#spite for kindling

[jlilycorbie]

Spite can be a great motivator, and honestly, anything that gets you moving is good. For me personally, I’ve found that spite doesn’t provide much fuel, but it can absolutely be an ignition point.

I’ve got two (currently backburnered) WIPS that I think have the most clear parallels between the thing that made me mad enough to start worldbuilding and the work that came of it.

The first started with Ready Player One. I’m not going to dive into what I didn’t like about that story or why, but I will say I spent a lot of time with friends working through all the holes that...frustrated me. And now I’ve got an untitled cyberpunk story.

I wanted a not-too-distant future, and I didn’t want a full dystopia. I’d like to think as we all shamble forward, we’ll make more gains than we do losses. So not a utopia either. Just the world, where a lot of people still call it a dumpster fire, but it could be worse.

The story happens in a future US that, following a civil war and plague, is no longer a world power (I started working on this in about 2017, and while it initially felt uncomfortably prescient, I think really it was just a case of reading the room. Also, I figured the social structure would need the damage from an actual war in order to crumble enough to fail to stop or control a plague, and well...somehow no matter how little faith I think I have, I can still be let down). It’s set inside and outside an arcology. One character lives outside of it, in a public housing building known as the Hive, where anyone who needs it can have a room, and there are shared bathrooms and showers. There’s supposed to be city-wide internet available to everyone, but the signal inside the Hive goes down a lot. 

There are night markets that run almost entirely off barter, and stone soup kitchens that also run off of trade, often food for food. There are rations available, but they don’t take into account allergies and other needs, and the stone soup kitchens help meet needs.

Public schools are available both in person and virtually, and parents and students choose which you attend, which allows allocation of resources that makes schools more accessible (supposedly). Students can provide their own supplies or the school will issue them, and even in virtual school with standardized avatars, it’s obvious who needed school-issued tech. 

My main character is struggling her way through virtual school that was supposed to erase any inequities between students, and her best friend in the world lives in the arcology, but they’ve never met in person. She assumes it’s because she’s too poor to be allowed into the private sections of the arcology, but it’s really because her BFF has severe agoraphobia and can’t leave her bedroom and she doesn’t want anyone to know. (She is not, in the course of the story, ever forced to leave her room or ‘overcome’ her phobia, but she does play a crucial role from her room, and they do get to meet.)

The two of them end up semi-accidentally uncovering a plot to plant bombs in several maintenance levels of the arcology, and they have to dig deeper to find who was really going to benefit from this bombing, especially while there’s legislation in the works to essentially allow a company town/indentured servitude system in arcologies. 

The other story is tentatively called Magic School Dropouts, and of course it had its seeds in long conversations about Harry Potter. Those started before the author came fully mask off with her hate, but the pieces didn’t coalesce into a world and characters and story until more recently.

There is a magic school in a remote part of the US. It recruits students from both alumni and from regular families who don’t know magic exists (but crucially never from magical families that have never attended the school, which it doesn’t acknowledge exist). It’s unmappable, impossible to find without an invitation, and deeply insular. It teaches its students that practicing any type of magic without graduating is a crime punishable with summary execution, and there’s an extensive network of magic police who track down anyone foolish enough to break magic laws.

That is, of course, a complete lie. But my main character doesn’t know that, nor do most alumni, who are taught to carefully isolate themselves so they don’t ever come in contact with the huge, diverse magic community that does exist and thrive.

While she doesn’t know much of the truth, she does know that bad things happened in that school, and she ran away/dropped out, and she’s been on the run from the school and the magic police ever since. 

She meets someone who uses magic and has never heard of this school before. And just as she starts to learn a little about who things really work all around her, she gets a call from her old best friend’s sister. Her best friend dropped out when she did, but she didn’t know her friend was pregnant at the time. She had her baby, tried to go back, and disappeared. Her best friend’s older sister took in and raised her niece, who was later recruited to the same school. The aunt, not knowing any better, let her go, and now the niece needs help, and the main character is the only other person the aunt knows who went to the school and so might be able to find it and help.

What’s really important about these worlds, and about any other story I’ve started that sparked from spite, is that at some point I stopped caring about “fixing” anything about another story that upset me and started building my own world. I found my own characters, and they found their way into their own stories. The spite faded away and love for this new world took its place.

[artemis-crimson]

I am a Noam Chompsky hater for many many reasons but first and most personal among them is what he’s said about Grenada in the past, when he dies I’m going to throw a party and I’m going to type up my Nana’s recipe for ginger beer and share it with everyone in celebration.

[theeditorreads]

Cold Spite by Toni Anderson – A Review

In Cold Spite, FBI Special Agents Delilah Quinn and Casta Demarco have become targets of a ruthless killer whom no one is able to pin down.

My Rating: 5/5 Genre: Romantic Suspense Pages: 446 (Kindle) Publisher: Toni Anderson Inc. Date of Publication: 14 October 2024

Series: Cold Justice® – Most Wanted #5

[boyapologist]

one more red eye one more monster

[jcbmcdrmtt]

is anyone else just so tired of how many things you have to do to make the internet a tolerable place these days? like not even a FUN place, just a place that isn't inherently intolerable to humanity??

Like I have 28 Firefox addons enabled, I have 4 mobile browser extensions and multiple userscripts enabled on my phone, I run my own fricking DNS server to block ads on devices/apps where you can't use adblocking software natively, and I'm just. I'm so tired. I should not have to replace a fundamental building block of the internet in order to avoid constant surveillance and intrusive bids for my money and attention. And the only reason I can keep up with all this is because I'm a techy person who genuinely enjoys playing around with software, but if you DON'T have that particular masochistic tendency then it's almost impossible to protect yourself fully because all of this stuff is just so much work and corporations are constantly shifting strategies to stay ahead of you.

So I watch my brother in law browse a recipe site on his phone that is so covered with ads and autoplay videos that only the middle fifth of the screen has the actual recipe visible, and he just suffers through it because he doesn't want to have to mess around with a new browser and learn how to turn an adblocker off if it breaks stuff, the sad part is I get it, because I am fucking exhausted too.

[pseudowho]

You could have walked to the café to meet Nanami Kento alone; you'd have preferred to, in truth, walking slowly in slow drizzle.

Instead, He walked you there, pushing through the tinkling door that He held for you, begrudgingly, as if you should be grateful. You could not look up to meet Kento's eye.

When you did look up to see Kento, stood waiting for your pre-mission meeting, He pulled your gaze back with a scowl, and a grab of your jaw.

Kento caught whispered berating; mumbled pleas.

"--just a work meeting...please--"

"--you remember to text me. You'll do well to remember you're mine."

You jolted from His pat-slap to your cheek, too sharp to be affectionate but too weak to turn heads. Still, humiliation festered on your face, putrefaction laid by His hand.

Kento remained unmoved, passively unthreatened by His filthy glance before He retreated from the shop. Something dark stirred in Kento's gut. The malice was not meant for you.

You sat at the table, wordless, your cold hands wrapping around a coffee which seemed to be, curiously, your exact order. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

Kento pulled his own chair out, sitting opposite you, one long tan-trousered leg crossing over the other. You looked down, your eyes cast in shadow. Kento looked to the insidious, gloomy drizzle outside, his sharp features cast sharper by the midday lamplight.

Eventually, achingly smooth, his voice called you home.

"What does 'mine' mean to you?"

You looked up at him, blinking. Your brain ticked.

"I don't...I don't know."

Kento was quiet again, leaning back in his armchair beneath the arching lamp, regarding the rain as though it watered his thoughts. He spoke again; you hung onto every word.

"When I was a boy, my grandfather left me a diamond."

The coffee shop buzz dimmed, and slowed, and muted. Kento captivated you so easily. The world fell away. Here he was. Already here. Already waiting. Just for you.

"It was...exquisite-- the diamond. The best and the brightest. A beauty amongst beauties." Kento took a deep breath in through his nose, feeling your cold little heart slow. "I didn't deserve it. It was...a privilege, to call it mine. A mantle that I bowed my head to bear."

Your fingers loosened around your coffee as Kento continued. His voice strained, aching for something.

"I could never be enough for the diamond, so I...I would build my life around it. Not in spite of it, but because of it. I hesitate to say I possessed it; it was no painting, or ivory box. Its beauty was far too timeless to be owned, for this diamond's beauty would outlive us all. If not in body, at least in memory."

The air felt light in your lungs, and you with it, as if you floated on helium, high and sweet. You yearned to reach for what was not yours. Your little voice spoke up, braver in Kento's ambient warmth.

"Tell me...tell me more."

Kento obliged. "On days when my diamond was dull, without its shine, I'd polish it more. I'm...gentle. I know it better than my own skin, and by the time I'm done, it sparkles."

Your eyes drifted closed to trap your sorrow. Your head bowed down, as if to be a diamond in daydream.

"On days when it shines-- and, god it does shine-- I can only step back and admire it, while it takes its time in the sun. They...deserve each others' beauty, the sun and she, and I would wither and rot if I kept them from each other. My diamond...my diamond deserves the world, and it deserves her."

Kento leaned forwards, now. His ambient warmth kindled higher until you burned as though he were the sun, and you yearned to blossom.

"I fear its loss; I am only, of course, a man, and I couldn't expect others not to covet such treasure, and so I keep it close. I would bring it to my bed, if only it would let me. I'd hold it in my sheets, if I did not fear I would sully it by my proximity alone."

Your lips parted so briefly, your objections snagging on your teeth to remain upon your tongue. Your heart weighed down with mercury and lead. Kento's voice could not be more than a whisper, and yet, with the steam-arm shrieks and the tamping chatter muted to insignificance, you could hear him.

"I would surround her with other beautiful things; not costly things, not necessarily, as if material goods were needed to enhance her. But rather, those things, and only those things that compliment her as she compliments them, be they wildflower or fairytale or fine wine."

Your coffee salted with the drop of a tear from your bowed face. Kento turned aside from your tears; not to disregard them, but to allow their trails to bloom as if creeping wisteria-- growth, in grief. A handkerchief slid across the table to you in one broad, calloused hand, and Kento sounded physically pained.

"Eventually, as I age, I recognise that all I was, am, and will be, can be traced back to such a diamond; not because I could not live without it-- that wouldn't be accurate. Rather, because, with the diamond removed from the equations which make the sum of me, the equations would unravel-- nothing would make sense, and if I ever tried to replace it, I would always come up short. I would never find the answer again. If I were to lose it...I could only surmise that I did not deserve it, like...like a prophecy fulfilled. It is not mine, and it will never be, if I seek to possess it."

As you fought the urge to gasp for air, Kento's voice grew bitter, snide. You caught the sharp edge of a blade; the darkness that reminded you that he could be a dangerous man.

"Men who use 'mine' for their partners are less than a stone's throw from boys who would use 'mine' for a toy car or a set of dominoes. As if...as if they are a thing to be played with, and jealously possessed, until they are discarded and forgotten."

Your coffees cooled in the chilly aftermath of Kento's monologue. Your purpose for meeting was forgotten. You were numb-footed as you stood, and followed Kento outside to the rain in the shelter of his great umbrella. He offered you an arm, and you took it, tucked close to his body.

It was curious, you thought, as Kento walked you to the train station. Arm in arm was less intimate in the eyes of society than hand in hand, but the hold was so much more intimate upon the body of the receiver.

Kento closed his fingers around yours, gently refusing, as you offered him back his handkerchief. He waited until you were beneath shelter, and did not turn to walk away until you did. Your heart pounded. Your body and mind were alive with sweet botanicals and promise. You turned on a pinhead, calling back up the subway steps.

"Kento! Did you...do you really have a...a diamond like that?"

A pause in wet footsteps. Fine needles of rain upon his umbrella. Kento called back.

"Sadly, no. It's only a dream. But if I did have that diamond...well. I would be proud to call her mine."

Your heart would surely burst. You couldn't breathe. Your cold little hand clasped the handrail on the stairs, and you sought to deny Kento's morbid prophecy.

"You could...you could steal it. A...a diamond. Your diamond."

A smile, and a hum.

"I could. Perhaps I shall. Perhaps...soon."

[revelboo]

Transformers x Reader Headcannons- problems

Pretty much how I write and overthink their personalities, actions, and motives. Soundwave, Starscream, Megatron, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Jazz.

Starscream

• Can’t stop self sabotaging. As much as he hates Megatron, he’s his own worst enemy. Fueled by self-loathing, ambition, and spite. If every good thing is just going to be taken away, he might as well destroy it himself and take some petty satisfaction in watching it burn.

• You, though? He wants to protect this feeling you kindle in him. Even if he doesn’t truly trust that it’s real, he wants to pretend it is. Needs you to play along with him. Fiercely possessive because you’re his.

Megatron

• Exhausted all the time. With all that’s been lost, he can’t just stop at this point. There’s no peaceful end even if he almost wishes there was. The Decepticons look to him, believe that he’ll bring them home. To a better world. That guilt and responsibility fuels his hatred, keeping it going. If he fails, it’s all for nothing.

• They’re always watching. Looking for weakness to exploit. There’s always machinations among his officers, plots and schemes. You have no ulterior motives beyond survival and he can respect that. Even so, you’re willing to meet his optics even though you know who he is and what he’s capable of. Brave, foolish little thing.

Wheeljack

• Absentmindedly creating problems in the name of science. Is genuinely surprised when something blows right up in his face no matter how many times it happens. Forgets to refuel and recharge until someone says something or he just crashes. Generally avoided by everyone because of how often his experiments spectacularly fail.

• Even if he’s engrossed in an experiment, if you’re around, his attention is divided. You crash a lot faster than he does and guilt prompts him to take a break, because you definitely don’t look comfortable cheek propped up on a hand, sound asleep. He’s awful at taking care of himself, but surprisingly attentive toward you. Constantly worried because you’re just so fragile compared to Cybertronians.

Jazz

• Smiling through the stress. Seriously, he’s on a knife’s edge of anxiety all the time even as he plays it off. Everything’s a joke. Everything’s fine. Even if he wants to just scream, he keeps that easy going smile in place. It’s his armor and he needs it to convince himself as much as everyone else.

• Somehow you see right through him. You can lay a tiny hand on his plating and he just unravels. And you don’t expect him to just keep smiling through the pain. He doesn’t have to keep the act up, he can vent to you, bleed all the anger and frustration out instead of pretending it away. And he needs this more than you know.

Ratchet

• Gruff and caustic, that angry exasperation is all defense, pushing others away with sarcasm. No matter how quickly he works after a battle, the wounded just keep coming. Sometimes he’s not fast enough. A spark gutters out while his hands are wrist deep in another patient. He’s not enough. If he loses someone, it’s his fault. His burden and his blame to the point where sometimes his servos just won’t stop trembling.

• Somehow you understand that if you try to comfort him, he’ll fall apart. There’ll be time to grieve later, but right now the two of you work to save who you can, your little hands able to reach things he can’t. You don’t complain, just do what’s necessary. Later, he’ll cup you to his chassis, silent as you break.

Soundwave

• The worst part of being able to hear other’s thoughts? They never stop. It’s a constant sensory barrage threatening to overwhelm him unless he makes a conscious effort of block them out, so he’s always on guard. Can never relax or that tide of voices crashes over him. Finding out he can’t even block out human thoughts is a shock. You’re there in the back of his processor all the time.

• It’s why he needs you to sing for him. Doesn’t matter what it is, he just needs that one thing to focus on so everything else fades into background noise. The more you lose yourself in the song, the more he can relax, because you relax. Your thoughts calm.

[rezwrites]

hello love, can you please write Rio Vidal x fem witch reader, where they are together on the first trial, and y/n gets hallucinations about something traumatic and Rio is immediately there to comfort her?

Of course!

Warnings: hurt/comfort, poisoned wine, hallucinations of almost burning at the stake

Racing against the clock everybody searches the house trying to find the ingredients for the antidote. Rio and you were tasked to find guts of a eusocial insect for the potion.

Wandering around the house looking for clues, a sudden fog shrouded you, Rio suddenly no where to be found. A familiar white door appeared behind you, faint yelling coming from the other side. You hesitantly opened the door, to townsfolk facing you with torches and weapons.

“No, no, not again,” You panicked, powerless as they dragged you to the pyre in the middle of the towns square. Tears cascading down your cheeks as you were tied to the stake by thick rope. A few men threw extra kindling on the pyre, spitting at your shoes and hurling insults towards you before they turned away.

“Burn in hell, you devil.” Those words stung deeply all over again. Many people branded you as a monster, despite you using your gifts to help people constantly. In spite of all the hatred and anger you received you never once turned your back on those in need.

Before the mayor lit the pyre, you hear Rio’s voice calling to you. Hyperventilating as Rio came into your view. “Hey, hey. Deep breaths, follow my breathing,” She runs her hands down your shoulders, pulling you close. She held you tight as you breathed in time with her, gradually calming down.

“I got you, you’re safe now. You’ll always be safe in my arms.” You ease yourself upon hearing those words. Chuckling at the fact that she still says that line as sweetly as she did that day she saved you from the stake, all those centuries ago. You give her forearm a gentle squeeze, signaling to her that you're alright now.

“I found the guts. Let’s get back to Jen so we can finish the antidote.” She guided you back to the kitchen a hand on your lower back, keeping you close.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Harry/Draco Fluff Masterlist | fics with less than 5k words

long story short: my masterlist page is broken because I’ve maxed out the length of it because I have recc’d too many fics. So I’m taking a page out of @wizardingworldlibrary ‘s book and making masterlist posts which you can find and be directed to on the updated masterlist page. They will contain every fic ever recc'd on this blog, but will be searchable based on ship, genre, length, among other things.

last updated: 09/17/24 | links last checked: 09/17/24

A Fluffy Little Olive Branch by JulietsEmoPhase [T, 4k]

Harry comes into work one day to find a box with a baby owl inside sitting on his desk, and a note from a mystery well-wisher.

*Code-Cracking For Gryffindors by Saras_Girl [T, 4k]

Harry should know better than to conceal mysterious body art from dorm-mates who pay no heed to what happened to the cat.

*Come as You Are by peachpety [E, 3k]

If asked, Harry Potter would categorize his high school senior year as normal: football, friends, and one devastating crush on his tutor, Draco Malfoy. When presented with an opportunity to help Draco, Harry rises to the occasion. Unfortunately, so does his dick. Sparks fly and alarms blare… and the Hogwarts Owlz Gossip twitter feed blows up. Or: the one where an inconvenient erection brings them together.

Cookies and Kisses by bettydice [E, 1k]

Harry is baking christmas cookies and Draco really can't take this anymore.

*Draco L Malfoy (The L Stands For Legs) by StarQuesting [E, 1k]

Harry could spend the rest of his life in the embrace of Draco Malfoy’s legs. If he was lucky, he would.

*Draco's Emotional Uprising by XxTheDarkLordxX [T, 3k]

“For the love of—really Draco? Artificial leather?” The horror in his father’s tone was amusing. “You have money, use it. And what’s with the color scheme? Is that—oh Merlin it is—floral print? This is worse than I thought. You need to move back home. Clearly allowing you to venture out on your own was a mistake.” “I’m an adult,” Draco yelled, still laying on the ground, not bothering to care enough to move. He had chosen his furniture knowing it would haunt his parents. Petty spite did wonders for the soul Revenge, friendship, and a surprising romance kindle after Draco experiences a recent breakup. He just wants to discover who he is, and maybe the knowledge was there all along.

*everything he is by vityenka [G, 1k]

It's almost like a surprise when Harry pads into the kitchen that morning after and sees him standing at the window above the sink.

Happy Halloween! by SereneFreakGeek [T, 3k]

Harry and Draco have been dating for about a year now when their friend Luna has invited them to a Halloween party! What could possibly go wrong? (sequel to Care For Me)

Harry Potter and the Incredibly Organized Personal Assistant by megyal [T, 2k]

Harry Potter's new assistant is snarkily organized.

Hold My Hand by bafflinghaze [M, 3k]

Harry has been with Draco for a number of years now. So when Draco gets injured, Harry has to storm St. Mungo’s.

Keep You Close (Keep Me Safe) by bafflinghaze [E, 2k]

After a long day, Harry comes home knowing Draco will take care of him.

*love me now (touch me now) by swisstae [G, 3k]

Harry's never had a bath. Draco plans on changing that. OR in which Harry gets his hair washed and Loves It (and Draco. He loves Draco too.)

Meeting The Guardians by jlpierre [T, 3k]

Will Draco meeting the 'Dad's', Sirius and Remus, go down well for Harry?

*Patronus by drarrily-we-row-along [T, 1k]

“Calm down? Calm down?! Pansy, you recall that I have a dark mark don’t you? The final is half of our grade! I’m going to fail.” “You’re not going to fail,” she informed him calmly. “You’ll learn Draco, you have over three weeks.” “But I’m an ex-death eater,” he whispered, as though anyone could ever forget. “Death eaters can’t cast a patronus, you know that.” “That’s not true,” a voice behind them piped up, making Draco jump. “For Circe’s sake, Potter, stop sneaking around,” he grumbled. The other boy shrugged, “Sorry,” he said unrepentantly, “Couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying.” Draco rolled his eyes, “Oh, you just couldn’t help it, huh?” He flicked a careless grin at Draco, his dimple showing, and as always, Draco didn’t know quite what to do with that. “I’m just saying that death eaters could cast a patronus.” “How would you know?” Draco asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Snape could cast one, and Merlin knows that you did far less horrific shite than he did,” Potter replied as he sauntered past them and into the common room. “I could help you, if you want,” he called over his shoulder before walking out of view.

Pomegranate Seeds by Lomonaaeren [M, 1k]

Harry and Draco are having fun planning their futures together. And making obscure mythological references.

Problems in Tying by fuxked [G, 1k]

"Well, considering I switched our ties on purpose, I'd hardly say you're going to make me do anything I don't already want to." "You what?" Or the classic tie swap one shot nobody asked for.

Real Texts by Affectiion [G, 2k]

Kingsley has decided all his Aurors need muggle mobile phones. Draco has finally learned how to use his, and gets a hold of Harry's number.

Ron Weasley: Accidental Matchmaker by Phoenix_Waves [T, 2k]

"There's not a sexual tension out there that the man can't accidentally detect!" George beamed. "And then ask the stupid arse question that's going to light the spark and fan the flames." Lee added matter-of-factly. A fluffy Christmas one shot featuring our favorite older Gryffindors.

Spin the Wand by WrittenSins [T, 2k]

In the spirit of inter-house unity, the eighth years have a small party. In an attempt to get Harry and Ginny back together, Hermione and Ron come up with the plan of a rigged game of Spin the Wand, but not all goes as planned.

The Talk by WolfstarPups90 [M, 1k]

Sirius and Remus think it's time they give Harry "The Talk" when they find he's been sneaking out at night to see someone special.

*The Worst Plan He's Ever Had by gnarf [G, 3k]

“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend until valentine's day is over. I detected at least three hexed objects in my mail and five attempts to poison me with love potion this week and I'm sick of it.” “To be—your boyfriend?” Malfoy's voice stuttered and Harry braced himself for the punch he was expecting. But it never came. Instead— “Fine. I'll do it.” Harry couldn't believe his ears. “Just like that?” “Yes Potter, just like that."

They Don't Know About Us by weasley_bee [G, 1k]

Harry and Draco are in a secret relationship. When they are both invited to Ron and Hermione's house for dinner, will they give the game away?

Welcome to the Family by Jencala [M, 2k]

Remus turned to face his husband. “Your godson is engaged to a Malfoy. He’s used to the finer things in life and I, for one, would like to make sure this dinner is not only pleasant, but that he knows we are not peasants.” Sirius barked a laugh. “So the truth is, you want to show off for the little bugger!”

you've got something on your neck by liliette [M, 4k]

when will harry not have something on his neck?

*denotes personal favorites

[spockandstars]

I was thinking about how Spock is intentionally paralleled with Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities in The Wrath of Khan, and now I am unwell!

At the beginning of the movie, Spock famously gives Kirk A Tale of Two Cities as a birthday present. This book was specifically included for its themes of sacrifice and resurrection, which obviously mirror Spock’s decision to give up his life to save the crew. Notably, Kirk’s final lines reference the famous closing of the novel.

Kirk: It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before... a far better resting in place I go to than I have ever known...

Carol: is that a poem?

Kirk: Something Spock was trying to tell me. On my birthday.

So what’s the importance of this line? The famous “far better thing” quote is from the book’s ending when Carton has just sacrificed himself for his beloved Lucie, giving himself up to be executed in place of her husband so that she may find happiness. (Live long and prosper, anyone?)

Interestingly, both Spock and Carton are emotionally repressed characters, and anguish over the depth of their love for the people who uniquely see them for who they are — in this case, Jim and Lucie. While I’d argue that Spock is more at peace with himself and his feelings for Jim after the events of the first movie, the point still stands that Jim is the one to truly understand him in a world that labels him as a cold and calculating being.

I believe that this is what Kirk’s line calling Spock’s soul “the most human I have ever encountered,” is supposed to represent. (Even though I agree with the criticism that it could have been worded better!) Similarly, Lucie is the one to recognize Carton’s inner nature in spite of his aloof facade, begging “I would ask you to believe that [Carton] has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it.” (Book 2, Chapter 20.)

When Carton finally admits his love to Lucie, it’s hard not to see the resemblance to Spock’s dilemma in the first movie. You know, that time when Spock, in his heartbreak over something related to Jim (that were not given an explanation for), cries out “Jim! Good-bye my . . . my t’hy’la. This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again!” before attempting to purge himself of all feelings in an ancient ritual, and failing because the Vulcan priestess can totally sense that he’s still thinking about Kirk. (Yup, that totally straight time!)

Well, Carton is in a similarly agonizing predicament, because he can’t get his feelings for Lucie to go away. He tells her, “I break down before the knowledge of what I want to say to you” and “I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire—a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away.” (Book 2, Chapter 13)

He also expresses that he could never separate his love for her from himself, saying that “Within myself, I shall always be, towards you, what I am now.” (Book 2, Chapter 13) Yeah, I know the fact this mirrors Spock’s famous “I have been and always shall be yours” is probably a coincidence, but I’ll be damned if I don’t mention it.

Finally, Carton expresses his love for her in his willingness to sacrifice himself for her sake: “For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you… there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!” (Book 2, Chapter 13.) Of course, Carton’s story ends when he sacrifices himself for her, fulfilling this promise. Hmm, now who else does that sound like?

This is definitely not a perfect parallel: Spock doesn’t start out as a lazy alcoholic, although there is an argument to be made that Carton’s low self-worth reflects Spock’s before he went on his conversion therapy fueled journey of self discovery. Additionally, I wouldn’t say that Spock’s love for Kirk is unrequited like Carton’s for Lucie, (as evidenced by many things, but I’ll primarily point to the events of The Motion Picture and The Search for Spock), but you could potentially cast Carol in the role of Darnay, Lucie’s husband.

The most important thing to glean from this is that Spock was very deliberately set up to be the Carton figure, which is interesting given that Carton’s actions are driven by his willingness to do anything to see his beloved be happy and prosper.

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Gator Tillman x Fem! Reader

Blurb with my new favorite duo, Gator x Bunny

You give Gator a few gifts for Christmas!

18 + only! Minors DNI!

Warnings: Porn, with plot. Reader is referred to as Bunny or Bun. No use of Y/N. Established (albeit toxic) relationship. Ass play. Anal. P in V (wrap it before you tap it!). Creampie mentioned.

Special thanks to @starksbabie for the perfect graphic of Bunny's tattoo and always indulging my endless Gator thoughts!

Word count: 2.7k

Merry Christmas ya' filthy animals! Enjoy!

Christmas morning arrived with a fresh layer of snow.

Gator had to leave early for his day shift, making sure to fuck you into the mattress before leaving bed.

He was never gentle, but it was slower than you were used to. He tried to roll his hips instead of snapping them as you came around his cock. His patience would never allow him to make love, always so eager for your cunt to pulse around him.

“Merry Christmas Bunny, love you.” he mumbled against your lips, as he finished inside you, leaving you a complete mess before the sun had the chance to rise.

Since he'd left the house, he'd been in a bad mood. Leaving the warmth of bed and your body pressed against his, always left him bitter, but especially today.

He hated working Christmas.

He trudged home, expecting you to already be asleep. He had to stay over his already 12-hour shift when Roy asked him to take care of something else for him.

No doubt being spiteful for not making it to their Christmas dinner this year, opting to spend the night celebrating with you instead.

He pulled into the drive, all the lights in the house were off, all except the twinkling tree in the front window still aglow. It cast a rainbow of colors out onto the front lawn, kindling something within him.

Happy to be home. Happy to come home to you.

Your nerves were alight with excitement.

You weren't sure you'd be able to pull this little stunt off until he'd texted you earlier that he was going to be late, which would automatically mean he'd be coming home in a bad mood.

A bad mood, you were sure he'd fix my fucking you stupid.

You were laid out on top of your shared bed in an outfit you'd been hiding for months.

Your body was covered in a red velvet skirt and matching bra, both trimmed in white fur. Forgoing any panties for the main surprises you had in store.

Your legs were crossed, red fishnets that stopped at the plush of your thighs squeezing them just right.

To top it all off you had a pair of fluffy white bunny ears adorning your head.

You hadn’t been sitting there long when you heard the front door open and close.

Your heart began to pound. You were never nervous, but your nerves were getting the best of you right now. You'd never done anything of this caliber for anyone you'd dated. You were fucked if he didn't like it.

His heavy boot steps stopped down the hall. You figured he must think you were already asleep, toeing them off trying to be quieter.

You straightened up a little as you saw the handle slowly turn.

There was soft candlelight around the room, joining the glow of the bedside lamp.

He opened the door and his head popped into view. As soon as he saw you his jaw dropped, eyebrows shooting up.

“Hey handsome, Merry Christmas.” You giggled.

“Holy shit, Santa must've gotten mixed up, because, "he licked his lips as his eyes traveled up your legs, “I haven't been a very good boy this year. Not for this present.”

“Oh baby, you've been a naughty boy. But you're my naughty boy.” You took the moment to uncross your legs, allowing him to see your bare cunt glistening in the low light.

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled as he practically launched himself onto the bed, immediately slotting himself between your thighs.

He'd already removed his outerwear leaving him in a thinner short sleeved shirt and cargo pants.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling his thick cock already beginning to strain in his pants as you moved your hips to meet his.

Attacking your lips with fervor, he almost knocked the bunny ears off with his excitement. It was all tongue and teeth, as he nipped your bottom lip, sucking it slightly before releasing it.

“Baby,” you breathed out, pushing his chest slightly so you could get the word out, and unlatch from him.

He moved slightly, so he could look down at you, “yeah?”

“I've got a big surprise for you. Well, two actually.” you grinned. “Why don't you lay back and get comfy for me.”

“I thought this” he tugged the little ribbon situated between your breasts, “was the surprise?” He grinned back.

“It's part of it but you have to let me up.” You nipped at his jaw.

“Ugh… Do I have to?” He whined, as if he couldn't bear the thought of not touching you for the few minutes it would take but was already moving out of your grasp.

You slid over, moving slowly so it didn't reveal itself too soon. He situated himself on the pillows, after you'd told him to go ahead and remove his clothes.

He spit in his palm, then stroked his hard length a few times as he watched you.

Making a show of it all, sliding the straps down slowly one by one before finally undoing the latch and letting the bra slide off your arms and onto the floor.

He was already drooling at the site of your bare chest, something it seems never ceases to amaze him.

“Fuck, look at my girl's fuckin’ perfect tits.” He praised.

The skirt was short enough, when you bent over it would give the perfect view of your backaide. You slowly turned around, letting it ride up the globes of your ass, using your hands to aid in lifting it just enough.

You could see him in the reflection from the mirror, he was mid-stroke when he noticed it, completely stopping with his mouth agape. Nestled in-between your cheeks was a fluffy white bunny tail.

“What's the matter, Gator?” you cooed.

“Oh, fuck Bunny, you're going to be the death o’me. C’mere.” He patted the bed, but you still had one more thing for him that you were sure would leave him speechless.

“Patience baby.”

You slowly started to drag the skirt down, intentionally showing him only the left side of your body. You asked him to sit on the edge of the bed as you walked over.

“One more thing,” you turned around. On your right cheek, there was a small portion of skin covered, the edges sealed with tape.

“What's all this?” He asked. Pulling you in by your hips to gain a better look.

“Go ahead.”

He cautiously lifted the edges; the fresh ink was revealed slowly to him. It was his own name, in perfect letters with a small heart etched beside.

He ran his thumb just underneath it, which still drew a small hiss from you.

“You did this f’me?” He asked quietly.

You wish you could've seen his face, so you finally turned around.

“Of course, baby. You like it?” you said as you cupped his cheeks.

“Like it? I fuckin’ love it. C’mere.” He gripped your waist pulling you forward, as you moved to straddle his lap.

He pulled you into his chest, as you wrapped your arms around his neck, your lips meeting once more.

Moving in tandem against one another, as you finally ground your hips into his. You moaned out once his cock met your clit.

That's all it took, he lifted you up with him, as you locked your legs around his waist laying you back on the bed, never letting his lips leave yours. Bunny ears falling from your head in the process.

With his chest pressed tightly to yours, he pushed you into the mattress.

He reached in between you, guiding his cock between your folds bumping your clit once, twice, three times before catching your entrance pushing in just enough to have you gasp out and grip his shoulders.

You arched into him as he slowly eased the rest of the way into your aching pussy, stretching you out for him.

“Fuck, Gator.” You moaned out, as he hadn't prepared you to take him fully even though you were soaked.

“I know you can take it sweet thing, probably thought about my dick stuffing this tight little cunt all day, huh?” He nudged his nose against yours, as you nodded, mouth slack. Already so cock drunk you could barely think, and he hasn't even begun to fuck you.

He pulled out just as slowly as he pushed himself in, letting you feel every ridge and vein on his exit. He slid out, barely leaving the tip before he plunged back in.

You moaned out, as he spoke “That's it baby. Let me hear you.”

He sat up so he could set a harsher pace, putting your leg in the crook of his elbow so he could get deeper with each thrust, pulling small uh, uh, uhs from your lips.

He leaned in close to your ear, his hips never faltering as he spoke, “It's only right I give her what she needs before I fuck that ass and take what's mine.”

His filthy words and the way his cock was brushing that spot within you over and over had you on the verge already.

You clawed at his back, fingernails leaving deep red scratches behind. He loved the way you left your marks on him.

“That it baby? Need a little help?” It came out a little patronizing, but you only nodded.

He let your leg fall back down, as he lowered his thumb to your bundle of nerves. Pressing in tight circles, just the way you liked it.

The coil within you wound tighter and tighter.

“Come on baby, I can tell you're close.”

And you were, the pressure kept building until it finally snapped. With a scream of his name, your back arched higher off the bed as he stopped toying with your clit to pound into you even harder, working you through your orgasm.

You were clamping down around him, “fuck Bunny, your so goddamn tight,” he slowed his pace to keep himself from cumming too soon.

Your chest was heaving as you came back to yourself. He placed a sweet kiss to the side of your mouth.

“That felt good, huh?” He hummed.

“Fuck, Gator, you know it did.” you giggled.

He pressed a kiss to your neck, as he sat up.

“Come on baby, I've been a good boy. Let me have my present.” He begged.

You rolled over, propping your ass up into the air getting onto your knees.

He groaned at the sight. It was all doing it for him. The bunny tail and his name scrawled high across your right cheek.

He leaned down and placed a kiss right above his name. It sent chills across your skin at the tender notion.

He smoothed his hand down your other cheek before pulling it away and bringing it back down with a sharp smack against your skin.

It made you jolt forward, as you cried out.

“Fuck, Gator!”

But he quickly grabbed your hips before you could fall against the mattress. He soothed your now reddened skin beneath his palm.

He didn't say anything, just calmly eased his fingers to the bunny tail. Slowly, he began to ease it out of your tight hole.

You moaned at the feeling. He watched intently as it finally came out with a slight pop, as he threw it somewhere into the room.

“Mmmm, think you're ready for me?” He said as he spit right onto the ring of muscle, watching it slightly contract as he spread it around with his thumb, slightly breaching your entrance making you throw your head back with another moan.

You reached over to the nightstand, grabbing a small bottle of lube, and handing it to him over your shoulder. It didn't matter how prepared you were, it was never enough.

He squeezed a generous portion out of the tube and onto his waiting hand. Bringing it down to his length, spreading it from his ruddy tip down and back up.

His left hand laid gently on your lower back, you took the hint and lowered your upper body to the mattress.

He brought his tip to your entrance, breaching, while shushing your light protests.

“Relax Bunny, I've got you.”

His words soothed you, relaxing further as he pushed in. You exhaled letting him do all the work.

You hissed, as he thrust in slowly, inch by inch.

Anal was his favorite, no one let him do it until he met you. He loves watching your ass bounce with every thrust.

“That's it baby, just relax. There we go. There's my good fuckin' girl.” He tried to be patient, your ass was so tight he could barely contain himself, as he reached the hilt and groaned with satisfaction.

He stilled, letting you adjust, his hands firmly gripping your hips. Your hands fisted the sheets, preparing for what came next.

He pulled out halfway as you whimpered, quickly sheathing himself back in as he pulled your hips back in time to meet his thrust.

“Oh fuck, Bunny.” He threw his head back in ecstasy.

Pulling back out, now setting a slow pace. He moved to place his foot flat on the bed, giving himself better leverage to plow into you.

He started to pick up speed, as you started to unravel beneath him once more. As if he'd suddenly remembered the tattoo, he smacked your ass just below the fresh ink.

It stung, making you whine and moan, as tears began to line your lashes. You needed more.

“P… Please Gator.” You begged, a little muffled where your cheek was pushed into the bed.

He barely heard you over the sounds of skin slapping and his own moaning.

“What's that sweet thing?” He said, not missing a beat.

You raised up enough so he could hear you plead clearly.

“Please Gator, I need t’cum.” You cried out as he smacked your cheek once more, making you whine out again.

“Ok baby, since you asked nicely.” He leaned over you, kissing your back, before dipping his hand between your thighs.

He trailed his fingers lower, gathering your slick before bringing them back up to circle your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He didn't let up, his other hand holding you in place with a bruising force.

“C’mon. Cum for me and I'll cum inside this tight asshole. This ass is all mine.” He sped up his motion to your clit.

Your lower abdomen started to tighten. A hot white heat flooded your lower body as your orgasm washed over you. Your pussy clenched around nothing as your ass strangled Gator’s cock.

“Oh fuckfuckfuck.” He started to cum as soon as you did. Pumping you full of his sticky spend, with a few more thrusts.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled as he fell over your back, careful not to crush you with his weight, as he pulled carefully out.

Your limbs felt like jello and gave out immediately once he let go, falling onto your stomach and stretching your legs out behind you.

He walked into the ensuite bathroom and came back with a fresh moist washcloth for your new tattoo. He'd taken care of his own, so he knew what was needed.

“Need t’keep it clean, Bunny.” He chided with a tisk of his tongue, no malice behind it, you could tell he was grinning even though you could see his face.

“I got too excited, Gator.” You pulled the pillow into your chest as he finished cleaning it and rubbed some aquaphor over it.

“I know, baby.” He threw the cloth into the corner bin. “Roll over, let me take those off.”

Forgetting you'd still had the fishnets on, you did as he asked, lifting one leg up, placing your foot on his chest. His hands quickly rolled it down over your thigh and calf letting it fall to the floor with the rest of your clothes once it was free. He did the same with the other, kissing your ankle before letting it fall back to the bed.

You rolled over as he laid in behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you close.

“You know you're mine forever, right? Can't get rid of me now. You're branded.” He breathed out, against your cheek.

“Yeah, I know.” Your soft voice came out, now sleepy. “I love you, Gator. Merry Christmas.”

Maybe next year he could give you what you deserved. A little black box with a diamond worthy of you tucked inside because he knew he was a lucky man, if you'd ever have him.

[jbaileyfansite]

The finale of Fellow Travelersis now streaming, ahead of its Sunday night airing on Showtime—a conclusion to one of the year’s best series that is gorgeous, devastating, and cathartic in equal measure.

The story of a tortured-yet-beautiful romance between two men over decades, the show waltzed through those emotions throughout the entire season, as Matt Bomer’s Hawk and Jonathan Bailey’s Tim weather the historical circumstances that prevented their deserved happily ever after. Bomer’s nuanced performance as an infatuated, conflicted man is the best work of his career, and, in the emotion-packed finale, Bailey is a revelation. Across multiple timelines, he showcases how intertwined grit, defiance, and joy in spite of darkness are for gay men determined to make their lives mean something in a world that actively works to strip them of dignity.

The series spans Hawk and Tim’s meet-cute during the Lavender Scare and McCarthyism-led panic of the 1950s through the AIDS crisis of the 1980s. The final scene, set at the unveiling of the AIDS Memorial Quilt at the National Mall in D.C. that might as well have been an anvil plummeting straight onto my heart, it shattered me so much.

There are two images in the final episode that have seared into my brain since I first watched, tableaus charting the arc of a doomed, yet life-changing relationship. First is Hawk and Tim slow dancing naked in the privacy of a secret apartment and, later, Tim’s head nestled on Hawk’s chest as they take a post-coital nap—moments of bliss stolen in a society that won’t allow them that pleasure. Then there’s a mirror of that position decades later, when Hawk climbs into Tim’s hospital bed to cradle him, as Tim struggles through a rough night during his last days battling AIDS.

The power of those moments is amplified by Bailey’s performance. In the earlier timeline, his wide, giddy eyes betray a man fully aware of his good fortune to be so madly in love, cognizant of how precarious and fleeting the feeling could be and determined to live in the splendor of it. Later, as he faces death, his resignation to fate is not one of defeat, but a catalyst for clarity.

So much of his life was impacted—some might say ruined—by his inability to move on from his connection to Hawk. But in a sensational monologue delivered after Hawk questions how much pain he’s caused Tim, Tim corrects the narrative: “I spent most of my life waiting for God to love me. And then I realized the only thing that matters is that I loved God. It’s the same with you. I’ve never loved anyone but you. You were my great, consuming love. Most people don’t get one of those. I do. I have no regrets.”

Bailey’s performance of this monologue stunned me. It is spoken with such certainty, an outpouring of a lifetime of emotion funneled into a searing, pointed declaration. He’s speaking to not only a complicated romance with his lover, but also on behalf of generations of gay men whose great loves were colored and, it often seemed, marred by the misfortune of the times in which they were kindled. That’s the revelation that Tim, through Bailey’s delivery, speaks to: There’s no misfortune when it comes to love; we may now be aware of the hideousness with which society treated (and still treats) the gay community, but how dare we assume that the love found was any kind of misfortune.

I’ll be thinking about this episode, that monologue, and Bailey’s performance for a long time. Do yourself a favor and watch it.

Source

[bird-inacage]

Only Friends: Sand is becoming Ray's addiction

Something that leapt out to me from Episode 2 is that Sand is becoming Ray's new addiction, and the motif of fire/smoke is used to mirror the dynamic of their relationship.

Sand is the fuel to Ray's fire

When Sand lights Ray's cigarette in Episode 1, that was the official kindling of their relationship. They settle their differences and start afresh on a more amicable note. Sand agrees without protest because it's a genuine gesture of making peace. The act of igniting also parallels this being the first encounter where Ray appraises Sand through the lens of attraction. He eyeballs him as he leaves, as if seeing him in a new light.

In Episode 2, Sand once again lights Ray's cigarette. He is what fires Ray up, and will continue to fuel him. This is in reference to the sexual undertones in their relationship but also the care-taking dynamic which is developing between the two. When Ray feels down or lonely, Sand immediately extends his friendship or tries to cheer him up. He will be a light in the darkness that keeps Ray going.

Ray's nature is closely reflected in his addiction to alcohol. He needs a crutch; something to provide him with solace and reassurance. But due to the way he is, he has a tendency to become unhealthily attached to that very something.

Sand is very happy to be a source of support for Ray, but I don't think he's fully absorbed the extent of Ray's admission, "If you're my friend, you have to look after me in every way." Ray doesn't require his basic needs met as his circumstances do that already. So what Ray is referring to here is everything else: attention, love and care. Whereas Sand has offered his company within the confines of friendship, but nothing more. Sand doesn't seem to know about Ray's crush on Mew, which would give him an indicator that Ray has precedence of falling for his friends. Regardless, their respective stances on what constitutes a friendship are at odds with one another. 'I want you to give everything' (despite us just being friends) VS 'I'm not offering you everything' (in spite of us being friends).

Ray struggles to maintain boundaries without getting emotionally involved (because anyone who genuinely cares about him is seen as a form of love). Sand is trying to uphold boundaries whilst his actions say otherwise (his care for Ray derives from his impulse to be considerate, but that's not exclusive and it doesn't mean he intends it to come across as love).

When he's flirting with Ray, he stokes the fire, he quips back like-for-like because he doesn't want to be outdone or out-manoeuvred. But telling an addict "you're gonna keep wanting me" is playing precisely into Ray's weakness. Sand will eventually be both the object and enabler of Ray's addiction to him. And we know this because Sand already finds it very hard to say no to Ray, which means he won't be able to adhere strictly to the boundaries he set. He's going to contradict himself, and therefore seem like he's giving Ray mixed messages.

Fanning the Flames

Ray has a fiery personality, and his eagerness and passion are contagious. We see this in their love scene. Sand repeatedly hesitates. But Ray has a particular talent for riling and stirring him up through his continual flirting, and Ray knows it too. This fearless, upfront and confrontational quality in Ray is what Sand is massively attracted and drawn to, (which he gladly exploits to get Sand to give in), but is also the source of the fire that could potentially destroy them both.

I mentioned in a response recently that Ray has a 'fuck it' mentality, and Sand has a 'fuck that' mentality. Ray tends to throw caution to the wind and acts first, thinks second. 'Why not? What have I got to lose?' (Funny how the name of the bar is YOLO huh?) Whereas Sand is more rational, his 'fuck that' mentality means he tends to take a step back and observe, to call out behaviour that he doesn't agree with or he doesn't believe is 'right'. But what happens what that person is himself? What if he's not sticking to his own rules? What then?

"Yes, it's possible. But you need to be careful. Don't feel more than that. It's like playing with fire." Sand looks visibly troubled after he says this, as if he's recalling something specific in his mind. This line can be read in reference to either character. The most obvious being Ray as the source of fire. Which would mean Sand is saying this in response to previous bad experiences he's had and doesn't want to risk repeating. Alternatively, the more unlikely but intriguing option would be Sand as the source of fire. If so, this is a warning. He's aware that someone being entangled with him may end in disaster or self-destruction. Perhaps a sign that Sand can be irrational or unpredictable when in love, a stark juxtaposition to his usual, overly-rational persona.

Foreshadowing: Going up in smoke

Though Ray's attachment to Sand may not occur to him immediately (as Ray is stunted in the emotional maturity department), it will hit him hard when it does. The thing about an addiction is once you've realised you're hooked, it's far too late. It creeps up on you slowly. And that's why it's dangerous. Part of addiction is denial. Denial that you have a problem. Denial that you are drawn to the crutch you've come to rely on. You convince yourself that you can easily quit, that you can easily operate without it. And because of that, Ray is going to hurt Sand first. And when he does, Sand may choose to back off and put some distance in between them as an ultimatum.

If things do lead in that direction and Ray becomes aware of his reliance on Sand, suddenly having that torn away from him is going to cause a huge emotional upheaval. Like an addiction to anything, without it he won't be able to cope. He'll spiral. Withdrawal at it's worst.

There is the common saying that when something 'goes up in smoke', it's when all efforts have come to nothing. We could see both Ray and Sand's attempts to maintain just a 'friendship' backfire in their faces. And judging by how quickly things are moving in this show, this is going to happen sooner than we think.

[paperclipninja]

I had the absolute pleasure of writing something a little different as a birthday gift for rare pair extraordinaire @isiaiowin and thought I'd share some of the Shax/Furfur love here too.

No Hope in Hell - a Shax/Furfur ficlet

Rated: T

She knows she shouldn't doubt it, doubt him, but a demon who lets herself hope is condemning themselves to a fate far worse than anything the Devil could dream up. For hope is voracious, spilling out to feed the fires of Hell and kindle a ferocity that scalds and scars in ways that break the souls of even the damned.

So she lets her eyes settle on him, hesitation and desire flickering intermittently through the resolve staring back at her.

She knows she can be abrasive, even prickly, but what choice does she have? One slip and she loses the respect of those under her command, or worse—the hope might sneak in.

Hope that he can see the beauty amidst the thorns, the softness in her eyes that she allows to peep through when her gaze lands on him, the way her body prickles with yearning and need and... Love.

Because despite the relentless promise of damnation, or perhaps in spite of it, they found one another.

First it was an understanding, collegial and necessary.

Then they'd seek each other out: to talk, to conspire, to help.

They'd find reasons to be near one another: a silent acknowledgement of friendship shown through favourable rosters, extra resources and crudely drawn smiley faces in the margins of tedious paperwork passed between them.

And finally, their hands would linger as they exchanged written orders and their eyes would lock, neither wanting to break away.

She'd dared to let the hope rise, just a little, when their lips were inches apart and he breathed her name with a reverence that ought to have been engulfed and extinguished by the hellfire lining the walls around them.

And she bit down on that same hope as she cried out in his arms, because if she let it bloom she knew it would become a part of her, etched into her skin, her pulse. Her heart.

Now she rakes her eyes over his weary face and his carefully coiffed, grey locks, swallowing the urge to lick her lips as the emerald green of his collar sets off the colour of his irises.

She is certain that he looks at no one as he does her, knows that the soft-edged smile and gentle tilt of the head are silent sweet nothings: I know you. I adore you. I am yours.

"Shax."

"Furfur."

“Was wondering if you could join me in the filing room to help with the, er, backlog?”

She lets an eyebrow nudge upwards, a movement so slight and fleeting it would be missed if his eyes weren't trained on her.

“I suppose I could do that. Do you expect it will take long?” Shax threads a chill through the question, careful to ensure it sounds crisp with annoyance.

Furfur steps forward, a furtive glance side to side down the dank corridor before he brushes past her on his way and utters breathily, "I hope so".

Read on AO3

Thanks to @harlotofupdog for the read through.

[hsincerely]

BOOKS READ IN 2024: the pairing by casey mcquiston

As far as I know, there are two ways to get over someone: Surrender to the anger that’s already there, or invent something to get angry about. Sometimes it was always wrong, and the only thing to do is stop believing it was good to love them in spite of it. But sometimes they were good to you. Sometimes you go looking for kindling and find that green leaves won’t burn, that the garden was watered too well. Sometimes you have to rearrange the truth into something you won’t miss.

[bookmothic-dyke]

I love the idea of a goddess of promises and spite.

An entity borne of a half made vow, forevermore left incomplete.

A bastard daughter of war and hearth.

The last kindling of what was once comfort and safety, now seeking to burn those who break their word and unjustly twist their vows. A quiet wildfire.

Also she’s a lesbian with a cowboy hat, and a gun made from her dead mother’s reforged sword.

Idk. She’s just something I’m thinking about for dnd in the future.

I guess you could say, I like, hot women. Lol.