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apathyofthesympathetic · 1 year

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@somerandomdudelmao oops my hand slipped

Donnie smiled giddily to himself as he plugged the tiny cord into Casey’s mask, absolutely stoked by the opportunity to analyse and pick apart something of his own creation that he’s never seen before. The technology crammed into every nook and crevice of the mask had him smothering an excited churr, treacherous tail wagging non stop as he wondered what amount of data and information could await him.

He was, for once in his life, so incredibly glad Leo decided to open that big mouth of his. It was, after all, his comment that led to them addressing Donnie’s curiosity and Casey nonchalantly handing over his tech.

His computer takes a suspiciously long moment to download all of the data, and suddenly he’s met by at least three dozen folders and files, all storing incredible amounts of data by the looks of it. The majority of them were labelled in seemingly random letters and numbers, except there was something about it that felt more organised for the purpose of looking random rather than actually being random. He opened one of the folders and was met with more folders, maybe fifty of them, all labelled in various kinds of gibberish.

It took a good minute or two of wondering why the fuck would he organise files in such a way to recognise his simple-but-complicated titling system: the one Donnie’s been implementing into his recording files for years now. His brain began automatically translating the letters and numbers into their actual meaning, while something in the back of his mind screamed that this was an invasion of Casey’s privacy.

Donnie soon realised he folder he’s currently perusing should be labelled with the year, but was instead labelled with a simple 21. Maybe it meant 21 years into the apocalypse? Casey never said how long it lasted, but he did say he’s sixteen, so it’s not too far of a stretch of the imagination that the apocalypse could’ve lasted that long.

He’s clicking on another folder just as he realised the implications of there being recordings stored in Casey’s mask.

He was, essentially, perusing through Casey’s memories.

That was bad. That was an invasion of privacy, and he should absolutely be unplugging the mask and telling Casey about this (assuming he doesn’t already know), and yet.

And yet he doesn’t. And yet he doesn’t unplug the mask and he doesn’t delete the data, and he does select a random file and click onto fullscreen to watch something he may regret seeing.

He’ll only watch one.

Judging from the angle, the camera (probably something stored in the mask) was propped up against something, giving him a decent view of what looked to be some sort of medbay. Someone was lying beneath crisp white sheets on a bed mostly out of frame, and someone else…

…

Donnie was seated at a surprisingly old looking computer, typing furiously away at a speed that’s more than a little impressive for someone with six fingers. He’s hunched over in a way Donnie knew wasn’t comfortable as he worked, occasionally leaning forward and shifting more of his face into the view of the camera. He’s covered in scars of varying severity and age and appeared to have gained several more markings, including three purple stripes that trail from his chin down his neck. He’s significantly taller by the looks of it, and was wearing not only a version of his battle shell, but also his mask and goggles.

It’s kind of like looking into a warped mirror, even though Donnie could only see maybe a third of his torso, the rest hidden by the camera angle. It made the breath freeze in his chest as he watched this twisted version of himself work in silence, eventually slumping in his chair as he stared at the grainy image of his future self.

Donnie - the one in the video (he’s going to refer to him as Donatello for convenience’s sake) - paused his typing and leant forward, furrowing his brow - god he had worry lines - and frowning in a way easily recognisable as his ‘I’m talking to an idiot and I have to be civil about it’ face.

Donnie couldn’t look away, even though, objectively, nothing interesting was happening. His future counterpart was simply typing, working on something while guarding a sick or injured patient. He silently watched at least two minutes of Donatello typing monotonously before something interesting happened: the person on the bed shifts.

Donnie couldn’t see who the patient was thanks to the camera angle, but his curiosity was soon satiated at the awkward little “uhh” sound Casey let out, sounding noticeably younger. Donatello jolted so violently at the sound a keycap literally went flying, and the small corner of his face Donnie could see displayed a very complicated emotion. Donatello was up and exiting the frame in less than a second, presumably grabbing Casey’s arms while a limb from his battle shell extended to grab something above the camera. Casey had just enough time to ask “Uncle Tello?” (oh come on, Leo and Mikey get master but he gets uncle?) before Donatello was speaking overtop of him.

“How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“No.“

“Hungry?”

“No?”

“Thirsty?”

“A little.”

Donnie heard another mechanical limb reach out and grab something, presumably a glass or mug.

“Want to destroy humanity?”

“Is that a symptom or a suggestion -“

“Do you need anything?”

“Umm…” A short second of silence. “Where is sensei? Is he okay?”

Donatello moved to sit on the edge of Casey’s bed, allowing a small portion of his body to be displayed to the camera.

“I remember I attacked him,” Casey continued, and okay, what??

“Yeah, well.” A small sigh. “You didn’t succeed.”

“But I tried,” Casey’s voice wavered, “he’s not mad at me, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Donatello said, voice both soft and stern. “But he has his responsibilities, so he couldn’t stay here all day - he tried though.”

“Hm.”

Donnie could practically feel his future self panicking through the screen - thankfully, though, he seemed to be saved by the proverbial bell, and faint footsteps became audible as two people rapidly approached the medbay. Donnie managed to catch the end of “pretend I’m dead, and use your brain instead of mine for once” as he heard mechanical doors slide open, light illuminating part of the floor.

Leo - a very much taller and older Leo with a freaking metal ARM - dashed into full view of the camera, and Donnie barely had time to take in his appearance before, with a quick shout of “Sensei!” Casey practically flung himself into the turtle’s arms. The turtle in question looked suddenly very conflicted and concerned as his hands hovered over Casey’s back, listening to his little repetitions of “I’m sorry.”

He seemed to realise that Casey would not, in fact, fall apart at the slightest touch, and gently placed his metal arm (METAL. ARM) on his shoulder, patting Casey’s head with the other. “You don’t need to apologise, Case,” Leo said, sounding like his voice hadn’t aged a day despite the twenty-two years that’d supposedly passed, “you didn’t do anything wrong. In fact, you did amazing!”

In one smooth motion Leo was suddenly cradling Casey in his arms and turning in a circle, a movement somewhere between twirling him and just holding him as he spoke, “You were literally too cool for the kraang! How can I blame you? Haha, Casey Jones is now certified cooler than aliens!”

Despite the joyous laughter filling his ears, Donnie felt dread creeping up his spine as their words began to paint a very unsettling picture.

“Maybe even I won’t stand up to him now!” Leo laughed, now holding Casey bridal style in a way that finally displayed his bandages to the camera.

“Pfffhaha!” Casey laughed, smiling so easily despite the bandages and cast covering his arms. He used the arm not in a sling to reach up and grab Leo’s mask tails, tugging on them with a smug smile that matched Leo’s as he successfully blinded the slider.

“Oh no! My only weakness!” Leo crowed dramatically, slumping onto the ground as if bested by a mighty foe, Casey giggling childishly as he slid down to sit in his lap. “Donnie,” Leo said, facing the direction of the purple genius, “can you help Raph lead the resistance instead of me? I think I’m defeated.”

And just as Casey let out another boisterous laugh and Donatello his own amused chuckle, the recording ended, displaying their smiling faces as the footage sat frozen on the last frame.

Donnie exited fullscreen with a slow blink.

Was he misreading the situation, or had Casey been… kraangified?

That… would explain a lot of his scars. Not that Donnie could exactly confirm or disprove his theory, because it would reveal that he knew of and had access to these recordings.

Speaking of which, he really should stop watching these. He really should unplug the mask and delete the footage from his computer, and finish his examination before giving the mask back to Casey with an explanation regarding the footage.

C’mon, Donnie, just exit the fucking files, you’re being insane. This was a ridiculous invasion of privacy and he’d probably try to kill - or at least maim - Casey if he did this to him but god damn it, his hand. Won’t. Move.

It’s like he’s hovering his hand over a hotplate. He had the autonomy and know-how, but no matter how much he tried he couldn’t even brush the red hot surface. His hand was hovering midair, only inches away from doing something part of him will inevitably regret, but that’s all it would do. Hover. His eyes were glued to the screen as he scrolled through the files, and god, there were dozens of them - hundreds, even.

Donnie exited the folder and perused through the 21 folder for a moment, before clicking the last folder listed. They seemed to be organised and labelled as different weeks, so this one would’ve taken place around Christmas time.

He clicked on the first file, entered fullscreen and pressed play.

“What? It wasn’t me, I swear!”

~~~

His brothers (plus Casey and April) were just finishing cleaning up after breakfast when Donnie burst into the kitchen, clutching Casey’s gear to his chest and with his purple hoodie slung over one shoulder, shouting, “SHUT UP LOSERS WE’RE GOING TO THE ZOO.”

Pretty much everyone did that slow blink of what the fuck did I just hear, staring at Donnie with expressions ranging from pure bafflement to startled surprise.

“…What?” Leo spoke up, putting down the plate he was in the process of drying.

“I had a revelation while reviewing Casey’s tech,” Donnie started, holding out said gear to the human, “thank you, by the way - it was very informative.”

“You’re welcome?” Casey squeaked, accepting the gear and placing most of it on the table he stood next to.

“But yes - the revelation!” Donnie slid the purple hoodie off his shoulder and began squeezing the fabric as a stim, smile spreading slightly when he saw how Casey eyed the fabric with recognition. “Casey grew up in the apocalypse, yes? That means that he’s missing quite a few experiences we deem normal nowadays, such as eating certain foods or watching certain -“

“Yes yes,” Leo interrupted with a roll of his eyes, “we’re working very hard to introduce him to fast food, science fiction and Lou Jitsu. Your point?”

Donnie smirked triumphantly as he slammed both hands on the table (a little louder than he intended), “Animals.”

Casey blinked. “…Animals?”

“Animals,” Donnie nodded, “what with the those-that-shall-not-be-named rampaging across the world, it’s not hard to assume that a lot of animals would’ve gone extinct, or at least become very rare. Tell me, Casey - have you ever seen a horse?”

“What’s a horse?”

“See!?”

“You don’t know what a horse is!?” Mikey exclaimed, practically materialising in front of Casey. “Even I’ve seen a horse! What else have you never seen before!? Sheep? Cows? At least tell me you know what a kitten is!”

“U-uhm, I do know what a cat is,” Casey stuttered, leaning away from the hyperactive teenager.

“Have you seen one?” Raph asked, giving him a look that said ‘your life as you know it depends on how you answer this question’.

“No?”

“We must rectify this!” Mikey shouted, darting out of the kitchen and ignoring Donnie’s mutter of “why do you know what rectify means but not imminent?”

“We must!” Raph agreed, practically sprinting out of the room. April rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, only to close it as a faint crash could be heard from somewhere else in the lair. She promptly disappeared to look for the source.

“Great!” Donnie said, “Now that that’s settled…” He turned back to Casey, holding out the ball of fabric that was his hoodie, “Wear this. Just for today.”

“Oh, thanks Unc-Donnie,” Casey stuttered, accepting the outfit and promptly putting it on. It fit him almost unreasonably well.

“What!?” Leo exclaimed, and Donnie had the distinct feeling that if he was still holding a plate it would be shattered across the ground. “You’re giving him your hoodie!? You don’t give anyone your hoodie! Not even Mikey!”

“Oh shush,” Donnie said, rolling his eyes and blushing slightly. “I do so, stop being dramatic. Besides, it’s cold out and Casey doesn’t have any winter clothes.”

“Then we can get him some!” Leo sputtered, gesturing wildly as he struggled for words. “Why are you giving him your hoodie!??” he eventually hissed.

“Would you believe me if I said out of the goodness of my heart?”

“NO!”

“Well then, I guess l’ll never tell you.” With that, Donnie walked past Leo into the living room, planning to grab his winter jacket from the cupboard, only to stop as Leo grabbed his upper arm and whirled him around.

“What’s going on with you?” Leo asked, voice low as he gave Donnie a surprisingly concerned look. He searched his twin's eyes for a long moment, taking note of his deep eye bags and his missing mask, and how he adamantly refused to make eye contact. He saw how his hands shook as they were folded against his plastron, and that he looked a little pale and off-balance.

“Nothing.”

“Donnie…” as Leo looked closer at his twin's face, he could’ve sworn he saw dried tears covering his cheeks. But that’s impossible, because Donnie never cried.

His mouth flopped open and closed uselessly for a moment, before Leo finally spat out, “Are you okay?”

His question was enough to startle Donnie into making eye contact. Eye contact with his brother who, objectively, deserved to be asked that question a thousand times more than him.

Donnie’s eyes wandered over to the cracks in Leo’s plastron, held together by fibreglass and covered by resin, and suddenly he was surging forward and wrapping his arms around Leo, burying his face in his neck willing himself not to cry.

They were both frozen for a long moment, before, slowly, Leo slid his arms around Donnie’s softshell and held his twin close. They both felt as Donnie’s breath stuttered in his chest, and as he pressed his snout deeper into Leo’s shoulder and neck. “I’m okay,” he whispered, and they both knew he was lying.

And with that, Donnie withdrew without another word, walking away and leaving Leo to ponder what the fuck just happened.

#oneshot #writing #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #Rottmnt fic #my writing #dual post

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slog420 · 2 years

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a lot of this maga communist and American chauvinist theory conveniently ignores that prison slavery is a significant productive force in the United States and that “meeting the working class where they are, not where we wish them to be” means organizing with prisoners and not casting them to die for the sake of appealing to fascists

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thecrazyalchemist · 5 months

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(this post is edited from time to time, some stuff may be outdated) [last edited: Sunday, August 11th, 2024]

---

Stuff to get out of the way:

I am a minor.

I am Israeli. I am tired. If you want Israel wiped away, if you want Jews killed - please get away from my blog and don't come back.

Post relating to my opinion on Zionism and current affairs <- this is a link to the post, please read!

Post relating to fundraisers and charities about the current conflict <- this is a link to the post

I want my blog to be a safe place for me first and foremost, and then a safe space for others. Not the other way around. I just came here to be silly.

This is my bubble. I'll post some stuff about chemistry from time to time (PASSED ORGANIC CHEMISTRY!!!! GOT A 97!!!! SO EXCITED), stuff from fandoms I like, reblog quite a lot maybe definitely too much (as @bettinalevyisdetermined said [I think]: "I abuse the fast-reblog button"), and generally random stuff my dopamine dependant fueled machine likes.

BEWARE: CHRONICALLY ONLINE

You're quite welcome to ask for random hugs! I have plenty - will take ions to run out of stock

Hug gif: (wanted to put it here because it's so good)

Sideblogs:

@randomshowerpoems - poetry sideblog!

@littlegnomewriting - a blog for posting very infrequently stuff I write

@thecrazyalchemist2 - clone if I have been cursed by the post limit

@the-hugger - ✨gimmick blog✨, self explanatory

Not gonna reblog every single post from there to here, don't wanna hit the post limit too often. Wanna know what's in there? Go look!

Also do please express your opinion about what I write! I appreciate it immensely 🥺

Some information bout me:

Current timezone: whatever the time in Greenwich is

Online name: Nick F. but you can call me Nick (you can also call me Crazy Al ;] | or Arsenic/Arsenick if you want - courtesy of @givemeasong-singamelody )

Nickolasnames: Quackamole Ferret (bestowed upon me by the amazing @annotated-catastrophe), alchemy buddy (bestowed upon me by the amazing @alchemicalwerewolf)

Titles: Attraction stealer - beware (bestowed upon me by the amazing @thebookshelflord)

Pronouns: He/Him, although I don't really care

Sexuality: bisexual

Favorite color: blue-green

Favorite molecule: Azidoazide Azide

Taste of my ceiling - chalky

I prefer tea over coffee

Preference order: jackets>hoodies>sweaters

What I think about when I hear the word cozy: sitting on a yellow couch reading a book (preferably next to a crackling fireplace), while thunderstorm, inside a library

If you have anything else you want me to add to here, just ask/comment/message/send in a vision/transport in an ancient bottle/come to me in a dream/however you want, but please be clear about it cause I'm a bit of a dum-dum

My Tag lists: (please choose which one do u want me to add you to!)

Reminder: if you want to be added/removed, just say so! Preferably comment/reblog the tag list you want to be added to/removed from to notify me

Picrews <- this is a link to the list

Quizzes <- this is a link to the list

Tag Games <- this is a link to the list

Making Notes <- this is a link to the list

Other <- this is a link to the list

Anything <- this is a link to the list (this one is mainly for convenience's sake)

Reminder: if you want to be added/removed, just say so! Preferably comment/reblog the tag list you want to be added to/removed from to notify me

---

(this post is edited from time to time, some stuff may be outdated) [last edited: Sunday, August 11th, 2024]

#intro post

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flowerandblood · 11 months

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The Prince and The Fox (5)

[ modern! • Aemond x friend! • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, swearing ]

[ description: After the events of her childhood, despite her best efforts, her neighbor and the younger brother of her friend Helaena, Aemond, does not want to know her. This state lasts until a house party organized by his older brother, Aegon, during which an incident occurs that will change their relationship forever. Slow burn, angst, toxic ex-Alys, rough Aemond. This is several anon requests combined into one fic. ]

WARNING: The main plot between the characters takes place in high school. Yes, in high school. The belief that teenagers wait with an intimacy when they are in love in high school is ridiculous to me. Aemond and the character here are the same age. Don't ask me how old they are, in my country you are of the age of consent in your first year of high school and an adult in the last year of high school, so if it is more convenient for you, think about it that way and decide for yourself. In this story, I am not following the trail that they are magically friends right away, but how they become friends and what that even means. I'm writing this fic to give the perspective of young, lost people, not adult women who want to see exactly themselves in everything they read. If that's all you expect, this isn't the fic for you.

I don't want whining about this in my comments or asks. I will delete these and block you. You have been warned.

Aemond + Evans Series Moodboard

This is my first story that has its own playlist, but yes! Get in the mood! Story Music Playlist Song used in this chapter: Ooh to be ah (Kajagoogoo)

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

In the morning, she was woken from a deep sleep by Helaena saying that breakfast was ready and that if she felt like it, she could take a shower afterwards. She rubbed her eyes, not knowing for a moment where she was or what had happened.

She thanked her and swallowed loudly, remembering the scenes from the night before, wondering for a moment if it was real or if she had just dreamt it. She quickly unlocked her phone to see her message history and froze.

Oh fuck.

She pressed her lips together thinking only of how embarrassingly pleasurable what she had experienced with him was, a closeness that probably surprised both her and him.

He enjoyed it.

He wouldn't have done it if it had been any other way.

She thought she couldn't screw it up.

She felt something for him.

She was surprised to see that in the kitchen, besides their mother, was also their father, whom she saw extremely rarely, from what Helaena told her he was often away on long business trips.

"Good morning." She said softly, and he nodded with a smile, swallowing loudly a piece of bread roll he had just taken a bite of.

"Good morning."

She decided to eat something light and settled for cornflakes with milk. She almost choked on them when Aemond appeared out of the blue, apparently he had just taken a shower because his hair was still damp.

He sat down opposite her and gave her a meaningful glance that made her hot, then reached his hand for the pancakes, involuntarily running his tongue over his lower lip.

She remembered the touch of his lips on hers, how soft and firm they were, how well he kissed, and lowered her gaze, swallowing loudly as she continued eating, listening to the exchange between Aegon and his mother.

"Your tutor says you can't concentrate and you're constantly looking through your phone instead of listening to what the teachers are saying." She said lowly, apparently hoping her husband would pick up on the subject as well. Mr Targaryen looked at her surprised and grunted, glancing at his son.

"Is that true, Aegon?"

Aegon rolled his eyes, combing through his hair with an impatient hand gesture, and snorted.

"It's Sunday for goodness sake, can I have at least one day of peace?"

After breakfast she thanked their parents for their hospitality, grabbed her things and decided she would go home, not wanting to take up any more of their time, she had to study for a test on Monday anyway.

Helaena hugged her and thanked her again for the lovely time, she glanced out of the corner of her eye at her brother who was sitting at the table looking at her with an impenetrable gaze.

They had not written to each other.

She wanted to, was even dying over not having contact with him, but on the other hand she thought that she couldn't keep nagging him now, that she had promised herself that she would let it all go at a leisurely pace, that hurrying might only discourage him.

She wondered if he was also thinking about her and what had happened between them.

The next day she got up very early and ran to take a shower, excited to see him again at the bus stop, to talk again. She was afraid that it would be awkward and weird, but at the same time she couldn't get the smile off her face. She decided to wear her favourite black short-sleeved dress with a collar, fastened with big white buttons and topped it off with black trainers.

She showed up well ahead of schedule, however, she couldn't stand to be home anymore out of excitement. She could feel her legs bouncing with excitement as she sat on the bench.

She swallowed loudly when she saw him walking with his backpack thrown over his shoulder from across the street, earphones in his ears as usual. Not knowing why, she got up from her seat as he walked closer, looking at him with big eyes.

For a moment they stared at each other, not knowing how to act, she could feel her heart pounding hard.

He pressed his lips together and looked away, swallowing loudly, without even taking his earphones out of his ears.

Something was wrong.

She didn't know why she felt such a tight squeeze of disappointment when he didn't sit next to her on the bus, but somewhere in the back, sitting with his hood pulled over his head, his forehead pressed against the glass.

He took a few steps back for some reason.

She swallowed loudly, feeling tears under her eyelids, turning the other way, wondering what she had done wrong.

She wiped her cheek with a trembling hand, ashamed that he had broken her heart with such ease.

She didn't seek his gaze or his attention, subconsciously sensing that he didn't want it, trying to focus on the class but feeling only a tightness in her throat and discomfort in her stomach. She thought she wanted to maintain her dignity, that she wouldn't run after him and beg on her knees for an explanation.

If he wanted to move away and changed his mind, so be it.

She tried not to look at him while he and a few other people stood at the bus stop waiting for their bus to arrive. She shuddered, however, when she heard someone say his name, a low, feminine voice.

She turned over her shoulder and noticed how a college-looking girl, much older than them threw her arms around him, she had long, beautiful raven-black hair, she was dressed in a smart, light-coloured coat and long, black heeled boots.

She looked so mature.

"Why aren't you answering my messages? Are you angry with me?" She asked, touching his arm in a way that suggested she knew him very well.

She saw him give her a quick, frightened look, as if he was uncomfortable that she was watching the scene, and then swallowed loudly, tense.

"Not here, Alys." He replied so quietly that she barely heard it.

"Are you ashamed of me?" She giggled, a genuine smile on her lips, her eyes bright, intense green, beautiful.

She felt tears under her eyelids again and turned her back to them, quickly putting her earphones in her ears, not wanting to hear this discussion, turning on 'Ooh to Be Ah' by Kajagoogoo on her phone, feeling the tears run down her face.

She stared dully ahead, wondering if they were together, if she had miscalculated in thinking that he was inexperienced and lost just like her.

She imagined him the way she wanted to see him.

She boarded the bus first, not caring if he was still talking to her or not. She sat down in the first better available seat, and when she saw that he immediately sat next to her she pressed her lips together and stood up, wanting to change.

She felt him grab her arm, felt him say something to her, but she pulled away from him.

"Now do you want to talk?" She growled, not even taking her earphones out of her ears, not even caring what he had to say, walking to the other end of the bus, tired and frustrated by his behaviour, by the fact that he didn't know what he wanted, by deciding for himself when they were supposed to talk and when they weren't.

She wasn't a toy but a human being who felt.

She figured real friends didn't behave like that.

She waited until everyone had left before heading for the exit and saw through the window that he hadn't gone home but was waiting, his earphones hanging by his neck from under his sweatshirt. She squeezed her eyes shut, sighing heavily.

Fuck.

She stepped off the bus, pretending not to see him, but he immediately followed her, grabbing her by her arm, turning her violently in his direction, ripping her earphones from her ears.

"− what −"

"− can you fucking wait? − I'm talking to you −" He growled, and she pulled away from him, frowning her eyebrows, furious.

"Just an hour ago you were pretending you didn't know me, my friend." She said with a sneer, turning away from him again, his hand again on her arm, this time clenched much tighter.

"That hurts." She muttered as he turned her again violently, holding her wrist, his jaw clenched, fury in his eyes.

"− just − just stop for fucking second and listen − okay? −" He asked, and she sighed heavily, looking away, standing still, feeling like her heart was in her throat.

She didn't know if she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"My ex-girlfriend texted me last night saying she wanted to meet me. That she misses me. I couldn't recover from her for a long time. I didn't know anymore what or if I felt for her after everything that happened between us… you know. Fuck. I just wanted to think it all through. Alone. And instead of giving me time, like you did, she came to our school nagging me. Okay?" He asked lowly, leaning over her, and she looked at him with a pained expression.

"Whenever you have to think about something are you going to pretend you don't know me? Don't worry, from me you will never experience nagging. I don't want a friend who cares only about his comfort. I will not be your secondary solace. I regret everything that has happened between us." She said with pain and disappointment, pulling away from him and moving towards her house without looking at him.

It took me a long time to recover from her.

I didn't know how I felt.

He still loved her.

He still loved her, and yet he himself proposed that she stay with him, that she kiss him.

He wanted to see if it would feel good with another girl?

To feel better?

She threw herself down on her bed as soon as she got back into her room and burst into loud sobs.

She felt used.

She believed him.

She believed him to have pure, sincere intentions.

She pressed her lips together as she saw her display light up in the evening, the screen showing that she had received a new message from him.

She shook her head and went back to reading her textbook, not wanting to talk to him, not wanting to listen to his explanations, not wanting to be his friend or anyone else.

After half an hour, however, she got another message and then another and sighed heavily, heartbroken, wondering why he suddenly cared. She figured he wanted her now because she didn't need him, but if she just got his interest back then he would pretend not to know her again.

She reached for her phone and unlocked it, going into her messages with a pounding heart.

She pressed her lips together reading his last two messages and swallowed loudly, feeling hot in her stomach.

I told Alys I'm sorry, but for now I want to focus on a relationship with someone else and by that someone I mean you.

Oh shit.

What was she going to say to that?

She sat and looked at the display, panicked.

She herself no longer knew what she felt, what she wanted.

She shuddered when suddenly a new message appeared below previous ones.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

She decided she would do just that.

That she wouldn't answer him, she would just think about it.

Let him know what it was like.

The next day it was he who was already waiting at the bus stop when she left the house, as soon as he saw her he immediately pulled his earphones out of his ears, looking at her with wide eyes. She walked up to him and they stood like that for a while in silence.

"…did you get my messages?" He asked lowly, uncertainly, and she nodded. He swallowed loudly and hummed, as if he was thinking about something.

"Shall we go truant?"

____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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milkyyawns · 1 year

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one piece headcanons that mean nothing to most people but everything to me

put in no particular order because organizing my brainwaves would take too much energy today

Usopp is the second best cook of the crew, but has 0 gauge for how spicy his food is. he will smile and say its sweet while your mouth is on fire Sanji is very good at braiding hair

Sanji is secretly jealous that Usopp became a hunk over timeskip. He was really huffy over the change for a second before he found out he could lift Usopp with one hand. Sanuso thought on this; Sanji did not mind the view.

Everyone in the crew is funny but Jinbei is declared the funniest due to his ability to always deliver it in the best way possible.

There is a communal baby sling for Chopper, but Robin also made a really pretty one that she doesn't allow anyone else to use. It's not because Chopper WANTS to be in the baby sling(he likes it, tho), its out of convenience sake. Brook is a swinger

Zoro is chronically unable to grow facial hair, in secret he has asked Chopper and Law if there is any remedy. He doesn't have any body hair either. After timeskip Usopp came back with hair all over him, Zoro thought he did SOMETHING to cause this to happen. You can imagine the mortal shame he felt when he asked and Usopp said he shaved every day, and started to like facial hair on him after he got buffer. One time he tried to make a fake beard for himself, it looked terrible so he tried to wipe it off and it wouldn't budge. He went up to Nami and ended up paying 10k berries to keep her silence. Robin makes a habit of picking the other crew mates brains, especially once she opened her shell and whenever a new member joined. When Law appeared it took him avoiding her like the plague to not open up, and after 5 days he had to give in.

Like Luffy, Robin has the ability to figure out what someone needs to hear. Jinbei didn't know this until one day out of nowhere she walks up to him and invites him to relax with her, and she confessed later on in the day he seemed to be having a Rough Time and she wanted to remind him that he can take it easy when his brain is bothering him, and beyond that he can vocalize the thoughts and get them out of his brain. They have weekly self care nights together because of this and slowly the entire crew ends up joining. Luffy is very very creepy, but only to Sanji specifically. Luffy has decided its a game to try to get into the kitchen so he hides on the ceiling and crawls very slowly. Sanji catches him every time but the first few times it scared the shit out of him (he will never admit that, however.)

Robin is as much of a pervert as Franky, but it's a dialogue you have to unlock with her because she refuses to make people uncomfortable. Once you do, every once in a while a pair of lips appear next to your ear and say the freakiest joke imaginable. Nami will break out laughing in the middle of conversations because of it

Robin says the freakiest shit imaginable. theres no context to this shes just offputting.

every once in a while when Nami is feeling homesick, she intrusts Sanji with a orange based recipe from her mother. Sanji collects all of them and makes them when she thinks shes having a bad day. when she requests it to be made its special and they use HER fresh oranges, which she usually only hands over in small amounts. Nami can only make sweets and fruit based dishes. She usually stole her way into a good meal instead of cooking for herself.

Usopp has gone up to every single member of the crew and made multiple portraits for lost loved ones. It's like an initiations ceremony when he walks up with his sketchbook and sits down a new crew mate and starts asking questions. Everybody was very warmed by this but Brook specifically wrote an entire song because of how moved by this action he was.

Nobody will tell Luffy what vore is. They are scared he will start doing it. Usopp is to blame for him knowing that vore is a thing and nobody will let him live it down. (not sexual, obviously)

instead of what most fics do with Sanji being internally homophobic, my personal opinion is that hes actually terrified of hurting the other person. Its not that he doesnt want to be gay, its that he doesnt know how to show love as a man to another man. (For sanuso fans; Sanji confides in Usopp on this matter, and Usopp says in the most matter of fact way. "I dont know how to date anybody. Isnt the point of dating to figure out how each other love? What does gender have to do with it?" and it absolutely broke his brain, and healed something within himself. i lightly touch this in my sanusoami fic !)

Usopp makes gadgets on any occasion. If he hears you complain about the smallest thing once he will somehow make an item to fix that tiny little issue.

Sanji used to shave his legs until one day he overhears Nami say leghair is sexy, he to this day does not know that the context was her talking about Vivi and her's last night together. turns out the weird irritating feeling he had was him hating bare skin against his pants when fighting, and he never went back "Big Man" is Choppers formal nickname. Zoro calls him little man sometimes too but no one else does. Zoro can't read. (i know im not the only one who thinks this) Robin spies on the crew unless shes asleep when they're on the sunny. only Franky has caught on that she does it. she claims that its for security (which he doesn't deny is part of it) but he's convinced it's to slowly torture everybody in the most passive way possible. exhibit a: if she finds out something embarrassing she will almost talk about it for a week straight

i had an entire mental health thing i wanted to get into but i broke the limit halfway through. will do another post with it soon

#one piece #sanji #usopp #robin #franky #jinbei #brook #chopper #nami #luffy #law #monkey d. luffy #nico robin #headcanon #vivi #vivi nefertari

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favvn · 1 month

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Perhaps the Amok Time scene of all time (minus the fight). A 5 minute and 32 second clip. And 3.8k word analysis below the cut!

I can hear the bells (when Spock gazes upon the photo of T'Pring)! It is so fun how the new musical themes composed for this episode lurk around and act as another character to the events. The same bells that will announce the Vulcan procession that begins the ceremony are sounding now as Spock looks upon his betrothed. Again, the music acts as the sound of fate that waits for Spock.

My reference to Hairspray aside, Spock is looking at an image of a young T'Pring, aged seven when they were initially bonded and betrothed. T'Pring is his fiancé and this is presumably the only picture of her he has. YIKES! Either I'm applying human standards to an alien species (it's technically true) or, what's the alternative? Vulcans enter into love-less marriages? Just for the sake of creating offspring? Groundbreaking! Like we haven't seen that before. 🙄

I realize this episode was written before D.C. Fontana's Journey to Babel, that in fact this episode was intended to be a part of the first season but Sturgeon took his sweet time with the script on top of all the rewrites and input from others involved in the show--notably Gene Roddenberry, Robert Justman, D.C. Fontana, and Gene Coon. I need to be clear on this: The finished episode itself is a product of all of them. A lot of what exists in the finished episode is missing from the script that is available online to read. Dialogue and scenes were cut but still present in the script. What was intended by one person is not what remained in the finished episode because the finished episode is the culmination of other people's ideas.

I bring these details up and look forward to the events of Journey to Babel because the existence of Sarek and Amanda as a couple speaks to a Vulcan notion of romantic and sexual love, regardless of what further details may exist in the beta canon of the books and so forth (I am writing these notes around the episode Amok Time itself; I might dig into the script versus what is filmed and recall later information given by other episodes of The Original Series, but I'm limiting myself solely to TOS in this). Fontana herself was of the opinion that Vulcans do not have sex once every 7 years and that such an interpretation was a misunderstanding of the pon farr. Frankly, I'm inclined to agree, especially when the completed episode does not include any sort of timeline for the pon farr, merely that Spock assumed his time would never come owing to his human half.

Hell, the couple of Stonn and T'Pring as revealed later in Amok Time suggests something beyond pre-arranged bondings and betrothals, logic, and innate mating drives spurring Vulcans on to choose their mates. T'Pring states that she wanted Stonn and he wanted her in return. Don't tell me that conversation was strictly the logical choice to pursue a marriage of convenience just because Stonn was physically there on Vulcan, otherwise what's to separate Stonn from all the other eligible Vulcans on the planet? T'Pring's attraction to him and all that such a thing can entail. Stonn was ready to fight an adrenaline-fueled Spock and potentially die for T'Pring. Where's the logic of that unless Vulcans do in fact abide by various forms of love? Doesn't the existence of these two couples show that there are degrees of love and emotions that even Vulcans--yes full, 100% biological Vulcans--act and live on? What notably separates Vulcans from the computers they are so harshly compared to is that Vulcans are living, organic beings capable of growth beyond what a computer can do. They operate primarily by logic, but that is not all they are. They are still physical beings inhabiting a physical world. They may seek the ideals of the mind, but as this episode shows, no amount of discipline or logic can overcome the physical realities of biology, of hunger itself.

My point is: if all Spock has of T'Pring is an old photo of her aged seven, how close can they be? He's in his thirties and he has no recent photos of his fiancé. They haven't been shown to have any sort of contact with one another until this episode, but they're supposed to get married. Is it any wonder that T'Pring doesn't want to marry Spock? Did he try at all to nurture their bond?

And why is Spock treated as the perfect example for how Vulcan marriages, divorces, and the pon farr goes given all the things that set him apart from other Vulcans? He is half Vulcan, half human. His father is an ambassador. Spock joined Starfleet instead of the Vulcan Science Academy. He has had a strained relationship to his father for 18 years. He hasn't returned home in 4 years. Despite these things which set him apart, Spock is the only Vulcan character we have known for an entire season, so he must be the representative of all of Vulcan rather than seen for the outlier he is. Is it not possible that his family's status or his hybrid nature has changed the way his pon farr is handled? (I realize the reality of some of these pesky details is because Star Trek decided to model itself off of the standalone story structure of anthology series like Wagon Train. Doesn't mean I can't gripe about it or realize that, because of that standalone structure, Spock's lack of a relationship with T'Pring is an issue that was baked in to the very episode plot before it was ever brought up. Technically, had this been made into an issue to correct, someone could have found a way to imply something between T'Pring and Spock off-camera, but alas that did not happen.)

SPOCK CANNOT CONFIRM OR DENY THAT HE WILL DIE. HE CANNOT SPEAK. WHAT THE HELL. He cannot admit to the reality of his situation, not to himself, and certainly not aloud to Kirk.

"Is it something only your planet can do for you?" = "Is there nothing we can do for you here? Is there nothing I can do beyond getting you to Vulcan?" (I could say more about the pain of knowing something is terribly wrong with someone but being unable to help them in any manner and what that would mean to someone like Kirk who continues to persist in situations where most would rather give up. How this question is both an attempt to still respect Spock's privacy but also try to get much-needed information for him. How it is very much a declaration of love and care which Spock cannot indulge in at this time lest he loses himself.)

"SPOCK!" THE WRIST GRAB! THE SHAKING! (Ignore the continuity error of Spock putting the pen down before the wrist grab but having it back again in his hand. Yes, you notice these things in rewatches and editing. Sorry to point it out.) THE CONTACT, THE CONNECTION. If Vulcans are touch telepaths, how much care and concern do you think Spock received in that moment? No wonder Spock cannot look Kirk in the eye afterward.

KIRK: "You've been called the best first officer in the Fleet."

McCoy said it in Operation: Annihilate! Twice! Hello, continuity! I love you. And Spock closes his eyes as if this praise hurts him, as if he cannot bear to look at Kirk for saying this.

This line and Kirk's following line, "That's an enormous asset to me" have been understood as Kirk appealing to Spock's sense of logic and retaining the necessary distance of professionalism. Why disrupt the smooth operation of the ship? Why jeopardize the Enterprise's five year mission? Why throw away such a distinguished career? And it works. Spock begins talking, but only after getting up to place a physical distance between himself and Kirk.

Spock can't even bring himself to face Kirk, he stands in profile if not with his back to Kirk (and his back to the audience, if you want to break that fourth wall). He moves to the opposite wall in the room before saying, "It is a thing no Outworlder may know, except those very few who have been involved." So there's a precedent to Outworlders--non-Vulcans--knowing of, if not participating in the koon-ut-kal-if-fee, the marriage or challenge ceremony, and knowing of the pon farr as a result! Fascinating!

SPOCK: "A Vulcan understands, but even we do not speak of it among ourselves."

I know I'm getting ahead of the series by doing this, but once more, Journey to Babel establishes that Spock and Sarek have not spoken to each other "as father and son for 18 years" and Spock has not returned home in 4 years. Let's assume that Spock is 36 given that was Nimoy's age at the time. 36-18=18. This is Spock's first pon farr and he was betrothed/bonded to T'Pring at the age of seven. This is my roundabout way of saying, who exactly is going to be telling a child about the pon farr if it is considered a time of madness and mating, or am I to assume that Vulcan children are given every bit of detail same as an adult would because they are innately logical? (I'm being sarcastic; I understand Vulcan logic to be the result of great discipline and hard work to suppress the emotions if not the commitment and further work to undergo the complete purging of emotion.)

Moreover who would Spock be discussing the pon farr with? His human mother? How would that help him? Certainly not his father if their relationship became strained when he rejected the VSA for Starfleet! Perhaps a teacher at some point in his first 18 years on Vulcan before joining Starfleet? But again, the age of when this would happen would surely alter the details of the discussion, right?

Again, I realize I am applying details that did not exist when this episode was written, but if we are to accept what Journey to Babel tells of Spock and shows us of his parents, then their estrangement shows why his parents were not there for the ceremony and it explains how Spock can say such a thing as, "We do not speak of it among ourselves." He would not have told them to begin with, and I think Sarek and Amanda are smart enough to keep a discreet distance had they been notified.

I'm making a note of this for a reason: if Spock's only understanding of the pon farr came from him being aged seven at the earliest (again, this is not divulged in the episode), is it not possible he built it up in his own head, especially understanding how different he is as a half-human? This isn't to say that I believe the pon farr isn't serious, but Spock is not your typical Vulcan, so his fears and the weight he's placed upon the pon farr exceeds the norm because of who he is. Of course he'd feel more shame about this, especially if he thought, however briefly, that he would be spared it entirely. Imagine that: Spock, the Vulcan-human hybrid untouched by the madness of pon farr. I think he would be so elated his lips would twitch in the closest he'd give to a smile. Instead, here he is, torn by a drive he does not wish to understand because it undoes everything he has lived by. He is only half-Vulcan yet this time still comes for him. How unfair it is to have a body that is half human yet still beholden to the drives of its Vulcan half. How unfair it is for Spock to work so hard at living according to Vulcan teachings and philosophies, suppressing his emotions and retaining such clarity even as he works among humans, and the pon farr undoes it all and creates questions he cannot have the answers to unless he survives.

Think about it: what if his body cannot physically take the pressures as a full Vulcan's would? What if he dies, regardless of T'Pring, regardless of the blood fever triggered by her rejection? How would anyone know how the first half-Vulcan, half-human hybrid's first pon farr goes? The fact that Spock was betrothed speaks to the assumption that he would undergo the pon farr and would survive its effects. In other words, think of the betrothal not as arranged marriage (especially given how the betrothal can be challenged and rejected) but hope for a life after the pon farr. The ceremony exists for a reason: to ensure Vulcans live.

I want to also point out the absurdity of such a statement: "we do not speak of it amongst ourselves." AND YET. There are rituals they follow, down to wearing specific garments, ringing bells and gongs, creating betrothals during childhood specifically for this time, allowing for either a marriage (the koon-ut) or a challenge/divorce (the kal-if-fee) because these betrothals are not understood to be permanent. Awful lot to do if there's no speaking about it! (I suppose one could say that there are plenty of traditions that people have continued enacting throughout the centuries without really scrutinizing or knowing why they do such a thing, but that falls apart when you consider the thought and care that would go into preparing a match for bonding/betrothal. Perhaps the details as to why the bells must ring, why the sash is purple, and so forth can be forgotten with time, but I'd say the rest is pretty damn obvious and too important to be forgotten, especially by a race as logical as Vulcans). I point this out because I feel like so much of the understanding of pon farr has come from accepting these statements as wholly true and absolute fact rather than considering them in light of the information the episode reveals afterwards on the planet Vulcan itself. In other words, Spock is not his usual self at this time and he is an unreliable narrator for these details at best (to say nothing of his status as the first Vulcan-human hybrid! That informs his perspective too). A previous scene had him not realizing he ordered the ship to Vulcan. Is it not possible that this scene is the result of his fears, heightened by the adrenaline of the pon farr?

SPOCK: "It is a deeply personal thing. Can you see that, Captain, and understand?"

FINALLY. He asks to be seen. He asks for understanding! And he looks directly at Kirk! Except! He's asking for more privacy! He's asking for Kirk to fill in the gaps and accept his non-answers as explanation because Spock himself does not wish to say it. He's running away to hide again, putting up walls mid-conversation, and pushing Kirk away. Spock, what the hell??

Kirk orders Spock to explain it to him and Spock responds, "Captain, there are some things which transcend even the discipline of the service."

Again, Kirk understands he cannot get Spock to talk any other way but Spock is now willing to risk disciplinary action for disobeying Kirk's orders! A failure to communicate due to the shame Spock feels for needing instead of being able to deny, and he is willing to jeopardize his career with Starfleet for this shame.

Kirk walks towards him and bridges their distance, and tells Spock he will treat their conversation as "totally confidential."

Gotta love the "we are going to commit to tripping the censors" that Star Trek TOS pulls. Note the discordant return of the Mr. Spock/Contrary Orders theme! How fun that the audience can giggle at Nimoy and Shatner as they repeat "Vulcan biology" and other variations of it, knowing that they cannot say sex yet still hear such a serious tune as they do so. Adds an extra layer of disorder to this scene, mirroring the chaos that Spock is struggling against. There's also a meta-layer to this in that, due to the network censors and issues surrounding discussions of sex within general audience television, the censors create the same inability to communicate that propels the episode's plot. And I would be remiss to overlook the acting here. Nimoy delivers a physically pained if not annoyed Spock, as if he cannot believe he must spell out the obvious to the captain. Shatner gives Kirk a lost expression as he listens before it all clicks and we have the suave, ready-to-solve-the-issue captain.

I love that they took the "birds and the bees" idiom and played it straight for Spock! It is not just a euphemism for sex, it is earnestly true: Vulcans are not like any other creature. What other creature would try to control itself as Vulcans do, suppressing the emotions if not purging them entirely, forming a civilization ruled by logic and the mind (a civilization that might as well seek Plato's highest idea of the absolute and unchanging Forms in their attitudes towards logic; honestly this is a stretch but it could be that this is how Surak's teachings evolved with the passage of about 2,000 years)?

SPOCK: If any creature as proudly logical as us were to have their logic ripped from them as this time does to us…

Yes, pride isn't a very Vulcan thing to have, but it has been made clear that Spock takes pride in being a Vulcan and in being different from humans. Most of Spock and McCoy's banter with each other stems from McCoy putting on a big show about how alien and strange Spock is only for Spock to happily (as much as he allows himself to show it) double-down on whatever difference sets him apart from humans. And again, for Spock especially pon farr is an undoing of all of his hard work, all of his discipline, all of his control and denial and he is powerless to stop it despite his attempts. This is world-ending for him hence how he phrases it in such a visceral way. (To say nothing of the inherent dichotomy between logic and madness!)

SPOCK: How do Vulcans choose their mates? Haven't you ever wondered? KIRK: I guess the rest of us assume that it's done… quite logically. Spock: No. It is not.

Once more, BULLSHIT. The very fact that Vulcans match children together to share a bond specifically for their future pon farr, and the fact that they are betrothed to one another at such a young age again for the future pon farr, and the fact that the pon farr itself is contained by the marriage or challenge ceremony means that there is a very logical process to it all! The only time logic would go out the window would be if a Vulcan were to reject their betrothed to marry the one that they love. (This is assuming a dichotomy between logic and love, Logos and Pathos, objectivity and subjectivity, absolute reality and personal perception, etc. Science can quantify love into numbers and biochemical processes and so forth, but it is not enough to yield understanding, otherwise a lot of literature, poetry, songs, art, and so forth are all saying absolutely nothing of import.)

But the caveat here is, they could have hardly said, "How do Vulcans mate?" on 1960s television even though that is the question which would--logically--earn such a response. Lmao.

That aside, Spock returns to his seat, not to put physical distance between him and Kirk, however. Perhaps now Spock is becoming more agitated as this conversation continues, and so he cannot stay in one place for too long.

SPOCK: We shield it with ritual and customs shrouded in antiquity. You humans have no conception. It strips our minds from us. Brings a madness which rips away the veneer of our civilization. It is the pon farr. The time of mating. There are precedents in nature, Captain. The giant eelbirds of Regulus Five, once each eleven years they must return to the caverns where they hatched. On your Earth, the salmon. They must return to that one stream where they were born, to spawn or die in trying.

The music! Suddenly there's horns, drums, and the bells. It sounds like a march in its tempo and crafts a sinister atmosphere.

Spock keeps his hands clasped together in his lap while Kirk starts rubbing at his face and mouth with his hand and fingers, taking Spock's words in and lost in thought. So much of this episode is centered around the communication of need versus the shame of one’s need leading to secrecy, so to suddenly make the lips/mouth the object of worry, when one uses the mouth to communicate verbally or to kiss another…. This was not the first episode produced for season two but it is the first aired episode of that season, so it is interesting that this would be the first time audiences see that Kirk's nervous hands move to his face and mouth. (In other words, Shatner started doing this in season two, which is also the time that he gave up smoking, so this change was probably the result of that. Still, what serendipity.)

Well, they certainly shield and shroud the madness of pon farr with the rituals, if not attempt to contain and redirect it so that it is not destructive to others or the self. Think about it: if the pon farr taps into the fight-or-flight response and increases the feelings of fear and aggression, then a fight is technically the way to get those feelings out. Of course, the urge for violence is not all of it. It is a mating drive that urges for sex.

Spock gives two other examples of creatures that follow a mating drive, both animal species. What is notably missing is the detail that within the salmon run, the bulk of adult salmon die after they mate. It is not a matter of "try or die," it is inherent to the cycle: they return home, they mate, they die. Sex and death are linked together in the salmon run. The Vulcan pon farr follows this albeit with a twist: either they mate or they die. Sex or death. One can create life, the other is the end of life. (I could bring more Bataille into this owing to how he writes about the desire to posses the beloved even to the point of killing them (mate or die), but if I do so, the ensuing excursion would get this way off track. Just understand, the linking of sex and death is a conscientious choice beyond what I am arguing here for Spock specifically.)

These are two extremes for the cycle of life and polar opposites, and it follows how the pon farr negates the principles Vulcans live by in general, but it especially negates the way that Spock adheres to Vulcan principles--control versus impulse (if not rest, the relinquishing of control), denial versus need, moderation versus excess if not nothing versus all--and it speaks to Spock's fears of losing his identity as a Vulcan and the strict control it takes to maintain that identity. It takes the mental ideals of logic and breaks them for the biology and impulse of the physical.

KIRK: But you're not a fish, Mister Spock. You're-- SPOCK: No. Nor am I a man. I'm a Vulcan. I'd hoped I would be spared this, but the ancient drives are too strong. Eventually, they catch up with us, and we are driven by forces we cannot control to return home and take a wife. Or die.

It is not known, of course, if Kirk was going to call Spock a human or a Vulcan, but Spock assumes the word to be said was human. If so, Kirk was calling Spock human out of the concern that no human could possibly survive the thing that Spock is speaking about. And of course, this is perhaps the tragedy of the pon farr: Spock fears it for undoing his control and the identity created by it, but by undergoing the pon farr, Spock is confirmed in his Vulcan heritage. Who else but a Vulcan would experience the pon farr?

KIRK: I haven't heard a word you've said, and I'll get you to Vulcan somehow.

Mum's the word. Kirk gets up and goes over to Spock before saying it. If he were to reach out, they would touch, but Kirk maintains that physical distance and Spock does not look up, not until Kirk leaves. The angle of his face mirrors the look he has later when he is in the blood fever. Perhaps this conversation has unsettled him in more ways than the obvious Vulcan control slipping away for fear and anger.

Edit: I did forget something. Of course, I forgot something! Because initially I was responding to the dialogue itself and the discrepancies to it and how such were necessitated by 1960s social mores (Within the show itself, one could argue the discrepancies are a sign of Spock's unraveling. He isn't making sense.)

SPOCK: How do Vulcans choose their mates? Haven't you ever wondered?

Spock initially uses the term "mates" when leading up to telling Kirk about the pon farr. The context is referring to Vulcans in general. Mate is a gender neutral term, so this implies that any Vulcan, regardless of gender, will undergo the pon farr. In using such a gender neutral term, the gender of the Vulcans involved in the ceremony are open to being anything. In other words, a same-sex couple could very well exist (off-screen, if not in the margins).

SPOCK: No. Nor am I a man. I'm a Vulcan. I'd hoped I would be spared this, but the ancient drives are too strong. Eventually, they catch up with us, and we are driven by forces we cannot control to return home and take a wife. Or die.

As Spock continues telling Kirk of the pon farr, however, he eventually uses the term "wife" instead. Wife obviously implies only one gender, yet Spock uses this term after he specifically mentions himself. He does return to the plural pronoun of "we," so it could be argued that this too is to refer to all Vulcans, but I'd argue against it given his initial phrasing. Spock got really personal in this conversation, going from all Vulcans, to himself, only to suddenly return to all Vulcans again. Is this not a way of putting up barriers and trying to distance himself from the conversation, of trying to forget what separates him from all other Vulcans (his hybrid status and the questions it creates)? And is this not a way to finally bring T'Pring into the conversation, at the very end, after the scene opened with her image? It creates a bookend for impact. To take a wife is Spock's assumed fate because his betrothal was set years ago. He hoped the pon farr would not impact him, but it has, so now he must adhere to the plans created for his survival because he has denied this would happen to him and has denied the reality of his condition. Spock is in the 11th hour. At this point, T'Pring looks like his only hope because his denial refuses to see any other alternatives.

#star trek tos #amok time #jim kirk #spock #amok time notes #yeah this took me two days to do. to analyze five minutes of a show. lol #working on that phd in amok time #more like there's just too much here! i've probably even forgotten or overlooked something. absolute brain food of an episode

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fatuismooches · 7 months

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I see the angst you're about to drop on the next instalment and I'm about to cope by throwing in a cute scenario ( ＞Д＜；)

So fragile reader's hands tremor, without going into the full details of it - in some cases tremors may worsen either temporarily or permanently

Sometimes, the tremoring only happens on one hand! (But that has very *very* serious implications in reality, so for the sake of keeping things fluffy let's just say that it was just a weird day for fragile reader)

So, reader one day wakes up, and during the check ups they notice that, oh hey! Their left hand isn't tremoring for once, they're getting better! Then they raise their right— it's really wobbly

Segment, thinking that the tremoring is gone for now because of that one steady hand and is now trying to clip a monitor on Reader's right hand to check their blood oxygen (pulse oximeter): "Do keep still, there are a few more tests I must run."

Reader: "I'm not shaking it."

Segment: "..."

Reader: "It's erm... yeah."

Understandably, the Segment checking up on them is low-key freaking out because: why is that happening?? What's causing that?!

Meanwhile, reader who is also freaking out but is batting it away with humour, looking at their severely quacking hand: "Hm... I kinda need that... Ah, well, I guess I have an organic stipple pen now... that *is* what they're called, right?"

Then for the rest of the day (while the segments and prime are trying to find the root cause of that abnormality) reader is coping by joking around with said hand.

Reader: *picks up a test tube with shaking hand, the hand swirls the contents with minimal effort* "Oh! Wait— that sorta works? That's very convenient, actually."

Zandik, stressed: "My dear, get back on the gurney before I place you there myself." (Is worried that they might spontaneously collapse)

Shaky hands were nothing that new to you, having lived with them for a while due to your illness and all the stress that came with it. In the beginning, you tried to ignore them, but after a few accidents, you came to terms with the fact it'd be easier for everyone if you let the segments deal with your tasks. Especially on days when it seemed to be worse than others. But of course, there are times when no one can predict how bad it can get. This being one such moment.. Sometimes it gets to the point where ironically enough the Harbinger outwardly shows more concern for your wellbeing rather than you. (Although he's gotten used to you coping with jokes, he can easily see through that. He doesn't want you to put up a front around him but perhaps this makes you feel better? Unfortunately, the only one who laughs at your jokes is yourself... The others are too busy with their nose in some of your records or a machine.) And although they can't exactly make the tremors go away, the least they can do is make sure you don't need to do anything strenuous. Yes, their almost forceful instructions seem restricting, but they always say it's for the best.

#smooches talks #dottore love notes <3 #fragile reader <3 #ive been going through some old asks but can we just pretend they happened recently!#anyway... very cute anon thank you for this!!!#i love the part where reader imitates dottore 😭 so cute #this is short only bc im not very knowledgeable abt this... ANON I REALLY DID LOVE THIS THOUGH

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boundinparchment · 1 year

Text

Blasphemous Rumors - IV

“Marry me.” He said it with such blasé that you weren’t sure you heard him correctly. Silence surrounded the two of you and he leaned down and tilted his head, watching you like a specimen under a microscope. “Just for a year. A marriage of convenience. Consider it nothing more than a harmless experiment for the sake of curiosity.” Il Dottore/Female reader with established personality. Slow-ish burn. Semi-enemies to lovers. On AO3 here. Likes, reblog, and comments appreciated.

That sentiment never left in the weeks of planning that followed.

Every time someone asked about your ring, you told them it was being resized and that neither of you were pleased with the clarity of the gems. Besides, you would say, you didn’t want to show it off before the wedding.

The wedding date was settled by a Segment (Omega, you were certain, for he was the closest to the actual Doctor in personality) unceremoniously dropping a calendar on your desk. You closed your eyes, placed your finger somewhere and landed on a weekend towards the later half of the month.

Omega then had the gall to take a paperclip from your tiny dish that held them and twist one into a ring before he left without another word.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

The timeline was short. Six weeks. Even your coworkers who dabbled in event planning for the annual ball and other celebrations balked at the small window of time. A wedding of this magnitude required at least a year, someone said, and you wished their gaze hadn’t dropped to your lower half so blatantly.

When you weren’t working and trying to keep your eyes and ears about you to pass along information, you were trying to meet and correspond with vendors and come up with a vision of an event that, quite frankly, would suit neither of you if the matter of rank didn’t come into play. It kept you so busy that you toyed with the idea of a kamera to save you time but even those in Snezhnaya were not slim nor inconspicuous. But they were expensive to maintain. You couldn’t afford to add another item to your paper-thin personal budget.

You ran through your itinerary in your head again as you made your way down from the Palace and into town, thankful the weather was at least holding out a bit. Post office, bank, and an appointment with a seamstress that wasn’t on Regrator’s list of preferred vendors.

All of the dresses you saw and tried were simply…too much. Tried too hard. Beautiful in their work but felt like another layer of paint rather than an organic addition to the whole affair.

As far as you knew, the Harbinger had a personal tailor in the Palace anyway and going off of the suggested list was bound to produce some results. You were determined to find vendors who could use the support and might be overlooked otherwise.

Bad enough you had to go to Northland; you didn’t need wedding vendors working against you either.

The post office was packed, as usual, and you eagerly handed over the last remnants of your copied ledgers and notes. They might as well have been burning holes in your cloak pocket all morning. Your room and your office was now free of damning evidence. Privacy was almost non-existent now and it would vanish entirely soon enough. If you wrote to your parents more frequently, you could still keep up the habit established and not raise suspicion.

A break in a usual routine would be seen as unusual, you reminded yourself.

Amid the other envelopes was a thicker one, your reluctant communication to your parents about the change of circumstance. They deserved to know and understand that it changed nothing (if they were different people, you would not have told them at all). Traveling to the city was out of the question for them between the cost and your father’s health, let alone the added layer of your boss being thrown into that mix.

Lord Dottore’s proposal and your agreement already put you in a spotlight you never wanted to be in. You didn’t need Pantalone knowing exactly how bad of a position your parents’ bankruptcy had put them, and you, in.

Funny how you feared the Second Harbinger far less despite his gruesome acts, you mused after you thanked the clerk and made your way to Northland’s prominent facade. At least he wouldn’t care one way or the other so long as nothing interfered with his work. He never made it personal.

Until now, in a way.

Your cheek strung for a brief moment as your skin remembered the cold metal of your letter opener. The closest thing to a kiss you two shared.

Northland’s home branch was a source of tourism as much as it was an actual bank. Vaulted ceilings soared high overhead and marble pillars provided support that, for the briefest moments, made the building feel as much of a chapel as it was a bank. The guided tours helped.

Compared to the latest branch in Liyue Harbor, it was surprisingly austere in its plainness. Pantalone’s office suite and several of the other rooms outside of the lobby of tellers were far more opulent; much like its owner, the bank presented one image to the public and another to its closest confidants. The coffered ceilings casted shadows as intricate as the dealings on the floor below.

You waited in line, as everyone did. Most of the staff knew you, at least by loose association, and you were under no impression that anything was ever truly hidden.

Your family situation wasn’t the secret you needed to keep, after all. As far away as you tried to keep it, part of you knew that your boss was likely aware you sent most of your pay home. That you worked at the Palace as a sacrifice for the poor choices of others. And that he was likely at fault, although you doubted he would ever claim as such.

The source of the money was a different story, of course.

A bridge to cross another day.

As you filled out the respective slips for deposit and withdrawal, the clerk’s head snapped up out of your peripheral vision with an audible gasp.

“My lady, why didn’t you say you would be accompanied by your fiancé, the Lord Harbinger?” She whispered, a tinge of fear tainting her words. “We would have prepared a private office for you both to take care of your business.”

“I—”

Out of the corner of your eye to your left, you caught a tall figure with hair the color of a spring morning sky and a shining earring that gave off its own glow. The white cloak with its black fur collar filled in the gaps. Around you, it felt as if the very air around you had been sucked out. Chattering had all but ceased and you heard the shuffle of people changing their posture, dedicating their attention to the notion that a Harbinger was among them.

Would you ever get used to that? Likely not. When it was just the two of you, things were different; it was you and him meeting blow for verbal blow. You did your best to keep your composure and just as you were about to politely smile and tell the clerk that you handled affairs separately, a voice to your left interjected.

“Such accommodations won’t be necessary. We are not staying long enough to require them,” Lord Dottore remarked, not even turning his head in your direction.

Your face felt hot as you thanked the clerk for their assistance and handed over the account slips. A presence lingered at your side and you didn’t have to look to see that it was Dottore; he had already finished whatever his errand was but for him to leave would look bizarre, you rationalized. You tried to ignore the biting thought that he was sticking around to ensure you didn’t bumble your way through the transaction now that the cat was out of the bag.

“Just a deposit then, My Lady?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, as usual. Will the funds be accessible later today?”

“Immediately, ma’am. The account holder should have no issue.”

If you timed it right, the morning post would arrive in time for your mother to reach the bank and take care of other affairs before the end of the day. Bills were already paid. But groceries and medicine were constant necessities and your parents couldn’t stockpile like they used to.

Next to you, Lord Dottore seemed to prickle with a question that he knew wasn’t appropriate. Hearing his fiancé was giving money away when she was, supposedly, so good at it herself, was a variable never discussed.

A lot of things weren’t discussed though. This might as well have been an elopement save for the actual, well, act of running away.

Once everything was finished, Dottore escorted you out of the bank, extending his elbow in silent regard. Right. Anything else would be too informal. You tried your best not to look uncomfortable with his proximity or at the looks and whispers from staff and client alike as you looped your hand underneath to hold the crook of his arm.

“Not an outcome I anticipated but one I will take advantage of nonetheless,” Dottore muttered, only loud enough for you to hear. “I need to borrow your hand.”

You looked up at him, face contorted in confusion. The proposal was unusual enough on its own. Did he mean your actual hand, and if so, attached or detached? Was your life now going to be filled with bizarre requests?

“What?” you hissed, baffled.

Several heads turned as you walked through the snowy street. The tilt of his head told you he was glaring at you for drawing such attention.

“You need a ring, do you not, my dear? I might be the best scholar in several centuries but even I am aware that ring sizes are best left to proper measurement devices.”

Oh. Of course. Your ring.

“I thought you were busy for the next several weeks, sir,” you emphasized your correction more for those who might overhear than the man you were speaking with. “Unless you are, in fact, not the Doctor?”

“As if I would leave such a personal matter to a segment.”

He spat the words, insulted. Whether by the insinuation he’d doled out the task or your seeming inability to tell him apart from his counterparts, you couldn’t quite tell.

You could tell them apart. Lord Dottore knew that.

But he also knew how important it would be to make this appear right.

Lord Dottore didn’t wait for you to reply and continued. “It will not take long and then you can be on your way. Where else are you off to, anyway?”

“I have an appointment with a seamstress. Plenty of well-known vendors extended their offerings but they were…” you gestured with your free hand, finding yourself at a loss for words other than, “rather unremarkable.”

The chuckle that wrenched from his lips made your blood run cold and your heart jump.

“You’re certainly playing your part, Accountant,” he teased.

Of course you were. What did he expect, to marry you in your uniform? You bit your tongue for a second to think on your words.

“As I said when last we spoke, I don’t wish to misrepresent you. That goes for your rank as well as who you are, or at least the image you project. But everything I was presented with was just not right.”

You walked in silence for three steps before Lord Dottore said, “Elaborate.”

That was like asking you to explain why you balanced numbers the way you did or why you preferred to sleep on your right rather than your left side. You just did.

“They’re beautiful but they feel almost…like I’m competing with the Tsaritsa. Like I’m just a doll to wear the dress rather than the dress being a reflection of…well, me.”

You cast a glance up at Lord Dottore as he gave a hum and found his head angled towards you in such a way that prevented you from seeing beneath his mask. A part of you was curious, of course, about what he looked like. You weren’t alone in that regard but it was never acted upon except by the young, giddy acolytes who had yet to find their place as a Fatuus, enamored with the prospect rather than the work.

Even as a spouse, you doubted you would be privy to his face. Why would you be? You were to be an equal on paper, nothing more.

“I trust your judgment, Accountant. The ceremony is long and the reception is longer; it would be better to have something that you feel comfortable in. I don’t rightly care, as you well know, but expectations must be met for this to be believable.”

Before you could speak again, you were led into a shop with glass counters and carefully placed lights. The encased jewelry and the glass itself didn’t so much sparkle as glow and you were careful to tap out your boots so as to not soak the plush carpet.

Lord Dottore didn’t so much as shake out his cloak’s hem as he addressed the shopkeeper. You tried to keep your expression neutral as you looked around, each case organized by the type of stone. Everything in here had to be worth at least ten times your salary in total and it churned your stomach to even try to calculate that amount. You tore your gaze away and returned to Dottore’s side.

Sizing was, in fact, just as quick as he said it would be. The process was just a matter of using the jeweler's equivalent to a set of keys, each sizing ring marked with the appropriate measurement. You tried on a few before settling on a number that was snug enough not to slip over your knuckle easily and came off with a bit of a struggle.

“There, matter settled,” Dottore murmured as the jeweler jotted down notes.

And you didn’t even lose a hand, you thought. Yet.

If you were alone, you might have made the joke aloud.

He was closer than you expected, his eyes seemingly glued to the case the entire time you went back and forth with the jeweler on the sizing. He’d only chimed in once in the whole process, to take your hand and try the sizer himself, as if gauging the difficulty of getting the ring over your knuckle. You tensed instantly before reminding yourself to relax.

You would need to get used to being in his presence and he would have to put your band on your finger publicly, after all.

Something in his face shifted and you got the distinct feeling you’d failed whatever he was trying to benchmark. You’d been slipping. First the bank, now this. His finger traced the faint line across your cheek as he brushed his lips over your forehead.

“You should get going if you don’t want to be late, my dear.”

“Of course,” you replied, tilting your head and daring to lean ever so slightly into the gesture.

Two could play that game.

You thanked the jeweler for their time and left the shop, hoping the cold would stave off the burning sensation on your cheek.

The seamstress appointment was better, but only just. At the mere mention of the timeline and the passing look between the shopkeeper and the assistant, you knew they connected the dots as to which upcoming wedding this was for.

“We would have come to you, my lady,” the seamstress said.

You could feel any sense of control over the situation slipping away to propriety again.

“Please, I’m not—”

“A Harbinger’s fiancé, and the Second’s at that, shouldn’t have to come down into town. We would have gladly made the trip up to the Palace.”

Was it a faux part on your part or was it fear? Her face was so hard to read. Running any kind of business was difficult enough. Harder still to contend with public courtesy and unwritten rules. Fontaine had it worst of all, you recalled, but even here in Snezhnaya, rank and social standing ruled with a golden hand.

It only went so far, though, and that Pantalone didn’t work directly with the shop spoke volumes to you. You overheard so many conversations when you were in the backroom, balancing the books and triple-checking the tax levies. Those who respected your father’s time were the ones he was always willing to work with, no matter the situation.

“I want whoever I work with to be in the best environment for them. You have everything here, after all; it makes far more sense for me to come to you,” you replied evenly.

Hopefully, in the event someone decided to speak and spread whatever they saw, you passed as humble and self-aware.

After all, that was the point.

You eventually found yourself swaddled in lace and tulle, watching as the two craftspeople worked together to find the perfect color and the perfect patterns. A very soft silvery-blue, rather than a strict white, laid a shimmering foundation upon which the lace and tulle were overlaid; the bodice and sleeves would be lace and the pattern would fade until the hem and the train. It was difficult to visualize at first until you looked at another dress, already made, and they described the changes in volume and cut with a sketch that made you wish you did have a kamera after all.

What beauty, wasted on the likes of Il Dottore, you thought as you looked in the mirror and watched as the material reflected light as though it were water. Such a moment would make any ordinary bride happy but you had never felt more alone in the entire endeavor thus far.

Neither truly balked at the six week time frame when you began discussing deadlines and cost. Instead, you were reassured that you would have a dress that would keep the rest of the nation talking for years to come. A grandiose exaggeration, spoken with all the levity one might read a law, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

When you stepped out into the cold again, you were greeted by a familiar mask and cloak; Lord Dottore was standing outside like a large menacing hound, waiting for you.

He said nothing and began to walk away as you pulled your cloak tighter around you to seal away your warmth. It took you a moment to realize he was walking in the direction of the Palace.

“If you’re finished, my lord, it would be more expedient to take a carriage back,” you advised. “The snow makes for poor footfalls and the sky might open any minute again.”

Dottore turned his head to gaze over his shoulder at you, his mouth thin. In turn, you raised your eyebrows, expectant. It was the same look you gave him when you needed an explanation during an audit.

“I walked down from the Palace,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world and the biggest inconvenience to admit.

“So did I. But the people have seen us together and it would not be fitting for us to be seen trekking back up to the Palace. We don’t have to be a wholly united front but even you know that the optics of that, in addition to my empty finger, don’t bode well. Don’t want to be accused of not caring, do you?”

Dottore clicked his tongue as a puff of hot breath streamed from his nose and for a moment, he looked every bit like an angry dragon as he turned and flagged down a nearby coach. You didn’t miss the smug smirk and sardonic bite when he said, “After you,” and helped you into the closed carriage.

Silence dominated the ride out of town and back up the hill the Palace sat on. Your feet ached and now that you were sitting down, you realized how much the day had taken out of you for errands that, normally, wouldn’t have bothered you. Granted, you hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it was well into the afternoon, which didn’t exactly help. You went through your mental checklist of things to be done as you gazed out the coach window; your thoughts were interrupted by a tap of your shoe from the man across from you. He withdrew his leg, as much as he could within the confines of the space and extended his hand, which held a tiny box.

Your eyes flicked from the box to his hidden face just once, finding his expression unreadable as always, before you took it from him.

Perched within were two rings of gold so brilliant it looked almost pink, woven into a vine pattern. The first ring held a sizeable light blue stone so clear it looked as if it could have been carved from ice, flanked by a smaller stone on either side that appeared more purple than blue, iridescent in the way it refracted light. The setting was dotted with tiny blue stones of the same color and clarity as the centerpiece, resulting in a diamond-shaped cluster. Beneath it, the accompanying wedding band mimicked the setting, woven vines housing tiny ice droplets, the shape lining up with the other ring exactly so the two nested together.

The sensation from earlier in the dress shop came flooding back. Such craftsmanship and time went into making such a beautiful piece. On their own, the rings were stunning, but there was thought in this choice; it matched many of the motifs the man himself used and was known for and it would act as a reminder whenever she wore it.

Something tugged at your stomach before you reminded yourself that this was all for a show, that it didn’t matter. You blinked away tears faster than they could form. No. He didn’t deserve such a thing from you.

But you couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been in that shop looking for something capable of such impact.

“It should keep Pantalone quiet. Not that anything will ever silence that man’s prattling, especially if he knew how many arms I had to twist to find something suitable.”

Briefly, you recalled the rings on Lord Pantalone’s fingers and how often they were swapped out, save the globus cruciger. It was not uncommon to hear him remark about the clarity of a stone or the difficulty in obtaining it; the bragging point was often the price and you always refrained from retching every time you heard a figure higher than the last.

You removed your gloves and slipped on the first ring. It fit perfectly; not that you expected anything less.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, handing him back the box with the wedding band. “I wasn’t expecting anything quite so…”

“As we’ve agreed, Accountant, this needs to be well beyond believable,” Dottore replied, tucking the box away in his cloak. “It would have been easy to give you any ring and have this be passable on the surface. No one questions a diamond ring in high social circles, only how big the diamond is, after all. However, we have the added thread of plausibility and both of us are aware Regrator scrutinizes everything. Aquamarine and tanzanite, with reinforced rose gold, in the event one should ask.”

When you’d managed to bring yourself to make the trip down to his workshops, you didn’t expect much from that conversation other than at least a piece of jewelry that would stop all of the lingering stares and whispers. He’d thrown your expectations out the window.

That was quintessentially him, though, wasn’t it? To take something and run with it, to push an idea well beyond the expectations and thoughts of others.

Lord Dottore knew it, too, for he adjusted his posture ever so slightly. Just like he did when he knew you had no other recourse but to give in to his budget requests.

“I’ve held up my end as requested, Accountant. But I find myself curious: what were you doing at Northland?”

A question you knew he’d been dying to ask ever since he overheard the transaction at the bank. And you were no longer in a position to deny him the answer, not when he’d not only fulfilled your request but did so well beyond the expectations you held.

Bastard.

He didn’t need to know much, you reasoned. And you were in no position to not answer. Defensiveness here would raise too many alarm bells.

“I…send money to my parents back home. Most of my pay goes to them to cover bills and expenses. My father no longer works; my mother spreads herself too thin caring for him and trying to earn a pittance when she can,” you replied.

The words almost choked you to admit them outloud. No one else, not even your coworkers, knew; Lord Pantalone probably did, at least to some extent. But it seemed like an unspoken responsibility shouldered by those within the administration spheres and on the field. The way food was shared during lunch after an admission of missing a meal or the crowd-funding of a night out to raise spirits seemed so contrary to what you expected. You had chipped in all for the sake of appearances only to be given the same respect in kind. It wasn’t foreign to you, per se, but after the bankruptcy, it was difficult to find those willing to help your family when all they saw was negligence and bad decisions.

It was nothing to be ashamed about.

To clear the air, you continued.

“They’ve asked for nothing more and I fully intend to only use my wages for such things.”

Lord Dottore tilted his head before he looked away, his gaze seemingly set on the landscaping passing by. The answer bored him, clearly, as you expected it to.

“I care little for what you do beyond your role but be sure not to neglect yourself for the sake of others.”

Icy rain fell in sheets, pelting the ground in soft plinks as you arrived back at the Palace. You parted ways without another word and you wished the metal on your finger was as cold as the rain and the man who gave it to you.

Her visit to Haeresys was quite unexpected, to say the least. Not many people ventured down into the bowels of the Palace unless they absolutely had to. But for her to not would otherwise lend itself poorly, wouldn’t it?

After all, she was never afraid to speak her mind before. More than once she has left my ego bruised and my pride singed when she laid out points I’d pushed aside in previous considerations. Said points were not neglected but rather only issues if they were encountered; when she provided context, more often than not, there was little option but to compromise. When all is said and done, she too considers the bigger picture, just from a different angle. No two artists paint the same image even when given the same set of references. It is one of the few areas of the human experience that is, perhaps, at least intriguing.

Sohreh, for all her fawning, was similar. At least the Accountant did not blush every time she laid eyes on me.

Such things were what drove my desire to create the prostheses, after all.

The pageantry of all of this…utterly ridiculous. All of this for the sake of a bet, a gamble; a ladder for Pantalone to get off of my back at the cost of time I will never regain.

How do others pursue this for the sake of emotion? This is truly joyous for some? Or is it social convention that dictates one must go this route, to celebrate so widely when so few truly know those exchanging nuptials?

Does one even need emotion, that worthless thing of love, to make these arrangements work?

The historical argument would hold that no, emotion doesn’t matter. Without that, perhaps something stronger still is erected to replace fleeting desire and heart palpitations and whimsical dreams. This farce can be plausible without such trivial things.

And Regrator will be proved wrong, as all others before him have been.

Even if it means playing by the convention he expects us to follow.

Us.

Strange to use that in reference to…an existence outside of my own.

Other than her late night gallivanting to demand a ring, I have seen little of her. Omega has dutifully managed what needed my input and that has allowed me to prioritize.

The Tsaritsa has already insisted on sending me away and offered up a choice of properties to boot. A lack of a honeymoon would be forgivable given my position and I would rather stay here and focus on what must be done. Too much progress has already been made. But I am in no position to deny Her Majesty’s will and I must also consider the Accountant’s position. She was already questioned about a ring; I would never hear the end of it from Regrator and it would put her in an even worse position, surely, if we didn’t at least leave the Palace.

Annoying. Worrying about another’s quality of life. Their actions. The impact they’ll have.

I had not expected running into her at the bank, of all places, although I cannot place why. After all, she’s an accountant and financial assistant. At the very least, she would be running an errand for work, if not for herself. That was a normal occurrence for most people.

She’d avoided eye contact with me. Even looked annoyed when the clerk mentioned transaction details, perhaps under the assumption I would be aware of them.

Not helped by her surprise when I provided my reasoning for needing her company. What did she think, that I would be severing her body? I am aware of the fear about me that spreads rumors like a plague but she should give me a little more credit than that. After all, short of the reports given to the Tsaritsa, the Accountant is one of the few who at least can put a value to the work I do.

Worse still, she looked stiff and uncomfortable during the ring sizing. The jeweler is one of Regrator’s contacts but to work with anyone else would result in another earful I didn’t want to hear. Anything detrimental would make its way back to the banker in no time. But what better way to prove solidarity than throw it right in Regrator’s face? Acting distant would do us no credit.

I had specifically chosen her for the bite she could give back and in public settings, she was proving to be less reliable than I hypothesized.

How would she react to public affection, gestures that few would think twice about? Her skin was still cold from outside when I leaned in. She hid the dark circles beneath her eyes well enough and by now, the cut on her cheek had healed, leaving behind only a thin line noticeable in the right light. The scent of parchment and ink clung to her, mingled with whatever floral scent her soap was infused with.

Disgusting. How could anyone ever find the smell of flowers pleasant?

And then she had the gall to tilt her head and look up at me through her lashes. A lesser individual might have bought such behavior.

Not me.

She left for her dress appointment and the nagging thought of my own attire came to mind. Omega was seeing to that. White with tails, blue and gold accents, all the while bearing the feathery mantle I’ve grown quite fond of. Why not have a bit of a dramatic flair, after all, if I must go through with all of this?

I should have left the ring to Omega, in hindsight. He would have come to the same conclusion I did. All the colors before me were nothing more than structural compounds of specific minerals and a mix of circumstances. No stone was special when it was broken down into its most basic components.

The deep reds and brilliant rubies were, to the jeweler’s credit, remarkable enough for what they were. If this were different, perhaps these would have been suitable…

But she has never seen my eyes. And she likely never will.

Diamonds would be appropriate, if nothing else.

Rare, resilient.

Cliche.

Aquamarine, however…would be a reflection of her homeland, among other things. Symbolically, it was impossible to go wrong or be misinterpreted.

But the stones nearby, iridescent purple ranging in various shades, were far more unique. I’d encountered such stones before, in the depths of the desert when taking apart Deshret’s Primal Constructs to reinforce my boots and weaponry during my exile. Deshret had failed in his attempt to save the people; his legacy meant little to me.

Two colors, then.

The jeweler was quick to accommodate, finding a matching band in no time, but it paled in comparison to the main ring when the stones were properly set. I had little doubt he would hesitate to inform Pantalone the moment I left. Paying extra would do little but delay the information anyway.

I found the notion of a band for myself wasteful. I’d never wear the thing. It would only get in the way.

But the Accountant was dedicated to portraying the image needed…

Platinum would, at least, survive.

The Accountant finished her appointment not long after I’d tucked both boxes in my pocket and found the shop she’d mentioned. It was impossible to see the back of the shop from the windows in front, even if I had been curious about her plans and wanted to know.

Which I didn’t.

I just wanted to be done with this entire affair so I could focus on other things. Usually, I enjoy the process of the experiment; ever since the words left my mouth weeks ago, however…

Perhaps she was feeling something similar. The look on her face when she stepped out of the shop was not unlike the one from when she first began working in the Palace, when she’d had no choice but to summon me in place of the Segments. Her smile was strained, her eyes looking at him but clearly elsewhere.

And yet she still managed to dig her heels in about a carriage, of all things.

She’d walked down herself–she wasn’t the type to take an easy route or method anywhere. The cold was, despite my Delusion, still bitter and dry for me and yet I didn’t think twice about taking the trip on-foot. Few bothered me and I could go at my own pace.

I should have left her behind. Why had I gone to the shop to wait for her, anyway?

Other than her protest for a carriage, she was quiet. Not that I minded. But her earlier behavior continued to nag, like an irritating fabric in cloying heat. Was she like the rest after all?

When she took the box and opened it, her pragmatism won out. It unsettled me that she did not, as most might, gush over the rings, but it sickened me all the more to wish she did.

What use was her praise?

None of this mattered.

The thanks from her lips were genuine enough but something in her face was harder to pin down. Her eyes were a little watery though and the flush of her cheeks was not just from the brisk wind outside. I’ll take what reactions I can get out of her…I need to document something, after all.

She kept her main ring and returned the box with the other band inside. The red leather was still warm when I tucked it away again.

I couldn’t help myself, however, as the moment from the bank came to mind again. Perhaps she would be pliable, now that I’d played along? What was the worst that could happen?

Right. Most still have a family. Living for centuries desensitizes you to all of those notions.

Sending money back home is not uncommon, especially among the lower ranks and the administrative branches. She cared for others. Not a sentiment I can understand.

But I do know what it means to rise to every occasion, to come from nothing and fight for every scrap along the way. As unconventional as it had been, the Akademiya saw to it that I would, in one way or another, find what I wanted out of life.

Her earnestness is unsettling. Hard work pays off but only when you have something to prove. At least she knows her boundaries, I suppose. That should make it all the quicker to find them myself, see how they might break…

That this is nothing more than transactional should make that all the easier.

I left the carriage as soon as the horses pulled to a stop. She’d managed to shake the doubts instilled in me with nothing more than a few words and a conviction that ran deeper than the icecaps not far from the Palace.

She was the right choice for this little experiment after all.

#fic: blasphemous rumors #il dottore #dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore/reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #female reader #marriage of convenience

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quoththemaiden · 1 month

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Written for the Trans Omens Events Mini Bang 24 (@transomensevents) with fantastic cover art by @decquinox on Instagram.

“For the Sake of Fifty Righteous” Words: 3,892 Rating: General Audiences If you ask Jesus, the Earth is ready for the Second Coming. If you ask Supreme Archangel Aziraphale… well, who is he to argue with the Lord? But perhaps the details could use some clarification… Unfortunately for Aziraphale, the Supreme Archangel isn’t allowed to be directly involved, and Heaven isn’t about to delegate to one of Satan’s diabolical ministers, either. It’s up to Muriel to work with the Whickber Street humans so they can spare themselves from the next apocalypse, and hopefully all the ones after.

Featuring:

Supreme Archangel Aziraphale

Muriel with a clipboard

Jesus being very chill

He/him pronouns for Aziraphale (out of convenience)

He/him pronouns for Crowley (based on current preference)

Any pronouns for Muriel (because why not)

and All pronouns for God (as long as they’re capitalized)

#good omens #trans omens #good omens fanfiction #my fanfiction #muriel #aziraphale #archangel aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #nina #maggie #vinylatte #mutt #mr brown #mrs sandwich #lgbtqia+#trans #transgender

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jongbross · 9 months

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hi! can i please request a kyungsoo x f!reader fix where it’s an unestablished relationship and they work at a convenience store together while in college. kyungsoo is very shy/introverted but your asshole ex shows up and you see a whole new side of kyungsoo when he randomly protects you. thank you!

pairing: do kyungsoo x reader word count: 1194 genre: fluffy i guess? idk warnings: kyungsoo being a threat, but also kyungsoo being awkward and cute, swearing, physical fight (?) a/n: can i date him? please let me date him

"the store is closed", you heard kyungsoo say and instantly frowned. what did he mean ‘the store was closed’? you still had about 30 minutes before the end of the shift, and he knew that very well.

do kyungsoo was a shy, quiet, sometimes even intimidating guy, but he wasn't one to play around while working - that's why you left him at the store while you organized the stock at the back, risking another item from your to-do list for the next day.

but it was only when the customer said something you couldn't quite understand, and kyungsoo mumbled back at them, that you thought that maybe you should see what was happening. customers were customers, no matter what and no matter what time they decided to stop by the store.

but, wait... were they really?

the moment you stepped into the front of the store, you immediately felt like turning around and walking away.

of course your ex should be the one causing trouble. of course you had to see him after weeks of him ghosting you.

"y/n, hi!", he said with a smile as fake as his feelings for you. "i almost thought it was your day off."

you walked behind the counter, beside kyungsoo. with a soft hand on his arm, you tried to smile at him, mumbling a 'i got this'. he only took a few steps back to give you some room though.

"um, yeah... i was at the back, doing some things", you explained, even though you knew you didn't owe him shit. "why are you here?"

your ex started to hum to a tune, grabbing a few snacks and a beverage before walking up to the counter. he smiled at you again, dropping his items and leaning in.

"i needed to grab a few things", he said. "plus, i missed you. i was thinking about inviting you over this weekend."

"if you missed me, why didn't you reply to my texts?"

just for the sake of it, you should see the frown kyungsoo did behind you when he heard your words.

"my phone broke down, i didn't know you had texted me!", he gasped. "shit, i'm so sorry, darling."

"i'm not your darling."

you started to beep his items as you spoke, trying not to look at him anymore.

"anyways", he chuckled. "i've been thinking about you, and i feel like we should talk. my roommate won't be in town this weekend, so why don't you come over? i can make us some pasta..."

"sorry, that is a no to me", you said, quickly pointing at the monitor beside you. "cash?"

your ex followed your gaze to the monitor, starting to pat his pockets.

"fuck, i think i forgot my wallet at home", he faked a groan. "can't you put it under your name? i'll pay you this week."

"hell no, last time you didn't pay me shit and the amount was taken from my salary", you frowned. "if you can't pay for it, then we can't sell it."

your ex tilted his head at you, annoyed. "why you gotta be like that?"

"like what?"

"all i did was love you, and now just because we broke up, you're suddenly all mean to me?"

you gasped. "you really don't wanna do this now."

"i'm trying to be nice, to get us back together, but you won't even give me the chance", he complained. "you cunt."

as you were ready to fight back, you felt a warm hand on your arm, pulling you aside and taking the place in front of your ex.

"say that again", kyungsoo threatened in a low voice. "i dare you."

"say what?", your ex smirked. "cunt?"

everything kind of happened way too fast. you gasped at the same time your ex screamed, as kyungsoo grabbed his ear and pulled with a strange amount of force.

kyungsoo walked around the counter, not letting your ex go for a second, despite his complaints and curse words.

"kyungsoo! oh my god, let him go!", you exclaimed, but it was a mystery if he was listening or not.

"apologize", he demanded. when your ex didn't reply, kyungsoo just tugged at his ear tighter. "i said apologize."

"i-i'm sorry, i'm sorry!"

"good."

with that, kyungsoo quite literally dragged your ex across the whole store, ignoring the way you were following him, not a single emotion shown on his face. he only stopped once he was outside the store, where he pushed your ex until he was on the ground, hands rubbing his left ear.

"i told you the store was closed, you should have listened to me", kyungsoo sarcastically said.

"you son of a bitch!", your ex exclaimed as he got up. as shocked and nervous as you were, you couldn't help but smile at that sight. "are you crazy?"

"you're lucky i didn't feel like punching you", kyungsoo shrugged. "now fuck off, and you better not come back here ever again."

your ex shot kyungsoo a middle finger, before starting to walk away as another string of curses came out of his mouth.

it was only when he had turned a corner, that you finally had the heart to react.

"kyungsoo! oh my god... are you insane?", you almost screamed, but still there was a tiny smile on your lips. "there are cameras here! you could lose your job!"

once again, he just shrugged. "i'm sure mr. kim would understand."

"yeah, but if he doesn't?", you complained. kyungsoo turned around and walked into the store again, as if he was trying to ignore you. "i mean it, okay?! you can't... you can't just beat someone like that."

"i didn't beat him", he frowned, looking at you over his shoulder as he grabbed the items your ex had left behind, going around to place them where they belonged. "i just put him in his rightful place. it's not my fault that he's a pussy and can't fight back."

you mentally thanked god that kyungsoo wasn't looking at you at that moment - you didn't want him to see how hard you had to hold back your laugh.

- x -

on the next day, it felt like kyungsoo was your closest friend. he spent the whole day talking to you, asking you things and helping you out at your chores - not that he didn't already do that as your workmate, but you didn't miss the way his fingers slowly brushed yours throughout the day.

"hey... do you like pasta?", kyungsoo asked during your lunch break, eyes looking down at you.

"um, yes...", you hesitated, suddenly remembering your ex's offer from the day before. "why?"

kyungsoo took a seat next to you. he rested the pot he had on his hands onto his lap, opening it and showing you its content. your stomach flipped, in a good way, when you saw the most beautiful homemade pasta ever.

"i promise it's better than... well, you know...", he said with a smile that quickly turned into a chuckle when you nodded at him.

let's just say both the pasta and the one who did it were truly much, much better than your ex.

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