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whynotjohnlock · 5 months

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Doctor x ADHD reader

^ My mental state at any given time when anyone asks about what happened yesterday.

Warnings: fluff, It might be a tad long, Grammar mistakes, you may feel slightly offended if you're a nerotipical person, the author wrote this because they didn't want to sleep and needed comfort.

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You'd forgotten something again. Was it about your job? Your family? Your friends you hadn't kept up with because you had misremembered the dates for? That one hyper fixation that you had today?

Nothing matched. Your brain was screaming at you for the time you wasted rethinking about what you had forgotten; but nothing came to mind.

A normal day then.

Then, as a distraction from your thoghts a high tech laser blaster thing punched through a brick wall and you started running for your life. Again.

There were alien pepper shaker robots with plungers. Why where they just repeating themselves over and over? Was that just how they spoke, or was there more to it? Was it nessasary to the way they shot lasers?

"Exterminate! Exterminate!" A laser jolted and swished right next to you.

"Right, I have to run."

And run.

And run. Except, now you had to not crash onto the person-

To late.

"Oh, hello humans! Is this your way of saying hello? Did I miss a decade?"

You reluctanly graped the strange man's hand. You were not fazed by the oddness in the queston; your thoghts were stranger. "I don't think so. It's just the fact that there are alien pepper shakers with plungers after us."

The man's face darkened, his youthful peesona flown out the window. "Where?"

You knew that the police would be of no help and the sadness in this man's eyes seemed to be familiar. "Can you help us if I tell you?"

"Short answer: Most likely."

"Now witch way?"

The question prompted eternal panic. Witch way was left? You couldn't remember. Were you facing north or south? You couldn't just point in a direction, because you had run in a extremely non-linear way.

Words had never been an accurate source of communication for you. Why were you this way? Well, you knew why; you had been diagnosed with ADHD, but that didn't answer your question. Why did you always forget the things you wanted to remember most? The strange man looked rather inpatient at your mental sputtering. You had to do something! So, you did the only thing you could think of at the time. Quickly you grabbed his outstretched hand and ran, guiding him though the chaotic path you had taken.

Your mind had not managed to retain much running for your life, but your feet did.

...Pass the blue house.

...Turning 90 degrees at the broken stop sign.

...Jaywalking around the stopped cars in the street.

...Turning again after the nameless black dog.

...Though a corporate building.

…And to the familiar building with the tin tanks.

your hand still fully clasped with this stranger you had just met, you spoke in between panting and gasping for air. "This is it. These are the alien metal tank creatures."

As if on cue, the screams not even across the blook started up again and an army of daleks (Not that you knew what they were called at the time) turned into view.

The madman lurched forward in outrage much like a predator looming in on their prey. He was unnerving. "Alright listen up! I am the Doctor, and you are the daleks! You have no right to this world, and It’s protected by none other than me. And you have made a grave mistake messing with me when I don’t have a companion, or anyone to holding me back. Leave before I run out of mercy."

"THE DOCTOR IS UNARMED. WE WILL DO NO SUCH THING."

EXTERMINATE!

A laser shot from the thingy that would have hit the silly man instead wiped by him as I pulled him into a run again.

Hiding behind a dumpster in an abandoned alley the Doctor fiddled around with a metal glowy stick and welded something together from his pockets quickly. "What are you doing?"

"No time to explain, get me some sort of electrical circuit board!"

"Will my phone work?"

Wordlessly the Doctor takes my phone, prys it from it's cashing, snaps it in half, and conects it to a very peculiar looking device.

EXTERMINATE!

The Daleks find us again but this time we don't run. The Doctor chucks the machine at the invasion party they aim towards us ready to end us.

EXTER-

The Doctor aims his tech stick toward the sky causing his device to activate. The result is instantaneous. Every dalek that was in front of us and firing ends up blowing up in several malformed chunks.

More daleks screech out words as they approach us. "EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!"

"Ha! I've rerouted the your primary weapon to your self-distruct sequence by changing the commands signals! The doctor is never helpless unarmed, you lot should know that by now."

"RETREAT! RETREAT!"

The Daleks start to be enveloped by an otherworldly white glow and disappear all at once.

The mad man seems to return to an upbeat face and seems to slip his mask back on seamlessly as if the darkness never touched his eyes. He looked again to be a harmless Nerodiverrgent, clumsy and meek as if he hadn't just felled a armada of aliens ready to destroy the earth. he muttered under his breath about inter-galactic law, blissfully unaware of all the odd looks his direction who believed him insane.

It reminded you of the mask you had to put up for all the "Normal" people in your life. How many times had you stopped being every thing you were just for a brief connection?

"Hello, I think introductions are in order! what did you say your name was?"

You plunged back into the real world from your thoghts. "Y/N."

"Well, Y/N, you seem awfully calm considering your planet was just invaded."

"I could say the same thing about you. Also how did you do all that? Are you even human?"

"I'm the Doctor." The man enthusiasticly spoke as if that explained the anomalys of the day.

"Is the your last name or did you just have mean parents that named you Doctor?"

"I'm not human, and it's common for my species to have titles we choose for names."

"Right. I suppose another alien species isn't the weirdest thing that's happened today."

The Doctor broke out into a brilliant little grin. And reached into his coat pocket to grab a little black wallet thing. "Hold on I want to see if I'm right real quick. What's on this paper?"

"Um, It's blank?" I don't think I was catching whatever the silly man wanted me to see.

"You are clever! I knew it! And I do need a companion after...." The Doctor pauses in sorrow and pain.

"Y/N, how would you like to come with me?"

"Um, do you travel or something?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention it, haven't I? I go to lots and lots of different places and meet all sorts of aliens all the time. I hope you know most of them aren't like the Daleks. Millions of planets and galaxys and pulsars and planets up in the sky, one day I'll see them all."

It took a while to comprehend what silly man had just said. You adored the stars. And now this man you'd just met had really just asked you to go with him to see and go to places humans wouldn't go for maybe billions of years!? To boldy go were no one has gone before? (I'm an unapologetically ing references and I'm not sorry.) Was this heaven? Had you died in the Dalek attack?

"That sounds utterly fantastic! You're sure you want someone like me?"

"What are you talking about? You just saved my life and were fearless in the face of a world ending threat. If course I want someone like you."

"I just, usually people don't like the way I think."

The Doctor almost seemed offended. "Do I look like a usual person?"

"Good point."

I looked down in slight embarrassment for bringing it up.

"Hey look at me." The Doctor softly grabbed my shoulder and I tilted my face up to meet his sincere eyes.

"You know what I've found in my nine hundred years of life? I found out the people who get called Quiet or shy have the most interesting thoughts. I found out that the loneliest people end up being the kindest, that the people with disabilities have so much more grit and determination than the people that don't, that the people called slow are the most brilliant when they're done analyzing. that the so called freaks and weirdos of the world are twice as clever and twice as kind."

"Do you know why?" I was near tears and shook my head.

"Because people like you and me have to work twice as hard only to get half as far. We have strength, far beyond that the average eye can see because we're trying to make up for faults by working twice as hard. Our struggles make us more resilient, more creative, and better people. We take it apon ourselves to attempt to appear normal in an attempt to make connections, when in really they should be the ones understanding us."

"You humans are so silly we it comes to different ways of thinking. On gallifrey, you'd be celebrated, not punished for what you call a quote 'disorder'."

I hugged him. I hugged him harder and tighter than any stranger I'd ever hugged before.

Tears. Happy tears flew down my cheek. I loved this stranger, not for his looks or wacky demeanor.

But because there is that silly man's arms I knew again what it felt like to be understood.

We were standing in a world of unknowns, at top a street that had just been invaded but I knew one thing:

"I want to travel with you, Doctor."

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A/N: I'm sorry if you personally don't feel represented in the way I wrote (Y/N) having ADHD and ADD, but I want you to know that I'm only trying to share my experiences as I myself have been diagnosed. I don't want to shame anyone that shares my experiences; just bring them into the light.

#doctor who #doctor x reader #10th doctor #gender neutral reader #doctor who x male reader #11th doctor #tenth doctor #12th doctor #eleventh doctor #10th doctor x reader #adhd

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jellieland · 5 months

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“If you don’t get your act together soon you’re going to make me a liar, Martyn,” says Scott, by way of greeting.

Martyn looks up from the chest he was searching through and raises an eyebrow. “Well hello to you too!” He glances around at the fairly empty interior of his and Jimmy’s house. “Wasn’t expecting guests. I would’ve made the place a bit more presentable.”

Scott smirks knowingly. “Oh, would you now?”

“Nah, but it’s a good excuse, innit?” He shrugs. “Anyway, what were you saying? I’m going to make you a liar? That’s a new one.”

“Oh, yes. The other day I said you knew what you were doing,” says Scott.

Martyn snorts. “Ouch. I see. Bold thing to say to a red name.”

“It’s not my fault you keep getting yourself killed!” says Scott, cheerfully. “I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.”

“On purpose?” says Martyn. “I mean, not sure why you think that, but I think I’m going to take it as a compliment.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you!” says Scott. “You know, trying to go out first after you won, just for the drama. Trying to best Jimmy’s curse.”

“No,” says Martyn flatly. “I wouldn’t do that, and you know it. That’s more your style, actually.” He sounds oddly defensive.

“Alright.” Scott holds his hands up in capitulation, expression softening. “Just wanted to make sure.”

Martyn stares at him for a long moment, as though judging his sincerity.

Scott looks back, open.

“Good.” Martyn brushes past him and out the door to stand on the cliff edge, looking towards Scar’s courthouse.

Scott follows.

The sun is setting.

He looks over at Martyn. He’s staring out over the server, but his expression is far away. It doesn’t take long, though, for him to sense eyes on him.

He turns his head abruptly to Scott, grins, and gestures over the landscape, drenched in red-orange light. “Everything the light touches…” he says dramatically, “is my kingdom.”

Scott snorts, and opens his mouth, but Martyn keeps going.

“A king’s time as ruler,” he says, mock-solemn, measured, “rises and falls, like the sun.”

“Uh huh.” Scott gives him a look as amused as it is fond, as Martyn keeps quoting The Lion King at him. “Scar would be loving this, you know.”

“One day, Scott,” continues Martyn, and hesitates.

Scott can see in his eyes the moment he fully commits to the bit. He’s never been one to do these things halfway, after all.

“One day,” Martyn says softly, “the sun will set on my time here.” He places a hand on his heart, and gazes at Scott with something that looks so close to sincerity as to be indistinguishable. The light behind him makes it hard to see his eyes.

“And?” asks Scott.

“And what?” asks Martyn.

“I might be misremembering, but I think it’s supposed to rise with me as the new king,” says Scott.

“Nah,” says Martyn. “That’s not how it works. You already had a go, leave some for everyone else.”

Scott laughs slightly. “If you say so. I do think it’s our kingdom, though.”

Martyn frowns. “What?” He looks taken aback. Almost upset, even.

Scott raises an eyebrow. “In the film? It’s our kingdom, I think, in that quote. Not my kingdom.”

Martyn blinks at him. “Oh. Right.” He recovers quickly. “And that dark place over there.” He points. “That’s Bigb’s hole. You must never go there.”

Scott snorts. “Low hanging fruit, Martyn.”

“Hey, I’ll take what I can get,” says Martyn.

“You should’ve heard Jimmy earlier. Cleo and I may have been bullying him a bit.” He looks around. “Speaking of which, where is Jimmy?”

Martyn looks at him for a moment, wary. “Why?”

“I wanted to talk to him,” says Scott mildly.

“…Right. Right, of course.” He sighs. “Not sure, over by the Secret Keeper maybe? Wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to yell at it for a while.”

“Thank you, Martyn,” says Scott.

He considers leaving.

Martyn is staring out across the server again.

“How was dying in the void?” asks Scott.

Martyn pauses for an unusually long time, before he answers. “…Slow,” he says flatly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Started out at thirty hearts, so I was falling for… a while.” He looks away for moment. “There was nothing I could do. I was already dead. Just had to fall through the darkness and feel my time run out.” He sighs. “Wasted a golden apple and everything.”

“What, you ate it? Why?”

“Guess I panicked.” Martyn shrugs. “I mean, I had to do something other than just wait to die. Wish I’d chosen something else though.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” says Scott. “If it made you feel better, it doesn’t really matter.”

“No,” says Martyn heavily. “It doesn’t.”

Scott frowns.

“How-” says Martyn, and pauses. He gives Scott a calculating look. “How would you do it?”

“Do what?” asks Scott.

“I died,” says Martyn. “It was pointless. It was stupid. It didn’t matter.” He stares at Scott as though trying to look into his soul. “How do you- how would you make it matter?”

He is, Scott decides, being a bit too obvious to let it slide. “How do you make anything matter, Martyn?”

There is a flash of betrayal in Martyn’s eyes, barely there before it’s gone. “I- I don’t know. Stakes, maybe?”

“Maybe,” says Scott. “But there’s a difference between finding something to care about, and daring the universe to kill you.”

Martyn glares at him, for several long seconds.

Scott looks back.

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” says Martyn, eventually. His voice sounds tight. “I’m not.”

“Why did you go into the dragon fight on yellow, Martyn?” asks Scott, pointedly.

“I wouldn’t have been on yellow if we healed like normal,” says Martyn.

Scott gives him an unimpressed look. He's not entirely sure that's even true.

“Jimmy did it too,” snaps Martyn. “Why aren’t you interrogating him?”

“Maybe I will,” says Scott. “Why won’t you answer my question?”

Martyn opens his mouth, and pauses as though hoping he’ll be let off the hook.

Scott looks back at him.

“…I can’t stop now.” Martyn looks at him, as though pleading with him to understand.

There is an edge of desperation to his voice.

“I can’t stop now,” he says softly. “Nothing else will.”

Scott sighs.

“Haven’t you heard?” says Martyn. “Red names don’t get free time. We just have to keep going until we die.”

“Everyone has to do that, Martyn,” says Scott, tiredly.

“You don’t understand!” snaps Martyn. “I had something to care about, I found something to care about, and that was winning. But now- but- but now…”

Scott takes a step back, and looks at Martyn. Something about him puts Scott in mind of a dog, left behind, alone, in an empty house, and throwing itself at the locked front door, over and over again. Barking and clawing and fighting, to the point of exhaustion.

There’s no point in arguing with him on this.

There’s nothing to be gained in pointing out that “caring” is very broad term. That Scott isn’t convinced Martyn ever actually did care about winning, and not just the idea of it.

Scott sighs again.

“How come, after everything, you still get to be good?” says Martyn. His hands are clenched into fists. “That’s not fair.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Martyn,” says Scott. “But it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Martyn exhales slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” Very deliberately, he relaxes, putting a casual hand on the hilt of his sword. “I know. Forget I said anything.”

“I won’t!” says Scott brightly.

Martyn gives him a look.

“Ok, ok, sorry,” says Scott. He pauses for a moment, considering his words carefully. “You just have to find another thing to care about. And then another, and then another. And so on.”

“That sounds exhausting,” says Martyn. That sounds impossible, say his eyes.

“Less than the alternative, I think,” says Scott. They stand in silence for a little longer, before he smirks. “Besides, if that wasn’t my philosophy then I never would’ve let you win, now would I?”

“Let me- excuse me?!” says Martyn indignantly.

Scott laughs. “It’s a joke, don’t worry,” he says, to soften all the ways that it isn’t a joke, really. “You know me, I would never bend the rules!”

Martyn looks at him, and then his eyes dart away to look across the server, and then he looks back. “I really don’t know how you do it,” he says, voice light enough that anyone else listening would think he didn’t mean it.

“It’s not easy, but I manage!” says Scott, as though he doesn’t mean it, either.

“Yeah, well, that’s sort of the only option, isn’t it?” says Martyn. He looks up at the darkening sky. “You know, you should probably head back before the skeletons start showing up.”

Scott nods. “What would I do if I didn’t have you looking out for me?” he asks sarcastically, eyes soft.

“You know, somehow I think you would live,” says Martyn. He voice is just as sarcastic. His eyes are distant again. “If I see Jimmy, I’ll tell him you were here.”

“Right. Thank you, Martyn,” says Scott.

“No problem,” says Martyn, and turns away to stare, once more, out across the server.

Scott leaves.

He gets back home before night falls, because he knows what he’s doing, and he doesn’t take risks by accident.

He doesn't see anyone.

He hopes Jimmy wasn't caught out in the night. He hopes he was right about Martyn, as unlikely as that’s starting to look. He hopes he isn’t made a liar.

He’s not sure he can take caring for another canary.

#secret life smp #martyn inthelittlewood #scott smajor #my writing

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pallisia · 4 months

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world/magic questions round 2!

Anonymous asked:

Is Ysme one to have a new look for every occasion or does she have a few distinct looks she rotates through depending on what the situation calls for? And, (if not spoilers) could she disguise herself as a completely different person if she wanted? Could she illusion herself to look like Loic?

my answer to the first question depends on how hellish it will be to draw a bunch of different outfits for ysme's character portraits. in theory, she would always want to change up her look a little.

recreating another person's likeness with artisanry doesn't really work that well. maybe you could create prosthetics to approximate someone else's appearance, but it tends to look unconvincing on close inspection.

Anonymous asked:

will we ever receive a defined timeline of the world (or at least how long it's been since mosaic was established, etc) or will it remain a playful wink in the background? (i've been thinking about this since the TV bit plus the reference to time being sidestepped for particulars)

the history of the mosaic will be explored, but for now i can say that it's only been "open" for about fifty years.

Anonymous asked:

Ysme had a certain spoilery item that she created. Did she need a license or permit to have it/create it? Want to get a head start on the Clown Crime Counter.

the types of constructs people can make with artisanry are regulated in the mosaic. an ordinary citizen just conjuring a gun on a whim would be illegal, yes.

cheetour asked:

oh!! are the individual flowers/flower language that Loïc uses inspired by real flowers & their meanings, or are they fabricated by you? or a mixture of both? they're mostly flowers I don't recognise (but maybe Americans have slightly different flowers idk)

a mixture of both. the white dawn's eye is based loosely on a daisy called the monarch of the veld, but then there are normal flowers that just exist unchanged like the dandelion.

Anonymous asked:

So if Ysme can make outfits out of glamour/magic, does she just not bother with regular clothing and constantly magic herself up some garments?

wouldn't you?

elritze asked:

I LOVED the first part of Soulsov! It was gorgeous and I’m already so invested in the story and characters! I was curious about old vs. new magic, especially artisanry. How do people like Ysme and Alma learn artisanry? Why is new magic acceptable in the Mosaic (I think, I may have misremembered), while old pagan magic like Loic’s flowers is forbidden?

thanks a lot. i can't delve into the last question yet, but you can probably infer why from a few conversations in the prelude.

artisanry is the "default" magic system within the mosaic. it's taught in schools, and generally everybody knows the fundamentals.

Anonymous asked:

How does pressing the flower affect the resulting magic? Does it weaken the effect, but allow for more flexible casting? Is it unchanged? Was this question answered in the prelude and my incredibly bad memory jus took its toll once more? P.S. The Prelude ruled, it was amazing. <3

thank you. dried flowers are just as effective, but there's a particular ritual that allows this, so just popping them into the flower press like normal would render them useless.

#txt #worldbuilding

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theregencywriter · 2 months

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Lost in Silence 2 - Theo Sharpe x Reader

A/n - okay so this is embarrassingly short! I had such a chaotic day but I still wanted to put something out so I hope it's still okay! <3

Theo Sharpe was always attractive, Y/n couldn’t lie. Though most of her days were spent alongside her mother doing daily household tasks, on the odd chance she went to her father's place of work and Theo was there the two would play. Running between the printers, throwing discarded paper at each other, the two would enjoy each other's company into the long hours that the printers required. Though by the end of most days the two would be lightly stained with cheap ink, Y/n couldn't help as they both grew older they exchanged stolen glances, and though Y/n had to move away before it could bloom, she always wondered if he thought her as beautiful as she thought him, despite the ink.

Now, presently stood Theo, taller and with a more defined jaw and ears that stretched outwards slightly more than they used to, one thing was the same - his kind eyes. Y/n watched as the woman that was speaking walked off of the stage and hugged Theo. Though her heart sank momentarily, after he handed her a pamphlet she walked off, as if friends.

Was she jealous? No no, she couldn't be. Right? She was unsure of what to do. She had meant to find him and give him back his notebook, a plan she was beginning to realise was riddled with idiocracy. As she turned to leave a man came to her side. “Excuse me miss, I- '' Theo looked at her and paused. He gulped, and Y/n couldn't help but look at his Adam apple as it pulsated in doing so. “Y/n?” He questioned. It was as if seeing him again had reduced her to that same love stricken child she was all those years ago, though now she found herself in quite the predicament. In the heat of the moment she could only think of doing one thing.

“.....Theo? Is it Theo? You seem familiar” She smiled politely as she spoke, pretending to vaguely recognise his face. He stumbled over his words, clearly either shocked it was her or that she apparently didn’t remember him in the same capacity that he remembered her. “Yes, its Theo, Theo Sharpe?” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, pausing momentarily as if allowing her to try and remember him. “Oh yes! The son of my late fathers coworker.” Y/n had never realised how posh her voice had become, but hearing his again made her sink into her old accent, though more falsified and sounding like a parody. He looked at her and jerked his head slightly back in offence.

“Yes, the son of your later fathers-” He trailed off. “I’m sorry? Is that all I was to you?” “How do you suppose?” She questioned. “We were friends, were we not? Or am I misremembering?” His words were tipped with a harsh edge that made her shrivel up slightly. She took in a sigh, “No, no of course not. If I may be honest, seeing you again made me panic.” She chuckled as she said it. It had been the first time in quite some time that she had spoken so freely, unafraid of enunciating or tiptoeing around a subject. “Panicked? What for?” He joined her in a laugh, further easing her state. “I do not know truly. It has been a while hasn’t it?” SHe reached out and placed a hand on his elbow like she had done a thousand times as a young girl, though when her hand was met by a firmer and larger arm by that of man than she remembered she took it off again almost suddenly. “I’m sorry, I forget myself.” She grinned an awkward smile, placing her hand on her forehead as the heat stifled her and took in her surroundings to avert his gaze. “Do not worry, miss Y/n,” He leaned in cheekily “You are not in Mayfair. We may converse freely away from the gaze of that Whistledown.” She looked back at him in confusion. “You know Whistledown? How?” He grinned as if the owner of his own secret. “I print it.” He spoke, confidence beaming from his face. “Well, I say! You must show me where one day, if I am not being too forward.”

“Not at all, why not now?” He asked. For a moment she grinned as she contemplated it, but a sad look soon took over her expression. “I cannot, I’m sorry. I need to be getting back home.” He nodded his head and they hugged, him stroking her back in a manner that she could not help but reminisce about later on that night in bed. As she walked out and entered into the nearest available carriage, she ran her fingers up and down the blue book, still in her possession. Another reason to go back, she thought as she rode off.

#bridgerton #bridgerton family #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton netflix #a bridgerton story #angst #theo sharpe x reader #benedict #theo sharpe #eloise x theo #theloise #theo #forbidden love #fluff #my fic #fanfic writing #fanfiction #fanfic

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the-eldritch-it-gay · 2 months

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isn’t there some scarring on Wyll’s face, ie below his stone eye, that wasn’t there/as pronounced before? (tho whether or not that scarring is monstrous)

Wyll has 2 scars on his face, one below his stone eye which is from him losing his eye at 17 from fighting dragon cultists, the other I believe is from a Minotaur or something, though I may be misremembering the details. So those scars were there before Wyll was transformed, I would have to check but I suppose it’s possible they could look more pronounced after his transformation though I suppose that’s slightly subjective.

But to your point also, I think what irks me about the dialogue is calling scars monstrous. I think it’s just kinda shitty (from a meta perspective). It’s just an odd choice overall imo for the replacement line.

#eldritch it speaks #eldritch it answers #salam plays bg3 #side note in looking up Wyll. is his full name actually wyllyam

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bm-blog01 · 1 year

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Is there anything to the Pall Mall theory? And if so what does it tell us about S4?

After Season 2 aired, and that Pall Mall game, fans began to speculate what - if any - easter eggs may have been hiding. When it was announced that Season 3 was Colin and Penelope many fans felt vindicated saying that the Pall Mall game showed the order of the siblings stories as Colin got his ball through the third hoop not the fourth, something that was confirmed by the production, at least in relation to setting up Colin and Penelope. But since then a number of misremembered moments from the show have popped up and many point to it as evidence that Benedict will be Season 4. So let's look at each hoop one by one and see if this will tell us anything about Season 4.

Hoop 1: We don't see it, but we hear Daphne gets her ball through the first hoop. This correlates with Season 1 being Daphne and Simon's story. So far the theory holds.

Hoop 2: Despite some fans online claiming we see Anthony get his ball through hoop 2, it is actually Kate that we see put her ball through hoop 2 not Anthony (who actually hits the hoop and puts his ball off course slightly). This correlates with Season 2 being Kate and Anthony.

Hoop 3: We see Colin getting his ball through hoop 3. Again correlating with the order of the siblings stories in the show.

Hoop 4: This is where the theory wobbles slightly. Despite some fans claiming we see Benedict getting his ball through Hoop 4, it is Kate (again) that gets her ball through hoop 4. When this is pointed out, and that it doesn't actually provide evidence that Benedict will be S4, the theory suddenly shifts from being about the season order to this showing how many children Kate and Anthony have, a little convenient for some, but I don't think that is the reason it is Kate we see here. I will get to my theory on this later.

Hoop 5: This is where Eloise gets her ball through the hoop, this tracks with Eloise's book being number 5, and could indicate that Eloise is Season 5.

Now, what do I think it means. I do think that it is an indication of which stories are being told each season, as I don't think the show would start off showing this (for 1-3) and then abandon the symbolism, Bridgerton in Season 1 and Season 2 was all about laying the foundations for the future of the show. In each season's love story we have had the main character and then the 'love interest', the character who doesn't get as much told about their background and motivations. My theory is as follows:

Hoop 1: Daphne and Simon. Daphne was the 'love interest' for Simon. It was Simon's background that we saw more of and developed, we saw his relationship with his father, he had the flashbacks, and it was centred around his motivations. Essentially Daphne was the love interest.

Hoop 2: Kate and Anthony. As with Daphne and Simon's story, it is the man that has the main focus again, with us seeing more of Anthony's background, Anthony's motivations, and it is Anthony whom we see flashbacks for. Kate was the love interest.

Hoop 3: This is where my theory kicks in to tell us more about the season. It is Colin that gets his ball through the hoop. I believe Colin will be the love interest, it will be Penelope that we see unfolding more as a character, it will be her background, her motivations, and her story that will be focussed on, and I believe it will be her story that gets flashbacks not Colin's.

Hoop 4: The reason I believe that Kate was the one we saw get her ball through the hoop is because she was the 'holding' character. I believe that this does show that Season 4 will be Benedict, but not for the reason many suggest. I think that Kate was the one used for this hoop for two reasons. 1. Sophie will be the love interest, and she had yet to be cast, so they used Kate to represent her, and 2. There will be a connection between Kate and Sophie, whether Sophie comes in as Kate's maid, or it symbolises a close friendship between the two of them.

Hoop 5: I believe that this indicates more than one thing. As well as showing that Eloise will be Season 5, and that the story will most likely focus more on Philip's story, it shows the intent of how long Bridgerton will go for. I think that this is the last hoop we see indicates that at the time this was filmed the production knew the show would be renewed for at least one more season, it may also be an indication that we will only get five seasons of Bridgerton.

In summary, I think the Pall Mall theory is certainly a good theory, but that it is the love interest in each story that we see getting their ball through the hoop (with the exception of Sophie). What I believe this tells us is that, with the exception of Season 3, the stories will be primarily focused on the male half of the pairings, not the female half, but also that we will be getting Benedict's story in Season 4.

Of course I could be completely wrong, but what do you all think? Do you think the Pall Mall theory is valid, or do you think fans are just reaching?

#Bridgerton #Bridgerton Season 4 #Kanthony #Saphne #Polin #Benophie #Bridgerton Season 2 #Philoise

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indeedcaptain · 5 months

Text

Regulatory Relations, chapter 8: The Amateur

LET'S GO :) One note that I forgot to mention from chapter 7: the latin in the wedding announcement translates to "to the stars through love".

Also posted on AO3 here!

☆☆☆

The rest of the shift passed in a blur of preparing for starbase arrival in five days and ruminating on the wedding in twenty-four hours. Janice Rand, after sending Kirk three padd messages asking if he needed help with anything and receiving no response, walked onto the bridge two hours before the end of alpha and asked Kirk point-blank about seating arrangements in the observatory for the next day. When he looked helplessly at Spock and shrugged, and the science officer only turned back to his sensors, Janice restrained herself from what Kirk thought would have been a well-deserved eye roll and told him that she and the yeomen would take care of it.

In the gymnasium two hours later, Spock had paired up his Suus Mahna students to show them how to move around each other. Kirk stood on the sidelines with Giotto.

“Congratulations, captain,” Giotto said, watching Spock circle the students and gently push their limbs into the right configurations.

“Thanks, commander,” Kirk said. “I appreciate that.”

“I always wondered, you know,” Giotto said. “There was something in the way you moved around each other when you sparred. It reminded me of myself and the missus, actually.”

Kirk turned to him in surprise. “You’re married?”

Giotto smiled, but only one corner of his mouth moved up. “I am, sir. Thirty-two years in a few months.”

“My congratulations to you too, then,” Kirk said, but he frowned slightly as he took in Giotto’s profile. “I’m sorry if I’m misremembering, but I didn’t think that you were listed as married in your personnel file. You’ve been with the Enterprise for… nearly twenty years, right?”

“That’s right, captain,” Giotto said. His voice was quiet, and he didn’t turn to meet Kirk’s eyes.

“So she’s not in the Fleet?”

“She is, captain.” Giotto’s face was turned to the demonstration in front of him, but his eyes were very far away.

“Wow,” Kirk said after a moment. “That sounds… extraordinarily difficult.”

“It is,” Giotto said softly. “I never wanted to ask about you and Mr. Spock, but when Scotty told me that April was trying to send him away, I was just…” He sighed. “I feared that you would go through what we did.” “And you and your wife aren’t stationed together because…?”

Giotto’s eyes finally met his. “Because she was my commanding officer on my first ship, and she and I both feared that if we went public with our relationship it would ruin her career. She said it didn’t matter, that she didn’t care, but I knew that she was lying. I couldn’t let her do it. This was a long time ago, too--- long before the brass started recognizing that relationships in crews were a strength, not a weakness.” He crossed his arms over his chest, still watching the group in front of him. “We married in secret and have lived separately ever since.”

Kirk turned fully to Giotto. “Sal, I’m so sorry.” He thought about the grief that he had felt at even the threat of losing his best friend to another posting. He couldn’t imagine enduring that, after being married, for thirty years.

“It is what it is, captain,” Giotto said. He eyed Kirk. “I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you that this is my last mission. I’m ready to go home.”

“And your wife?”

“She’s resigning as well. We’re going to buy a house in Cairo, near her family.”

Kirk hesitated, before reaching out and squeezing Giotto’s shoulder. “We’ll miss you. This crew owes you a lot. But I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, captain,” Giotto said. He smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes. He turned back to where Spock was explaining something to the students, transitioning slowly and elegantly through a series of movements. They watched the Vulcan for a moment longer before Giotto added, “If I may be so bold, captain… it makes this old man glad to know that you and the commander will have the time that Mariam and I didn’t.”

Kirk’s throat constricted. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended. Giotto nodded and turned back to watch Spock work. Kirk watched him too: watched the grace of his movement, the strong lines of his spine and arms and neck, the kindness and gentility in his instruction that so few got to see. Under the harsh lights of the gymnasium and with Giotto’s words circling in his head, he felt one of the bricks in the wall between his head and his heart crumble away. He had leapt at Pike’s suggestion not only because Spock was his best officer and his best friend, but because the idea of running out of time with Spock was ruinous to him. Kirk had wanted more away missions, more chess matches, more debates over breakfast, more of Spock’s incense seeping into his room at night. He wanted more of everything.

Spock bowed to his students, and they bowed back, before he left the mat and walked to Kirk.

“Captain,” Spock said, and Spock’s voice jolted Kirk out of his reverie. To his embarrassment, he realized that he had been staring dazedly at him for a socially inappropriate amount of time. Kirk blinked. “On what were you focused?”

“Nothing,” Kirk said. “Just staring into space.” He smiled and clapped Spock on the back before picking up their personal items from where they’d been abandoned on the ground. “Chess tonight?”

“Certainly,” Spock said, and Kirk waved to the security officers as they left. Giotto’s gaze followed them, and Kirk could have sworn that the hint of a smile remained on that craggy face as he watched them go.

☆☆☆

Spock made up for his loss to Kirk earlier in the week by trouncing him twice in a row. But when Kirk expected him to lean back triumphantly and cross one long leg over the other before folding his hands in his lap in the ultimate image of self-satisfaction, as was his custom, Spock only drew his eyebrows together and reset the chessboard for a third game.

“Alright,” Kirk finally said, as Spock placed the pieces on their proper squares. His usually nimble fingers were jerky in their movement. “What’s wrong?”

Spock placed the last tower on its square without meeting Kirk’s eyes. “Nothing, captain.”

“Bullshit,” Kirk said immediately. “Spock, come on. What’s going on?” Spock picked up the castle again and rolled it between his fingers.

“It is… illogical.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Every human wedding I have attended has taken place on this ship,” Spock said after a moment. “Each has seemed to have similar traditions.”

“Such as?”

Spock paused for so long that Kirk was about to prompt him again before he said, tightly, emotionlessly, “Such as kissing.”

Oh. Oh, god. He hadn’t even thought, beyond Janice’s questions this afternoon, about the mechanics of a wedding. He felt his face start burning. “Do Vulcans kiss at weddings?” Kirk ventured.

“They do,” Spock allowed. “But it is not the same as humans.”

“Would you rather do that?”

“No, captain,” Spock said immediately, more sharply than Kirk expected. “No, thank you. But I am---” Spock cut himself off, an uncharacteristic sound.

“Spock, we don’t have to do it. Kiss, I mean.” As he said it, though, a single cold drip of disappointment cut through his core. For a second, he saw Spock’s face up close in his mind, those warm eyes sliding shut, that stoic face relaxing minutely, lips parting---

Kirk blinked rapidly, clearing the sudden and unexpected image from his mind, ignoring the warmth in his stomach. “I meant it. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“It is not the act itself I am apprehensive about,” Spock said. Was he blushing, or was it a trick of the dim lighting? He stood and paced to his shelves, clasping his hands behind his back. “Forgive me, captain.” There was an unnatural pause. “I cannot help but be aware of the vast discrepancy in experience between the two of us.” Spock’s voice was unnaturally tight, like saying the words out loud was an act of extreme exertion. His posture was so ramrod-straight that it looked painful.

Spock’s odd behavior suddenly came into perfect focus. He was nervous. His proud, taciturn, aloof Vulcan was nervous about a kiss. Kirk was filled with an unsuppressable fondness as he watched Spock pretend to straighten one of his Vulcan artifacts on the shelf.

“Mr. Spock,” he said, filling his voice with feigned offense. “Are you calling me easy?” He stood as Spock whirled.

“Jim, no,” Spock said immediately, but the horrified look in his eyes faded as he registered Kirk smiling at him, coming to stand next to him. In the back of his mind, Kirk recognized their positions as the ones they had held only a few days ago, when Kirk proposed to him and Spock had agreed.

“You’ve kissed someone before, haven’t you?” Kirk had a memory of a pretty blonde woman laying on Spock’s chest, but now he couldn’t remember her face; only that the idea of her made him uneasy.

Spock tilted his head, but did not look at Kirk. “In a manner of speaking,” he said, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled. “Leila Kalomi. On Omicron Ceti III.”

“The botanist? From the spore planet?”

“Yes,” Spock said. Kirk angled himself to look up at Spock more closely: in the half-light of Spock’s quarters, the angles of his face were thrown into sharp relief. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “When I was under the influence of the plant.”

Yes, that’s what Kirk was remembering: the woman who had loved Spock, who had been the conduit for Spock’s uncharacteristic whimsy on the planet. He had felt so betrayed when he had been ignored for hours and gone to find Spock, certain that he was injured or worse, and instead found him tangled and laughing with someone in a field. He felt a flash of guilt as he recalled what he had said to Spock to break him out of the plant’s hold.

But then he considered what Spock had said, with growing horror. He asked quietly, “Would you have kissed her without the spores?”

Spock’s eyes flashed to him, then back to the shelf. “No, captain.”

Kirk wiped his face with his hand, all the more guilty for what he had said to Spock, even if he hadn’t meant it. “Spock, I’m sorry,” he said. He turned fully to face him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Kaiidth,” Spock said, but he sounded almost mournful. He cleared his throat. “Regardless, I now find myself to have little applicable experience and a public forum in which to make that readily apparent.”

Kirk turned around, leaning against the vertical post of the shelf behind him. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Spock. Spock refused to meet his gaze. Kirk felt an almost physical click in his head as his conscious brain registered what his subconscious had been telling him for a while now: Spock was beautiful. As if for the first time, Kirk reconsidered the elegant lines of his eyebrows, the planes of his cheeks, the soft straight line of his lips. The warmth in his stomach burned again as he thought, shamefully, secretly, about what it would feel like to kiss him, about how it was a damn shame that Spock had not been kissed properly.

His heart pounded as he realized that he wanted to be the one to do it. Desire burned in his blood in a way that he hadn’t felt in years. He felt the memory of Spock’s hand on his hip, the dreamt memory of his arms around his waist.

Kirk asked, as steadily as he could manage, “Would it help you if tomorrow weren’t the first time?” One part of him screamed that he was being selfish. Another part of him was willing to do anything that would sap the tension from Spock’s unhappy posture. The last part of him, smaller, newer, deeper, wanted desperately to kiss Spock, to see his eyes close and feel Spock’s skin against his. Spock’s eyes snapped to him. Kirk kept his face neutral.

“Captain, I have already taken too many liberties with you,” Spock said. “I cannot ask you to---”

“You didn’t ask for anything,” Kirk said, cutting him off. “I offered. You’re uncomfortable. I can help.”

Spock hesitated, but he shifted on his feet, angling himself towards Kirk. He looked down between them, and Kirk could see the soft fringe of his dark eyelashes against the pale green of his cheeks. Kirk had already known, in an abstract kind of way, that Spock was handsome. He was tall and strong, lean and graceful. But how many people had ever seen him vulnerable like this? How many people had Spock ever admitted an emotion to?

“Captain, do not feel obligated to do this,” Spock said softly.

“It’s just a kiss,” Kirk said, trying terribly to convince himself of the same. “Let me help.”

Spock’s eyes met his. Kirk shifted forward slowly, giving Spock time to pull back if he wanted. But he did not: Kirk saw him inhale, saw him tilt his head to the side to the slightest degree. He felt Spock’s trust in him like a physical weight on his shoulders. As Kirk paused, inches from Spock’s face, their breath mingling in the warm room, the force of how badly he wanted it pressed all the air from his lungs. If he was only going to get two chances at this--- this kiss, and tomorrow’s--- he was going to make sure he did it right.

Kirk stepped forward into Spock’s space, tilting his face up, bringing his hand to cup the back of Spock’s head. He put his other hand on Spock’s waist, pulling them into alignment. He felt Spock inhale one more time, saw his eyelids flutter closed just like he had imagined. Then Kirk closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Spock’s.

All the tumultuous racket and jangling anxiety in Kirk’s head fell silent at the brush of Spock’s lips against his, as his entire universe narrowed to Spock. For one infinite second, Spock stood frozen in his arms, unmoving. Kirk just held him close, waited for Spock to either push him away or encourage him on. Just as he was about to step back, taking Spock’s stillness as discomfort, Spock’s lips parted on a sigh and opened for him. Kirk opened his mouth to deepen the kiss and brushed his tongue against Spock’s lip.

His spine hit the pillar of the shelf behind him as Spock pushed them backwards. His arm wrapped around Kirk’s back, pulling him against his chest. Spock’s other hand came up to his face, his thumb sliding along his jaw, his long fingers threading through Kirk’s hair. Kirk let Spock tilt his head further, feeling Spock’s hand against the back of his head, the strength of his body against Kirk’s. He slid his hand further up to rest on Spock’s ribs, and he could feel the thrumming of the Vulcan heart beneath. After a moment of letting Kirk lead, Spock copied what he had done, hesitantly sliding his tongue into Kirk’s mouth. The wet heat of it lit him up, every point of contact sparking like static. He pulled Spock into him and Spock’s uncertainty melted away, and he pressed Kirk back against the shelf until he was arching against him. Kissing Spock felt as natural as breathing, lips and tongues moving in an instinctual rhythm that matched Kirk’s pounding heartbeat.

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? As their lips parted, Spock bowed his head, pressing their foreheads together. Kirk heard Spock’s shaky inhale as much as he felt it, through the expansion of his ribcage under his hands and his chest against his own. Kirk opened his eyes to find Spock watching him, his pupils huge in the dark room. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Spock disentangled his arms from around Kirk and took a minute step backwards. Kirk released his hold on Spock and trapped his hands behind his back, bracing himself on the steady line of the shelf behind him. What now? What the hell could possibly come next?

“Jim,” Spock said, but he left whatever he had wanted to say unsaid, and instead looked down. A flash of uncertainty crossed his face. Suddenly the room felt suffocatingly warm, the collar of Kirk’s shirt too tight around his skin.

“Well, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, forcing a levity he didn’t feel into his voice. He reached out, grabbed Spock’s shoulder, squeezed it, dropped it. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about in terms of needing practice.”

“I---,” Spock said, and he clasped his hands behind his back, his porcelain mask sliding back down over his expression as he asserted control over himself once more. “Thank you, captain. I am… less apprehensive now.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Spock.” Kirk looked around the room, desperate to break the sudden tension, to free himself from the magnetic pull that was inexorably drawing his hands back to Spock’s waist, to the delicate skin at the back of his neck. “Shall we play another match, or call it for the night?”

Spock seemed to recognize and appreciate Kirk’s efforts at normalcy, because after a beat he quirked an eyebrow and said, “Two losses are not enough for you this evening, captain?”

“Best of five, then,” Kirk said, but he removed himself from the shelf and took three steps towards the door. Spock walked with him the rest of the five steps across his quarters and opened the door for him.

“Good night, captain. And thank you.” Spock’s voice was sincere, and his eyes were warm even as his face remained impassive. God help him, but Kirk was flooded with the need to steal another kiss before he left. Anything to feel Spock sigh into his mouth again. Instead he smiled and said, “Anytime, Mr. Spock.” He stepped out into the corridor and the turbodoor slid shut behind him. The walk to his own door had never seemed so long. Somehow he punched his own code into his keypad with numb fingertips and managed to get himself into his room before he collapsed on his bed.

As he flopped backwards to stare at the ceiling, Kirk heard Bones’s warning echoing in his ears: What happens when you get too close? Oh, but it was too late for that now. He was already too close. He was only human, and touch-starved after three years with nothing more intimate than back slaps and short hugs, and the man who understood him best in this universe had touched him with such gentle, easy affection and then kissed him breathless.

He tried to picture anyone else’s face: Gary’s, or Carol’s, even Edith Keeler’s, anything to displace the image of Spock’s open, vulnerable face right before he let Kirk kiss him. But he couldn’t keep anyone else’s image in his head. They all turned back into Spock. Spock, who had held him so closely and pushed him back against the bookshelf, who had admitted his fears to Kirk and then allowed him to help.

Kirk pressed his hands to his forehead as he recontextualized his feelings from the past few days: how he had felt when Spock caught his head from hitting the ground, when Spock recommended his thesis to his scientists, when Spock wrapped his arm around his waist and let him lean against his chest. He felt warm. He felt giddy. He felt protected, cared for, understood.

“No,” he said out loud. “It’s not like that for us. We’re just friends.” Kirk closed his eyes. Even to himself, it didn’t sound as convincing as it had in Bones’s office. His silent room mocked him. He wiped his hands down his face, dragging his cheeks down, feeling the words bubble up inside him. He could still feel Spock’s hands in his hair, on his face, tilting his head back, his tongue sliding into Kirk’s mouth.

“I want him,” he whispered, and it burned, and it was true. He opened his eyes. “Oh, shit.”

#spirk #my writing #k/s #kirk/spock #regulatory relations #fake married #k/s fan fiction #kirk/spock fan fiction

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