuzzling right into Ben’s neck to lick and nibble at the flesh he’s dreamt of tasting for so long now.  Sure, he’d just gotten done tonguing those delicious spinnerets, but he desperately needed more.

More to sate that hunger, but also to distract himself from the gnaw of his own insecurities.  His hands are everywhere– Ben’s chest, his hips, parting his thighs.  Anywhere he can touch, he smooths his palms.  Their kisses are wet and messy, desperate and wanting as he grinds against Ben’s core.

He’s so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t notice the hand undoing the zipper at his back until it snakes inside and presses cold to his hot skin, making him gasp against smiling lips.

The top half of his suit hangs limp, secured only by the cape and waistline velcro.  Ben’s hand smooths across his skin slowly, thumbing the dip of his back in soothing circles.  It sends a shiver through his whole body; it makes him yearn.

His kisses become more needy, bordering on bruising.  His hands begin to pry and, soon enough, Ben’s shirt is ripped in two and his lips are upon the wall crawler’s nipple while he fumbles with the zipper on his pants.

His senses are engulfed with everything about the bug.  His touch, his scent, his taste– everything.  He doesn’t know where to begin; he doesn’t know where to end.  He just knows he needs Benjamin naked and he needs it right fucking now.

He licks his way down, tongue dragging through soft hair on the bug’s abdomen, teeth nipping at the dip of his hips as he pulls the bottoms off of him– underwear and all.  The first breath next to his dripping pussy is akin to a gulp of air after nearly drowning.  It’s deliciously tantalizing and so fucking incredible that Homelander almost wonders if he’s been dreaming up this whole situation.

The flush on Ben’s face at the sight of Homelander smelling him is a thing of beauty.  Such embarrassment for something so perfect seemed ridiculous, but it was so much fun to make Benjamin turn red.  He should be proud to present such a wonder of this world, so Homelander splays him wider.  He spreads Ben’s legs as far as they’ll go and watches the lips of his cunt part and reveal the meal he’d been starved for.  

His tongue lolls free of its own accord and saliva gathers in his maw.  Every hot breath of anticipation fans onto Ben’s hardened clit and he watches with fascination as it twitches.

He dives in without a second thought.  Greedy thing that he is, Homelander swipes all of the slick from Benjamin’s opening first.  He gulps it down as though it were the nectar of the gods.  Fuck, it might as well be with how sweet it is.  Delicious and warm, he trails upward, pressing down once he feels that bud twitch under the heat of his tongue.

Benjamin’s noises are like music to his ears.  The soft, breathy moans, the gasps and whines, the sound of him suckling on his lower lip to control himself.  Even better was the way his body responded.  A hand tangled in his hair, chest heaving, thighs fighting desperately to close against the onslaught of Homelander’s tongue on his clit.

It’s everything.

He slurps loudly every time more sweetness leaks from Ben’s hole, eventually just opting to plunge two digits inside to finger it out of him.  Homelander presses against that spongy spot and Benjamin’s hips buck against him, prompting a devious grin to spread across his face.

“Give me everything,” he rasps between licks.  “I want it all.”

Above, Ben nods desperately.  Both hands now tugging at Homelander’s hair, he pushes his face down against his cunt as if to approve such a filthy demand.

He’s ravenous, completely insatiable as he brings his little spider further and further to the peak of bliss.  Not even the sound of Benjamin’s pitchy moans can draw him out of his pussy-drunk stupor.  His eyes roll back when those thighs lock tight around his head and his mind clouds to high heaven with the knowledge that he’s brought his precious Benjamin to climax twice already.

With his free hand, he shoves one of Ben’s legs to the side and holds it there, quaking and trembling in his iron grip.  He doesn’t stop; he has no intention of doing so, either.  He’s been starved for too long to let go now, and there’s no way in hell he’s ever letting go.

“Please, please– fuck!  Johnny, I–”

Like music to his ears.

The hands tangled in his hair tug every time he suckles Benjamin’s nub.  It had gone soft after he finished, but that just meant Homelander had to get his little spider hard again.  Which, of course, he would do happily. 

Again, and again, and again…

“I– Oh fuck, I can’t, I–”

He loses track shortly after he coaxes Benjamin into a fourth orgasm. He loses himself in the taste of his little spider.  Like a man starved, dehydrated– utterly deprived, he cannot bring himself to part for more than a mere second unless to rasp his filthiest desires.

“Please, please, please…”

All of the begging in the world just makes him hum in contentment.  He’s the cause.  He’s the reason for such unbridled pleasure and desperation.

His eyes are glazed when he finally comes up, chin soaked from his oral excursion.  He trails his gaze over Ben’s body while he licks his lips clean.

Chest flushed and heaving, limbs trembling, lower lip bitten raw– everything and more that Homelander wanted to see.  He looks like a painting.  Something Michaelangelo himself would have immortalized on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel– but far more beautiful.

This is Homelander’s work of art.  His greatest creation.

Bliss, given in uncontrollable droves to his love. Exactly the way things should be. 

He stares even after the sight is burned into his mind.  Only when those shaky hands grip him by the collar and fumble with his cape does he finally remember himself.

His cock aches within his pants.  He’d been so focused on his lovely Benjamin that he hadn’t even thought so much as to hump the bed to tend to his own needs.  The lips that kiss him are lazy with exhaustion, but Ben is quick to convey his desire to see it through.

“Wanna take care of you…” He murmurs.  “Need to take care of you.”

Which sends a jolt right to Homelander’s heart.

Whatever did he do to deserve this dear boy?  What could a man as twisted as him have done to convince the cosmos to send an angel his way? 

He’s quick to allow Benjamin to roll him once the top of his suit is gone.  He swallows his insecurities and reminds himself that his little love bug has already seen everything and still chose him. It would be okay.

He lets Ben pin his hands against the pillow.  For a time, his little spider is all kisses.  Warm and wet, needy and shaking, those lips part his own to dance their tongues together.  His eyes roll back and his hips grind mindlessly upward for anything at all, even just the press of the cup in his suit, when suddenly his hands are released and Benjamin takes kneading grasps of his chest.

The sensation is so foreign, so unlike anything he’s ever felt.  Hands have graced his chest– yes– but never like this.  Squeezes of padding, grips of false pectorals– never the real thing.  When each nipple is swiped by a thumb, he fucking mewls into Benjamin’s mouth.

He should be humiliated, knocked down a peg or several for emitting such a pathetic sound– even more so when it keeps fucking happening.  Moans, whines, fucking whimpers.

“O-Oh…”

As those lips tease down his neck, as they paint his chest with love and those hands fall to grip the waist of his pants and– 

“B-Ben…”

He shouldn’t be so weak.  He should roll them now, take over, fuck his little love bug hard and fast and establish his dominance.  Let Benjamin know that he calls the shots, he makes him cry out– not the other way around.

But then he’s watching those ruffled brown locks move further down his body and suddenly his pants are off and–

He gasps audibly, cock twitching in his already tented briefs.

Benjamin presses kiss after kiss to his clothed shaft, starting right overtop of the wet spot soaking the tip.  He trails his nose up the length of it, tongue jutting out half way to lick the rest of his cock.

“F-Fuck,” he keens, reaching down to grasp a handful of his little spider’s hair.  Heat ignites in his core with every tease, burning brighter and brighter, tingling throughout his body.  He shuts his eyes, head falling back, and he’s promising himself he won’t let go too soon.  He’ll hang on, he’ll fight that burning need to succumb to the touch he’s practically fucking prayed for and–

“Ah!”

Heat, warmth, dulled and muted but oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck–

Lips wrapped around his covered tip, tongue pressed hot and firm to the weeping head.  His balls tighten in preparation and he grits his teeth.  He will not, he won’t, he’ll last, he’ll last–

His hips undulate and he presses Ben’s face closer, just as his little spider did to him.  More, more, more…

The sight alone is filthy enough to rip a quivering moan clean out of his throat.  Benjamin drooling and sucking his clothed cock, fingers dancing under the seam of his briefs just at the junction of his groin, big brown eyes staring up at him as though he wasn’t doing something so utterly sinful.

His briefs grow darker with the mix of precum and spit.  The knot in his core tightens infinitely more and he babbles out pleas for release.

“Fuck, fuck just– c’mon, just fucking… Please–”

What a good, good boy he must be for using his manners, because it buys him a warm throat wrapped around his bare cock and he’s howling out his release.  Shaft twitching, spilling, aching as he pumps his love deep inside his precious little Benjamin.  His moans spill like honey, warm and thick as they leave from deep in his chest.  

Only when the writhing stops, when the warmth around his cock leaves, does he realize he’s being coaxed onto his back after floating partly off the bed.

“Sorry.”  Embarrassing.  “I–”

Except his attempt to excuse himself is cut short by a kiss and he melts.  

It’s soft and soothing.  His hands trail over muscle and softness alike and Ben’s do the same.  Their bodies slot together as though they were made for one another.

Then he remembers.

They are made for each other.

They transcend the fabric of the universe.  They exist as one in another world and, by that logic, other worlds too.

He palms down the length of Ben’s thigh, nails trailing through the fuzz of his body hair, mapping every tactile detail that his eyes had not yet stolen from all their time together. Lips peck at the crook of his neck and his eyes fall shut.

He fully intends to take all of this further.  Much further.

But right now… This?

Oh, god… This.

How he’s longed for this.  Sleepless nights for his entire life wondering when someone, anyone would care enough to hold him in return.  When he could simply be, and that’d be enough.

When he would be enough.

And right now?

He feels like he is.

God himself feels like he’s finally enough.

“You ready..?” Comes a whisper against his neck.  

He nods vigorously.  Part of him wants to absolutely split Benjamin in two with his cock.  He wants to take him hard and fast, rough and utterly desperate.  But then…

 When their eyes meet again, he’s overwhelmed with the need to do it softly.

Lovingly. 

What a sweet little smile Benjamin wears for him.  Eyes dark with desire, body scented so strongly with dopamine and serotonin.  He can smell the norepinephrine under the aroma of his arousal.  Oxytocin.  Vasopressin.

He melts.

In the labs, he was required to learn the various meanings of such bodily chemicals.  They taught him to sniff out cancers and infections before they could manifest further.  He could diagnose depression with his nose if he really wanted to.

But those... 

That’s a cocktail for love.

Benjamin loves him.

He does… Homelander can fucking smell it on him– he does!

His mind wanders to every empty promise of such.  Every I love you whispered by someone who never intended to be more than temporary.  Everyone who ever used him.  Abused him.  Lied to him.

But not this one…

This one is real.

Benjamin is real.

He doesn’t mean to cry once his love lowers himself fully onto his length.  He doesn’t even know why it started, only that he couldn’t hold it back once those first tears bit at his eyes.  He nods desperately at the question to keep going.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers tightly.  “Please don’t stop!”

Benjamin rides him slowly, hips rising and falling, thumbs wiping away his tears.  He’s lost somewhere in the torrent of his emotions.  Somewhere in the joy and warmth he feels in his very soul.

“S’Okay, pumpkin.” Ben coos to him through panted breaths, thumbing tears away.  “I’ve got you.”

Eventually he finds it in himself to aid his little spider with thrusts of his own.  Just like he imagined.  Slow, loving, gentle. 

Everything The Homelander has never been.

But he is now.

He’s all of those things and more for his Benjamin.

Their eyes are locked, totally unbroken throughout the motions of their lovemaking.  Homelander’s hands roam everywhere, palms settling over the curve of Ben’s chest scars, on his hips, his biceps– anywhere he could possibly hold.  The buildup approaches so quickly that he hardly realizes he’s falling over the edge until he has no choice but to throw his head back against the pillow as Ben rides him through the waves.  His eyes glow, clouding his vision with a red haze.  He reaches out for a wrist, bringing one of those spinnerets to his tongue one more time. 

His body is engulfed with a torrential wave of bliss heightened beyond imagination when those warm, velvety walls contract against him and the love of his life falls forward to moan and whine in his ear.

“Mm— oh fuck…”

Every pulse around his cock robs the breath from Homelander’s lungs.  He steadies Benjamin, holds the boy together as he falls apart so perfectly.

“Oh god… Mm, fuck, Johnny…”

And that, of course, makes his eyes roll back all over again.

They bask in the afterglow until they’re ready and rearing for more.  Round after round, slow, hard, fast, gentle– everything they can possibly do until a lifetime of longing is sated for the time being.  And Homelander, gentleman that he is, makes sure to lick every ounce of their love clean from his little spider before settling under the covers.

“Hmm, think I’m gonna be a little sore tomorrow,” Ben murmurs against the crook of Homelander’s neck.

Part of him instantly feels bad.  It’s such a foreign feeling…  He’s not used to having someone he’d rather die than hurt.

“Sorr–”

“I think we’re gonna have to spend alllllll day in bed to rest up,”  The bug lilts, lifting his head to show drowsy eyes and a mischievous grin. “Dont’cha think?”

Oh.

A smile spreads over his face immediately.  Ben wants to stay.

Benjamin wants to fucking stay.

Of course he wants that too.  He pulls Ben into a kiss, nodding and smiling the whole time.

“All day,” he agrees breathlessly. “Just us…”

When he’s sure Benjamin has finally fallen asleep, he’s overtaken by yet another wave of emotion far beyond anything he can describe.  To know the boy trusts him like this– wants and cares for him like this– stirs something so incredibly tender and raw in his heart.  It aches in his chest, but in a good way.

For the first time in his life, Homelander feels like he is loved.

He’s never slept better a day in his life.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

What's your opinion of President Snow as a character in THG trilogy? Was he a great villain?

* Spoiler for TBOSAS *

After reading the novel, what's your opinion about Coriolanus Snow 'transformation' in the end?

Was it his nature or the way he was nurtured that led him to become the character we know?

Thank you :)

@curiousnonny

Snow was a Bond villain and I will die on this hill. He's awful, don't get me wrong, and I certainly would never want to meet someone like him, but there are so many more efficient ways for him to get what he wants, for him to keep control of Panem. He fixates so much on Katniss Everdeen that he loses sight of almost every other threat. I mean... why send Peeta back hijacked to kill one person when he could send Peeta to 13 carrying some kind of lethal disease that would wipe out a large portion of 13's population without harming the weapons or infrastructure? He takes on his fight with Katniss and Peeta with single minded determination and basically forgets that his real enemy isn't just this one girl and her pesky tag along baker boy. These are two kids from District 12 who, while they certainly have a large impact, are by no means the largest or most important piece of the rebellion game. At times it feels like they are because we're in Katniss's head and only see her perspective, but the rebellion and the overthrow of the Capitol happens mostly not in front of Katniss.

That said, Snow tells us in Ballad that he has a tendency to be obsessive and fixate on one thing, and if I remember correctly, Collins even drops the foreshadowing line of "it would be his undoing if he didn't learn to control it" or something to that effect in case we missed the point the first time around when he tells Katniss that he was so busy watching her that he didn't see Coin coming. So that's exactly what happened he didn't control his tendency to obsess when it came to Katniss and Peeta.

And I don't think that makes him a "great" villain. I think it makes him the villain that makes sense for this story. And the one with the right kind of flaws for the plot of the original trilogy to make sense and work well.

One of the things that's actually really good about Collins returning to Panem to tell us Snow's story with Ballad is that Snow finally makes sense in the original trilogy, rather than being a caricature villain. He spends the entirety of Ballads obsessed with Sejanus and Lucy Gray, even though he doesn't want to be. He can't figure them out, and while he manages to "beat" them both by literally getting the one killed and possibly killing the other, his actions still stem from his inability to understand them or control them, and therefore his obsession with them. And then 65 years later he does the same thing, only he can't understand and therefore can't control these two kids either and thankfully just keeps (ultimately) failing with his Drama King tactics like dropping a bunch of roses from a bomber in order to play with Katniss's head rather than do something that would, you know... actually be an effective war tactic. And he does it all in the name of trying to get them to kill each other the way he killed Sejanus and Lucy Gray.

As for the nature versus nurture question, I think it's a little bit of both? We are of course, always influenced by the people around us. But the whole thing about Snow being 17 and right on the cusp of adulthood in Ballads is that yes, how you were nurtured impacts your decisions, and he was certainly raised and taught to become what he did, but Snow in Ballads was also literally surrounded by a thousand chances to do the right thing or to become a better person. I don't think he was nurtured in a way that would've made him heroic in our eyes. Not at all. But he didn't have to be so awful. And a lot of it also has to do with the REASONS he does what he does. He only helps Lucy Gray because it helps himself. He only befriends Sejanus because it benefits himself (momentarily). He only listens to Dr. Gaul because it benefits himself, and he ignores Dean Highbottom because those thoughts make him uncomfortable and angry.

There were any number of people showing Snow or telling him how to be kind, humane, thoughtful, and he ignored them all or dismissed them as weak, stupid, inconsequential (how do you like that call back to Peeta's words huh?). Tigris, Lucy Gray, Sejanus, the guy from the bar whose name escapes me but who was always kind to Coryo and his family. And yet Snow actively kept choosing to be a violent, murderous, entitled dickbag.

Thanks for the ask, @curiousnonny!!!

[agenericplaceholdername]

"Wasted [true] potential"

People love to say that [x] was actually a good idea but had "wasted potential" - I've seen this applied to basically any piece of Ninjago content that is generally disliked (eg. Hands of Time, Crystalized) or even stuff that is liked but could have been better.

This makes sense - usually if you dislike something, you can think about why you disliked it, and if you like the overall show, find a way to imagine how things could have gone better. But what's a Ninjago idea that was just bad?

No "wasted potential" - just something that was flawed from the start, and while theoretically it could have worked (since I think basically anything can be contorted into making sense), given the constraints of the medium, almost certainly would have failed.

Ideas:

Bringing back Harumi - could have been net neutral but I don't think anything could have been worth undoing her really powerful death scene

Reviving the villains in a 44-minute special. Unlike Crystalized bringing back old villains, where there was more than enough time to do something new ("wasted potential"), I don't think any version of DotD would have done justice to all the villains in just 44 minutes

The Jay/Cole/Nya love triangle. A better show could have pulled it off, and I'm almost willing to forgive it because "Versus" is such a good episode, but it did a lot of bad things to half the Ninja team and I don't think there was that much of an idea there to begin with beyond "let's invent character drama." It does lead into Skybound, which *does* have wasted potential (and some individually bad ideas) but the triangle in and of itself was just bad from the start

On the same note - the Wu/Garmadon/Misako love triangle. Even worse.

The episode "True Potential" ironically enough falls into the almost-reverse category -- the category of having almost no "wasted potential" because it delivers on its potential so well. Love this episode

Snaketastrophy - suffice it to say I would appreciate its humor a lot more (because it is genuinely funny) if it didn't come at the expense of (inadvertently) gutting Harumi's character, which I think was unavoidable without completely changing the plot.

The magical storeroom gags in DRS2. The only "potential" they had was to be shorter

Agree? Disagree? What are some of your ideas on stuff that isn't "wasted potential"? Could also be things that have no "wasted potential" since the execution was really good and lived up to all the potential!