#wristwatch6minslow

[rithmeres]

do you have a listing of savage thursday services available for purchase somewhere? or is it purely at the chef's discretion what's on the menu for the day?

on any given week the unlimited 5 for $5 deal includes brutality, savagery, viciousness, barbarism, and spite; and the chef special varies from week to week. today’s special is ruthlessness with a side of general malice. thank you for your patronage and feel free 2 come back next thursday for a spicy never-seen-before ferocity deal >:)

[whumpiary]

for the DVD commentary: Mal meeting/helping Cassius for the first time in present!timeline ? <333

oh!! hipster with a medical degree

 What a lovely one.

I love this piece. Partly because I love Mal, and partly because it was more or less ready-bake when it fell out on the page.

Writing to me always feels a little like excavation. This is kinda wanky, I guess, but 9 times out of 10, it feels like the scene is already there, sitting somewhere in some reality, and I just need to find the right words and rhythms to bring it to life and show it off.

Less like making a thing than uncovering an ancient relic, covered in dirt. Sometimes I have to spend quite a bit of time carving out a scene and cleaning it carefully and making sure I don’t chip bits off or crack bits.  Sometimes, I just brush some sand away and there a bitch is, fully formed.

The latter was more or less how this scene happened. In fact, the latter is more or less how Mal happened. Dude walked into my brain one day, tattooed fully formed, tossed me an imaginary Cornetto and was like “I’m here to chill, is that cool? I’ll tell you the backstory later”

There are a number of details and tiny things about in this scene that I wrote and then was like “…Huh. Is that so?”

For example, Mal made the joke about his leg and I was like “Oh! Fake foot! Okay.”, Cass sees his scar and I went “Oh that’s from the…? Huh. Right. Gotcha.” He put his glasses on and I was like “Yeah, cool, just to read with. Jotting it down.”

At this point, I had not yet realised that Tucker and Mal were brothers (in fact, from memory, Tucker didn’t exist yet). So it was really satisfying to go back and read over it later and pick up on things here and there that made me go “Ooh! Yes! They are brothers how did I not know that!”

There are a couple of details in this scene that  have to do with Cass and the magic system in place in the world they’re all in that if I were to go back, I’d probably change or remove all together. Not because I don’t like them, but because I feel like I’ve not yet been able to weave them through the rest of the story the way I would’ve liked to or though I would, and so it feels really unsatisfying to read back on them now.

In particular, the concept of “push through” — the after-sickness that people with powers get in this world when they overextend themselves —  is a really early one that I had and still really like, but I just haven’t put the work in to make it satisfying to myself or readers yet. On a re-write, I should probably take that little bit out, but I can’t quiiiite bring myself to do so yet because what if one day I do wanna play with push-through? What if one day I do finish those drabbles? Ya know?

One day my muse for present timeline will come back more permanently from the war and I’ll be able to resolve this whole interaction more satisfyingly than “and then Cass faints” but until then… I like it pretty well.

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

your autumn queue is giving me so much happiness and comfort!

Oh thank you, I’m so glad!! I have a lot of fun collecting the posts all year and then setting them up, and it’s always nice to know someone else enjoys them too :)

[thelittleredheadedmusician]

came for the newsies content, stayed for the "the batgirls are better than you" tag

lmao AMAZING. SO GLAD TO HEAR IT. just for that close your eyes and imagine a batgirl Kath. Kath hanging out with Babs, Cass, & Steph. yes. happy thoughts. 

[throwaninkpot]

you are definitely the cool mutual

Aw, shucks. Me?

[enterprisetrampstamp]

1. jim and scotty

it’s been so long since I started writing this that I genuinely have no idea what the specific prompt was or where to find it, but!

***

“CAPTAIN ON DECK,” Lieutenant Givens bellows, and Jim winces and takes an involuntary half-step to the side in response as everyone- including those ensigns on the far end of the large room- looks up and snaps briefly to attention before returning to their duties at Jim’s nod.

G grins and throws up a salute that somehow manages to be both sarcastic and sincere all at once. “Voted best set of lungs in the department,” they offer, not sounding at all sympathetic to Jim’s busted eardrum.

“I see why you and my yeoman get along so well,” he comments dryly, waving off the salute. “At ease, Lieutenant.”

“Yessir,” they say, sounding thickly amused, but- likely conscious of the fact that Jim’s their commanding officer- they refrain from the multitude of snappy comebacks Jim can see waiting on the tip of their tongue. Turning smartly on their heel, they continue on their way to the nearest Jeffries tube–but not without calling over their shoulder, a smirk hidden somewhere in the corners of their lips, “The chief’s in his office, for once.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Jim says, and tries not to feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

He’s the captain of this ship; he’s well within his rights to check in on his engineering department, and of course that involves checking in with his chief engineer. This has nothing to do with–

Scotty looks up when he strides inside the office, and his face breaks into its usual jovial grin. “Cap’n!”

Jim can’t possibly help but grin back. “Mr. Scott. I was hoping–”

“Aye, sir; already ahead of ye.” Scotty leaps up from his chair- likely having been hoping for an excuse to give up on his paperwork anyway- and bustles out the door, leaving Jim to fall into step in his wake. “The lads ‘n’ lasses ‘n’ Lieutenant Givens ‘n’ I’ve been workin’ on a way to iron out the, ah–” he raises his eyebrows, tone lowering significantly– “issues we bin havin’.”

Jim winks at him, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. “Lead the way, Mr. Scott.”

Four hours later, and he’s covered in grease and propped up on his elbows deep in the bowels of the Enterprise. Scotty’s talking--he’s been talking for a good long while, waving a wrench around with his eyes lit up with the kind of simple delight that can only be found when you’re doing exactly that which you were placed on this world to do. Jim’s long since lost the thread of the conversation; not because he can’t understand the concepts Scotty’s discussing so much as that he’s letting the words crash over him like a tidal wave of passionate theoretical physics.

Scotty pauses, one hand resting on the beam of the ship, and the silence is enough for Jim to guiltily startle into focus. “She’s a lovely lady,” Scotty finally says, his tone and his touch reverent.

“She’s a good ship,” Jim agrees. It’s an understatement, of course, but there aren’t words to describe the way he loves his ship.

“The best ship in Starfleet,” Scotty protests--she’s his ship, too, just as much as Jim’s. There’s no one in the Federation, not even her designers, who understand the Enterprise the way the two of them do.

Jim can’t help the way his tone drops, just slightly, into mischief--into... flirting. “With the best Chief of Engineering in Starfleet, to boot.”

“Aye, sir!” Scotty’s chest puffs up with pride. “An’ it’s an honor, sir, to--”

“Scotty,” he cuts in, delicately insistent. “Sometimes, you can just call me Jim.”

They lock eyes for a moment, Jim’s warm and amused, Scotty’s wide and surprised. Then the Scotsman nods, slowly, and his grin is that little bit different as he settles back to face the paneling he’d removed just before going off on his lengthy tangent.

“Aye, Jim,” he says, slow like he’s testing it out. “Back t’ work, eh?”

There’s a warm, comfortable energy between them for the next hour, hovering in the air as they talk about conduits and warp cores till Jim is finally called away to deal with an incident on the bridge. He can’t help the bounce in his step as he goes, nodding goodbye as Lt. Givens wiggles their fingers in a knowing wave.

Sure, getting Scotty to call him “Jim” isn’t much, but every journey begins with a single step, right?

[gaelgarcia]

*bullseye emoji*

clock

Send me 🎯 and I’ll tell you the first thing that comes to mind when I see your URL

[elsewhereuniversity]

sometimes at my school you'll go to where the music practice rooms are and you'll pick out a room where the lights are off, but when you open the door there's someone playing the piano and they just stare at you until you leave. the lights are motion activated. how they play without turning the lights on disturbs you and you try not to think about it.

You are not actually the first person to tell me almost the exact same story, which is a bit unsettling, if I’m honest.

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

fic title: crocodile rock

you know, I had finally gotten that song out of my head, it was in there for like four years and hamilton finally broke it loose, and now, on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding,(uhura and chapel get dressed up in their best interpretation of 1970′s fashion and go out dancing. chris laughs a lot and nyota sings along to everything. it’s gay and sweet.)

[hedgiwithapen]

leverage ot3 vs westallen?

the leverage westallen but only bc there’s more to love. if it was Westhallen or Bariscowest then I would have a harder time  chosing

[ghiblicottage]

*little sparkle emoji*

*cute*

url :  [dont get it]

icon : 7/10

theme : 7.5/10

mobile theme : 7.5/10

content : 8.5/10

overall : 7.75/10

following: not yet but ily | +f | yes!! | you’re stuck with me forever ♥︎

blog compliment + suggestion : i love the hufflepuff vibe your blog gives it’s so warm and soft and makes me happy with all the cute animals and pretty smiling people!! my advice is maybe to get a shorter url and a little more elaborate theme but thats really up to u and i think the simple theme goes pretty well with the content anyway ^^

want one? ✨

[ouchthatwasgood]

much like dark matter, we cannot concretely ascertain "what is whump", only infer it's existence. just as dark matter doesn't interact with light matter, neither do tv show/movie writers interact with the physical and mental repercussions of their plots. whumpy fic writers and theoretical physicists have a lot in common

Oooooh. Schrodinger’s whump, if you will. Next you’ll be telling me that whump is a sentient, self aware entity 🤔🤔🤔

Yet another great answer from @wristwatch6minslow , thank ya very much!!!

[whumpiary]

Mal + tucker/institute?

Mal has 0 connections to the Facility

Mal knows Tucker’s real name

Tucker is the person who helped Mal choose his name

They used to have matching tattoos

[hobbitsetal]

tagged by @wristwatch6minslow​ and @knife-dad​!

list 3-5 snippets of literature/media that live in your head rent free to the point where you have them memorized. write them down from memory! (try not to cheat!)

1. “In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty dirty wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry bare sandy hole with nothing to sit upon or to eat. It was a hobbit hole and that means comfort.” ~ The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien

2. “I’ve never seen a purple cow/I never hope to see one/But I can tell you anyhow/I’d rather see than be one.” ~ The Purple Cow, Odgen Nash

3. “A really good pair of boots cost $50, but a cheap pair of boots that lasted a season before the cardboard soles wore out and you could feel the cobblestones of Ank-Morpork through them cost about $10. A rich man would spend $50 on a really good pair of boots and still be wearing them in ten years, where a poor man would spend $100 in the same time and still have wet feet.

This was the Vimes Theory of Socio-Economics.” ~ a very very badly paraphrased quote from “Guards! Guards!”, Terry Pratchett

4. “I do not love the arrow for its swiftness nor the sword for its sharpness, but I love that which they protect.” ~ slightly misquoted “The Two Towers,” JRR Tolkien

5. “And the whole world then is sleeping, and my world is you.” ~ “Bloom,” by The Paper Kites

tagging @starwarmth, @thisbibliomaniac, @ofsaltandsmoke, and @atlantic-riona!

[throwaninkpot]

*fire emoji* best hot drink + how it should be fixed

I know you think I'll say tea.

BUT NO.

TEA IS SUBLIME, BUT THE ACTUAL BEST HOT DRINK IS FALL DRINK.

YOU'VE PROBABLY HEARD OF IT; I STOLE IT FROM TUMBLR.

STEP 1: HEAT WATER.

STEP 2: IN A MUG, EMPTY ONE PACKET OF HOT CIDER MIX AND SET A CHAI TEA BAG. POUR THE WATER OVER THIS.

STEP 3: WHILE STIRRING, POUR CARMEL SYRUP IN TO TASTE.

STEP 4: SPRINKLE WITH GROUND NUTMEG (OPTIONAL)

STEP 5: ENJOY. PREFERABLY WHILE WEARING A COZY SWEATER AND FINGERLESS GLOVES.

[enterprisetrampstamp]

11. McSpirk

in which, like, nothing really happens, including the cuddling that’s supposed to be the prompt

When the door chimes, Len calls for Jim to enter without even looking up from his laundry. He’s not in civvies often enough to have to take care of it regularly- he doesn’t care to admit it, but this is the first time he’s even touched anything other than his underwear drawer in days- so he’s opted to do the folding himself. The action’s so mundane as to’ve become cathartic, this far out along the edges of Federation space.

He sighs, smoothing out an ancient t-shirt from college. Len’s not sure why he even still has the thing; it was too big when he bought it, way back when, and he’s slimmed up considerably since then. It’s worn out, too, so old you can barely even read “Ole Miss” any more. Maybe that’s the attraction in and of itself, he admits–the cotton is soft under his fingertips in a way that only comes with time.

Footsteps come to a stop at the threshold of his bedroom, and he blindly tosses a few pairs of pants over his shoulder. “Make yourself useful, while you’re here; it’s been a long day.”

“The length of the day on a starship is standardized, Doctor; no day is longer or shorter than another,” Spock says lightly (for a Vulcan), and Len nearly jumps a foot in surprise.

“Sweet Jesus!” He lays one hand over his pounding heart, squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a brief moment. “You scared the devil out of me. I thought…” Len trails off as Spock sets both pairs of jeans on the bed next to him, folded as neatly as Len’s own mama would have done.

The only thing he can think to say is, “I guess somethin’ Lady Amanda taught you managed to slip through after all.”

Spock fairly radiates amusement when Len looks up at him, for all that his body language doesn’t change a bit. “You did order me to ‘make myself useful’,” he says, reaching for the laundry basket, and the door chimes again.

“That you, Jim?” Len hollers. He breaks eye contact with Spock, his cheeks heating up slightly, and brushes past him.

“Who else, Bones?”

Len glances over his shoulder at Spock as he moves into the main room, receiving a raised eyebrow in response. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” he chuckles, thumbing the button to open the door. “Come on in, Jimmy.”

“Been a long day,” Jim announces even as he crosses the threshold, making Len smile; there are two glasses slung between his fingers and a bottle of wine in his other hand. “Just what the doctor ordered?” he asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“Sure thing.” Len sets his hands on his hips, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Got another glass?” he asks slyly.

Jim tilts his head, setting the wine aside in favor of sliding his arm around Len’s waist. “Another…?”

“Spock’s in the bedroom,” Len says cheerfully, and Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s folding my laundry,” he adds.

Jim licks his lips, opens his mouth, and promptly closes it again. Len waits patiently, a gentle smile on his lips; a moment later Jim admits, “I’m confused.”

“Thought he was you, so I threw some pants at him and told him to make ‘imself useful.” Len palms Jim’s ass, getting a surprised “oomph” and a rakish grin for his efforts. “He’s much better at foldin’ ‘n you are,” he continues, voice teasing. “Everything’s nice ‘n’ crisp, and he didn’t even try and pull off my shirt because he ‘thought I wanted everything folded, oh, sorry, Bones’.”

Jim’s eyes twinkle as he carelessly tosses the wine glasses towards the couch- they must be polycarbonate, the way they clink together without breaking- but Len smacks him in the chest before he can open his mouth.

“If you try it tonight, I’m takin’ the wine and Spock, and I’m leavin’ you with the laundry,” he says firmly, rolling his eyes–though he can’t quite bite back his fond smile; Jim just grins and leans in to steal a quick kiss.

He’s still close enough for his breath to brush over Len’s lips when he murmurs thoughtfully, “So Spock’s in your bedroom.”

“’N’ he can probably hear every word we’re saying,” Len points out, nipping at Jim’s bottom lip before extricating himself completely. “Not to mention that I wasn’t raised to leave the chores up to my guests,” he chuckles, heading towards the other room, “no matter how entertaining the sight.”

Jim hooks two fingers in Len’s belt loop and crowdsclose as he follows him. When they turn the corner, Jim calls out, “Evening, Mr. Spock,” with laughter thick in his voice.

“Captain.” Spock nods vaguely in their direction. His attention is caught, however, by the Starfleet Academy t-shirt he holds out in front of himself, one eyebrow raised. “I was under the impression you had not attended the Academy, Doctor.”

Len clears his throat as Jim buries a laugh in the back of his neck. “That’s, ah, a correct impression, Spock,” he says, trailing awkwardly to a stop. Jim is a line of warmth and gentle strength against his back, and it does nothing to help keep his face from burning. “You’ll notice it’s also a tad large for me.”

“As are many of your non-uniform shirts,” Spock points out. “As a data point, the size indicates little–”

“It’s mine, Spock,” Jim says, with gentle amusement, and Spock’s back straightens even further than normal as he looks over at them.

“Indeed,” he comments blandly, his gaze flicking across the both of their faces. His movements are swift and efficient as he begins folding the shirt, his eyes swiftly averted once more.

“Spock,” Len says, slowly. If he were anyone else, Len would think that not-expression on his face was betrayal. “Did you not realize…?”

“There are nuances of human culture which I still do not easily recognize.” Spock sets the shirt on the stack, his fingers lingering on the soft fabric. “If your attempts to inform me of the changed nature of your relationship were couched in allusion and indirect language, I have missed them.”

His body language is difficult to parse at the best of times; in this low lighting, with him partly turned away from them, Len can’t even begin to guess what he’s thinking. He hopes Jim- whose fingers are drumming a thoughtful beat against Len’s hip- has a better inkling of what’s going on underneath that bowlcut.

They’re close enough together that he knows, from Jim’s intake of breath, that he’s about to speak the moment before he does; Len relaxes, certain that Jim will- as ever- know exactly the right thing to say.

“I suppose, then, that our attempts to imply we were also interested in changing the nature of our relationship with you must have likewise flown over your head.”

Or not.

“Jim,” Len hisses, shoving him off. “A little tact–”

“Has obviously gotten us nowhere,” Jim whispers, his grin crooked. “We have to adapt to changing circumstances, Bones.” His step is light as he curves around the room, jerking his chin to motion Len towards Spock’s other side. Len ignores him.

They’re both under intense scrutiny; Spock’s dark eyes cut from one to the other almost suspiciously as Jim–well, for lack of a better word, Jim stalks forward. He jerks his chin again, hissing, “Are you going to pull your weight here or not?” and Len throws his hands in the air.

“Spock, get away while you still can,” he complains. “Datin’ him isn’t worth it.”

Jim turns his attention from Spock to Len, rearing back incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Len lifts an eyebrow, his hands finding his hips once more as he rocks back on his heels. “‘Pull my weight’?” he demands. “Whose bedroom is he in again, Jim boy?”

“He’s here to fold your laundry!”

“And he’s doin’ a better job of it than you ever have!”

Jim spins on his heel, gesturing to Len with one hand as he addresses Spock. “And he says dating me is a trial. Mr. Spock, have you ever seen anyone quite so contrary, for the sheer sake of being contrary?”

“Every time he looks in the mirror,” Len scoffs, not even giving Spock a chance to answer, and Jim’s surprised into a laugh that he quite ineffectively turns into a cough.

“For God’s sake, Bones; can you get through a conversation without insulting him?”

Len looks at Spock, raking his gaze from pristinely shined shoes to pointed ears, and bounces on his toes. “Nope,” he states, popping the ‘p’ with distinct relish.

Spock- who’d been looking increasingly overwhelmed since Jim’s announcement- visibly (if subtly) relaxes into the familiar exchange. “I could hardly expect any less from the good doctor,” he informs Jim, clasping his hands behind his back. “In the face of superior logic, he rarely has outlet beyond unfounded accusations and vulgarities.”

“Very true, Mr. Spock,” Jim agrees gravely, likewise clasping his hands behind his back. His eyes, however, sparkle with the utmost mischief.

“‘Superior’ logic,” Len mutters, faux indignant, and sidles up to Spock, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his chin up to meet those dark eyes. (On the Vulcan’s other side, Jim likewise closes the distance between them.) Len takes a breath, forcing some of the tension out of his shoulders; in return, his voice comes out more hesitant, more raw than he’d intended.

“Teasin’ aside, Mr. Spock…” he dares to reach out and brush his fingers over his covered upper arm. “We’da broached the subject more carefully if we’d realized you didn’t already know.”

“There is no need for… apology, Doctor,” Spock promises, after a moment of hesitation. It doesn’t feel as if he’s lying–simply that he’s uncertain of how to respond. Possibly, Len muses, uncertain as to how he even feels about all of this.

Jim sets a hand on Spock’s shoulder and then, after a moment of deliberation, slides it around to cup the back of Spock’s neck. He says firmly, his gaze locked with Spock’s, “We’re your friends; we should have told you about our relationship explicitly some time ago, and that deserves an apology.”

“Captain–”

“Jim,” Len interjects. His lips twitch as Spock startles, ever so slightly–he understands, intimately, the way the rest of the world falls away when Jim Kirk looks at you like that. “In a situation like this, it’s more than appropriate to call him ‘Jim’.”

“Now Bones, on the other hand, will kick you out of his quarters for calling him ‘Leonard’,” Jim teases, his thumb tracing an arc back and forth over the soft skin of Spock’s neck.

Len scoffs, running his knuckles lightly down the curve of Spock’s spine as he leans across him to taunt, “Just you, Jimmy.”

Jim raises his eyebrows, a delighted- if surprised- sort of grin on his face, but Len leans back ruefully before he can respond. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he says, pointedly folding his arms over his chest to make sure he keeps his hands to himself.

“Right.” Jim licks his lips. “Right.” He reluctantly removes his hand from Spock’s neck, and for a moment he’s quiet, his hand flexing thoughtfully by his side, and then he squares his shoulders–and Len yawns, loudly and involuntarily, burying it behind one hand as he blinks away the tears that spring up in response. When his vision clears, Jim’s deflated once more, a fond, indulgent smile on his lips.

“It’s been a long day,” he says again, and Spock shoots Len an exasperated look. Jim continues, oblivious, as Len rubs a grin away with one hand, “Maybe we should leave the particulars of this conversation for another time.”

“Probably not the worst idea,” Len admits. He can feel the exhaustion pressing down on him, and knows- no matter how nice of a front they put up- that Spock and Jim feel the same.

Spock nods, short and sharp, and folds his hands behind his back once more. “Then I will take my leave. Goodnight, Jim; goodnight… Leonard.”

“Well, well, well,” Len drawls, a grin on his face and rocking back on his heels. “Goodnight to you, too, Mr. Spock.”

Jim hums, a twinkle in his eye as he watches the exchange. “I like it when you get along,” he tells them, sincere and amused and open all at once, in that way only he can manage.

“We always get along,” Len protests. “Sometimes ‘getting along’ just involves a lot of yelling. Right, Spock?” He nudges the Vulcan with one elbow, grinning broadly.

Spock, bless him, comes to the conclusion that changing the subject is the safest route. “Do you require further assistance with your laundry, Doctor?”

Biting back his laughter (Jim, on the other side of Spock, doesn’t even bother), Len shakes his head. “I’ve got it covered, Spock, but thank you for the offer.”

Jim’s giggles trail off while Len smiles up at Spock, and for a long moment the room is still and companionably quiet. Len doesn’t want Spock to go, he muses; and all it would take to keep him here would be one word--”stay”.

But without a proper discussion of what they all expect from each other, he can’t put that kind of pressure on Spock. Len sighs, running a hand through his hair with a tired smile. “Have a lovely night, Spock,” he says softly.

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement, and just like that he’s gone.

Len groans, fingers curling in the fabric of Jim’s uniform shirt as he drops his forehead to the other man’s shoulder. Jim’s arms circle around him, holding him loosely, as he grumbles goodnaturedly, “Half expected you to up and invite him to bed while he was here.”

Jim hums. “I thought about it, but it wasn’t worth the gamble; seemed more likely you’d kick us both out.”

Well, he’s probably not wrong. Len extricates himself with a snort. “Go on and change while I finish up here,” he orders, turning away and busying his hands with the last few shirts in the basket.

(With a grin, he pretends not to see Jim stealing his Ole Miss shirt from the bottom of the stack.)