#it was the reaction to his death! the lack of it!

[lovifie]

For my dear @lyralein (@support un-naughty my girl, you coward!!) and her mastermind of a mind, that came with the (correct) thought that Mr. Alex Keller would be a big shot at French porn.

And et voilà! ✨The porn✨ (and when I say porn, I meant it. There is no plot.)

Masterlist

Working for the CIA has granted Alex the opportunity to visit a multitude of countries, to meet unbelievable people and to push his limits on uncountable occasions.

In a couple too many times he has been at the verge of death, buildings collapsing, missiles flying a tad too close for his liking, friends turned enemies in the blink of an eye… But after all, that's what he signed up for.

Plus, sometimes, it also had some advantages.

Like meeting you.

And hearing your voice so sweetly call for him. “Monsieur, Keller!”

He whips his head around towards the sound of your voice like a dog well trained, turning to look at you standing on the porch of the little palace you lived in.

He drinks you in, standing barefoot on the first step of the short stair, pretty white summer dress accentuating every curve of your body and moving along the jiggle of your body as you effusively waved your hand at him.

He takes advantage of the distance, enough for you to not be able to tell the ungentlemanly places he rests his eyes at. The top of the dress, pulled to the center in a bow and pushing your boobs together calling him in like a siren's song.

He doesn't peel his eyes away from you, unable to do so; walking up to where you stand smiling like an angel upon him.

You shouldn't be calling him. The daughter of the owner of the wine yard shouldn't be talking to the lowest class of the employees. Alex's body is covered on a thin layer of sweat from working outside under the sun, hands grimey with dirt and clothes less than appropriate to be talking to you.

Still, when Alex slightly kicks the stairs to remove the loose dirt from his boots to not bring it inside, you are quick to jump at him, grabbing his hand and pulling him under the shade.

“You shouldn't be working at this time! It's too hot!” You reprimand him, the french accent obvious on your tone making him smile.

“Désolé, mademoiselle…” He attempts to excuse himself, cutting himself short when he sees the offended expression on your face at his french.

“Where did you say you are from again, monsieur Keller?” You ask, trying to switch the language to English again.

Alex looks at you, trying to remember what his last lie was so he can match it. “Quebec.”

You nod, raising your eyebrows at the doubt he is actually from Quebec but choosing to indulge him on his lie. You point to the washbowl on the table, a kind smile still on your face as you order him. “Wash your hands and face, I'll get us something to drink.”

And with that you disappear into the house, letting him the full view of your behind as you walk away. He turns again towards the bowl, using the fresh water to wash off the dirt from his face and hands, cleaning under his nails to make sure not a crumb of dirt has the chance to pollute you.

The door creaks when you open it again, a small tray on your hand that you quickly set on the table beside him. An unnecessary intricate jar full of iced lemon water with two just-as-intricate glasses beside it. But the first thing you grab is the small towel with your family initials embroidered in it.

He picks it up, patting his face and hands dry and checking he did a good job at cleaning himself before handing it back. You drop it on the table, slightly bending forward to pour the water on the glasses, and Alex's eyes are glued to the curve of your ass.

The heat of the summer hits you too, no matter how much of a local you are and he can tell by your clothing choices. The dress you are wearing is so dainty the beauty marks of your skin are visible through the fabric, as well as your lack of underwear.

It causes Alex to swallow a groan at his reaction over such a small detail when he feels his dick stir on his pants at the thought of pulling your dress up. His hand moves on its own, creeping closer and closer towards the flimsy material keeping the touch of your skin from him.

You turn around, filled glass in hand, jumping when you feel his hand rest on the curve of your hip but still, you look at him with the warmest smile on your face. You look down to where his hand is placed, looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“So pretty…” He mumbles, grabbing the glass on your hand without moving his other hand.

“The dress?” You ask, warmth rising to your cheeks at his touch while you try not to break the contact with his blue eyes.

Alex furrowed his eyebrows for a second confused before softening his expression. “...yeah, pretty dress.”

He is the one to break eye contact, dragging his eyes over your body, down to the hem of your dress. He bends forwards, glass still on his hand as the other moves to rest right where the dress ends.

Teasingly, he walks his middle and pointer fingers up your thigh, flicking the skirt up with each step and exposing more bare skin of the leg, while you watch on with bated breath.

He looks at your face again, so he doesn't miss your expression when he finally lets the palm of his hand rest on the softness of your thigh; dangerously close to your core.

“Monsieur Ke- Monsieur Keller!” You call him, trying to sound scandalized when he starts to close his hand, the fat of your inner thigh being squeezed.

But no matter how appalled you try to look, leaning back against the table; Alex notices how you slightly pull your thighs together, pushing his hand towards the middle in the process.

He turns his wrist in one swift motion, with the palm of his hand resting on your cunt. Making you jump to wrap your hand around his wrist, keeping his hand between your thighs as you squeeze them together.

His index finger moves between your folds making you whine as you close your eyes, your hold on his wrist losing strength. It doesn't take long for him to feel wetness dribble over his digit. The feeling making you unclench your legs, allowing him more space between them.

The arousal slowly dripping from your core allows him to slide more easily his finger along your folds, making it easy for him to probe at your entrance, making you close your eyes as little moans and whimpers start to fall from your lips.

Such delicious sounds making him thirsty, but not for the glass of water on his hand. He tries to set it down on the table, but unable to peel his eyes from your pleasured expression he knocks it down making the water run over the surface of the table.

It snaps you out of it, finally pushing his hand away and you stand, turning around to pick up the glass. “I- I better clean it up.” You hurriedly say as you place the glass back on the tray as well as everything else on the table.

He tries to call your name when you turn, but his words die on the back of his throat when he sees the wet fabric of your dress stuck to your plush ass. And it is enough to have him walk behind you, following you inside the house and into the kitchen just a couple of steps behind you.

“You were right, I shouldn't have been working…” He says, making you turn once more with a surprised expression on your face. “I think I might be overheating, mademoiselle...”

You look up to him as he walks closer to you, unable to say anything, intoxicating on his proximity. And when his hands finally wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you against his hard chest and his lips crash against your, the only thing you can do is kiss him back.

He moves his hands up, cupping your face as he hums at the satisfaction of finally feeling your lips against his. Then takes one more step forwards, keeping you trapped between the countertop and his body.

You can feel his groin pressed against your abdomen, feeling it grow and harden with each swim of his hips against your body. The need to feel his skin under your touch making you pull his shirt out of his trouser so you can bury your hand under, your nails dragging over the firm muscle of his waist.

His lips pull apart from yours to kiss his way down your neck, sucking your taste in and letting his tongue roam flat against your skin, feeling your pulse rise up at his actions.

One of your hands moves to the back of his head, tangling your fingers with his hair as you push his face into your neck. “Alex…” You softly moan when his tongue presses on the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

He shushes you, smile appearing on his face. “Now, now, sunshine… Where did Monsieur Keller go?” He asks, pulling back, standing to his whole height as he lets his hands rest on the counter behind you, caging you in. “Let's not lose our manners, alright?”

You nod, mimicking his movements when he does; you mind already getting driven by your body and not your brain. You follow his gaze when he looks down and see his hands pulling your dress up again. He licks his lips at the sight of your thighs trembling with anticipation and he knows that if he pulled them apart they would be glossy with your arousal sliding down.

He chuckles when he sees you look so bashful, averting his eyes but still unable to look away from him, needing to see what his next move will be.

To your dissatisfaction, he lets the dress down; which makes you look at him with questioning doe eyes when he steps back. You are about to question the reason for his change of heart when you see him pull the chair from the kitchen table.

He turns it, sliding it until it's right in front of you. You look from the chair to his face, questioning his plan; and instead of answering your unspoken question he simply sits down, pushing it even more forward. He pulls your dress up again, stuffing the hem of the dress into your cleavage as if it was a napkin to keep it away from his meal.

He pushes down on your chest with the same movement making you lean back on the counter, propped up on your elbows and with a seamless movement, he slides his hands behind your knees and effortlessly moves then to rest over his shoulders.

The surprise of the movement combined with the way he presses his tongue flat against your folds takes every ounce of strength away from your body making you lay flat on your back.

He groans at the taste of your arousal on his tongue, his fingertips sinking into the fat of your thighs around his head when he dives in again. Sliding his tongue between your folds, catching at your clit with a flick.

It makes your thigh tremble, threatening to close; which only encourages him further. Repeating the motion, feeling them flex on each side of his head; his hearing getting muffled with each stripe he licks.

But no matter how tightly you suffocate his skull between them, he can still hear loud and clear the moans and whines dripping from your lips.

He finally opens his eyes, not even aware that he had closed them as soon as he got a taste, letting the rest of his senses enjoy your body. But once he opens his eyes, he can't close them back.

From between your legs, the first thing he sees is your abdomen flexing at the feeling of his mouth lapping at your clit, your back arching at the attack of his tongue. The dress that he so carelessly stuffed on itself, sliding out of your cleavage with your movements. He wishes he could undo the bow keeping your boobs from his prying eyes, but not yet, not when he can prolong it and savor every minute for longer.

The only thing he doesn't love it's that he can't see your face, your head falling back; only letting him see your chin. He wishes he could see your face, see the product of his work in the shape of a pleasured expression just the way he's listening. But he'll see it later, when he's buried deep into you.

For now, he buries his tongue as deep as he cans into your cunt, feeling your inner walls clamp down on it when his nose rubs against your clit deliciously as he shakes his head. It makes you spread your legs, urging him deeper with a hand on his head. You manage to prop yourself on your free elbow, looking down at him. With your fingers tangled on his brunette hair and his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh to keep you close.

His pupils are blown, two black voids looking at you when you finally manage to make eye contact with him for a fraction of a second; before it is the last drop throwing you over the edge.

Your legs closing against his head again, unable to muffle the moan of his name as you come down from your high. His head is pressed so tightly against your cunt he can't even breath, but he would so gladly die there.

The moment your legs free his head he pulls back just enough to breathe, inhaling your smell in the way. He kisses the inner side of your tight leaving a wet spot and then stands again, standing between your legs licking his lips like an animal after eating.

The sight of your body, sprawled and fucked under him, get his dick impossibly harder. Then you raise your hand, using your thumb to collect the juices left on his mustache and before you can pull your hand back to lick it yourself, he grabs your wrist keeping it close and sucks your finger into his mouth. His scorching hot tongue cleaning the juices from your hand without breaking eye contact, it makes you whimper softly; cupping his face with your thumb still inside his mouth and you pull him closer.

“Monsieur Keller…” You whine, calling him like a moth to a light. “Please…”

“I know, love, I know.” He says once he pulls your finger out and he kisses you softly, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hands find their way around your waist pulling you closer and you circle his hips with his legs.

He picks you up, just for a second before sitting back down on the chair with you on his lap. Your hands rest on his shoulders, being you the one to kiss him this time. He can feel you grind your hips against him, the softest whine falling from your lips at the feel of the rough material of his jeans against your sensible cunt.

He moves his hand down, undoing his belt so he can pull his length free. You wish you could see it, but the dress serves as a tent when it slaps against his abdomen. The little wet spot of his seed turning translucent the fabric so you can see the red tip underneath, angry with the lack of attention.

You raise your hips, letting him slap his length against your folds; your arousal getting it slicked and desperate for the feeling of your warm walls engulfing him like a vice.

But he's not the only one desperate for it, and the moment his tip catches on your entrance you pull down in a swift motion taking all of him in, moaning into each other's mouths at the feeling. His hands rests on your hips, keeping you in place.

“Stay there for me, sweetheart.” He moans, head falling back over the backrest of the chair. “Just keep it in for me, fuck…”

His hips move in the smallest thrust, the movement would pass unnoticed if it wasn't for how deep it reaches inside of you. He finally pulls his head back up, coming face to face with your chest. And no matter how pretty the dress is or how good it looks on you, it's the only thing keeping him from seeing you and it's time it goes away.

His hands grab each side of the bow, easily getting it undone and groaning when your boobs finally spill over. He hugs your middle, burying his face between your breasts taking your aroma in before he starts to lap at them.

Licking, sucking and biting every centimeter, his hips immobile making you whine pathetically at the delicious torture of both his attention and the lack of it.

You whine his name again, needing more than just his mouth on your chest. “I know, I know, sweetheart. Just let me taste you some more…” He tries to say, words dying down on his throat when you begin to move your hips.

“T-tu… tu es… trés…” He tries to say again, so enamored with the feel of your tight cunt around his cock it makes him switch languages.

He doesn't get to finish his attempt before you push your hand over his mouth, pushing his head back. “Enough with the shitty French, Monsieur Keller…” You moan, the feeling of his length hitting every sweet spot inside of you getting ruined by his continuous butchering of your language.

He apologised against your hand, doing it again when you beg him to fuck you, your thighs getting tired of the cramped position. He pulls your dress up, pulling it off your body, finally having you completely exposed to him. His hands roam your body, getting distracted from his original plan.

Only remembering when you whine his name again, picking you up to lay you down on the kitchen table like the most precious and delicate piece of art. You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking at him with lust and hunger in your eyes.

He spreads your legs, laying his dick flat against your folds, sliding it in between making the two of you moan softly. It finally gives you the chance to catch a glimpse of his length.

The droplet of precum slowly falls over your mount of venus when he glides forwards, allowing you to see the glistering layer of your arousal mixing with his.

He moves you to lay on your side, moving your leg up, your knee almost touching your shoulder when you prop yourself up on your elbow. And at the same time he buries himself to the hilt, the double stretch making your mouth fall open as you look at him, a deaf moan waiting to be spilled.

“Big stretch, sweetheart “ He grunts as he sets himself inside of you, bending down to kiss your open mouth. He might have already been inside of you when you were both sitting down, but the new position has you feeling it all again as if he didn't.

The moan finally comes to life when his hand meets his shaft, collecting the fluids flooding for your cunt to wet his thumb and rubbing soft circles around your clit. You moan his name, your hand grabbing his shirt to ground yourself.

“Fucking hell, sunshine… Taking me so fucking good…” He moans, hiding his face on the crook of your neck. “Fuck… This cunt was fucking made to take me, love. Fucking perfect, you are. My fucking perfect sunshine.”

His thrusts start to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping on skin getting louder and louder; only overshadowed by the song of moans falling from one mouth to the other.

He is still almost completely dressed, his pants still over the curve of his ass. So slowly sliding down with each snap of his hips, the belt clinking with each movement. It works as proof of his desperation to be inside, no matter how uncomfortable the clothes are, it is not worth it wasting time on taking it off.

Not when your cunt is sucking him in so deliciously, each rub at your hooded clit making you clench around him; urging him impossibly deeper. His shaft dragging along your wall, caressing each and every sweet spot inside of you.

It has you closing your eyes with your eyebrows furrowed, an expression that would make him think you were in pain if it wasn't by the loud moans of his name leaving your lips like a mantra.

“Open your eyes, please, sweetheart… Look at me, love.” He moans, moving his free hand to cup your face so you will look at him. Resting his forehead against yours, your breath hitting his chin. “I wanna see your pretty face when you cum, sweetheart, please.”

You finally open your eyes, looking right into his when he slightly moves back and it is like an arrow went through his heart. He notices how your free hand grabs the arm on your face, not wanting to let escape any kind of contact and his heart melts when he notices you lay your face on his hand, kissing his palm.

Such a small gesture that has his blood rushing to his head making the tip of his ears blush, as if he wasn't balls deep into you. But he feels his ball tighten with the want for release, and he can't miss the opportunity to feel you come undone around his dick.

So using every ounce of self restraint he pulls the hand from your face away, moving it back to where you are connected, rubbing his thumb over your clit making you mewl.

He can feel you get tighter and tighter as your orgasm approaches, making it harder for him to move freely at the immensely pleasurable feeling.

It's only when he finally feels you unclench, your head falling back in a silent cry and your legs shaking slightly; that he feels you cum, your arousal spurting out of your drenched cunt with each thrust of his hips.

He groans, having missed your fuck out expression when you let your head fall and deprived him of the desired sight. So he moves his hand from your clit, moving it to the back of your head to move it forward so you look right at him.

And you look so beautiful, if he died right there he would die happy, so he can't help himself when he bends forwards, kissing you sloppy and nasty with his horny brain.

The last thrusts of his hips hard and deep making you bounce and whine, moaning softly and long when you feel him spill deep inside of you. A shiver running down your spine at the warm sensation, your hand on his shirt falling down to help you support yourself.

And it's when you pull apart from the kiss, hair sticking to your forehead from the sweat, your chest rising at an unsteady pace and your cunt still pulsing around his length that he realizes how deep under his skin you have buried yourself.

He can't keep living like this, not able to sleep in the same bed as you every night, waiting for another opportunity like this, hoping everyday will be the day. He needs to see your smile everyday, to have your number, for you to have his surname, everything. Absolute smitten with you, enamored even. Falling so deep in love after such a short period of time, his heart aching at the thought of pulling away, how could he not love you when you are so obviously his soulmat-

“D'accord! That was a good one, let's wrap everything up, tout le monde!” The director shouts, bringing the situation down on Alex.

He suddenly realizes everyone around the two of you, the cameras, the crew, the assistants, the director.

The whole vineyard owner's daughter plot of the porn movie was a bit odd from the beginning, but when he laid his eyes on him he didn't give a damn about the plot.

Being a CIA agent had made Alex live in strange situations, but starring on a porn movie in a foreign country had to be the top one.

He barely remembers how this was related with the mission, something about some suspicious money being moved along with the crew. But in all honesty, he would also move all his money after you.

Especially when you clench for a last time around his girth, the aftershock of you orgasm that makes him groan as he finally pulls out. “Sorry” The two of you mumble, chuckling at the echo and blushing like you didn't just fuck eachother brains off.

He helps you stand back on your feet, his hands resting on your waist and unable to peel his eyes away from your face.

“Are you alright, Alex?” You ask, rubbing his biceps in a consoling way.

And you look at him so softly, almost unaffected by the whole ordeal, that it sends Alex into a spiral. Were those noises you were making real? Was the way you were clinging onto his shoulder true? Would you moan his name just like you moaned his surname?

He needed to know the answer to those questions, and there was only one way to find out.

“Y-Yeah, don't worry about it, love.” He says making you smile wider. “But I was wondering… do you know any good restaurants in the area? Maybe one you wouldn't mind having dinner at with me?”

Taglist: @crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @whos-fran

@thevoidwriting @sklt987659 @dumb12bvtch1212 @thatonepupkai @darkangel4121

@spadekip @herefor-tojis-tits @soupinasock @marymustdie @arbesa-mind

@cmbghost @multifandomheathenannie @tooloudarts @panikk-attackkk @reap3erslov3

@mothsdrabbles @ghosts-hoe @cassiecasluciluce @sleepdeprivedkat @lunamoonbby

@hatterripper31 @contractedcriteria @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @cod-z @fraserbraw

@rosiehale23 @keiva1000 @sw33tsnow @loveandplanet @sobbingnshtting

@dprmoon @simpsallthetime1997 @ladyxtiger @soapsmohawk-16 @nina6708

@katreintjie @sacvh @archenillo @thesinsoflust @sodavrr

@yuki2129 @mikaronn @idk-justkane

[sideprince]

I've seen the same post a hundred times now. Sometimes it's a few days old, sometimes it's from years ago, but it's always the same. Some anti posts about how they don't understand how anyone can like Snape because he was so awful, and then there's a long reply that goes something like, "imagine this happens to you, and then this, and then this" to describe Snape's experience. Sometimes there's some James Potter hate thrown in.

Look. You can go through describing a character's entire experience but you don't really need to. Here's the thing that antis don't understand:

For all her faults (and they're big, bigoted ones) Rowling understood a really integral part of the human experience and conveyed it through Snape. Everyone needs love and to feel accepted. It's that simple. Snape became a Death Eater to seek acceptance (Rowling has confirmed this, though I can't remember the source - whoever wants to add it please do), because it was the only way he could find any.

Snape's understanding of morality, like everyone's, is subjective. Some readers understand this and some don't. When faced against a morality that says there is good and bad in the world, everyone makes choices based on their personal experience. Context is everything. Someone who experiences pain and suffering will not see the person inflicting it on them as moral. That's it. 'How can this person be good when they caused me so much suffering?' = human psychology. Most of the people who think 'I'm a bad person and deserve this' have been gaslit and abused into thinking so, because it's not a natural reaction - it's one that has to often be socialized into someone at a young age, exactly because it's not natural. Everyone is the hero of their own story; no one sees themselves as a villain, because they see the valid aspects of their own perspective.

You can write essays on how vulnerable people needing acceptance is what cults and fascists exploit to recruit vulnerable people, or on how the standard anti's un-nuanced reading of Snape both ignores canon and displays a disturbing lack of empathy or compassion, but at its core it just boils down to context. From Snape's perspective he experienced cruelty, therefore the people inflicting it must be cruel. Again, it's that simple. He was a person, like any other, except he was fictional so he wasn't even real. On the flip side is James Potter, who, for all his faults, didn't get to live long enough to get a chance to change and grow unlike Snape, and I think the Snapedom also needs to acknowledge that.

They're fictional characters representing things an author wants to say, not sports teams, not martyrs, and not all good or all bad emblems that define your identity depending on how you feel about them. It's depressing how much time is wasted arguing with bullies and trolls whether from the Marauders fandom or just random antis. I literally can't find more than three blogs to follow without this argument coming across my feed daily. I know the Snapedom is Not OK™ and that's kind why we're all here, and I know that my take is super unpopular but like Snape, I don't care what others think: this fandom has been having the exact same argument for years and nothing has changed. There's fanart and meta and fic and so much content out there appreciating this character, you're not going to change an anti's mind who's deliberately trolling in the tags, so why are you trying? What are you getting out of it? What does it give you? It's exhausting just scrolling past it.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Coming Home

| a companion to 'His & Hers.' |

Coriolanus anxiously taps his foot on the pavement. Around him is the sound of trains pulling in and out of the station along with the shouts of family and friends reuniting with one another after a trip. Loved ones throw their arms around each other, pressing kisses to cheeks and murmuring words of relief for their safe travels.

His loved one isn’t here yet.

She’ll be here any minute now. Unless the train has gone off the tracks and she’s died a sudden and gruesome death. But that hasn’t happened, he tells himself. Besides, he would have been alerted if such a thing was to happen.

Soarynn and several other Capitol ladies took a luxurious trip to District Four to visit one of the many resorts that the Capitol has. Soarynn had been so excited to see the ocean for the first time. She talked about it for weeks on end once he finally agreed to let her go. And Soarynn didn’t need his permission. Not when the trip was already paid for and she was simply to be an invited guest.

But she cared about his approval. His trust. Coriolanus knew that she wouldn’t go if he hadn’t been okay with it. And he wasn’t okay with it. A million horrible things could happen on this trip. The worst part was that he couldn’t protect her from any of them, not when she was outside the safety of the Capitol, out of his reach.

But all had been well according to Soarynn’s very detailed phone calls he got every night when she called him before going to bed. Soarynn had been nervous in her own way. Mostly because going on this trip meant leaving the most important thing in her entire life behind.

Petunia.

Coriolanus had rolled his eyes at the detailed checklist his girlfriend had written for him. Petunia was a cat, not a human. The list was ridiculous but Coriolanus made sure to follow each thorough instruction. Even if it meant brushing the feline three times a day. He didn’t even brush his own hair three times a day.

Soarynn had also been nervous to her lack of travel experience. She’d never left the Capitol before, not even before the war. Coriolanus hadn’t traveled as extensively as some of their other friends but he knew what lay out there in the Districts. Danger, hunger, desperation. And Soarynn was in the thick of it for the past five days.

A small part of him hoped she’d call him crying, asking for him to get her home immediately because she was scared but it felt as if he was given the opposite reaction from her new experiences.

“Oh, Coryo it’s beautiful! We went swimming today! We’re going to the spa tomorrow! I caught a fish today!” Soarynn had the time of her life.

Coriolanus was happy that she had a good time, that she hadn’t fallen ill or gotten attacked by a psychotic District citizen. He checks his watch again and frowns when he sees that her train is now two minutes late. The Capitol’s train schedule is known for its promptness. Not today it seems.

Coriolanus glances around the platform and pins down a Peacekeeper who looks like he’s doing a whole lot of nothing. He strides over to him, chest puffed out, head held high. “Excuse me, I came to inquire about the train schedules,” he says. The man turns around and grunts, “Of course sir. What train were you inquiring about?” Coriolanus pulls the neatly folded piece of paper out of his coat pocket which has all of the details about Soarynn’s trip written in her neat handwriting.

“It’s the three o’clock train,” he reads, “coming from the District Four Costal Resort.” The Peacekeeper nods and looks down at his own watch, “Hmm. Running late I see. A bit unusual.” Coriolanus nods but the man’s words do nothing to calm his nerves. “Let me go ask,” the Peacekeeper says before walking off to what must be the train control center. Coriolanus leans towards the white line that’s clearly painted along the edge of the platform. There are several large signs around the entire station that read: “Please do not cross the white line for the safety of all passengers.”

He hasn’t really paid it much mind in the past but now it seems to be quite the bother. How can he not cross it once he sees the love of his life? And as much as he loves her, Soarynn can be quite slow when she wants to be and he knows that she’ll take her sweet time getting off that train rather than leaping off and running into his arms.

He’ll just have to be patient.

The past five days have been short of torture. Waking up to an empty bed, to an empty apartment has been the worst. To know that she won’t be there when he gets home, won’t be smiling up at him and giggling. He found himself looking into their closet, expecting her to be getting dressed for the day only to find it dark and empty. Soarynn was his other half, the missing piece.

“It appears there was a weather delay.” The voice pulls Coriolanus from his nagging thoughts and he looks back at the Peacekeeper, “Weather delay?” He repeats, knowing that he’s never heard of such a thing. “Yes, there was some severe weather in Four. The train should be arriving shortly.” The man gives him a curt nod before walking away again and leaves Coriolanus with even more troubling thoughts. He’s definitely going to have a word with Festus Creed who organized and paid for this trip. Festus is dating Aurora Windsnap who’s a good friend of Soarynn’s and Coriolanus highly doubts that Festus has been as concerned as he’s been about his girlfriend’s wellbeing.

Clearly not considering the train station is lacking a certain Festus Creed or any of the other boyfriends for that matter. Once again, Snow lands on top.

He reaches into his pocket once again and feels the stem of the single rose he’s brought for Soarynn, and it gives him some comfort to know that it’ll soon be in her possession.

Then he hears it. The whistle of a train. He looks down the tunnel of the station and watches as the front light of the train gets closer and closer until it’s slowly pulling into the station. He tries to catch a glimpse of Soarynn through the train windows but he can’t see her. He tries to step closer but a sharp whistle prevents him from doing so. He looks in the direction of the whistle to see a train attendant pointing at the white line he just so recklessly crossed.

Coriolanus resists rolling his eyes and takes an exaggerated step back for good measure. Clearly, this train attendant doesn’t understand the severity of the situation. He watches people slowly descend from the train, luggage in hand. People are wrapped in their winter coats and scarves, and women hold onto their hats and gloves.

He holds the rose behind his back.

He can hear the girls before he sees them, shrieking about something that probably isn’t that funny. They’re also bundled up in their winter coats and they oh-so-slowly descend the train steps. Coriolanus is both impressed and somewhat concerned at the amount of luggage they’ve managed to bring for a five day trip. Soarynn is no better though, in fact, he had to put his foot down when she tried to take a sixth trunk of belongings.

“You’re going for five days, not five years darling,” he’d said to her as he took the trunk from her hands.

The girls notice him immediately although he’s hard to miss considering he’s the tallest person at the station. They all whisper and giggle as they point at him, the wonderful, devoted, and doting boyfriend who’s come to collect his girlfriend from the train station. He doesn’t doubt that their boyfriends have sent for cars to take them home but he didn’t want to wait any longer than he had to.

He cranes his neck and tries to see Soarynn but she has yet to make an appearance. Has something happened? Is she not on the train? Did they confiscate her Capitol documents?

Coriolanus had been very adamant about making sure that all of Soarynn’s Capitol documentation was in order before she left for this trip. The documentation included her Capitol citizenship papers, her birth certificate, her proof of residency and her citizens license. Soarynn has teased him about how thoroughly he’d gone about it but he would never forgive himself if for some reason she was detained for not having enough documentation. Better safe than sorry.

Finally, he sees her blonde head of hair. She’s wearing a light pink coat with a matching scarf and cream colors heels. She looks beautiful. She says something to her friends as she gracefully descends from the train, unaware of his presence. Her luggage follows behind her in the arms of a struggling attendant who clearly underestimated the weight of his girlfriend’s belongings. Soarynn is only carrying a small handbag, one he bought her specifically for this trip. Clemensia points in his direction and Soarynn finally sees him.

Her face immediately brightens up and she breaks into a big smile before she begins running towards him. Normally, Coriolanus Snow would behave with decorum and not run across the train platform. But he doesn’t quite give a fuck about manners right now. He takes long strides towards her, and his own smile grows bigger and bigger until she’s flying into his arms. Soarynn’s giggles fill his ears and they’re the sweetest melody he’s ever heard. Her arms are thrown around his neck and he wraps both arms around her waist, slightly lifting her off the ground and spinning them around.

He heard a few whistles and clap but all of their surroundings fade away the second Soarynn pulls away from the embrace and he lays eyes on her beautiful face. She looks even more tan which makes her eyes pop. The weather was clearly warmer than it is now in the Capitol. “Hi,” she says, unable to contain her excitement. Coriolanus chuckles and gently sets her down, “Hello my darling.”

He wastes no time in cupping her face with his hand and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It feels like it’s been an eternity since he’s felt her lips against his. Soarynn sighs into the kiss, her fingers carding into his hair. They stay like that for a moment, re-familiarizing each other before they pull away. “I missed you,” is the first thing that leaves his mouth. He did. He really, really did. Soarynn being gone reminded him of a life before he knew her. When even though he had a place to live, he didn’t have a place to come home to, someone to come home to.

Soarynn was his home.

Soarynn smiles sweetly and nods, “I missed you terribly as well. I couldn’t stop thinking about you the entire trip.” Her words make his heart swell. To know that he was constantly on her mind is all her needs to know that this is the girl he’s going to marry. He pulls her closer against him, “Then we should never leave one another again,” he decides before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head. Soarynn giggles and gives his cheek a playful pinch, “You mean to tell me that you were without anything to do while I was gone?”

Coriolanus thinks back to how he’s spent the last five miserable days without her. Most of his time was spent at work. It had gotten to the point where his boss had to tell him to leave and get some fresh air. Coriolanus felt that work would serve as a good distraction from thinking about Soarynn every minute of every hour until she came back home.

He had dinner with some friends, all of whom were also missing their girlfriends since they were also on the trip. He also spent some time with Petunia which was awkward for the both of them. Soarynn was their common ground and Petunia was constantly pacing the apartment, meowing for Soarynn. She’d be happy to have her home.

He shakes his head, “Absolutely nothing.” They both grin and Soarynn gives his cheek a peck, “Well I’m home my handsome boy. You’ll never be without me again.” If only she knew how much those words meant to him. Coriolanus is quick to present the rose to her and Soarynn softly gasps, “It’s beautiful Coryo. Thank you, it’s the perfect welcome gift.”

꧁ ꧂

Coriolanus feels himself teeming with pride for a job well done as they leave the train station. All of Soarynn’s belongings follow behind them on a large cart. Soarynn herself has been collected and is safely pressed to his side as they walk out onto the cold Capitol street. “Are you hungry?” He asks, looking down at his girlfriend who’s looking up at the gray sky. It’ll probably snow tonight. “Hmm? Oh no. We ate on the train,” she says, shaking her head. Coriolanus figures they should just head home then, let Soarynn get settled back in before it gets too dark. Maybe he’ll take her out to a nice dinner tonight to celebrate her homecoming.

He makes sure Soarynn is tucked away in the car before watching two attendants attempt to fit all his girlfriend’s luggage into the trunk. They manage it eventually and Coriolanus rewards their work with a generous tip before getting into the car himself. He nods at their driver, “We’ll be going home.”

Soarynn rests her head on his shoulder as the car pulls away from the curb. “It’s so strange being back home. I feel as though I’m a completely different person than I was when I left.” Coriolanus can’t stop from smiling at her innocent claims of being a completely new person after five days at a Capitol resort. He knows for a fact that she never left the property or interacted with any District citizens for that matter. Still, it was a big journey for her and he listened to her talk about all the things they did on the drive home.

Soarynn is still rambling when the elevator doors open up to the familiar sight of their front doors. “I can’t wait to see Petunia!” She says, bouncing on her toes. Coriolanus hums as he digs through his pockets to locate the keys. “She’s certainly missed you.” Soarynn being gone has to be the closest thing Petunia will ever come to as neglect. Five head scratches instead of ten, heaven forbid!

The moment he unlocks the doors Soarynn darts in, calling out Petunia’s name. Coriolanus brings in all her luggage, setting it down in the foyer before he ventures further into the penthouse to find Soarynn.

He finds her in their bedroom, lying on the bed with a white ball of fluff lying on top of her. “You two are the most dramatic women I have ever met,” he tells them, ignoring the hiss he gets from Petunia.

Soarynn is quick to soothe over any wounds, “Shhh. Don’t pay attention to him my darling. He doesn’t know how hard it’s been for the both of us,” she tells the cat. Coriolanus scoffs and walks into the closet, his coat is beginning to feel too heavy and he doesn’t want to sweat through a good dress shirt.

When he comes out he finds them in the exact same position he left them in. Petunia looks like she’s gloating from his point of view. She looks all too smug as Soarynn showers her with pets and kisses. “You remembered to feed her right?” Soarynn asks, looking up at him, “And to brush her?” Coriolanus hums, “It was quite hard to forget to do anything with that wonderful list you left for me.” He eyes the detailed list that sits on his nightstand. He'd followed the instructions religiously because he just knew that Soarynn would find out if he skipped a step.

Soarynn blushes but nods, "Well there's no harm in being overly prepared. Isn't that right Petunia?"

Coriolanus decides to leave the bedroom since they clearly aren't done with their reunion. Besides, he has a few things to go over in his study that relate to work.

꧁ ꧂

His study is as impressive as his office at work, filled with mahogany furniture, books lining the shelves, and comfortable armchairs. There's a small loveseat pressed against the wall across from his desk, right under the window. Soarynn and Petunia will often curl up on the loveseat, resting their heads on the window seal to watch the people below them. It's moments like that where Coriolanus feels that Soarynn most definitely could be a cat in the way she perches herself on the furniture.

He pulls out the files he's brought home from work and begins to go over them, making notes when needed. He glances at the clock that sits on his desk but his eyes travel to the framed photograph of him and Soarynn from a year ago. He loves the photo, loves how big Soarynn's smile is while he presses a kiss to her neck while she tries to pull away even though she loves neck kisses. He loves the way his large hands wrap around her small waist perfectly. They're perfect together.

A soft knock at the door reminds him of where he is and what he's supposed to be doing and he looks up at the door to find Soarynn peeking her head in, "Come in darling," he says, beckoning her to enter. Another thing he loves about Soarynn, she never enters his space without permission. The last thing he needs is a girlfriend who snoops.

Soarynn changed into some more comfortable clothes, pajamas to put it plainly which lets him know that they won't be going out to dinner tonight. Fine by him, that just means he gets her all to himself. "Are you busy?" She asks, stopping at the side of his desk, her blue-gray eyes scanning the documents that lay before him. He shakes his head, "Not at all. Is there something you need?" Soarynn bites her lip and rocks back and forth on her heels for a moment which is a tell that she's going to ask for something she probably shouldn't ask for.

"Well...Clemmie just called and I thought maybe she might have left something behind but it turns out that the girls are already planning another trip, and this time our boyfriends are allowed to join us!"

Coriolanus blinks once, twice. A trip with several Capitol couples sounds like somewhat of a nightmare to him. But he can see how excited Soarynn already is at the prospect of traveling together. "And this time you'd be with me," she quickly adds, "to protect me and keep me out of harm's way." Coriolanus chuckles at her convincing words, she's clearly put some thought into this proposition.

He rubs his temples, "Well I'd have to think about it Soarynn. It might interfere with my work schedule. And you know how I feel about the Districts."

Soarynn slightly slouches but she doesn't lose the smile on her face, "Alright. I just thought I'd bring it up." Coriolanus nods, "Thank you for letting me know." He turns back to his work but Soarynn doesn't make any moves to leave his study.

"Can I sit with you?"

Her question brings a grin to his lips and he pushes back from the desk, baring his lap to her, "Can't get enough hmm?" He teases as Soarynn carefully straddles him, her legs slightly dangling on either side of the chair.

Soarynn scoffs and gives him a knowing look, "I'm not the one who constantly demands physical affection." She's got him there. Coriolanus has always been the more physical one in the relationship. He craves it really, absolutely needs it from her and Soarynn has always given it to him without complaint. He knows she enjoys it too but she's not as forward as he is about it which is why occasions like this can be often rare. He gives her waist a gentle squeeze and presses a soft kiss to her lips, "Well after five days of being apart I wouldn't expect any less from you."

They both settle back down and Soarynn rests her chin on his shoulder while he continues to work. He keeps one hand wrapped around her at all times, even if it makes working a little more difficult. He doesn't mind. The smell of vanilla overwhelms his senses with Soarynn right on top of him. She feels so soft and warm. He really does have the perfect girl. He knows she'll fall asleep soon as she always does when they're in this position.

To have her back in his arms is the greatest gift he can be given, to know that she's safe and loved, all under his watch. Even though he wasn't the one who left, it still feels like coming home.

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[greenconvor]

So it’s really been bothering me that Hunter’s reaction to Omega turning herself over to the Empire was almost nonexistent. Like, sure I get it could have just been writer’s choice to focus on the overall plot, but the same writers have gone out of their way to show how passionate Hunter is about keeping Omega safe and how much it effected him when she was captured at the end of season two. SO, I got an idea:

What if Omega surrendering during the invasion was always the plan?

Okay, hear me out. Omega has been very vocal about her desire to go back to Tantiss even before they’d actually escaped. Leaving the other prisoners behind never even crossed her mind. On the other hand, Crosshair has done everything he can to ignore anything remotely related to Tantiss except Omega. Hence why he won’t address the real reason behind his hand tremor.

Now consider: Omega is wracked with guilt/determination, finding it more difficult each day (especially as she sees the extent of Crosshair’s trauma) to sit back and do nothing while there are still so many clones stuck in that awful prison undergoing who knows what torture. So she goes to Hunter, resolved to do Something. Except, there’s nothing they can do until they get the base’s coordinates. Which Hunter and Wrecker already know is nearly impossible since they’ve been trying since Omega was kidnapped in s2.

THEN it becomes apparent that Crosshair isn’t telling them everything. They try to talk to him repeatedly, but nothing is working. He’s locked up tight. So someone (probably Omega) comes up with a plan.

If Omega, the only person Crosshair feels has never abandoned him as well as the one he’s the most protective of now, is taken back to Tantiss then Crosshair will have to reveal what he knows in order to rescue her.

It’s kinda mean and manipulative and very dangerous, but it’s the only feasible plan they’ve got. And as Omega says to Crosshair before she turns herself over: they need to focus on the bigger mission and they, as individuals, are only a small part of it. Omega clearly knows this and as bad as she may feel for forcing Crosshair to return, she knows they HAVE to save the imprisoned clones. It’s a matter of life and death.

And because Omega is Hunter’s weak spot (he will literally do anything for her since she’s basically his child— which makes his sudden lack of reaction even weirder) he agrees.

So Hunter approaches Cid, convincing her to tip off her Imperial informant either out of guilt or monetary incentive. Cid’s info leads CX-2 to Phee who leads him to Pabu. Then all they have to do is get Omega in a position where she seems to have no choice but surrender. It’s not hard to predict, the Empire’s done all this before.

THIS is why neither Hunter or Wrecker are losing it like everyone thought they would. It’s why they’re not blaming Crosshair or running themselves ragged or burning down the galaxy to find her. It’s why Omega is so calm even though she’s back to square one in Hemlock’s ‘care’. It’s why Crosshair seems to be the one most effected by her loss. The others knew what was going to happen; they were prepared. They trust Omega implicitly, knowing that she can keep herself safe until Crosshair leads them to Tantiss. In return, Omega trusts that they will find her. She trusts that Crosshair won’t leave her behind.

I know this is highly unlikely to become canon, but I think it would make all their seemingly uncharacteristic behavior actually very in character without the vague explanation: Writer’s Choice. Either way, that’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it!

[alltheshadesofamber]

Why does everyone want Jason to respond to his trauma “healthily”? 1, who gets to decide what’s “healthy”? Just because something isn’t relatable to you, a real person who is not and never has been a vigilante or died and been resurrected, doesn’t mean it’s “bad writing.” Everything Jason has ever done has been a reaction to what he’s been through, everything he’s been through has informed who he is now. 2, that is so boring, the Bats are all a bunch of maladaptive coping mechanisms in a metaphorical trench coat, that’s what’s interesting about them!

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

But fuck yeah with all the excellent discussion about this today the angrier I get at Izzy for the absolute nerve he had in telling Ed the atmosphere on the ship was bad in s2e1.

Because. Whose fault is that, Izzy??? Last I checked everyone was hangin' out and vibing and planning a talent show until something happened, Izzy. Last I checked Ed was starting to feel better and was taking active steps to make himself happier until someone started yelling at him Izzy. What was it that made Ed feel so unsafe Izzy. Why does Ed now immediately assume any invitation to talk about his feelings is the leadup to a threat on his life Izzy. Why do you think this could be Izzy.

[moreaugriffins]

Every day i just want to write a post that just says "The Brigadier is so damn autistic."

but I then worry about what other people might say if I do that

but fuck it

The Brigadier is so fucking autistic, and nobody can change my mind

[keniaku]

everyday gojo's not beating the gay AND autism allegations

[ntaras]

ik i’ve said before but it kind of (not kind of it really does) agitates me how people talk about mk12 kuai liang because it really does show that people want nothing but to baby him. like, people don’t really anything interesting to say about him besides he’s a good guy. yes he is a good guy. but is he not more? i get mk12’s story does write to be THE good guy to be bi-han’s foil, but i keep on thinking about how kuai liang was going to kill bi-han but no one really cares about discussing that as a part of kuai liang’s character in this story.

i’ve also said before that kuai liang and scorpion clash as characters and fit together well as separate characters, not as one character, but scorpion kuai liang could have been a somewhat good character and i do think that scene of him almost bashing bi-han’s head in with his chains shows potential in something interesting. kuai liang’s story is a struggle against the old lin kuei, but couldn’t it also be a struggle against himself? couldn’t it be a proper clashing of his self-control and the urge to act on only emotions?

seeing kuai liang keep a hold on himself until the reveal of their father’s death is (well not is but could’ve been) a fascinating flaw of his character. i think we should’ve actually seen a build up of his frustration towards bi-han growing over the course of the story, but keeping a cool head until he finally snapped.

but there really isn’t talk about that scene. there isn’t any care about his negative traits. there isn’t any care about him besides the want to just call him traumatized.

[fivekrystalpetals]

I was mostly wrong about everything else (those plot twists were insane even now I can't make any sense of them no way could I have figured that out)

but I was right about this so yaaaaay

[factorialsfandoms]

Whumptober Day 8 - Back from the Dead. Also combining with BthB ‘dying in their arms’ and Hurt/Comfort Bingo ‘explosions’. Another variation on a theme I’ve seen at least one other person do this whumptober, but fuck it. I want all of the cake.

It... may or may not have a follow up where they discuss what the fuck happened, we’ll see how much I actually get written as I’m writing this before the fic (editing this later - I’ll try follow it up another time I’m not much in the mood for dialogue it turns out someone remind me). Given I’m drafting straight into tumblr because I live not quite as dangerously as straight to ao3 but still dangerously.

And... Maybe a few months ago I’d write Legend holding it together better, but after recent bits of Sunset? Ohhhhhh boy

Characters: Legend (PoV), Hyrule, various other chain members.

Warnings: graphic description, serious injury, major (temporary) character death, nobody is fucking okay

A fairy - their last - whizzed around Legend’s thigh. The fight thus far had been grim, and followed straight on the hells on another. A portal that had seemed an escape from an impossible situation only ended up making things worse as they had been thrust, exhausted, into a fight with fresh monsters.

It was that that Legend was blaming for being so careless as to let the axe cut into his leg and severing his femoral artery. Thankfully Wild, with the last of their fairies, had been close enough to throw the bottled creature. She had been indignant about her treatment until seeing the blood spurting rapidly, at which point she quickly got to work.

No longer dying, Legend was still dizzy and faint, the blood loss getting to him. It was /unlikely/ he would pass out, so long as the fight ended soon and he did not take another hit, but he was definitely struggling to defend himself. He had switched to his fire rod, keeping the enemies further from him as he stumbled in the direction of Wild and Hyrule. There were only a few monsters left, but always better to be armed than not. Wild had spotted his efforts - likely still watching him to make sure the fairy had done her job - and was picking off occasional monsters with his bow.

Covering fire for Legend’s retreat.

It would be shameful if he did not know just quite how many resources the Chain had worked through already, and just how many of them had had to regroup to tend injuries or just catch their breath. That Legend had not yet was more impressive than that he had.

His retreat left Legend in the perfect position to see what happened next.

Another monster appeared from the treeline, carrying an already lit bomb - maybe from one of the others, maybe of its own design, Legend frankly did not care. What he did care about was that it was too far away for him to hit, and it was clearly taking aim towards Wild.

Legend screamed for the Champion to watch out; Wild turned, looking for the threat but remained too slow. Seeing he could not escape Wild threw himself to the floor, shielding his head and surely praying the bomb would explode high enough that he only had burns and its casing to worry about, not splintered rock.

The bomb flew through the air, heading towards its mark. Legend raised his arms to protect his face, and continued hurrying forwards.

The sound of the explosion was neither that of a bomb in the air or a bomb on the ground, but one exploding against flesh.

He pulled his arms from his eyes, begging that he was mistaken, that Wild had not been hit, that the monster had forgotten to throw or something instead.

On one of those accounts he was correct, and he desperately wished he was wrong.

Hyrule lay unmoving between the monster and Wild. For a moment Legend hoped he had cast shield first but, no, that was distinctly the sound of burning Hylian flesh in the air. 

Legend did not even bother yelling Hyrule’s name, instead screaming for a fairy as he sprinted forward. Wild had made it to his knees before freezing up, surely as not trapped in a memory. With an almost flippant gesture Legend /incinerated/ the monster that had thrown the bomb, ignoring Wild as he dropped at Hyrule’s side.

One frantic eye made contact with Legend’s own, the other hidden beneath blood and burning and splattered gore. Realising that his friend was somehow still conscious, Legend swallowed a gag nothing to do with his own blood loss or the nausea running through him.

How... How could anyone be so injured and still conscious? He must have been in agony, was if the eye was anything to go by.

The entire front-lower portion of Hyrule’s ribs had been blown away, along with a large part of his belly, surely forming the majority of the gore all around. Bits of organ were strewn in with the mix, too fragmented to tell what was what, but there was certainly intestine and liver and lung tissue - Legend did not even know what other organs resided in the damaged area, but he could see how the ruined remains of Hyrule’s lungs - ripped open and to the air - were fruitlessly trying to suck in air. If any of his diaphragm remained to control it seemed unlikely, but the tatters of the muscle were spasming as though to try.

That was the focal point of the injury, almost as though Hyrule had partly wrapped himself /around/ the bomb, though damage radiated out. It was hard - impossible - to tell was was wounds and what was splattered gore.

He shuddered as he leant down, cradling Hyrule’s face as the other teenager struggled to breathe, looking up but not processing anything he saw as he screamed once more for a fairy.

A splash of bright pink caught his eye - Time’s strange mask, the one that attracted the creatures - and a thundering of boots bought Warriors to Hyrule’s other side.

The hands of their most knowledgeable medic shook, taking one of Hyrule’s gory - and ruined, now it was being moved - hands, turning back over his shoulder to yell something to Time.

Legend heard neither the yell nor response, too focused on Hyrule’s face in his hands.

He tried to reassure him, but how could he do it? They all knew that they had no fairies left, and even Time was clearly struggling to find one. This was nothing that a potion or medicine could fix, and... And...

“Hyrule,” he begged between sobs he did not have the strength to fight. “Rulie? Heal yourself - please, please, heal yourself. You can do it, I know you can, please, please Rulie, I can’t lose you, not as well.”

Between the sobs flickered up images of his uncle, also dying bloodied and beneath his hands - and somehow infinitely more kindly than this. Of friends and colleagues lost, of Marin but a dream consumed by the sea. He couldn’t lose anyone else; call him weak, call him damned, Legend did not care, he could not lose anyone else.

Hyrule tried, he tried to cast - Legend could tell. There was a vague flicker of magic before it died, falling as limp as the fingers it had been glowing around.

Hyrule’s lips moved, as though he were trying to speak. Beneath the blood and the viscera, dizzy and panicked both, Legend could read none of them.

“Okay,” Legend ran a thumb under Hyrule’s eye. “Just hang on, then. Time... Time will find a fairy, he always does - please, please just hang on? For me? Just a little longer?”

Even if he wanted to, it was impossible. That Hyrule had lasted these few, long seconds was testament to everything he was; he could not breathe, not with the lower parts of his lungs blown away, and he simply did not have enough blood left to survive, even accounting for all of that.

His only hope had been a fairy, a fairy like the one used to save Legend after his stupid mistake, and there were none left now.

Hyrule had already been limp, but a few moments later it was clear that his eyes glazed over, too. Legend looked desperately to Warriors, for anything he could do, begging him to save Hyrule.

Warriors was still for a long moment, before he shook his head, and folded Hyrule’s arm over his desecrated chest.

The arm on which the Captain had been measuring the Traveller’s pulse, even as the boy died in their arms.

Legend’s gore-coated hands raised to his face, dragging through his hair was he screamed. Screamed at the monsters, at the goddesses, at the mere unfairness of the world. He shrieked and he screamed and sobbed, tears pouring down his face. Someone took his hands, trying to move him away from Hyrule’s cor- from Hyrule. Despite his own weakness Legend threw them off, only for someone else - someone stronger - to repeat the same. He could feel his arms being wrapped around someone’s neck, and a supporting hand both against his back and beneath his butt. He did not hear any of the conversation around him, could hear nothing over the thunder of his screams and the lightning of his agony.

Hyrule was dead, Hyrule was dead, Hyrule was dead.

And if Legend had just been a little more careful, Wild would have still had a fairy to save him.

At some point there was a sensation of movement, causing Legend’s stomach to turn and him to throw up on the someone’s shoulder. He could not care as his face was nudged to rest against the other, his mind only consumed by the horror he had witnessed. The only thing he noticed was the place where Hyrule had lain go up in smoke, torched as they left it behind.

He stared at the smoke and the fire as his screams faded into just sobs, and his sobs too faded out. Still he shook both with horror and the cold, the arms he was in clutching him somehow tighter. In a daze he was aware of little as they walked, but for Time’s hysterical laughter as some fairies were finally found - far, far, far too late.

There was nothing but the steps trying to lull him to sleep - sleep he refused to take while Hyrule’s gore-covered form haunted his mind.

There... There was still Hyrule’s blood on his hands.

There was still bits of Hyrule’s /organs/ on his hands.

But Legend was too far gone to panic further, only to sob at the realisation.

A face pressed into his hair, and the hands clutched him tighter. Who or what Legend neither knew or cared, oblivious to all but his grief and the memory.

He remained in that haze until something ran up his spine - a thunderous /crack/ of magic imperceptible to most - perceptible only to /him/ now that Hyrule was dead. It was, however, accompanied by a sudden yelp.

Terrified, Legend snapped his head around, already looking for the threat. Everything else was forced from his mind as he checked everyone over, trying to find it - the Champion blank in the Rancher’s arms, the Captain bloody but upright and pushing the Sailor and Smithy onwards from the front, Skyloft’s Knight making a confused squeak as Legend shifted in his arms, the Old Man staring in horror at the Traveller on the floor.

The traveller on his hands and knees, body heaving as he vomited blood and chunks of raw flesh onto the floor.

W-What the fuck?

Ignoring anyone’s shouts, any warning that it had to be a ghost or a possession, Legend tore himself from Sky’s arms. He made the few unsteady steps to Hyrule’s side, dropping to his knees - his feet splayed outwards - hard enough to bruise as he ducked, trying to get a look at the Traveller.

His clothing was still utterly and completely ruined, but his skin?

His skin was healed over.

And not even the scar from being stabbed by his double was still there.

“Rulie?” Legend whispered, dizzy from the exertion and confusion and the flickering spark of potential relief. “R-Rulie? Is that you?”

Hyrule turned his head slightly - the same eye as before making contact with Legend’s. He knew that eye so well now, so perfectly, even with the pain that was in it. Hyrule gave a bloody smile, shakily raising one hand to give an even less stable thumbs up, before slamming back to his previous position as he began heaving once again.

Not just vomiting - choking too. Both mixed into one. And, looking at what was coming from his mouth?

It was an exact match for the gore on Legend’s hands.

The shaky movement seemed to have startled most of the others out of their respective trances. Time and Warriors were both appearing at Hyrule’s sides, Warriors even kneeling in the bloody viscera puddle to do so. Some of the fairies Time had found too late fluttered down from his shoulders, swirling around Hyrule. With their magic they somehow stopped the vomiting, only for the teen to immediately pitch over. Legend grabbed him, pulling him into his lap and hurriedly checking pulse and breathing.

Both pained and a little slow, but... But present. Not fluttering or indicating anything worse than pain and exhaustion and sleep.

As Warriors hurriedly did the same, Legend lent over Hyrule, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. The Traveller’s head flopped against Legend’s, and so he nudged it gently to rest against his neck, holding him tight and protecting him from more harm.

“He’s okay,” one of the fairies hovered near Legend’s face, reaching out to brush his tears - somehow more tears - away. “We don’t understand it either, but he’s him. And the throwing up was just... It looked like new organs formed around where the old ones were, trapping it inside? But we magicked all of that away, so he should be okay now. And we healed the damage from getting dropped.”

Her voice chimed softly, most more softly than the one chewing Time out - perhaps giving him a report, but she seemed very hung up on the getting dropped thing - being ever so gentle with Legend.

Somehow, that gentleness only made him cry harder.

Behind him, Sky shuffled closer, leaning down to wrap his arms around Legend. He shivered at the touch, the dizziness and headache and weakness returning with vengeance. Still he clung to Hyrule, unwilling to lose the feel of his breath on his neck, unable to let him go.

Letting him go... Letting him go felt far too much like losing him again.

“Link, can you let go for me?” Sky whispered, and how bad did he have to look that the default was to call him Link? “Please?”

No matter what the words, Legend could not agreed - he shook his head, nearly blacking out at the motion, and clung tighter still.

Nearby the other five chain members had gathered around, clearly discussing what had just happened; Warriors’ hands moved from Hyrule’s wrists to Legend’s.

“Did you do this?” the question was not accusation, but it was sharp.

Legend rapidly shook his head, this time slumping slightly as his head swooned. Sky held on tighter.

“Then, what the fuck?” he asked. The last three words were echoed by a screeching Wind in the other group, causing Hyrule to even flinch while unconscious.

Legend shook his head, more gently this time, trying desperately to express his equal confusion. He slumped further. Sky held him tighter.

“Veteran, what’s wrong?” Sky’s voice held clearly swallowed panic.

What wasn’t wrong? Still... “Headache.”

“You called for a fairy before Hyrule... needed one,” Warriors spoke much more calmly, even as his hands checked Legend over. “Are you still hurt.”

“Wild had one then,” he said, frowning as his words felt wrong for no apparent reason. “... Bled a lot.”

“Blood loss,” Sky breathed out, even as Warriors fished out his water bottle.

“Drink.”

The order did not require letting Hyrule go, and so Legend did as he was told. He drank until Warriors seemed satisfied, before curling back over Hyrule, protecting him with his body. There... There probably were not any threats, but he could not risk it. Could never risk it, but especially not now.

Not when he’s lost him, and nobody understood how they hadn’t - not even /Time/.

Just as Legend grasped tighter to Hyrule, Sky held him tighter too.

Meaning that, when Legend also passed out moments later, someone was already there to catch him.

[navree]

not even an elseworlds story about cthulhu is free of showing us the death of batman's parents oh my god

[ardate]

4, 8, 9, 30 :]

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

Honestly? Humans as a whole, still. I started art a long time ago, originally mostly focusing on animals and creatures, til I started drawing humans sometime in middle school - and I never stopped drawing them since! But yet, somehow, even though by now I probably have drawn more humans and human-adjacent characters than not with all those years, beasts are still much easier and come more naturally to me. Maybe those very early years wired my brain this way hbghb

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

Oh holy fukc so many of those uuuuuuuh,, right now the one that comes to mind is this old story I had made up in middle/highschool - something about a kind of death land, a sort of limbo, and the ghost lords that 'ran' it; and the main character having to go through it to bring his love back from the dead (orpheus and eurydice inspired). And though even then I wasn't particularly optimistic about my chances of going through with it, I really wanted to make a comic of it! Obviously, never happened. I should redraw those old OCs one of these days hgbghb

Have a sneak peek of what my art (and one of my ghost lords) looked like back then. Not the full pic cuz even just sharing this lil tidbit is hurting my ego

9. What are your file name conventions

I've been meaning to change it cuz it's no longer organized enough for my taste! My file themselves don't have any fancy names, they're usually just named after their subject (like 'demoman_sketch' or 'pernelle_portrait' or 'morribel_reference' etc). Of course, no accent in the file names since that renders them unstable and makes it easier for them to get corrupted, same (to a lesser extent) with spaces, so I always use an underscore instead.

So rather than by name, my organization goes by folders: • First off I have a folder per art program (one for Photoshop, After Effects, Corel Painter, Krita, etc), each of which have two folders, 'Unfinished' and 'Finished'. The latter usually only has the PNG renders, while the Unfinished folder houses the PSD (or other) files. Sometimes I'll have a 'Done' subfolder there for the files of pieces that i've finished, but most of the time they'll hang in there in the middle of WIP files forever • And in those Un/Finished folders, I have subfolders for the subject of the art piece (one folder per fandom (like TF2, Rayman, etc), a folder for commissions, one folder per original story, etc) so I can easily find what I'm looking for.

I plan on changing my naming conventions though, keep my folders but name my files with dates at the beginning (year/month/day), then theme (fandom/story/commission, etc), and then the piece's name.

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

I'm... Not sure? 🤔 To be honest I post my art to share it but I don't really have expectations regarding its reception from the public... I used to! Back when I was on deviantArt. And honestly it sucked, getting legitimately upset when an art piece didn't get enough digital attention, not enough internet points. But I've grown past it years ago, so I don't really have many feelings if a piece does badly anymore. I've had OC pics get like 2 likes and nothing else and I felt fine with it ghbgh

Don't get me wrong I still want them to do well, I still want people to reblog my art, and nothing brings me more joy than comments in the tags because that's a direct reaction to my art, which always feels very personal and legitimately touches me. But not having expectations means I don't really feel disappointed as much

The last time I've had the thought 'oh i expected this to do better' was for my HLVRAI zine piece, but that's about it!

[age-of-moonknight]

Moon Knight (Vol. 6/2011), #1.

Writer: Brian Michael Bendis; Penciler and Inker: Alex Meleev; Colorist: Matthew Wilson; Letterer: Cory Petit

[thessaliah]

Didn't God only desire Kirschtaria because he's the only true Crypter and knows Animusphere magic, hence could nurture the Tree in a proper way? Alien God didn't have the problem to try kill Kirschtaria via his contract once the Tree was completed and he had to block it somehow when he tried to use Tree for his plan.

Yes, you can interpret it like that, and I did but the verb used is a little personal if the meaning was "needed only Kirschtaria" (that was perfectly acceptable to use but wasn't). It was an ambiguous scene. Like the one many others listed where she namedrops everyone who is going to die by her black hole but doesn't mention Kirschtaria despite his betrayal.

I think if she wanted to kill Kirschtaria, Rasputin would have attacked him, as he was ready to attack Beryl since he was answering her wishes of sorts and he explicitly had no orders to hurt him. Despite the betrayal that she knew beforehand, she gave no orders to explicitly harm him to any of her Apostles (Douman attacked but on his own will, likely he wanted to steal the tree for himself and he couldn't; he was also kept in the dark unlike Muramasa and Rasputin).

There’s the expectation “the god will kill Kirschtaria” yet none of the actions she took harmed him. Even if she didn’t need him anymore. Even if she could dispose of him. She wanted to eliminate things but never explicitly bring him up as one of them. While she was ready to do away with her Disciples. Remember how Artemis unconsciously sabotaged herself when was about Orion even if she didn’t realize it? It felt a bit like this. The climax is bringing down a god by Orion and Kirschtaria (that’s a narrative parallel). And yet Kirschtaria’s thoughts about Olga despite knowing her for so long are always mysteriously missing.

Note this doesn't mean is a romantic feeling, but it may have to do with Olga's unconscious bond with Kirschtaria through her father even if she doesn't remember it. The “mind can forget but the heart remembers” is in line of Nasu’s stuff. All I’m saying is that, despite me being BIG on Caenis/Kirsch as soulmates, I wouldn’t put it past Nasu. 

[directyourfate]

watched the outsiders movie with my friend last night and it was certainly, something. why did two-bit watch his friend die in a fucking mickey mouse tank top