groovyfass:

“Time does not bring relief; you all have lied”

BY  Edna St. Vincent Millay

(via groovyphilia)

badasserywoman:

After seeing that new trailer released i felt like doing me gals, how i would see them anyway. Seeing hawke showing up was awesome but damn was hoping that was our warden with here…oh well i just want them in my team of badass ladies. 
Might have to do something for Morrigan too…cause seeing her in it Hnnnnnng damn that witch. 

badasserywoman:

After seeing that new trailer released i felt like doing me gals, how i would see them anyway. Seeing hawke showing up was awesome but damn was hoping that was our warden with here…oh well i just want them in my team of badass ladies. 

Might have to do something for Morrigan too…cause seeing her in it Hnnnnnng damn that witch. 

(via ageofdragon)

photonromance:

comekirk:

okay now someone write me more pre-reform vulcan fic where spock is an unusually gentle warrior prince/lord/whatever and jim is his very human former slave bondmate he will protect at all costs


Your art is perfect and your headcanons are so lovely, I hope you like my little gift! Also, Stonn is my go to Vulcan Baddie. And Slave!Jim in silk and silver bells is my most favoritest.

Spock takes his seat on the raised dais, Jim resting in a plush pile of cushions to his right hand. A nearby clan has come to plead for Spock’s assistance in their warring and are led in by one of Spock’s lieutenants. The warriors settle on the bare floor provided them and take in the Lord’s tent.

From the outside, it is only distinguishable from the rest of the camp by it’s slightly large size. Inside, it is draped in embroidered red silks and plush with cushions. The warrior’s collective gazes all linger on the Tent’s most prized commodity. Jim Kirk is a a golden creature in the red silk and desert sand. His hair and eyes are the color of molten gold, shifting pale yellow to warm butter. He is dressed in sheer materials that accent his pale flesh and chains of bells around his waist and ankles.

Spock’s warriors set out dishes of dried fruits and meats and the visitors offer their thanks.

Spock is given his own plate, which he hands off to Jim as he speaks softly with his soldier.

Stonn’s eyes watch him closely as he sets it before the clan Lord and takes a few pale pink berries for himself. Stonn sneers. Presumptive little snit. There are compounds in that particular berry that enhance blood flow throughout a human body and he likely believes he will we lie with his Master this night. Little whore.

Spock turns to find his slave popping the third berry into his mouth and smiles faintly. Jim grins, more cheek than apology and Stonn immediately hates the disrespectful brat.

"You are asking for our assistance in your conflict with T’pring." Spock says suddenly, drawing Stonn’s attention away, "I have no quarrel with T’pring. She is an excellent tactician and a capable leader. Why you feel the need to set yourself against her, I have yet to discern."

Stonn sits up straighter. “T’pring was to be my wife before she absconded with her disgraceful little band.” He spits, venom apparent, “Her escape cost me my rightful place as Clan Lord and I intend to exact that insult in flesh.”

Spock smiles and Stonn stiffens, flushed with anger.

"And you think you will prevail against her?"

"If you would be so gracious as to assist me, Lord Spock." Stonn grits out.

Jim speaks. “T’pring is too clever to be taken by your men.” He says, picking up two more of the pink berries and offering them casually to his Lord, “You ask for warriors when you should be asking for a miracle.”

Stonn lunges to his feet with a snarl of “Insolent slave!” and the human whirls into motion in the same moment.

The human kneels at the edge of the dais, a knife pulled from the folds of silk he wears held taut to Stonn’s thigh, just over the thick artery along the inside. His expression is perfectly calm, despite Stonn’s blade threatening the side of his throat.

Though perhaps he need not be concerned. Spock stands over him, feet just far enough apart to accommodate his slave, his own sword leveled at Stonn’s throat.

Spock’s voice is deadly quiet when he speaks, “My bondmate speaks the truth, Stonn.” His warriors move at the slight gesture of his hand and gather Stonn’s men, moving them out of the tent in a group.

Alone, Stonn is no less foolish. “It is true then.” He says, his body taut and motionless, “Lord S’chn T’gai Spock has bonded himself to a lowly human slave.”

Spock’s dark eyes blaze and he draws back his blade well enough to strike when Jim speaks. “T’hy’la.” He says softly, tipping his head back just enough to brush the back of his head against Spock’s thigh.

Stonn growls at the slave’s use of High Vulcan and Spock threatens the vein of his neck with gentle pressure.

"T’hy’la." Jim admonishes again, "Let the fool go. Let him make his own death against T’pring. She will slaughter his men and take him for a eunuch if he does not die in combat. He is not worth the blood he will spill in our tent."

Spock lowers his blade. “You are more generous than myself, ashayam.” He says slowly, eyes never leaving Stonn’s face. To Stonn, he says, “Take your soldiers and do not pursue this foolish venture if you value your life. T’pring has not asked for assistance and she shall not have it. You will still be slaughtered.”

Jim sits back on his heels and the knife in his hand vanishes into the folds of his clothing. He has the nerve to smile when Stonn staggers back a few steps. “The word of my Lord is law.” he says simply, from his place at his Lord’s feet, ”Go now, Clansman Stonn. Live long and prosper.”

Stonn storms from the tent and there is little noise as he and his soldiers set back out to their homecamp.

Spock sheathes his weapon and draws Jim up by the hands. “You do not belong at my feet, James.” He murmurs, “You belong in my arms, always upright by my side.”

Jim smiled, reaching up to wrap his arms around Spock neck. “This is the nature of our world.” he says quietly, “And in our world, I could ask for no kinder Lord or more loving Bonded.”

Spock leans down and kisses him, just a press of mouths. “It is my world that has done this to you.” Spock sighs against Jim, drawing him back to their sleeping alcove. “I would see you free.”

Jim laughed, sweeter than the bells around his waist. He tugged Spock down, spreading his legs to allow Spock to settle flush against his belly. “What freedom could I ask for?” He asks, guiding Spock’s hand down his side, urging long fingers under him. Inside him. “What pleasure might I pursue outside your control that I do not possess in this precious- ah- space?”

Spock sinks two fingers into Jim and kisses the traces of discomfort from his expression. “You could explore the stars.” Spock murmurs, working Jim open gently. So, so gently. “You could see the universe. I know you look into the night sky and dream of worlds beyond our own.”

Jim hums softly, arching his back to ease Spock’s work. “I could not bear the enormity of the universe without you.” He pants, bells singing as he rocks down on Spock’s three fingers, “Only your hand in mine could make me step into that darkness.”

Spock growls, sliding his fingers free of his tender lover only long enough to slick his cock and balance himself for a languid thrust. Jim moans. His voice is wrecked and watery and Spock bites Jim’s bottom lip until it is red and plush and Jim arches away in pleasure. Spock kisses his face and Jim gaps for breath.

"Just like that." He pants, lacing his fingers though Spock’s long hair, "Just that way, love."

"I would be your slave." Spock told him, breath hot and damp against Jim’s rounded ear, "I would kneel to you, t’hy’la."

Jim clenched his fists, his thighs tensing as he forced Spock as deep as they both could bear. “Oh gods, yes.” Jim’s words are bare breath, gasped into the humid alcove air. Spock fills Jim with wet heat and Jim spills against their bellies. Spock keeps rocking, pushing Jim through his orgasm and kissing his cheeks where tears have escaped.

They’re hot and now sticky where Jim’s come is pressed between them and Jim smiles through it like a loon. “My beautiful Vulcan Lord.” He murmurs, sleep making his eyes heavy even as Spock reaches for a damp cloth to clean them, “My perfect, loving…” He yawns, stifling it unsuccessfully. “wonderful t’hy’la.”

photonromance:

comekirk:

okay now someone write me more pre-reform vulcan fic where spock is an unusually gentle warrior prince/lord/whatever and jim is his very human former slave bondmate he will protect at all costs

Your art is perfect and your headcanons are so lovely, I hope you like my little gift! Also, Stonn is my go to Vulcan Baddie. And Slave!Jim in silk and silver bells is my most favoritest.
Spock takes his seat on the raised dais, Jim resting in a plush pile of cushions to his right hand. A nearby clan has come to plead for Spock’s assistance in their warring and are led in by one of Spock’s lieutenants. The warriors settle on the bare floor provided them and take in the Lord’s tent.
From the outside, it is only distinguishable from the rest of the camp by it’s slightly large size. Inside, it is draped in embroidered red silks and plush with cushions. The warrior’s collective gazes all linger on the Tent’s most prized commodity. Jim Kirk is a a golden creature in the red silk and desert sand. His hair and eyes are the color of molten gold, shifting pale yellow to warm butter. He is dressed in sheer materials that accent his pale flesh and chains of bells around his waist and ankles.
Spock’s warriors set out dishes of dried fruits and meats and the visitors offer their thanks.
Spock is given his own plate, which he hands off to Jim as he speaks softly with his soldier.
Stonn’s eyes watch him closely as he sets it before the clan Lord and takes a few pale pink berries for himself. Stonn sneers. Presumptive little snit. There are compounds in that particular berry that enhance blood flow throughout a human body and he likely believes he will we lie with his Master this night. Little whore.
Spock turns to find his slave popping the third berry into his mouth and smiles faintly. Jim grins, more cheek than apology and Stonn immediately hates the disrespectful brat.
"You are asking for our assistance in your conflict with T’pring." Spock says suddenly, drawing Stonn’s attention away, "I have no quarrel with T’pring. She is an excellent tactician and a capable leader. Why you feel the need to set yourself against her, I have yet to discern."
Stonn sits up straighter. “T’pring was to be my wife before she absconded with her disgraceful little band.” He spits, venom apparent, “Her escape cost me my rightful place as Clan Lord and I intend to exact that insult in flesh.”
Spock smiles and Stonn stiffens, flushed with anger.
"And you think you will prevail against her?"
"If you would be so gracious as to assist me, Lord Spock." Stonn grits out.
Jim speaks. “T’pring is too clever to be taken by your men.” He says, picking up two more of the pink berries and offering them casually to his Lord, “You ask for warriors when you should be asking for a miracle.”
Stonn lunges to his feet with a snarl of “Insolent slave!” and the human whirls into motion in the same moment.
The human kneels at the edge of the dais, a knife pulled from the folds of silk he wears held taut to Stonn’s thigh, just over the thick artery along the inside. His expression is perfectly calm, despite Stonn’s blade threatening the side of his throat.
Though perhaps he need not be concerned. Spock stands over him, feet just far enough apart to accommodate his slave, his own sword leveled at Stonn’s throat.
Spock’s voice is deadly quiet when he speaks, “My bondmate speaks the truth, Stonn.” His warriors move at the slight gesture of his hand and gather Stonn’s men, moving them out of the tent in a group.
Alone, Stonn is no less foolish. “It is true then.” He says, his body taut and motionless, “Lord S’chn T’gai Spock has bonded himself to a lowly human slave.”
Spock’s dark eyes blaze and he draws back his blade well enough to strike when Jim speaks. “T’hy’la.” He says softly, tipping his head back just enough to brush the back of his head against Spock’s thigh.
Stonn growls at the slave’s use of High Vulcan and Spock threatens the vein of his neck with gentle pressure.
"T’hy’la." Jim admonishes again, "Let the fool go. Let him make his own death against T’pring. She will slaughter his men and take him for a eunuch if he does not die in combat. He is not worth the blood he will spill in our tent."
Spock lowers his blade. “You are more generous than myself, ashayam.” He says slowly, eyes never leaving Stonn’s face. To Stonn, he says, “Take your soldiers and do not pursue this foolish venture if you value your life. T’pring has not asked for assistance and she shall not have it. You will still be slaughtered.”
Jim sits back on his heels and the knife in his hand vanishes into the folds of his clothing. He has the nerve to smile when Stonn staggers back a few steps. “The word of my Lord is law.” he says simply, from his place at his Lord’s feet, ”Go now, Clansman Stonn. Live long and prosper.”
Stonn storms from the tent and there is little noise as he and his soldiers set back out to their homecamp.
Spock sheathes his weapon and draws Jim up by the hands. “You do not belong at my feet, James.” He murmurs, “You belong in my arms, always upright by my side.”
Jim smiled, reaching up to wrap his arms around Spock neck. “This is the nature of our world.” he says quietly, “And in our world, I could ask for no kinder Lord or more loving Bonded.”
Spock leans down and kisses him, just a press of mouths. “It is my world that has done this to you.” Spock sighs against Jim, drawing him back to their sleeping alcove. “I would see you free.”
Jim laughed, sweeter than the bells around his waist. He tugged Spock down, spreading his legs to allow Spock to settle flush against his belly. “What freedom could I ask for?” He asks, guiding Spock’s hand down his side, urging long fingers under him. Inside him. “What pleasure might I pursue outside your control that I do not possess in this precious- ah- space?”
Spock sinks two fingers into Jim and kisses the traces of discomfort from his expression. “You could explore the stars.” Spock murmurs, working Jim open gently. So, so gently. “You could see the universe. I know you look into the night sky and dream of worlds beyond our own.”
Jim hums softly, arching his back to ease Spock’s work. “I could not bear the enormity of the universe without you.” He pants, bells singing as he rocks down on Spock’s three fingers, “Only your hand in mine could make me step into that darkness.”
Spock growls, sliding his fingers free of his tender lover only long enough to slick his cock and balance himself for a languid thrust. Jim moans. His voice is wrecked and watery and Spock bites Jim’s bottom lip until it is red and plush and Jim arches away in pleasure. Spock kisses his face and Jim gaps for breath.
"Just like that." He pants, lacing his fingers though Spock’s long hair, "Just that way, love."
"I would be your slave." Spock told him, breath hot and damp against Jim’s rounded ear, "I would kneel to you, t’hy’la."
Jim clenched his fists, his thighs tensing as he forced Spock as deep as they both could bear. “Oh gods, yes.” Jim’s words are bare breath, gasped into the humid alcove air. Spock fills Jim with wet heat and Jim spills against their bellies. Spock keeps rocking, pushing Jim through his orgasm and kissing his cheeks where tears have escaped.
They’re hot and now sticky where Jim’s come is pressed between them and Jim smiles through it like a loon. “My beautiful Vulcan Lord.” He murmurs, sleep making his eyes heavy even as Spock reaches for a damp cloth to clean them, “My perfect, loving…” He yawns, stifling it unsuccessfully. “wonderful t’hy’la.”

(via spockshair)

schntgai:

( on his recurring nightmare in which he saves Amanda & the Vulcan Elders, only for the Enterprise to be destroyed. )

I dream of logic. And the dream is always the same. Logic dictates that I must beam down to the surface of Vulcan despite the danger posed by the planet’s deteriorating geological stability. Logic dictates that I must risk my own life to rescue the elders of Vulcan, within whose minds rest the accumulated memory and wisdom of our civilization. Logic dictates that I must lead them out of the Katric Arc to avoid the possibility of the chamber collapsing upon us. Logic dictates that it will be easier to lock onto the group and beam them back to the Enterprise if we are outside the ark. Logic proved to be correct. I succeeded in saving the Vulcan Elders. And my family. But as my mother embraces me, I feel a surge of emotion. And with that emotion, comes the end of logic. ( Countdown to Darkness, IDW. )

none shall be untouched
by the fires above (insp x)

(via misterzevran)

radiobutter:

FAN ART!

Sooooo I’m tryin to create ST:TOS tarots… have to meke more pgs:P

(via searchingforspock)

zacharysquinto:

Zachary Quinto (and Skunk Quinto) photographed by Tetsu Kubota for The Wild Magazine’s animal issue (2014)

(via searchingforspock)