{ for we are bound by symmetry. }

Fuck me, I always luck out in Yuletide.

--

Small Truths (The Hour)

She’s a photojournalist at heart. It used to be a shutter click and the thing was set to memory forever, preserved in its unyielding black and white. No snapshots now, or anything to keep hold of.

ALL THE LIX STORM \o/

It's Lix and co in the aftermath of the finale, everyone equal parts furious and hurt, and Lix pulling herself up by the proverbials and carrying on. I have read this over and over again, and each time I find something new in it. That crushing feeling of having thought she'd known Clarence; that slight bitterness towards Bel and Freddie and their youthful inconstancy; the physical act of casting off excess, because, of course, Lix only keeps the things she needs, and she leaves so much behind. GOSH. IT IS SO GOOD. I want to read everything in Lix's droll tone. I am ridiculously lucky.

--

The Siege of Tobruk (Spooks/The Hour)

In the intermittent light from outside, he could see she had a camera in both hands. British journalists, the only part of the war worse than the cliche. Zaf wanted to laugh.

Someone wrote this for me as part of Yuletide Madness and I am sort of gobsmacked by how many of my buttons it pushes in such a small space. Zafar and Lix meet during the war, neither one of them quite whole, but neither one of them with the inclination to leave. GOODNESS. HOW DO I TALK ABOUT THIS? I can't. It's too brilliant. You have to read it. If you know anything about either character, you will love this. If you know them both, YOU MIGHT COMBUST. Fair warning.