#finding things is atrociously and needlessly difficult

[swaps55]

Not sure what it says about me that I am more alarmed people don't know how to download files from Google Docs than I am about Google's policies.

[henlp]

Most anime is bad.

It's fair to say anime's success in the West, starting in the 80s-90s but gaining mass recognition and appeal in the 2000s, mostly comes from a wide range of premises for stories told, and how emotional payoffs are (for the most part) earned by the writing, be it hype moments, shocking scenes, or the often-expected bittersweet finale.

However, in spite of these positives, it's very frequent that the story for an anime/manga/novel/game/etc. ends up being bad; and for the longest time, I couldn't figure out exactly why. Even a decade ago, when I was far more lenient and forgiving to the content I consumed (because I had yet to achieve the jaded, joyless state I find myself in <current year>), I could tell something was amiss.

Think I first took notice of this when the era of the Big Three was coming to an end, with One Piece carrying on as Fairy Tail instead took the shovel to the head. Alongside Bleach and Naruto, these three manga series all suffered major issues in their final arcs, so blatant that it became too difficult to accept. Something stank in Denmark Japan, and it made no sense why these (supposedly) good series where floundering as they neared the finish line.

A few years later, with more media under my belt, out came Black Clover. Both my weeb cousin and a good friend had spoken highly of the series, alongside many of the places I used to check for animus, so I watched the OVA... and hated it. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the pilot for the story, mind you, at that point it was only the screeching from the protagonist that bothered me. When the series proper began, I made the conscious effort to try and power through in spite of the awful first impression, to see what the hype had been about... and I still wasn't seeing it. In fact, the story's erratic and hyperactive pacing, alongside its cheap animation, made it almost impossible for me to watch. Only by virtue of the previously aforementioned hype moments on occasion and the catchy OPs did I stick around long enough for the story to get interesting and for me to have any investment in the characters. It didn't get good, but it had at least become tolerable. Lucky for me AND it, I was still at a point where I wouldn't drop shows as easily.

It wasn't looking good for my outlook in regards to japanese entertainment. Even if I would end up consuming more anime than any western shows (at least animes don't fucking despise their audiences), my eye kept getting more critical, and I kept getting less adventurous, due to several shows disappointing. But I still couldn't figure out why this was. If anime and manga were appealing to me still, why was I less inclined to give 'em a pass, why was I more and more dissatisfied. And then I got my answer in 2021, thanks to two shows: Jujutsu Kaisen and the second anime adaptation of Shaman King.

A story's quality can generally be quantified based on three things: characters, world, and plot. Each informs the other two, and a good story never has one of these working against the others. But it can also happen that all three work in their own right, but not in tandem. A fourth, rarely-considered factor for evaluating story is EXECUTION. So when it comes to anime, manga, novels, games, etc, the problem usually is in execution. You could argue that there are different cultural sensibilities for storytelling in Japan, or corporate factors interjecting themselves in the process; but that would be an explanation, not an excuse. And nowadays, enough japanese creators quote some of their influences as not just being other japanese creators, but also creators from around the globe (past and present). There's not this magical bubble keeping the Land of the Rising Sun ignorant of other types of storytelling and development processes.

So how did I arrive at this conclusion thanks to Jujutsu Kaisen and Shaman King 2021? Both shows suffer terribly when it comes to execution of their stories, although in different ways:

-With Jujutsu Kaisen (at least the anime, I've not read the whole manga), there were several instances where I found myself asking "Did I miss an episode or something?", because you frequently had characters reacting and conducting themselves with one another as if there was a deluge of development between them off-screen. No better example than EmoBangs McGee, who becomes BFFs with the protagonist in less than 5min, later having a fight that was probably meant to be very heart-wrenching, except there was no development for their relation (and powers), so it made no sense for them to act in that fashion (if this is different in the manga, by all means let me know);

-With Shaman King 2021, meanwhile, I was well-familiarized with the characters, the world, and the plot. I knew the main elements of the story, I had in fact rewatched the show in the past decade, and in spite of filler content and Black Sabbath cameos, still remembered it strongly. But as I am watching the new show, the word that comes to mind is "cheap": cheap animation and rushed pacing. Maybe this is due to certain events, or the studio trying to rush past the initial stages of the story, but still. All it had to do was clear the filler, give each scene and character the love and care they needed to make their moments the best they could, and let it go from there. It's been twelve years since FMA Brotherhood, if you're going to be a greedy bitch and redo an anime adaptation, there's no excuse for it to be of such low quality.

As you can see, both failed in execution, with the latter in its new adaptation and the former (possibly) in its original format. When I realized this, suddenly the fog dissipated, and I could see why all those stories had failed: Bleach failed because its power creep and character conflicts were executed horribly; Naruto's atrocious pacing (in both manga and anime) was done solely to extend the story needlessly; Fairy Tail's final arcs (although not only that) dropped the ball because Hiro Mashima was actively trying to ensure there were no sad elements to the story or the end of his characters' arcs; Black Clover‘s poor execution came in how its first few arcs play out, trying to speed up through the world-building, which left most characters too anemic and underdeveloped until far later into the story.

But of course, this is an issue that exists in far more IPs than just the ones I’ve mentioned so far and others of the same caliber. It happens with the cream of the crop as well: Boku no Hero Academia's more recent decisions have been executed very poorly, when they were just a single step away from being done very well; post-timeskip One Piece has relied too heavily on characters having skills and forms that we aren't familiarized with, and fights that don't resolve in a smart fashion, but due to nakama power fueling Luffy; season fucking 2 of One-Punch Man is the poster child for terrible execution of anime adaptations, considering the original webcomic, the manga, and season 1. This issue is (almost) everywhere, and yeah, I get it: anime and manga are produced through such a hellish process, that a lot of times the authors or production staff don't have the time to go through their stories to make sure everything's on the up-and-up. Yusuke Murata is not exactly a common example, of someone that's allowed to go back to both redraw and rewrite entire chapters; and I am somewhat glad that, at least when it comes to JUMP, they seem to be getting slightly more lenient with the talent and their teams if it means better results in the long run.

However, the issue persists. I neither know nor think that anything can be resolved even if the extremely demanding workload of manga/anime production were to be alleviated (we've had plenty of examples in the West, of media that has all the time and money in the world, still imploding and salting the earth around it), but at the very least, it can be something that creators who are not under those retraints to take into account, so as not to make those same mistakes.

Do not try to subvert conversations that SHOULD be happening, just because in anime there's a stereotype of scenes where everything stops in its tracks just so characters can have a conversation, be it executed well or poorly (an aspect I'd wager stems from when the source material is manga or a novel). Don't think that because a character's power level let's them blow up the moon from orbit, that immersion can't be broken if you don't justify how they might struggle against another on the same tier. Be wary of the very common issue with 'Wanime' (Western animation using the anime style), where creators completely put aside depth for spectacle, to the point that it becomes indistinguishable from a parody show such as Megas XLR.

Always remember, execution is the be-all and end-all to every character development, emotional payoff, hype moment, world building, and plot progression. Think about every scene, and if it actually informs the audience of what should be happening. If it doesn't, then you'll have to try and fix it before, not after. And if you can't do it (which is fine, most of us are fucking dumbasses), now you understand why even a lot of shonen action series have a bunch of slice-of-life, semi-filler scenes interjected in-between big events, so that you can have context and weight to what will transpire.

[writingithink]

The Full Pub Experience Pairing: Ten x Rose Rated: T Wordcount: 3,834 Summary: The Doctor suffers through another honeymoon interruption for Earth wedding related things. Notes: FINALLY, this is my fic for Day 7 of @timepetalsweek ! And it's a free day. So you would think that it wouldn't be so late, but everything in my WIP folder rn promises to be long.

This fic would definitely make more sense if you've read the ones that came before it. That being said, I still think that if you know they accidentally got bonded that's also probably enough to jump in.

Super special thanks to @hey-there-juliet for betaing!! <3

All mistakes are mine.

I own nothing.

READ IT ON AO3 -> copy/paste link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25590310

With a sigh, the Doctor kicked his feet up onto the armrest and sunk into the sofa. Finishing up their honeymoon was starting to seem like a nigh impossible task. Who would have thought that trying to do seven romantic trips in a row would prove so difficult?

Sure, they’d had to sort out the Isolus when he took them to the Olympics, but after that things had gone on without a hitch. And yes, they had taken a day to do wedding planning things with Jackie midway, but then they’d gotten right back to it. Now, though, it was starting to get irritating.

His attempt to take Rose to a winter village on Sirius Colony VI had failed - they landed three years late and ended up having to stop a coup. Then he tried to take her to see the Rings of Akhaten but something went wrong with the TARDIS and they were flung out of the vortex, landing on an asteroid being used as an illegal zoo of endangered species. He’d almost been turned into an exhibit!

Once they finally made it back to the TARDIS, before he could come up with a new honeymoon destination Rose got a text from her mate Shareen. Now here they were, back at Jackie’s flat, for more wedding planning type things (he wasn’t sure on the details, just that this time he wasn’t ‘needed’).

(Not that he’d even been needed last time).

“Oh, cheer up,” his wife urged, leaning over the back of the sofa and running a hand through his hair. “How bored would you have gotten if we didn’t have a few adventures?”

The Doctor did not dignify that with a response, but did lean into her touch.

“Y’know, we could still try to get to that cabin again. We don’t know for sure if we actually missed the reservation,” she suggested.

“I suppose,” he huffed, trying to resist moving away from his foul mood. Maybe he wanted to sulk.

“Oh, come off it. Why don’t you find something to watch on the telly? Or play in the kitchen? Mum’s out, so I’m sure you could work on the perfect piece of toast.”

It was annoying, how she seemed to know just what to say. (It actually wasn’t, he was a terrible liar).

“C’mere,” the Doctor muttered before pulling her down further and giving her a kiss.

A kiss that quickly turned into a snog, him hauling her the rest of the way over the couch to sprawl on top of him. Just as he moved his hand under her shirt and up her back, there was a loud rapping on the door.

“Ugh,” he sighed, dropping back down onto the sofa as Rose quickly stood up, trying to fix her hair and clothing. For a Time Lord, he really did have an atrocious sense of timing sometimes.

We can pick up where we left off later, y’know, she telepathically reminded him.

He wondered if he could just nip into the TARDIS and move forward just a little, early evening, when ‘later’ was likely to be ‘soon’. This got him a quick zap through the bond before Rose opened the door.

“Rose!!”

Then there were hugs and squealing and he didn’t think he’d ever heard his bondmate’s voice get quite so high pitched. But the worst part was that her barriers had shot up, so all he could get from their connection was her general state. The Doctor did find himself pleased, however, when the squealing became about Rose’s ring - he had made it himself, after all. The gemstones and metal weren’t of Earth origin, but looked similar enough to the untrained eye. The center stone was quite diamond-like, surrounded by two gems that could be mistaken for morganite. He’d used an old, broken TARDIS part to create the band, which Jackie had criticized as looking too copper-like, but they had both ignored her. The Gallifreyan metal had unique properties, meaning he was able to biotune it to Rose’s finger. It would always fit perfectly, and only she could take it off.

Most importantly, Rose loved it.

“And hullo, Doctor.”

He looked up to see Shareen peering at him from the other end of the couch, and she really didn’t have to say his name as if it was a joke.

“Hello.” He hoped his smile was cheery, that’s what he was going for.

“’S it fine if I call you, what was it- oh, John?” she asked.

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Well, I don’t get why you go around havin’ everyone call you ‘Doctor’. I get that John Smith is a boring name, but really.”

A glance at Rose revealed her trying, and mostly failing, to not laugh. Not even her barriers could keep him from feeling how amused she was.

“Anyway, how are you?” he drawled, trying to remember what his wife had last told him about her best mate (on Earth, that is).

“‘M fine. Aren’t you headin’ out?”

His brows furrowed and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what kind of segue that was supposed to be.

“Heading out?” the Doctor ended up repeating.

“Yeah. To like, I dunno, hang out with mates down the pub or somethin’?”

“Hang out wi- ? Down th- ? Why would I do that?” he sputtered.

“Well we’re gonna plan out Rose’s hen night! No blokes allowed! ‘Specially not the groom.”

“Oh, that’s not fair, he can stay,” his wife came to his defense before he could say anything else idiotic.

“Nope.” Shareen crossed her arms. “I hardly ever get to see ya anymore, and this is a girls thing. You two could do with some time spent apart.”

And as much as he didn’t want to, the Doctor worried that maybe Rose’s friend was right. They did spend pretty much all of their time together, even before they accidentally bonded. Sure, sometimes they would split up for a little while if they were on a safe planet, but that hadn’t really happened since they started their honeymoon.

So he found himself standing up and saying, “Fine, fine, I can get out of your hair.”

“Are you sure?” his bondmate frowned, walking up to him and needlessly adjusting his tie.

“Yeah, yeah … I’ll, erm, be back this evening.”

“But what are you gonna do?” You don’t actually have mates to go down the pub with, she laughed in his head.

“I- I can definitely ‘go down to  the pub with my mates’,” he informed her, not really helping his own point by doing air quotes. “I’ll- I’ll ring Sarah Jane! I’m sure she’d love a trip to the pub.”

Actually, he wasn’t sure at all that she’d love that. But that wasn’t really the point.

“Sarah Jane ? He’s off to spend time with another woman?” Shareen asked Rose, though honestly she did it so loudly and right in front of him, she might as well have just asked him.

“The Doctor’s allowed,” Rose huffed, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “He ain’t Tommy.”

Shareen winced. “Tommy’s changed, though. Whole new man, really.”

“What?! Don’t tell me you’re still hangin’ round with him!”

This seemed like the perfect time to leave, so the Doctor silently (and quickly!) exited the flat, telling his wife goodbye over the bond before putting his own barriers up. He had, after all, overheard many of Rose’s phone calls with Shareen and was aware of who this ‘Tommy’ was. Now that he realized her best mate had pretty much been accusing him of cheating on his bondmate, his thoughts were less than flattering.

Eventually he found himself standing outside the flats, a bit at a loss. He put his hands on his hips and looked around, surveying the area. Was he really going to ring Sarah Jane and go to the pub?

It was just- it was so … humany.

There had to be something more interesting for him to do.

The sun was shining, a few children were playing with sidewalk chalk, people were walking about. Everything was calm. Not a lick of danger in sight.

With a sigh, the Doctor walked over to the nearest phone booth, lifted the receiver and sonicked it. After a moment it started ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

He was just about to hang up when she answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Sarah Jane!”

“Doctor?!”

“Yes! How are you?”

“What’s going on?” she asked, not answering his - very polite, not rude at all, very much knowing how phone calls are supposed to go, ta - question.

“Oh, erm, I don’t kno-”

“How in danger are we?”

Oh, oh.

“No danger! None at all. Why does there have to be danger?”

He could actually go for a spot of danger, but it would probably get taken the wrong way if he told her that now.

“So this is a social call?” Her obvious skepticism was offensive.

“It is! What’s wrong with a social call?”

“I mean, nothing. I just didn’t think that was something that you did.”

“Well, it is.” Now, at least. Apparently. “I was wondering if you’d fancy going to the pub?” The words felt very wrong on his tongue.

“Where are Rose and Mickey?” she asked him, once again ignoring a question.

The Doctor scowled before sighing. “Mickey moved universes. Rose is busy. I’ve been kicked out of her mum’s flat, which I didn’t want to be at in the first place, really. So it’s all worked out for the best, don’t you think? It was suggested that I go down to the pub, and isn’t it  interesting that which pub isn’t specified? So really, if you want to go, any pub you like. Though I do know which pub they meant, because they always talk about the same one. It’s the one down the street. Rose dragged me there once for New Years. It’s … fine, I guess. I mean, they’re all pretty interchangeable, if you ask me. A bunch of humans drinking, watching the match, maybe playing a spot of darts. Or billiards! We could play billiards! If you’d like, I could turn off my alcohol-inhibiting enzymes. I’m not sure I’ve ever gotten drunk on Earth alcohol before. If I have, I don’t remember. Or we don’t have to drink at all. We could, I don’t know, have lunch? I know they have chips, or most pubs have chips? Well, the pub Rose goes to has chips, which is probably why Rose goes there. So what do you say?”

“I- blimey. Yes, I can go to the pub. I’m sure the one you’re near is fine, just give me the address.”

So he did, and shortly after she rang off. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for Sarah Jane to get there, but since he obviously had nothing better to do, the Doctor headed over to the pub. Since it was midday, there weren’t too many people around - definitely not as packed as it was for New Years. So he ordered a pint, realized that he hated beer, spat it back into the glass and then ordered a banana daiquiri. The bartender didn’t seem very impressed with him, so once he had his cocktail the Doctor slunk away to a booth to wait for Sarah Jane. 

By the time he noticed her walking into the pub, he was on his second drink and debating the merits of trying out jalapeño poppers.

“Sarah Jane! Hi! Over here!” he called, waving his arms in a wide arc to make sure that she noticed him - she did. “Have you ever had jalapeño poppers?”

With a disbelieving laugh she walked over, taking off her jacket and sitting down her bag before sliding across from him. “Can’t say I’ve ever tried them. Suppose we could give it a go.” She got comfortable in her seat, looked around them, then focused on him. It felt almost as if he was being analyzed. Then the tension broke, she shook her head and let out a small laugh. “This is so strange.”

“Strange? Why’s it strange?” he asked, even though he agreed with her. The thing is, he knew why he felt it was strange, but she was human. This was something humans did - hang out with mates at the pub.

“Well, I mean, you’re you. I didn’t think this was something you did.”

Ah, same reason, then.

Before he could respond to that, a waitress appeared to take Sarah Jane’s order. They got the jalapeño poppers, but also each an order of chips in case those turned out to be rubbish. She also ordered a pint (but why? They were not good) so the Doctor preemptively ordered another cocktail so that he could avoid having to be subtly mocked by the bartender again.

“How many of those have you had?” Sarah Jane asked once the waitress was out of sight.

“This one is my second.”

“And did you turn off your, what did you say on the phone again? This you talks so quickly sometimes and the connection was so poor, I was having a hard time keeping up.”

“Ah, yeah, was calling on an old payphone. But yes, alcohol-inhibiting enzymes. I have them. Turned them off. It’s starting to get a little tingly. Reminds me of Rose laughing.”

“What?”

“You knooooow. Or you probably don’t, actually. I wonder if the daiquiris are affecting me more than I’d thought. It’s like … oh, I don’t know. English is a rubbish language for describing telepathy. Cancel your beer and get two banana daiquiris and that will be like if someone is laughing in your head. The nice kind of laughing. Not the you-just-did-something-stupid kind of laughing.”

“I think I’ll pass, but good to know,” she laughed. “Wait. What happened that had you and Rose connected telepathically? I thought you usually avoided that kind of thing. And as far as questions go, you said Mickey moved universes? I think we have a lot of catching up to do since I last saw you. Not to mention everything before then. It sounds like you’ve been busy.”

She wasn’t wrong. So first he told her about the parallel world, and the Cybermen, and Mickey deciding to stay there. Then he told her about Rose, and a very edited story of how they accidentally ended up bonded. Married. Same thing, really.

“Wow.”

“I know,” he agreed, finishing off his third drink and wondering if he should order a fourth.

Sarah Jane opened her mouth to say something, but then their food arrived. She ended up finding the jalapeño poppers surprisingly good, while he felt that they didn’t go as well with banana as chips did (he ordered the fourth drink - might as well get the full Earth drinking experience, right?).

“Am I going to end up having to carry you back to the TARDIS?” Sarah Jane asked him.

“Nooooo. If anything, you’d have to carry me back to Jackie’s flat. That’s where Rose is. Unless you rang her and told her to meet you at the TARDIS. Or you could ring her and have her carry me back to the TARDIS. I’d rather not have her mum see me drunk. I’ve never actually been drunk in this body before. Don’t know what it’ll be like. I pretended to be drunk once. To fool some robots. Rose didn’t think it was funny.”

She chuckled, shaking her head a bit. “I just can’t believe you’re married.”

“Why’s that? I’ve been married before this. I don’t know how many of them actually count, but I’m over 900 years old, I’ve been around.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.” Sarah Jane rolled her eyes. “When were you married before?”

“Well, I was definitely married on Gallifrey. Arranged union of houses. Very proper. Loomed some children and everything. I, er, wasn’t a very good husband. But I’ve also never been a very good Time Lord. It’s complicated,” he sighed, leaned back, picked up a chip and fidgeted with it.

“Considering you were exiled when we met, I think I believe you. What about these other times?”

“Oh, I’m not sure they really count. One of them happened in an anti-matter universe, pretty sure it was fictional. I did actually marry a human once. For world saving reasons. It ended up going decently well, actually, but it didn’t really last. And now that Rose and I are bonded, I feel like … I don’t know, I think I was wrong about how deep our connection really was,” he admitted.

“What’s an anti-matter universe?!”

Before he could answer, his cocktail arrived. Thank Rassilon, because he could definitely use another drink if this is what they were going to be talking about.

“Sooooo what’s new with you?” he asked after taking a long sip.

“Oh, I don’t think so. We’re not done talking about you and the fact that you’ve just gotten married.”

“Not according to Jackie,” the Doctor rolled his eyes. “She’s having us do an Earth wedding. Ancient Gallifreyan bonding isn’t good enough for her. To be fair, I haven’t actually researched it properly yet. Maybe once I can explain it better, Rose’s mum will- ahhhh what am I saying. The day I’m able to reason with Jackie Tyler will probably herald an apocalypse.”

She laughed, which was good. Things were much more tense with Sarah Jane now than they were back when they traveled together. And, of course, that was his fault. But it was nice, spending time with her again. Even if it was in a boring old pub.

“And what does Rose think of all of this?”

“Ohh, she’s got mixed feelings. Sometimes she’s excited about planning the wedding, sometimes she wants to cancel. Apparently I’m not much help, but really I-”

“Not about that, about you two being married,” she corrected.

“Oh! We’re both very, very happy about that.”

“Good. I’m not going to lie, it does seem a bit fast. Then again, I don’t know how long it’s actually been for you.”

“Mmm … maybe about, I don’t know, how long has it been for you since you last saw us?”

“It’s only been about 2 months.”

“Nearly a year, then,” he quickly calculated.

“Really?”

“Rose wanted to catch up her real age to the age she’s supposed to be on Earth. Don’t tell Jackie.” His eyes widened at the potential slap that would get him.

“I’m sure if I ever meet her it won’t come up,” Sarah Jane laughed.

“What do you mean ‘if you ever meet her’? Aren’t you coming to the wedding?”

“Oh. Well, I didn’t want to assume-”

“Of course you’re invited! Not only are you one of my oldest friends, you’re one of my best friends!” the Doctor exclaimed.

“Don’t know how I feel about oldest friend.”

“Please, I’m much older than you are,” he rolled his eyes and leaned back, propping his feet on the table, idly playing with his newest little umbrella. He had quite the collection accumulating.

“Yes, but you seem to be regenerating younger.”

The Doctor winced a bit and tugged his ear.

“What?” she asked, after finishing her drink.

“I may have picked this regeneration on purpose, a bit.”

“Oh? I didn’t know it worked like that.” Sarah Jane raised her eyebrows.

“Takes a lot of effort. Usually I don’t care which body I get, but …”

“Had a reason for looking young?” she teased.

“881 year age gap,” he frowned.

“Obviously can’t be much of an issue, considering what you told me about the bond you two have now.”

“Eh.”

He downed the rest of his drink.

“Be right back!” the Doctor announced, standing up. “I’m going to see about getting a pitcher of these. Provided they put a lot of umbrellas in. I’m using them to keep count.”

“Keep count of what?”

“I want to see how many it takes to get me drunk. Even without the enzymes, I still have a superior biology. And Earth alcohol is famously tame.”

“Are you, really?”

“I’m getting the full pub experience! What do you say to billiards when I get back?”

“Doctor, how long are you planning on staying here?”

“I told her I’d be back in the evening. And I mean, we don’t have to stay here. We could go someplace else, if you’d like. But, as I said, as far as I know and for certain in this body, I’ve never been drunk in a pub. Plus, it’s not like I’m planning on having a stag night, and you and I are both here right now, and you’re my only friend on Earth aside from Rose, so maybe this would count, right? I mean, from what I’ve seen on films, getting drunk in a pub is pretty much what a stag night is … well, there’s also ones with strippers, but that’s all a bit too human for me. Not that there’s anything wrong with it! I’m just sayi-”

“Doctor!” Sarah Jane interrupted him with a laugh. “I swear, the gob on you this go around! Of course this can be your stag night. There’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

“Yeah, but who needs predictable, eh?”

“Yeah,” she smiled.

The Doctor put on his best grin as he went to see a man about a pitcher.

Hours - and many daiquiris - later, he felt a surge of amusement across the bond before Rose’s barriers dropped. He turned around, and there she was.

“Rose!” he bounded over, quick to wrap her in a hug, lifting his wife off her feet in the process.

“Hi there,” she smiled up at him when he put her down before giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Not that I’m not glad you’re here! I’m very, very glad you’re here.”

She laughed, and the feel of it combined with the alcohol was indescribable. “Shareen and I were drinkin’ wine and laughing at bad telly when I got a call from Sarah Jane.”

“Oh? What was it about?”

“She said I should get down here quick or I’d miss a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“Really?! What’s that?” Also, why wouldn’t Sarah Jane tell him about it? She’d just agreed to be his groom-party-best-person, whatever it was, and it was his stag night!

“Doctor, you were about to perform, remember?” When had Sarah Jane come up behind him like that?

“Oh, right!” he bounced on his toes a little. “Karaoke! I’m about to go up!”

“You were right, this is gonna be amazing!” Shareen laughed, pulling out her phone.

“I’ve already queued up the song, I didn’t know you’d be coming, but we can sign up for a duet!” the Doctor said, getting even more excited.

“I’ll think about it,” Rose giggled. “Think you’re a few drinks ahead of me for karaoke.”

“It’s funny that you say ‘a few’,” Sarah Jane laughed.

And he was about to ask her why, but then his name got called. He’d have to ask her later.

[numberonefrancisforeststan]

My prompt isn't part of the hug list and is kind of really angsty so feel free to ignore it if you want! XD I've read a lot of stories where the authors had Spock act like an asshole to make Jim run into Spock Prime's arms and it always makes me sad because I feel that it's unfair to expect Spock to act like his counterpart when SP had decades to accept his human side (1)

(2) so here's my prompt. Spock catches SP and Jim in a intimate situation (kissing or acting intimately or other situations) for whatever reason of your choosing (Spock and Jim had a fight, SP melded with Jim and the emotional transfer made them both act strangely...). The rest is completely up to you :)

it’s finally done!! this was a trip, man. at first i had /no/ idea what to write, how to write it, what you wanted exactly. then i started and it was slow and odd and then it began feeling good as long as i was careful, and now i’m SO PROUD OF THIS!! it’s my new favorite fic (sorry @ His Silver Lady)

i hope you like it though, it’s completely different from what and how i usually write, and i researched some interesting stuff (hey did you know they finished the golden gate bridge in 1937? and did you know there’s already a concept for roads to be replaced with solar panels?? the more you mcfreaking know i guess)

so, without any further ado:AOS Spirk, mentions of AOS Jim Kirk/Spock Prime, mentions of sex, established TOS Spirkwarnings for: a metric ton of sadness and Spock Prime whump, also references to suicide ideation; misuse of Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, ABBA, Pacrim 2, The One With The Whales and a fuckton of odd metaphors

Rating: probably T??Wordcount: 4742

(it’s under a cut because it’s so damn long)

How can I then return in happy plightThat am debarred the benefit of rest,When day’s oppression is not eased by night,But day by night and night by day oppressed,And each, though enemies to either’s reign,Do in consent shake hands to torture me,The one by toil, the other to complainHow far I toil, still farther off from thee?I tell the day, to please him, thou art brightAnd dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven;So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild’st the even.     But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,     And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.

How do you know something is missing? Something you never had - how do you know you’re missing it? You feel displaced, a bit empty, searching, maybe. It’s certainly not the best feeling there is, but it’s also far from the worst.

Because the worst is having been searching for all your life, and then you find what you were looking for - love and acceptance, given completely unconditionally. And then you lose it.

Of course, you had it. For a while, you were happy. You had everything you could wish for - and more.

And then you lose it.

You lose it and there’s no replacement, because that thing is gone. Forever. It’s not coming back, you can’t get a second one, no second chances, no winning in life.

You’re alone, lost and broken. Forever.

*∞*∞*

Blue. It’s the first thing he notices. Blue, like … like a summer sky. Like a warp trail. Like a science uniform, like the eyes of a dear friend. On the wrong person maybe, but still … still …

Well. He doesn’t quite know what to say. Not … right, certainly not, more like jarringly wrong, like an atrocious deformity. Everything is wrong about the stranger. He’s too tall, too slim, too different, too wrong, not sunshine-and-honey, more starlight-and-ice.

Perfectly wrong, perfectly right.

He’d thought he’d die here, alone, in the cold, finally, maybe, because he’s not entirely sure he wants to see what this universe becomes, out of time out of space out of order infinite entropy in infinite combinations different and wrong and perfectly, perfectly right after such a long time. Like coming home to a new place.

A difficult concept to explain or grasp, without a doubt.

    “James T. Kirk.”

The confusion on his face is all wrong, epidermis scrunching up in the wrong places. It’s perfect.

    “Excuse me?”

He found him.

    “How’d you find me?”

Not that he’s surprised, exactly. This is a Kirk, after all.

    “Whoa, whoa. How’d you know my name?” Confusion, worn so beautifully. Not what he wants to see, of course - not how he’d like to see it, certainly! - but … he’s grateful for everything by now.

    “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.” It’s a miracle his voice doesn’t break. Or maybe it does, but can you blame him? Miracles like this don’t happen.

He’s not alone anymore, not lost, not broken. Not anymore.

*∞*∞*

My glass shall not persuade me I am old; // So long as youth and thou are of one date.

They have no place in this universe. Or, well, he doesn’t. Jim, Jim, beautiful Jim - he does. He deserves so much. He’s so young, so bright, so fearless, so, so beautiful.

Spock found his missing half again. His t’hy’la, his sun, his everything. Like the universe falling back into alignment, a pendulum with unending weight and no mass.

And then it swings past.

There’s a marvelous ship launching, a goddess in her own right, and her crew is beaming sparkling smiles, turning their backs on Earth with no regrets.

Is this what an abandoned pet must feel like? Watch those it loves and admires turn their backs and walk away, not a glance spared?

His knees want to buckle under the merciless weight of the stars, of years and years lived and forgotten and never happening. Because - because they never were.

Six sets of eyes, blue, brown, golden-sunshine-and-laughter. They never were. And nobody remembers, because they never lived.

Now, they are brown, they are green, they are grey, and a bright, burning blue. Like a shooting star: can’t touch, can’t feel, but all you want to do is latch on. It won’t let you.

What is there to do, when you have nothing? Nothing left, everything taken. Nothing ventured and nothing gained - but. What to venture for? What is there left to fight for?

For the first time in his life it seems like maybe giving up is the right way to go. Maybe - maybe it was enough.

The thoughts don’t come at night, under glittering stars, so far away, held dear in memory. The thoughts don’t come at day, under burning sun, merciless. The thoughts are already here and they won’t leave.

You become used to it.

Have you ever tried reaching out to the stars? Even if they aren’t yours, all wrong because they are exactly the same -  have you tried touching them? Fingers stroking over a cheekbone. The eyes should be phoenix-gold, but they’re a morning sky. And the memory is but a dream.

“‘Let me help.’ A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He’ll recommend those three words even over ‘I love you.’”

So he will help. If nobody ever knows who for, then so be it. He can’t chase after a lover that was never his to have.

*∞*∞*

    “Do you genuinely believe he likes me?”

Sigh. “He is me, and I do know myself. Yes, Jim. Spock likes you.”

    “He doesn’t act like it though.”

So different. So much less calm. Exactly the same.

A smile the other man surely doesn’t see often from him - or his counterpart.

    “Vulcan education doesn’t make it easy to act on our feelings, if we even admit we have them.”

    “But - he doesn’t even use contractions when speaking! Hell, he told me off for using them in official reports! And you - I’ve heard you parody Bones’ accent!”

    “Jim, all I can ask of you is to give my counterpart time and ample supply of possibilities to change. I am over a hundred and ninety years old, and the majority of that time was spent in Human company. It … wears you down, eventually.”

Jim flips the stylus he’d been fiddling with. “I did everything you said though! We’re playing a lot of chess, we have dinner together, I ask to hear him play the lute, I get him little trinkets, I’m trying to be as respectful as I can be, I’m practically flirting with him non-stop - how many more situations should I needlessly and weirdly bend over something? How dense can a guy be!”

    “Always so impatient - ack!”

He’s so close all of a sudden, invading a personal bubble that hasn’t been invaded in a long, long time (actually, never. Because it never happened), smelling and feeling wrong, and exactly right.

Feelings are a confusing thing, but is there anything that’s quite as good?

    “What’s wrong?”

A hand on his elbow, and bright blues looking worried. A momentary lapse of control, and suddenly it’s so much harder to regain his balance, externally, internally, eternally. Of course it’s his presence that set the timer off, tick-tocking towards doom, the shallow contact on Delta Vega, the most intimate connection, a mind recognizing its counterpart, no matter how distorted.

    “Spock. Talk to me!”

    “Selek.”

    “No, you’re - you’re Spock!”

He sits up again.

    “Jim …”

    “Is it a medical condition? Do you need a doctor? Oh god, I’ll call Bones right-”

    “Jim.”

    “Yes?”

    “It is, in fact, a medical condition of sorts, but nothing modern medicine can help me with. Or you.”

    “What do you mean?”

Sigh. He doesn’t want to lie - his body craves the relief, the closeness, like a starving man craves food, the most delicious buffet laid out right in front of him.

If he touches it, it will wither away, leave, run, snarl in disgust. He won’t be able to survive that. The other alternative - abstinence, depriving himself - seems almost better.

Selek - Spock has never been strong. His mental restraints are mainly born from self-hatred, indoctrinated into him at a very young age. It makes it easier to deny himself.

But it has been so, so very long that he almost wants to give in.

Weariness goes deep - to your skin, after a long day. To your bones, after years. To your soul, after a lifetime of almost only mourning.

    “Tell me what’s wrong, so I can fix it.”

Let me help.

‘The history book on the shelf is always repeating itself’, after all.

    “I can’t let you. This is something I have to bear myself.”

    “No. Nobody is ever alone. Let. Me. Help.”

*∞*∞*

To have known him, to have loved himAfter loneness long;And then to be estranged in life,And neither in the wrong;And now for death to set his seal—Ease me, a little ease, my song!By wintry hills his hermit-moundThe sheeted snow-drifts drape,And houseless there the snow-bird flitsBeneath the fir-trees’ crape:     Glazed now with ice the cloistral vine     That hid the shyest grape.

Giving in is, in a way, always harder than abstaining. It opens up places inside of you - deep, dark, horribly twisted places. Of why you shouldn’t have given in, ever. Of why you shouldn’t have abstained, ever.

Sensorimotor memory is another fascinating thing. It digs deep and leaves grotesque scars, and touching them again shakes you to your very foundations.

*∞*∞*

The first day feels like happiness. Pure, unadulterated happiness. Like seeing the sun for the very first time in your life.

The second day is bittersweet. You can already feel it ending, a bit, even though you’re just cresting the highest peak.

The third day is regret and lack. It’s already over, almost. Sanity is returning.

Hour zero, day zero, ground zero afterwards is disgust. Not normally, no. But in this case - golden head on a pillow, bare shoulders and back covered in marks, a picture of utter exhaustion - it was wrong.

When you’re very young, and your mother tells you off for stealing your sister’s treats, and you’re unhappy and angry with yourself that you did something, took something you had no right to, already loathing the bliss you found in it.

This Jim, with this blue eyes and bright smile - that one hadn’t been meant for Spock. And he took him anyways.

He stands there, in the open bedroom/living space, mug of tea in his hand, looking down at the sleeper, and he resents every mark on the pale skin, every memory revolving around those marks.

There’s a chime at his door and he knows, instinctively, who it is. He allows admittance. There’s nothing to hide. Like a thief caught red-handed.

His counterpart barges in, chock-full with questions, and he stops dead in his tracks.

There’s shock, then there’s realization, and then there’s anger.

Selek watches him. He doesn’t have anything to hide, all his crimes out here in the open for Spock to judge.

    “You - you - he.”

Is there anything quite like fury choking your every word? Spock has every right to feel cheated, betrayed, stolen from.

And then his features fall.

    “It was you. Not me. You. He wanted you.”

Selek shook his head. “No, Spock. He wanted you. I’m sorry.”

    “Why?”

    “Why I did what I did? I’m old, Spock. I’m old and foolish and I’m alone. I don’t belong here. I’m weary. I don’t know whether giving in made it worse or better; it doesn’t matter. He’s not meant for me. And he only wanted to help. He doesn’t want me.”

    “But … you are more than me. Why - why wouldn’t he choose you?”

    “The simplest explanation I can give you is that he’s not my Jim, and I’m not his Spock. There’s a Jim and a Spock in every universe, and they belong together. But … this isn’t my universe, Spock. This isn’t my Jim. My Jim … was different. I’m sorry.”

Spock stares down at the golden head on the pillow, fighting emotions that remain unseen. Selek knows them all.

    “I need you to leave,” he chokes out, and Selek nods. Of course.

He dresses himself, puts on shoes, makes for the door.

    “There’s a dermal regenerator in the bathroom,” he says. There’s no answer. He doesn’t deserve an answer.

*∞*∞*

Spock sits down, hands shaking, knees suddenly unable to bear his weight. Jim is still motionless, deeply exhausted from -

Something ugly rears its head in Spock, dark and snarling. From servicing his counterpart, taken like some kind of whore. Jim is his, his, his alone, and he wants to hurt Selek, make sure he never lays a hand on Jim again. Illogical? Yes. But justified. Jim is his! Selek should have taken better care of his own Jim, then he would not be alone.

He trails a hand over Jim’s shoulder, fighting the urge to dig his nails in and mark Jim. The Human moves under his touch, pressing against it. Yes. Jim knows who his Spock is.

It is terrifying, if Spock is honest with himself. This urge to mark Jim, claim Jim, like his consent is of no importance.

    “Sp’ck?” He’s turned his head, lashes fluttering open and revealing crystalline blues.

    “I am here, Jim.”

Jim rolls around more, until he’s on his side. He stares, and then his eyes widen.

     “Spock! I - I can explain!” He scrambles to sit, bedsheet pooling around his waist.

    “There is no need.” It comes out colder than Spock wanted.

    “No, listen, I need to explain. Please!” Jim rubs a wild hand over his face and through his hair. “I - I - I don’t know how to say this, but please listen to me!”

Spock cocks his head.

    “I - oh god - I didn’t mean to - look, I had no idea how to interpret the signals I was getting from you, and Selek needed help. Spock, I couldn’t just - I couldn’t just let him die. But … I - Whatever we had, I -” He swallows harshly. “I destroyed it, didn’t I? Everything we could’ve had.”

    “I didn’t know you wanted - anything.” Spock exhales. There’s something in his chest, tight and loose at the same time. “I didn’t think you’d want … me.”

    “I did. I do. If you still do then I’m, I’ll.”

Spock closes his eyes. He had always tried to quench optimism with realism, or pessimism if his heart grew too bold. He had not dared hope - but he had thought. Had thought of Jim, just Jim, with him. As if nothing else mattered. (It didn’t.)

    “I do.” Said quietly, screamed across the rapidly shrinking distance between them.

Jim is smiling. Their foreheads touch without either of them consciously allowing it, so close together.

    “I do,” Spock repeats, watching the tentative smile on the Human’s face turn brilliant.

*∞*∞*

It’s an interesting trait, Human sentimentality. Certainly one of the greatest flaws and greatest strengths of their race, decidedly not to underestimate. Take this bridge, for example. 323 years old, it would be considered a waste of space and resources, logically, and would be set for destruction. Maintenance and continued safety checks cost a fortune that could well be invested elsewhere.

If you would propose that same course of action to any of the locals, you would decidedly not endear yourself to them, but the fact remains that the upkeep of the bridge doesn’t follow any kind of logical way of thought.

The paint alone, specially synthesized to protect the ancient materials, costs a fortune. A colorful metaphor for Human sentimentality.

If Selek were another man, one and a half centuries younger, not yet worn down, he would surely have chuckled. A joke. He doesn’t make those very often, the references he makes with his punchlines far too obscure for anyone to understand, and, as in this case,  they never happened in the first place.

The sidewalk isn’t made from concrete and stones anymore - a series of large remodeling projects allow all of San Francisco to be powered exclusively by solar panels that have been integrated everywhere. Roads now have a dull shine to them, looking far more finely fashioned than cracked concrete.

Selek wishes for the concrete. Watching where to step, careful to not bump into the man beside him, no matter how much he may want to, yearning for something half-remembered, half-forgotten.

‘Admiral.’ - ‘You used to call me Jim.’

He  used to, yes. In another time.

Now, it doesn’t hold the same meaning. Now, it’s a hollow ache, desperation, a void refusing to be filled except with unjust, unhealthy appropriation.

It used to be the warm glow of belonging.

And the yearning for it is a Human feeling, through and through. Sentimentality.

The pier is more or less deserted - it’s hardly the weather for a nice stroll. There’s only one person, ahead of Selek. They’re leaning over the little wall between the walkway and the stony shore, robes flying in the wind.

It’s for the better. As though less people would see Selek’s shame.

It was a selfish act, meant to resurrect whatever he once was and making it about himself. Selek has lived for other people. It used to be his primary enjoyment, fulfilling him.

A life, devoid of meaning now. And for how much longer? Physically, Selek doesn’t feel that old yet, and his luck has been bad. How much longer? Twenty years? How do you live twenty more years after almost a lifetime without your heart, briefest glimpse of happiness, those few years, so long gone?

    “And Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”!” the stranger exclaims, pushing away from the little wall. “Oh, you Humans. Always so doomy and gloomy. Find some enjoyment in life! Live a little!” He clasps Selek’s shoulder. “Oh, apologies. You are half Vulcan, after all. But do you hear yourself think? There’s more humanity in you than anything else.”

    “Can I help you?”

The stranger winks. “Oh, maybe, yes. Do you happen to know a man by the name of … Admiral James T Kirk?”

Selek stops dead in his tracks.

    “How -” His voice fails. “How do you know that name?”

    “About 5’10’’, brown eyes, brown hair, a bit curly … used to be blond! He likes horses, Shakespeare, flowers, astronomy … Do you know him?”

    “Who are you?!” There’s an age-old anger shaking in his chest, at the name seemingly used in vain by this stranger.

The stranger smiles like a cat that got the cream. “I am one of the Q.”

    “What’s your name? Who are you?”

    “Q.”

    “How do you know - how do you know that? Him.”

    “Mmmmmh, let’s just say I have my sources. But if I may: You two were fantastic for each other. A perfect fit.”

I know.

    “But then, he had to step on the, what was it, Enterprise-B and, well, the rest is, as they say, history. What a sad story. Such a bright, bright man, and he gets himself killed before his time. Pity.” The stranger grins, entirely too off.

And then he leans close to Selek. “Or did he? He was presumed dead. Did he die, Spock? Did you ever see a body? How do you know that he’s really dead? The bond? What if it broke because he’s inside a singularity that transcends dimensions?”

    “What do you want?” Selek is shaking by now.

    “It’s called the Nexus. I’m pretty sure he’s still alive in there!”

Selek starts walking again, trying not to shake, not to stumble, keep his lips pressed thinly together and blinking away the overboarding emotions, throat weighed down with ‘Ambassador Spock, sir, apologies for interrupting, but there has been a message from the USS Enterprise-B.’ on top of the scalding emptiness of knives in his heart, memories, memories, loss, over and over.

The hand on his shoulder almost makes him buckle; the bridge offset in dark, garish red against gray skies bleeds away into lush green, a garden, wild, but beautifully maintained, with crops and flowers; a chestnut horse nibbling on some grass, a black cat with a red spotted cravat prancing after butterflies.

    “Spock? Spock! There you are! What a feisty kitten! Come here!”

It’s a voice Selek would have recognized anywhere. His heart stops, free-falling; whether it’s relief or breaking, hollow sadness he couldn’t say, nostalgia and fear and yearning and ecstasy mixed together.

The caller comes into focus and Selek can’t help himself but reach out. Just one touch. One fleeting press of fingertips against fabric, against skin, against hair, and he would be content for eternity.

The vision fizzles and fades, replaced instead by the heavy gray around. It’s started to rain. Q is nowhere to be found.

*∞*∞*

    “They were thigh-la,” Jim says absent-mindedly, running his fingers over the fabric of Spock’s robe. It is not as though Spock minds - he has waited far too long for this. But Jim’s statement is perplexing.

    “They were what?”

    “Thigh- Thigh-la? It’s a term Selek used, I think it’s Vulcan.”

    “There is no such term. Perhaps you misheard.”     “No, no, it’s a thing! Um, they were like … it’s going to sound stupid, but they were - soulmates, so to speak.”

    “Oh. You are referring to the bond of t’hy’la.”

    “Yeah! Exactly!” Jim sits up to face Spock, excitement sparking from his eyes. Spock finds he misses the warm weight of the Human’s torso against his. “What does it mean, exactly?”

    “Like you said. Soulmates.”

    “Oh.” Jim leans against Spock again, tethering him back to the universe that is wide open and, for the first time, welcoming. Smiling. Like coming home to a new place.

Then: “Are you angry at him? Selek, I mean.”

Spock allows himself a deep exhale, Jim’s pulse loud in his fingertips on his neck.

    “I think … I think I am lucky to be unable to understand his motivation.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Selek is … broken, beyond words. I cannot imagine - such a life, only so few years with your counterpart, and then all the time spent alone. I cannot be angry at him for - for being desperate. For wanting.”

    “I wanted to help him. I really did. I still do. But … unless we find my counterpart, there’s no helping him, is there?”

    “I am afraid not.”

    “So he’ll never know love again.”

    “No. And not even - what you gave him, Jim, though well-meant - it was not the love he needs. You are not what he needs, even though it is of course easier for him to delude himself to think that you are. I do not blame him.”

*∞*∞*

They see Selek again for their departure, the first time since, well, since. The Enterprise is set to a set of coordinates that presumably hold a singularity, and Selek will be coming with them. Presumably. Dear Creator, Humans certainly are one of the most delightful species.

Command hadn’t given them a reason for any of this, and it hadn’t seemed like any of them even know why the Enterprise needed to go there. The Humans find it odd, but have decided not to argue.

Jim’s only barely keeping himself from touching Spock. They’re not exactly out - Spock had felt the need to inform Nyota, and Jim had of course told Leo, but to everyone else they were still Captain Kirk and Commander Spock, nothing more. Delightful in their insecurity.

Selek holds himself differently, even more of a paradox than he’d been before, more straight, more lively, but like someone else was pulling the strings. Hm. As easy as all these little beings are, they certainly are fascinating. You can never really know how they’ll react.

    “I’m happy to have you on board,” Jim ventures. He’d been worried about the old half-Vulcan, but then pre-departure-preps had hit him and he hadn’t found the time to check up on him, and in true Human fashion he had resigned himself to hoping that he was alright.

Selek reaches out to touch his shoulder, and Spock steps closer to Jim, warning, threatening.

    “I learned my lesson, Spock. And I’m grateful you didn’t take it amiss. Learn from my mistakes, Spock.”

Selek keeps to himself. The Enterprise shoots through the stars, brimming with eagerness as she always does, always did, in every universe, in every dimension, a beating heart bright like the sun, a beacon of hope. They all hope, each for their own sake, and the ship carries the hope out into the void, a cheerful resistance against inevitability.

Oh, they have no idea.

A flick, a flimmer of thought, and the Enterprise stops, dead, out of power, shining brightly among the eternal night.

Inside, there is mayhem.

They can’t see it of course, but the Nexus is there, waiting. Not an entity that had endeared itself with kindness usually - it’s a grotesque, ugly thing, devouring, feeding off life energy, the immortal souls trapped within. Paradisical for lower lifeforms, no doubt - that was, after all, the Nexus’ spiel - but for anyone with a bit of a mind to see beyond the veil, it appeared more of a parasite.

Its maw was gaping, tongue trying to reach out to the tiny silver ship braving its edges, like a predator in waiting. Thank the Creator for chaining it at the Junction; otherwise, it would’ve been unstoppable.

The old half-Vulcan doesn’t seem to be interested in the when’s and if’s and but’s presented in increasing desperation by the Enterprise’s crew.

    “It’s where I have to go. Please, let me. Allow me this one last thing.”

Ah. So he can feel it then. Splendid.

Jim Kirk doesn’t cry as he allows Selek a shuttle and wishes him farewell. Maybe there’s a part of him that understands.

And then the shuttle takes off, a tiny speck of silver, a shooting star, falling right into the abyss,  the beast’s open maw. The Enterprise crew doesn’t see it, doesn’t hear it, only the shuttle’s life signals cutting off as though it never was. In a way, it wasn’t. The nonexistent prime timeline dies with Selek - Spock. This one will be different. Far, far different, except for the constants that vein every timeline, every universe, every dimension, a tether to the greater order.

Perhaps it is only merciful to give the Enterprise something to explore here. The Nexus can’t touch them anyways. Their time hasn’t come yet.

So, an oddly colored nebula sparkles into existence, flickering in and out, a proper scientific problem. It will let them discover several properties of dark matter instability years before they should have that knowledge, but then again it’s nothing but a drop in the ocean.

*∞*∞*

The shuttle begins gradually fading away, mattering less and less in this - wherever, whatever. Then, there’s only the forest. Trees rushing in the wind, birds singing, golden sunshine and bright green, stones and leaves crunching underfoot.

The path is narrow but worn, boot prints and hoof prints engraved deep into the ochre soil. Around a bend and over a wooden bridge crossing a stream, until there is a small artfully rusted gate. It swings open easily.

The garden is lush green, wild, but beautifully maintained, with crops and flowers; a chestnut horse nibbling on some grass, a black cat with a red spotted cravat prancing after butterflies.

    “Spock? Spock! There you are! What a feisty kitten! Come here!”

There’s the call again.

The rusted metal is real under his fingers; the roses smell lovely and the leaves are green. It’s like coming home to a new place. Different, but home.

*∞*∞*

Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove.O no! it is an ever-fixed markThat looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wand'ring bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.     If this be error and upon me prov'd,     I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

there we go that was it!!! i really, really hope you enjoyed it, and i’m sorry for the super duper long wait. i’ll post it to ao3 some day, i think, as soon as i manage to come up with a title 

thank you for that wonderful prompt, anon!!

if you found every reference and stolen quote, let me know :D

also, disclaimer: i’ve seen the first four eps of tng, that’s how well i know q. i’ve never seen generations, of the poems i used i only ever analyzed one (the last one, aka my favorite). AND ofc it’s not beta read at all or anything, yikes!!! :DD

i think @gumballgladiator wanted to be tagged in this when it’s done? if anyone else wants to be tagged in stuff lmk!!

bye i’ll go to the gym now, i’m mentally exhausted :p