#i am alive perhaps...........

[almostfullmoons]

ave mujica is uika's reason to live.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the ask prompt game...

Spirk #17 to distract

"Report," Kirk ordered. The word buzzed low against Spock's ear, quiet and audibly tense.

"Less than two minutes until they reach our location, Captain," Spock replied promptly. "Commander Scott will need at least another eight before the transporter is operable again." His voice was equally hush, despite their perceived solitude. He had seen carelessness take far too many lives during his time in Starfleet; he would not allow it to take his captain as well - and, illogically, Spock could not quite dispense of the phantom sensation of eyes on the back of his neck.

"We'll need to bluff it," Kirk decided, looking grim.

His gaze was strangely intense against Spock, full of rioting emotion, and, almost, Spock wished to look away. He did not. Instead, he nodded, holding steady eye contact.

The odds, Spock knew, that Kirk's gambit - whatever it may be - would succeed were... poor. The guards had, after all, seen their faces. But Kirk would keep fighting right until the bitter end, and Spock, of course, would be right beside him.

Solemn, he vowed, "I shall follow your lead," though he knew Kirk would not have doubted it. Still, the unnecessary words were well worth the way the tension around Kirk's eyes melted away, the somber set of his mouth slipping instead into a golden-edged smile.

Almost wonderingly, a soft chuckle fell from those lips, incongruous in their surroundings and entirely treasured. "What would I do without you?" Kirk asked, reaching up to exert gentle pressure on Spock's bicep.

I pray you never need find out, Spock made to say, getting only so far as drawing in breath before the sound of distant footsteps drew them both from their quiet moment, snuffing the words before they could take shape. "Eighteen seconds," he said instead, after rapidly adjusting his calculations. Faster than anticipated.

Kirk nodded, some unreadable emotion hiding in the soft crease between his brows.

"Forgive me, Mr. Spock," Kirk said softly, and Spock did not have time to question what he meant before Kirk was pulling him down by his shirt, dragging their lips together with great urgency.

Quite suddenly, Spock found that his mind was entirely blank. Strange heat flickered through his whole form, and his universe narrowed to only Kirk, all soft and human-warm, who was pressed flush to his chest and kissing him.

One, then two seconds stuttered by in which Spock thought no thoughts at all, struck utterly motionless in the face of such unexpected attentions. He only felt, swept away by the sensation of pliant lips against his own and warm fingers stroking through his hair, gently mussing.

The very first thought to break to the surface was simply, Jim. A wave of emotion flooded in with it, astonishment and affection sweeping over him in such quantities that he felt nearly lightheaded.

The second was, We will be caught, and Spock jolted as something near to panic rose up inside his gullet, urging him to take Jim into his arms and run.

The third, however, was not his own; it was pressed into his katra from the outside by Jim's careful fingers, his clever mind slipping easily past Spock's shields. Play along, he said, projecting deliberate calm through their connection. Still, Jim was unpracticed in telepathic arts, and beneath that false serenity Spock could feel a tangle of guilt and determination, bitter and writhing.

The truth came to Spock in one fell swoop.

Jim's gambit... was this.

His lips and his hands, which pressed themselves so tenderly to Spock's skin, were not for him.

It was not love which had drawn his captain into his arms, but mere utility. Jim had realized what Spock had not: though they could not hide themselves, they could, perhaps, distract from themselves.

Two men attempting to look inconspicuous would only draw suspicion. Two men locked in a romantic embrace, however, may be overlooked - or even deliberately ignored. Few were comfortable with looking closely at the private passions of strangers, and fewer still would see reason to. Those searching for them, Spock hoped, would not. There would be no logic in halting an escape attempt solely for a kiss, after all.

Therefore, in order to escape unnoticed, they must be convincing.

They must seem, to any observers, to be completely and entirely immersed in one another, with no care for anything going on in their surroundings, and no fear of discovery.

Two lives, purchased with a kiss.

It was entirely logical, then, for Spock to part his lips, inviting Jim's tongue to dip inside of the wet cave of his mouth and meeting it with his own. If a groan rumbled deep within his chest, it could surely only help their cause; there was no need to swallow it down.

This disguise would, Spock observed as Jim's tongue flicked gently at his mouth, be far easier to maintain than it had any right to be.

It was a terribly simple matter for a man in love to behave as though he were a man in love.

The difficult part, then, would be remembering that it was a ruse. Already, heat bubbled deep within Spock, aching want suffusing his every neuron. Every faint brush of flesh sent golden tendrils of telepathic energy sparking across his skin, and it was all Spock could manage to hold himself back from pressing hungry fingers to Jim's meldpoints and sinking into that wonderfully enticing mind.

Instead, Spock slipped a hand beneath the hem of Jim's shirt, rucking up the cloth until he was tracing patterns across a smooth expanse of golden skin. He flexed his hand, allowing his nails to scratch carefully along Jim's spine, and did not permit himself to consider reaching upwards, to Jim's face - or worse: downwards, beyond the waistband of his pants.

He wondered if Jim would have chosen this, had he known how very much Spock wanted.

Perhaps it was selfish of Spock to allow it.

Still, he could not force himself away - not when Jim's life was at stake. The kiss was his lifeline, and so the kiss must remain.

The touch of their minds, however, did nothing to aid Jim. It was solely for Spock's benefit, taken from Jim without his knowledge or intent.

That, Spock could end.

If Jim was to unknowingly place himself into the hands of someone who wanted more than he would wish to give, then Spock would take it upon himself to be his protector - even if the one he must protect against was himself.

And so, Spock opened himself to every offered touch, and girded his mind against every stray thought, until not a single wisp of golden energy could find its way past his defenses.

When Jim's thigh nudged its way between Spock's legs, Spock spread his stance wider, allowing him to press closer, and did not let himself feel. His hands grasped and squeezed at the soft flesh beneath them, drawing quiet gasps from a pink-flushed throat, and no pleasant hum buzzed against his fingertips, carrying with it the flavor of human emotion. Jim nipped at his lips and pet at his hair, and Spock pressed every scrap of yearning deep down within himself to where they couldn't emerge.

Eyes closed and spirit aching, Spock kissed him.

_____________

from this ask game

[dimitriblunt]

i know anaxa and trees have other significance to it, like him being a su variant (the seed of sumeru, flamechaser of bodhi/bearer of the bodhi signet (bodhi tree connections)) and being from the grove of epiphany as well.

but has anyone considered this, with him essentially being a reanimated corpse, undead, the fact that trees can represent and symbolize life, death, and rebirth; you can plant them, watch them grow, they can live for years and years on end, and then they'll eventually die someway somehow, but can always be rebirthed. rebirthed into something of the same shape, yet still different.

he was already a corpse when cerces put the coreflame in him. he's either surviving right now on the coreflame's power, if it is able to reanimate a corpse, that is, or something else entirely. he's not a demigod and his body is still, in fact, deteriorating.

[meowder]

This came straight from Santa's workshop

[theunmappedstar]

isn’t it such a gut-wrenching feeling to know the people you no longer have contact with – those people who only started out as strangers, but now they’re strangers all over again – actively look at the same moon.

[bisexualchaosdemon]

No, but burning the house down was such a good symbol for the Raven's, or their fans, trying to destroy everything Jean had left. Yes, physically speaking, and it's cool that it links back to his conversation with Wymack, but also:

A cool evening breeze. Rainbows. Open roads. Friends. Fireworks. Fathers.

These are the things Jean is holding onto to stay alive, but:

A fire makes the air unbearably hot. He lost the picture of Renee and the rainbow. They lost the bikes and his sand dollar. His friends are falling apart over the loss of their home. He even lost the laptop that Wymack gave him. Every little thing he was holding onto, gone.

[yellowjacketsource]

Jackie & Shauna (Yellowjackets, S01E10) "End of Beginning" by Djo

[criminalmaya]

Can't believe i had to bear the sight of fucking 🗿 and no eddie diaz tonight. The fuck is wrong with you tim? You mean to tell me an ex amy medic who has seen it all in combat wasn't supposed to be with his team in the biggest disaster the 118 has had to face, the one where his medic knowledge could have help a lot? the one where their captain, bobby nash, who is his family too, dies???? Does that sound right for anyone? Cause it doesn't for me.

[leefi]

how long was that cunt renovating for

[wildsaltair]

More Gladiator 4K shots from Paramount / Universal Studios!

[caretbread]

a couple of watercolours i never posted here (・_・)ノ

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

Every morning Dad got up early and made breakfast for her. If it was the dead of winter he pulled Mom’s car up to the front of the house, cleared off the snow, and turned on the heater for her. Every night after work Dad had a cocktail with Mom and they chatted about the events of the day. We went to family gatherings, where Dad was always well liked and lively. He was a great dad—very loving and attentive. He doted on my mother and was very much in love with her. I never heard him use profanity or witnessed him losing his temper. He never raised a hand to us kids when we didn’t deserve it—and there were plenty of times we did deserve it and didn’t get it.

~ Michael Sobel (Sobel's son)

[exasperatedoctopus]

So, fun thing about Weyoun. I am A). faceblind and B). The unfortunate owner of auditory processing issues, so I—through a combination of not noticing he was the same dude every time and missing all mentions of his situation—didn’t figure out the guy was identical clones for literally the entire series.

In fact, I only figured it out when I saw a post about it a few months ago, which forced me to recontextualize every single thing I knew about him.

Yeah, that was a weird day.

[camellcat]

having some weird fuck ass inferiority complex is great actually I've decided. everyone is better than me at all times always without exception. which means I have to be perfect to even reach bare minimum. which means because I'm trying so fucking hard just to be capital o okay that actually I'm not doing too bad in the eyes of others even if I know in my heart and in my head it is the worst thing that has ever been conceived in the history of art and love. which means surely someone will appreciate if not you then at least your effort even when you yourself do not

[charlie-rulerofhell]

☆ It's online! ☆

Dissolutely Leisurely is on AO3 now. The fic that started it all. Hans and Sam discuss their respective feelings as well as poetry interests.

Go and show it some love!

[triglycercule]

guys killer birthday art on the way worry not i just decided that i would ensure his art would be late by starting today with the most complex techniques i've never even done