tobyism



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Ilya glances at Shane, at the way the dying light is catching in his hair, refracting. At that spiderlily mouth, slightly open and curling coyly, two teeth peeked through the dark gap like an American Girl doll. At that shoulder, bare and pale and close enough to touch if Ilya just leaned forward, if he just reached out and took another liberty.

    To touch another person is to say: I know you will die, and I am doing this anyway.

    His mother used to say something like this. About painting.

    Every portrait is an act of faith, Ilyushenka. Faith and futility both.

    contrary to personal preference, ilya gets a roommate.

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    18 Jan 2026

  2. Public Bookmark 36

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    Arthur’s voice slipped down to a hushed whisper, loving as he stroked that lightning streak of gray again. “But you’re gettin’ older, darlin’, gettin’ distinguished, making me look like a damn young fool.”

    Charles closed his eyes and shuddered at the sentiment, still painful to know he had outpaced Arthur, that he had lived so much more of his life without Arthur in it, without getting to see Arthur grow gray and soft himself.

    “And you-” Arthur swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, his eyes, golden and healthy and lovely as they were, growing wet as he gazed at Charles. “You’ve been holding on to me for so long.”

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    05 Jun 2025