The future has become as muddled for them as it has for me. The lines of vision are narrowing.
Everything focuses here where we are, where they've dared not interfere before, because to interfere was to lose what they must have. But now they're desperate.
All paths lead into darkness.
♠♕♠
Tracking the tag "ssbotanykae".
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khonesbgsd:

khan/bones  본즈 반지 하나만 끼는거 넘 꼴려..

the-thirdwheel:

look at him getting his mane brushed omg

(Source: topderek)

**I was worried about having missed things while away this evening, but coming back to four fewer followers belayed my concern. I’ll catch up on things tomorrow before I drive myself mad on translations.

My muse is dead. Tell me how yours is dealing with it.

(Source: robertbrucebannerphd)

mycroftthegreat says: [Casually suggests that we get another kitten.]

**How about feeding that oh-so-anonymous ask from earlier today/yesterday?

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bennybatch:

This was the best photoshoot ever

(Source: cumberdaily)

As The Moon Crumbles And Titans Fade

devileyedetective:

image

Sherlock slid back down into his seat, popping open the kit and taking up one of the bottles of gel. He wasn’t actively bleeding to death at the moment, but the somatic gel would make sure he didn’t need to lose the entire leg. He let out a soft sigh of relief when he wasn’t actually in pain, as the gel worked to repair the tissue and nerve damage to his leg. There really wasn’t much they could do now but wait and pray for a ship to find them. A large one with adequate medical facilities and a warm bed would also be nice.

"Someone will find us." He tried to sound certain. The pain in his head had lessened, but the voices were still whispering. At least they had changed from insisting he try to kill himself or the Augment to the constant hissing to fix something. Complete something? He really couldn’t tell. Whatever was manipulating them on the station was gone, and hopefully that scrap of the Aegis 7 Marker was destroyed with it. Briefly, he looked out the front windows, seeing the emptiness of space around them. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen now.

"At this point, I’d be happy with any Citadel ship to pick us up as long as the crew isn’t full of those… whatever they were."

The only thing that kept him from rolling his eyes was his exhaustion. The man wasn’t in his right head, and as much as that had been obvious for the entire ordeal, it was even more gratingly so now. No one but them could have gotten off the station - and he highly doubted that a ship would respond to a distress call only to be filled with the same outbreak. And those things that had been taking over Titan Station, well. He doubted they could run a Citadel ship. At least, he hoped, and he was far too weary to consider other circumstances.

"It doesn’t seem terribly likely that a ship full of those things would bother to chase after a two-man shuttle’s distress call. If they could run something that big, I highly doubt they’d be interested in smaller ships when a Mass Relay would be a much better target," he replied sourly, scrubbing a hand over his face. He knew that being covered in blood probably didn’t make it terribly sanitary, but a that point sanitary seemed to me an incredibly menial problem.

"Just don’t shout," he warned, leaning his head back against the side of the cabin. "It wastes air faster."

Take Me Where I Cannot Stand

devileyedetective:

image

Sherlock, despite having lived on Persephone his entire life, understood the need to have everything prepared for space travel. He wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t excited. He wanted to be rid of anything that was under Mycroft’s gaze, and that hopefully meant that once they were out to the outer moons, he would be able to feel a little freer. He was excited to just start a life that was his own. He reached to pick up one of the smaller fruits, deciding on a little to eat before he set to work.

"All I can think of to ask for right now is a change of clothes and curtains." He motioned to his little makeshift bedroom. "However, I am sure I can survive without curtains, and Doctor Wilson has set aside several old clothes for me to borrow." Surely he would be able to handle himself, but it would be nice to have things that weren’t borrowed, and that he could actually call his own, or eventually call his own. Sherlock glanced over the kitchen, spotting things he could do on his own, but there was at least one more meal between then and now. 

"Is there anything in particular you’d want for a last meal on Persephone?" He asked, trying to run through what they had and what they could spare to splurge on with the fruit they still had. 

Slicing what was left of the skin and leaving it on the board with the rest of what he’d cut earlier to dry, he flicked the knife back into his pocket. Licking seeds out of his teeth, he considered the young man’s request for a moment. The young man already owed him a considerable amount of money, and he needed to remember that for now, that was the crux of their agreement. Generosity only went so far, and his pockets weren’t deep enough to just put up a person on good will.

"You’ll be sticking to what Wilson gives you until you make your own money and can pay off your own debts," he replied sternly, settling into a stretch before peering up the neck of the ship to the bridge. He would have to get the navigation system up to date, and file their rough course. There was also a sensor update he wanted to run, but he could put that on overnight. Looking back at the boy he nodded back toward the cargo bay in a general motion.

"We have some tartan tarps in the equipment hold - you can use those, so long as we don’t need them for something, until you can buy your own. Buying you frivolities is not my problem," he continued. "Put together something good for tomorrow and I’ll get you ingredients. And be sure to ask someone else to get the tarps for you - until we’re in orbit I don’t want to risk anything."

(Source: 72-reasons)

automotivated:

Lamborghini Aventador ADV10.1 M.V1 CS by ADV1WHEELS on Flickr.

gdbracer:

SpringRoll // McLaren MP4-12c by Osvaldo J Santiago / www.ojsdesign.com on Flickr.


(Source: uglybusiness)

72-reasons says: [Possessive]: He supposed that it was only a glance or two, the batting of eyelashes, and the cant of hips. These may not have been enough to bother him, were he not so recently returned. Absence made the heart grow fonder, as they always said. Yet he found it also made him irrationally protective. So, injecting himself between John and the voluptuous brunette sitting next to him at the bar, he subtly smoothed a hand over John's shoulder. "I don't know about you, but I certainly need another."

johnwatson-mdofsass:

johnwatson-mdofsass:

John just smiled at the lovely brunette chatting him up. It was nice, the attention. But his heart firmly belong to a tall, pale, genetically engineered man of perfection. And really who could compete with that?

No one, he was about to politely excuse himself when a familiarly long fingered hand curled into his back and that so missed baritone rumbled in his ear. His face cracked into a brilliant grin, tilting his head back to catch a sight for sore eyes. His skin thrumming with the need to rugby tackle Khan into the pub floor and snog him senseless. But he withheld, that urge.

"Oh I most certainly think you do." He husked back, cheeks flushing as his eyes made promises he would certainly be keeping that night.

"Stay?" A soft gasp from the ministrations of fingers down his own pants. Moving to cup and squeeze at Khan’s arousal with more intention.

"I’d Love it, but it wouldn’t make. Uh, you happy." He managed to gasp out, body shuddering as he pushed up into the man’s hand. Body on auto pilot to chase after what Khan would give him.

"You’d hate it." He groaned out into a pale shoulder.

Returning John’s increasingly avid ministrations, he rolled his hips into the other’s hand. He knew that in this instance, being touched was almost as rewarding as touching. And while he knew he couldn’t honey the truth, he did know there were ways to work around it.

"Then what if," he rumbled, leaning up to nip at the doctor’s neck in hopes of sweetening the offer, "I narrowed down, closed up clientele bases outside of Europe. There is such a thing as being local, you know. "

suddenlymrsex says: "So sorry for my absent, my dear. Been quite the busy bee lately."

suddenlymrsex:

72-reasons:

"It was always my understanding that Kings kept busy schedules, so I can’t exactly hold your absence against you. Though it is always a pleasure to see you."

"You’re too flattering dear. But how am I a King without a crown? I’ve seemed to of misplaced one, if one was ever in my possession."

"I’ve never known you to complain of too much flattery. Then I don’t doubt that you’re in the business of getting it back. It doesn’t seem like you to be without it."

jimandsherly says: "I lied."

jimandsherly:

72-reasons:

"About what, pray tell?"

image

 ”Curious? What do you have to be curious about? I have not been private with my dealings or my routines.”

"I’m always curious about your thought process, Sherlock. You can’t honestly think that genius isn’t one of the most fascinating things in the world."

captkirkxussenterprise-ncc1701:

Kirk grumbled under his breath, unsure if the other could hear him. “Got it.” he said to Khan. “It’s my ship, I know where your room is.” He grumbled. He walked in silence the rest of the way, frustrated. He was under command from the Federation to treat Khan like he would anyone else on this ship but it was finding it increasingly difficult.

He stopped at the room, punching in the code and stepping back as the door slid open. “I think your stuff was already put away, you can rearrange it however.” Kirk said, gesturing vaguely to the clothes and things piled on Khan’s bed. “We’ll be departing in 30 minutes.” He said, standing there awkwardly for a moment before walking away.

Doing his utmost to keep from rolling his eyes at the Captain, he merely let a short breath out of his nose instead. The purpose of his initial comment was to express the unnecessary nature of showing him where his quarters were - he already knew. And while he had no illusions about his freedoms, he didn’t think that an expository escort was quite required.

"If I’m not mistaken, the departure is not an event I’m staffed for," he noted, stepping into the room and examining its modest contents with a quiet idleness. He’d never had the time, means, or desire to decorate a place. Not since he’d left his home three centuries into the past. "Or has there been some executive change?"

(Source: 72-reasons)