#result today

[elizabro]

please consider how you engage with aaron bushnell's death. you may react to it as you will, but it's crucial to remember that his death was specifically a call to action. it was not meant solely to shock but to draw attention to a vast moral hypocrisy: that to many, a soldier dying in a campaign backed by the U.S. government is noble, even if the soldier kills innocents to do so, even if the cause is morally bankrupt--but this? this is insanity. a man taking his own life, on his own terms, in an attempt to help others while hurting nobody else, is somehow less rational and more horrifying than the mass killing of civilians.

of course aaron's death was horrific. but as he said beforehand, it is realistically no more horrific than what's happening in gaza. if we can't stomach this, then why can we stomach children being bombed? thousands being starved? for all that self immolation is, it brings death in a matter of minutes. it is a fraction of the amount of pain, fear, and grief that people in gaza are experiencing. it's just that we are able to quantify it. and this tiny, quantifiable sliver of horror is still so unbelievably awful. how can anyone bear to think about anything else when this horror is happening a millionfold in palestine? this is the question aaron bushnell was asking. and he wanted you to face it, head-on, watching him burn to death.

I've been seeing people make fanart. minimalist graphics to sell on t-shirts. to commodify his death, to mythologize it not a day afterwards, is not only in poor taste but a hindrance to his message. the answer is not commodification, nor is it defeatism, nor is it rejoicing in his death. if you want to honor aaron's legacy, take action. channel your horror and your outrage into making a material change. this wasn't about him. this was about palestine. remember that it was always about palestine.

[yuuchama]

The easiest way to find Sebek is to walk around the Night Raven campus, going "where's my Sebek?"

It elicits odd stares and plenty of snickers from the other students, but it gets the job done. You'll know when he's nearby. After repeating this phrase enough times and in multiple places around campus, you'll hear a familiar thundering cry.

"I am not your Sebek!"

The shout is eventually followed by the man himself. You can tell what direction he's in by the heavy stomps, thudding against the ground almost as loud as his voice. His frown is as sharp as his furrowed brows. The slight tinge of embarrassment colors his face.

"Human! How dare you..."

The familiar face makes you smile with joy. "There you are! There's my Sebek."

He falters. It's clear he has so much to say, but can't find the right words to get out first. They pile up in his mouth while he stammers. You fear you may have traumatized him until the verbal barrage bursts out like a dam.

"How dare you! You know I serve none other than the great heir to Briar Valley. To even imply that I am yours? A mere human's? Inconceivable! Your absurdity knows no bounds!"

He sounds as energetic as ever. You decide to interrupt the angry monologue before he really gets going.

"Sebek, I wanted to know if we're still having lunch together."

"To insult the very essence of my being! As if you..."

It takes a hot second for your inquiry to reach his ears, but when he catches it, the rambling drifts off. He grows oddly quiet. He balls his hands into fists and unclenches them several times in quick succession, testing the limits of his uniform gloves. This would already have delved into a physical fight if you were any other student.

Despite your inane actions, you're practically harmless. Any great guard should easily be able to ignore petty taunts. It's best to consider this a test. Sebek clears his throat.

"Of course we are. You didn't have to come find me just for that. I always keep my word." The redness of his ear tips peeking out from under his hair remind you of a Christmas tree.

"Great! Can't wait."

You stick out your hand for a parting high five. Sebek subverts expectations by grabbing your palm. His gloves are warm and a little sweaty after rushing to find you, and his grip is anything but soft in a boyish display of dominance.

"Do not do this again," he says. He's stern, but after that warning his voice drops to a normal level and he sounds almost gentle. "Just... text me, like a normal person. You have my number."

[lonelyroommp3]

okay seeing as i’ve unwittingly started a trend on here i’m going to make you all do another quiz but it’s hard mode this time

ceremonial counties of england 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

[disclaimer that in an ideal world i’d have had a third set of answers for those of you in the other british nations because i feel like you’ve got a better chance at this quiz than someone outside of the uk entirely, but also i didn’t want to offend anyone by lumping you in with the english against your will. you know how it is]

[ohproserpine]

for valentine's day, i thought i'd buy a gun.

synopsis: you make your husband mad on purpose tags: fem! reader, married couple, blood&injuries, demi alastor, suggestive/steamy, just a short kinda bad drabble to break my writer's block, ooc-ish alastor, soft alastor at first, vox mentioned don't like? don't interact.

"Cher!"

Alastor greeted you with a smile, his lips curved into a charming yet slightly crooked grin that softened the rugged edges of his appearance.

Leaning against the door frame, he looked every bit the rogue hunter returning from a hunt. His once-neat attire bore tears, burns, and scratches, with both knees of his pants ripped and scuffed thin. His monocle hung loosely on his chest, the glass broken and shards glinting in the light. Tousled strands of crimson hair fell haphazardly across his forehead, framing his rugged features, while a trickle of blood from the cut on his lips dripped down his chin, staining his deathly pale skin.

"Christ!" You jolted off the hotel bed, propelled into action by concern, your heart racing with worry. You began running around, collecting towels, extra clothes, and a first aid kit in a frantic rush.

Alastor moved into the room and stood in the very center, observing your frenzied activity with an amused smirk.

Finally, with all your materials in hand, you rushed to your husband's side, your footsteps echoing against the cold carpet.

"What happened to you?" you asked, filled with concern as you assessed his injuries, your eyes scanning his form for any more signs of distress.

"Just a little scuffle on the hunt, my doe," he replied with a cheer in his tone, spinning his staff in his hand. "Came across a feisty, moronic beast. But nothing I couldn't handle."

"A scuffle?" Disbelief colored your voice as you got on your tiptoes, straining to reach up and dab at the blood on his chin with a damp towel.

Alastor grinned down at you, his eyes tracing your features with tenderness. Always such a pretty view, but seeing you so domestic and sweet for him made him begin to feel hot below the collar. Leaning down, he reached out to sweep a stray strand of hair from your eyes, his long, sharp claws grazing against your skin.

"That can wait," his voice crackled with low static as he pulled you flush against him, chest against chest. "I've missed you dearly."

“Good heavens, Alastor, you’re insatiable,” you chided him playfully with a swat, though the warmth in your tone betrayed your affection. Your fingers lightly brushed against the rough fabric of his torn shirt as you urged him to let you continue tending to his injuries. "Let me fix you up first."

Alastor's ears twitched back as he rolled his eyes at you, but his grip remained firm as he pulled you closer and closer until you were practically dragged towards the bed, falling into his lap with a gentle thud.

"Love," you began to protest, but before you could continue, he silenced you with a deep kiss pressed upon your lips, a low chuckle vibrating against your own, melting any further protest.

He drew back briefly, only to dive back in, his lips tracing a delicate path along your neck. With a familiarity born of passion, his hands roamed, each touch igniting a cascade of sensations that threatened to consume you both.

"Al," you whimpered, unable to resist the intoxicating allure of his touch. As his lips began to trail up your jawline, you found yourself melting into his arms, the tension of the earlier encounter gradually dissipating in the heat of the moment.

He let out a dark chuckle, the sound echoing in the room, as he threw off his ruined coat and loosened the tie around his neck. Gripping onto your hips with a firm hold, he all but threw you off his lap and onto the bed.

The smug bastard. He knew all too well that his affections could smooth over any trouble he found himself in.

"Alastor," you murmured, your senses cutting through the haze of desire, "We really should attend to your wounds first."

Alastor began to move towards you, his claws digging through and tearing the mattress beneath him. "In due time, my heart."

"I am serious," you insisted, ignoring the wide smile you received in return. Alastor merely hummed, a low, melodic sound, as he moved to press himself against you, encasing you in an embrace that felt simultaneously comforting and confining.

You leveled him with a glare. Gritting your teeth, you continued, "What did you even do? I know damn well you didn't get these," you gestured to the charred edges of his shirt, "from an animal."

"Well, dearest, it was from an overlord meeting. You understand how tense politics can become," Alastor countered with a laugh.

"Bushwa," you scowled, jabbing your finger into his chest. "I know a lie when I see one."

"Rather accusatory," Alastor hummed, his tone dismissive.

"Well, I apologize for worrying about my husband, who looks to be on the verge of collapse any moment now," you snapped, frustration seeping into your voice.

"So enough of this," you scolded, your expression hardening. "What did you do?"

"What was necessary," Alastor scoffed, a mirthless chuckle following.

"I'd say he deserved it. You should have seen the way he looks at you," he continued, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning, the air around him crackling with static.

"Who?" you asked, leaning down to meet his gaze. "There are plenty of people. Plenty of looks."

"Don't act as if you don't notice that pompous television bastard hanging around the hotel nowadays," Alastor's voice crackled with dark intensity, the radio static grew stronger, prickling against your skin and nearly making his words incoherent.

So this is what it's about?

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at Alastor's jealousy, though a small part of you felt a flicker of flattery at his protectiveness.

Your husband's irritation simmered beneath the surface, evident in the subtle set of his jaw and the way his normally smug gaze turned icy. But a mischievous spark ignited within you, tempting you to push his buttons just a bit further, to dance dangerously close to the edge of his patience.

"Are you talking about Vox?" you asked with a smirk playing at your lips. Tilting your head coyly, you met Alastor's gaze with a glint of mischief in your eyes. Your voice was laced with honeyed sarcasm, dripping like molten gold from your lips.

His expression darkened at the mention, a flicker of raw anger crossing his features before he regained his composure.

"You know well who I'm talking about," Alastor's grin was uncanny, his voice carrying the same tone you'd heard the night he faced death. "Don't toy with me."

Despite the seriousness of his tone, you couldn't resist the urge to tease him further. A playful smile danced on your lips as you reached out, gripping onto his tie and pulling him closer, closing the distance between you with a pull.

“What if I found him charming?” you breathed out against his lips, your voice a tantalizing whisper as you ran your hands up the fabric of his undershirt. Your touch was featherlight, fingers smoothing down the wrinkles of his torn button-up with a teasing caress. “I might have let him have me right then and there.”

A sudden sharp pierce of a distorted screech, like a radio malfunctioning, cut through the air, shattering the moment. Claws flying up to grip your face, Alastor broke the kiss and stared down at you with glowing blood-red eyes, their intensity piercing through you. Your breath caught in your chest at the sight, your heart pounding in your ears as you were overcome by a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Alastor called out your name. It was the first time you had heard him utter it in a while. Throughout the years, he had always addressed you by endearing nicknames, leaving you half-convinced that he had forgotten your actual name.

But as the sound of fell from his lips, despite the danger, you found yourself yearning to hear it once more, to feel the weight of your name on his tongue.

"My sweet," Alastor tutted, a screech of radio feedback following him as he cupped your neck in one hand, guiding your gaze back to him. His touch was possessive, firm, and demanding, akin to the control of a puppeteer manipulating his marionette.

"Never utter such words again," he growled softly, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His grip tightened ever so slightly, sharpened claws a warning of the consequences should you dare to defy him. "No one else shall lay claim to you."

With a defiant tilt of your chin, you met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down in the face of his dominance. "And what if I refuse?" you challenged, your voice steady despite the fear that coiled in your belly.

Alastor's lips curled into a manic grin, his canines shining beneath the lights of the room, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he leaned in closer.

"Then you shall suffer the consequences."

[sungtaro]

[nonranghaes]

heads up: anxiety over health-related stuff, kept very vague.

"can you do me a favor?" vernon holds out his hand, palm-up, as he watches you. "give me your phone for a few minutes."

for a moment, you hesitate. there's nothing on there that's bad or anything, but... it feels like you've been particularly attached to it lately. always waiting for a call, or an email to tell you that your labwork is in and that you can see the results on your patient portal, or anything to quiet the brewing storm of anxiety in the back of your mind. for the past several days, its one refresh after another of your email inbox. a jump when someone texts you, only to realize it's not an update or a request to come back in. but after a moment, you press your phone into his hand, and watch the way vernon pockets it without even glancing at it.

instead, he takes your hands in his. "i know you're scared," he says, voice soft yet serious all the same. "but it's okay. we're gonna get through this together." vernon gives your hands a reassuring squeeze. "alright? worrying isn't going to make them call you faster."

he's right. it doesn't do much to quiet that storm, unfortunately, but you do know he's right. you just squeeze his hands, shifting over a few inches on the couch so that your closer to him. "i know. i just..." with a deep breath, you shut your eyes. "i just want an answer. and i think, if it is what we discussed, it might be the answer i've been needing."

"i know." he leans over, lips pressing against your temple for a few seconds longer than you expect. "and you'll get it. just... breathe a little for me, alright? i'm good at being your rock," his eyes twinkle a little bit as he says it, his playful smile setting you more at ease. "i just can't breathe for you, alright?"

it's silly, but it makes you laugh a little as you steal a quick kiss from him. "i'll try. thanks, babe."

[starry-bi-sky]

this just in: danny fenton is just as much of a mask as Brucie Wayne? - another danyal al ghul au

Turns out, being placed in a civilian family who have no knowledge of your background is actually detrimental to the health and development of a child assassin due to lack of proper support! Surrounded by strangers in a foreign city, Danyal Al Ghul does as assassins do best. He hides. Espionage is one of many teachings one learns in the League, and it only takes half a day for Danyal to construct a new persona to hide behind: Daniel Fenton.

By the time dinner rolls around, Danyal al Ghul is safely and securely tucked behind the face of Danny Fenton; brand new adoptive child of the Fenton family who came from overseas. A shy, quiet little boy with a thick accent and curly hair, with brown skin and blue eyes, and an avid interest in the stars. The best fictions are always cobbled together in a little bit of truth, it's some of the only truth he ever lets through. He apologizes in a meek voice for his behavior early, he didn't mean to be rude, and he watches the three of them eat it up with coos.

Lies roll like silk against his lips, he struggles to meet their eyes and offers them his weakest, shyest smile. It's too easy. It's easy to go from there.

Danny Fenton, adoptive son, shy and awkward and unconfident but friendly. Who struggles in his classes and isn't the brightest, but tries his hardest. He makes bad jokes and has a quick tongue and a sarcastic mouth. He wants to be an astronaut. He's got the best aim in school, and is a terrifying dodgeball player. He's one of the least athletic kids in his grade.

It's like playing two truths and a lie, but there's only one truth, and the rest are lies. It's easy to pretend when he knows it's insincere.

Danyal Al Ghul, grandson to the Demon Head. Deadly, trained assassin. Has spilled blood, has had blood spilt from. Environmentalist, animal activist. He loves the stars. He owns a calligraphy set. A sharp tongue, an even sharper blade. He's clever, quick-witted, he would be top of his grade if he tried harder. He purposely doesn't.

He misses his family. He misses his mother, and he misses his brother. Mother visits a few times a year, so few times that he can count it on both hands. He cherishes every visit, as brief as they are. It helps remind him who he is.

Sam and Tucker are Danny's best friends. They've never met Danyal, but Danyal's met them.

It becomes routine to become Danny Fenton. As familiar and as easy as pulling on a shirt in the morning. Danyal wakes up and is always first to the bathroom in the mornings; stares at himself in the mirror until he can finally see Danny staring back at him. At night, he locks his door and sheds the mask.

Dying throws a wrench in his mask; splits a crack straight through the porcelain. He's able to smooth it over with sandpaper and liquid gold, but it's a little hard keeping his ghost form under wraps. It instinctively wants to shift to show his true self. Danyal can't have that, he's spent four years as Danny Fenton, he'll spend another four as him as well. Even if the feeling of the hazmat suit in his ghost form feels restrictive, like a too-small shirt suctioned to his skin that needs to be peeled off.

He'll live. Er-- well, you know what he means. It's frustrating however, trying to keep his Danny Fenton mask up even as Phantom - fighting in the air is something he needs to get used to, and the sudden propping of powers throws him off. But he is nothing if not adaptive, and he hates that he needs to slow his own skills down in order to keep pretenses up in front of Sam and Tucker.

The first time Danyal summons a sword when he's alone, is one of the few times Danyal gets to grin instead of Danny. He's fighting Skulker, and from an invisible hilt he draws a katana from thin air. It startles them both. Skulker takes a step back at the smile that spreads across his face.

They're both silent as Danyal examines his new sword.

"Do you know what people like me do to people like you, poacher?" Danyal finally asks him, the accent he began to hide a few months in slipping through. He drops all pretense, dragging the flat end of the blade slow and appreciatively against his palm. It's a good make, and when he cuts it through the air, it slices through like butter. He looks up at Skulker with a smile; "are you ready to find out?"

When Sam and Tucker ask about why Skulker seems so skittish around Danny now, Danny shrugs at them and says with a playful smile; "I don't know, I guess I kicked his butt too hard after our last fight." and he watches as Sam rolls her eyes exasperatedly, and Tucker snickers with his own joke.

By the time he reunites with Damian before their 15th birthday, Danyal is buried beneath so many layers of Danny Fenton that his brother will need a shovel to dig him out. He's not sure what he'll find.

[sakasakiii]

a while ago i was sent an ask from @waterjewelsspite (answered below) wherein i was asked about different elven fashions.... so from left to right: doriathrim fashion, teleri + nargothrond fashion, vanya fashion :DD these have been sitting in my drafts as uncoloured wips since early 2022 omg, but better late than never i suppose !!!

i didnt have a specific sketch page for the noldor that i did back then hahahaha so i came back to it recently and took it as a chance to do some assorted concept doodles with the kind of outfits i imagine them wearing in mundane situations? i dont quite know how to explain it but i hope my annotations can help show my thought process a bit!!

cant believe it took me this long to give like half the characters proper fullbody refs or designs (im looking at YOU beleg and mablung) but this has been super fun and really refreshing, so thank you again waterjewelsspite for the kind ask!!! sorry again it took. two and a half years. OMG. for me to get it done 😭😭😭 i hope this sufficed!!!

in usual fashion, bonus feanorian shenanigans: caranthir's first business/publishing/entrepreneurship/girlboss venture

[amphibianaday]

day 1765

[stillgotscars]

“i remember thinking i had you” is a seemingly simple lyric on the surface, but it’s actually so devastating when placed in contrast with the indifferent, uncaring way james talks about augustine and the summer they spent together — “a figment of my worst intentions,” “slept next to [augustine], but i dreamt of [betty] all summer long,” “it was just a summer thing.” augustine really cared about james — “i never needed anything more,” “summer love” — but he had no intention of keeping her, of that summer ever turning into something more, and that’s just extremely painful to think about.

[brainrotisseriechicken]

local gay weirdos are horrible at surprises, more at 8

managed to slip in this post a little after midnight whoops!!!! please forgive me a war criminal got elected

ignoring that happy valentines day, ash wednesday, election day, and my birthday!!! im a birthday boy!!!🎉

[joelscruff]

quickie (boyfriend's dad!joel x reader) 18+

i wrote this so quickly, it's short and weird but i had a sudden rush of inspo and needed to write it. forgive me.

summary: joel is your boyfriend's dad and you're fucking him in secret. that's it. reader is of legal age. rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: daddy!kink, dirty talk, riding, unprotected p in v sex, creampie word count: 922

joel's office is upstairs but you still worry that he'll hear you, even with the door locked and your face buried in his shoulder. he holds you close and rubs your back, coaxes sounds out of you that you've never made before and lets you take what you need.

"daddy," you whisper, breath hot in his ear as you bounce relentlessly on his cock, loving the way his big hands hold your hips firmly in his grasp, guiding you but never forcing you, "daddy, daddy, daddy," each thrust is like nothing you've ever felt before, every single time. no matter how long this has been going on.

"that's right, babygirl," he breathes in your ear, voice low and husky, "there you go, take it, just take it."

your hands grasp his shirt tightly, buttons pulling apart inch by inch, tearing at the seams. he doesn't care. he never has.

"gimme your come," you whimper, ass slapping against his thighs as you shove yourself down on him over and over, feeling the head of his cock prod the deepest parts of you, filling you the way his son has never truly been able to, "please, daddy, need it so bad."

a knock at the door then, loud and abrasive. "anyone in there?" you hear a muffled voice from the opposite side of the wall; your boyfriend, waiting outside, looking for you.

"fuck's sake," joel groans, eyes rolling back as he starts to help you move, pounding into you steadily; this always happens, there's never enough time, it's always a rush.

"tell him... to fuck... off..." you whisper, breath hitching at every thrust.

"you know i can't do that, babygirl," he cradles the back of your head, pulls you in closer, "gonna give it to you now, hard and fast, hold on to me," you do as you're told, gripping his shirt tight in your fingers and shutting your eyes tight as he fucks you as deep as he can, cock pistoning inside you at a relentless pace.

another loud knock, a muffled noise from the other side.

"daddy," you moan softly, burying your face further into his shoulder, feeling the heat of his neck against your forehead, "daddy, please."

you're both painfully aware of the short amount of time you have left, knowing his son - your boyfriend - won't wait around forever. the last thing either of you need is for him to start getting suspicious, start wondering where it is exactly you go on thursday evenings during his stupid gaming tournaments.

it only takes a few more steady thrusts, a few more heavy bounces on his cock before you're keening against his skin, letting your orgasm ride as his cock stills inside of you, the thick warmth of his come filling you up, spurting deep and steady.

"daddy," you whimper, body going lax and loose in his arms.

joel groans in your ear, still coming inside you and holding you still. you feel your body shake, loving the way he empties himself completely, always making sure you don't miss a single drop.

"dad?" you can suddenly make out the sound of your boyfriend's voice on the other side of the wall, "where the fuck are you?"

"can he fuck off?" you hiss, voice breaking as you pull back in joel's embrace. he leans forward to press a tender kiss to the tip of your nose, relishes in the way you sigh contentedly, pussy still throbbing tightly around his length.

"i'm sorry, babygirl," he carefully pulls you off his cock, seats you on the couch beside him, "put your panties on, keep all that come inside."

you nod ferociously, wanting him to see how good you are for him, how you actually listen to him and do as he tells you, something you'd never do for the stupid boy standing in the hallway. you grab your panties from the floor and slip them back on, feeling warm dribbles of his come begin to pool inside the material.

"and shorts," he says, meanwhile tucking his softening dick back inside his pants and doing up his belt, "then go hide in the bathroom 'til i say."

"okay," you finish pulling up your shorts and reach over to kiss the side of his face, flushed and warm, "don't forget about me."

he takes your chin between two fingers and kisses your nose again, giving you a reassuring smile, "never, babygirl."

you rush into the bathroom, shut the door behind you and lock it. you listen with bated breath as joel opens the door to his office, hear your boyfriend ask where you went, if he's seen you.

"maybe she went home," joel suggests, "i mean, it's not like you pay her much attention anyway."

"so you haven't seen her?"

"no, son, couldn't tell you where she is."

your boyfriend groans, so loud it makes you smile. good, you think, make him think i went home, give us some more time.

"i'm headin' out," your boyfriend says obstinately, "if she shows up, call me."

"will do."

the door shuts and you wait until joel knocks on the bathroom door for you to come out. you instantly wrap your arms around him, press kisses to his cheek and neck, already wanting more.

"i'm sorry he's so mean to you, baby," he murmurs in your ear, reaches down and squeezes your ass through your shorts.

"i don't care," you whimper, cupping his cock through his pants, feeling it already start to harden again under your fingertips, "just want you, daddy."

[a-most-beloved-fool]

One of the lines in TOS that drives me the most crazy is in The Man Trap, when Spock is in command of the Enterprise. A death on the landing party is reported, and Uhura, upset that Spock doesn't display an emotional reaction, challenges him and reminds him that the death could be Captain Kirk. "He's the closest thing you've got to a friend," she says.

And that always sticks out to me.

It paints Spock as a pretty tragic figure, doesn't it?

Like - and this is disregarding new canon, sorry Disco and SNW I'm ignoring you - Spock is kind of implied to be, well. Pretty much alone. Kirk, his brand new captain, at that point, is the closest thing he has to a friend. We know that Spock was on the Enterprise before Kirk's Captaincy, and we know he was at least somewhat close to Pike in that time, but by that point Pike is disabled enough to barely be able to communicate, and it doesn't seem like Spock was close to anyone else on Pike's enterprise - at least no one who stuck around.

He's estranged from his family. Maybe he kept contact with Amanda, but frankly I can't imagine they were calling often. He has an unwilling fiancee who he has no real relationship with. He never seems to (willingly) date, wh He knew Leila Kalomi at some point, but it's blatantly obvious both that they haven't kept in touch and that Kalomi's interest in him makes Spock fairly uncomfortable, so she doesn't count. Am I missing anybody?

And then Kirk comes, and takes over the Enterprise, and, from the very start, looks at Spock with kindness and affection. Wouldn't that be. fucking life-changing? Kirk comes and, in a matter of weeks, single-handedly changes the entire trajectory of Spock's life, simply by liking him. Y'know?

It's genuine, too. It's not like Kirk is just playing nice for the sake of the command team. He's just - fond of Spock. Really, properly fond of him.

And it's more than a bit overwhelming for him, especially because he likes Kirk just as much as Kirk likes him, and he hasn't experienced that before, either. It's wildly obvious how important Kirk becomes to him from his words and actions throughout the show; from "when I feel friendship for you, I feel ashamed," in The Naked Time; to believing in Kirk's innocence when all evidence was against him in Court Martial; to breaking through the blood fever to beg T'Pau to forbid Kirk's participation, and also his smile in Amok Time; to Spock jumping in the path of a poison flower in The Apple; and on and on. It's obvious to the viewer, and it's just as obvious to other characters in the show. Spock treasures Kirk and his friendship.

Idk. I'm just regularly blown away by how astoundingly impactful Kirk was on Spock. From the very moment they meet, they're both irrevocably changed. Two halves of a whole indeed! I can understand how it would frighten Spock enough to make him flee to Kolinahr, unused to the sheer emotion brought on by Kirk, and I can understand how it would be compelling enough to cause him to return.

[strangesmallbard]

feel free to reblog and explain your answer in the tags!

EDIT: please don't google before answering! i'm interested in knowing more about what you've previously learned.

[busymatches]

HAPPY PRIDE!!!

a lil late in the month but i had to draw the girls again <3

[purgatory-jar]

We've gotten older but not wiser

🍂

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