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[ This isn't even all of it 😲 ]

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[ sorry I've not been around lately, I'm busting ass trying to get this asshole of a costume together. I've made 3 different molds for Seven's metal bits and cast them several times each in my idiot pursuit of perfection and I'm at wits end so whatever comes out of the molds I've got going now is what I'll use 😲. Next week my bodysuit comes in but it's generic and won't fit exactly right so I'll have to tailor that, and then on top of everything the boyf needs me to help him with everything about his Data because he's bad at costuming but he wants a costume he can use the next time we go to a con, and I'm!!! I mean I'm having a lot of fun doing all of this but it's a lot to do in 2 weeks, lmao. I would have liked to had everything done by now, not be just starting... 😲😲😲 ]

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“When I was five years old,” Data interrupted, “I was approximately five feet, eleven inches tall and weighed two hundred pounds. I do not think your statement will allow your staff to provide me with adequate attire. I will give you my current measurements; I suggest the recipient of these dimensions have a padd ready.”

Data only waited a beat before rattling off the length of everything from his shoulder to his inseam.

🚼 [ yknow, it's like regular data except without all the modesty subroutines & stuff ]

He was going to kill Q with his bare hands.

The child was obviously Data, though much shorter and proportioned more like a child. McCoy vaguely remembered Q saying something about ‘acting his age’ before leaving him in this mess. Oh yeah. Q was definitely going to die.

“Data? Do you remember me?”

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"My clothing. They do not serve any purpose; my simulated epidermis is more than capable of repelling damage and injury without it, and I do not suffer from the ill effects of heat or cold within a eight hundred degree tolerance."

That seemed to be a mouthful for a fella his size.

"I require less restrictive attire."

🚼 [ yknow, it's like regular data except without all the modesty subroutines & stuff ]

He was going to kill Q with his bare hands.

The child was obviously Data, though much shorter and proportioned more like a child. McCoy vaguely remembered Q saying something about ‘acting his age’ before leaving him in this mess. Oh yeah. Q was definitely going to die.

“Data? Do you remember me?”

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reblog if it’s 100% okay for mutuals to tag you in a starter

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“Yes.”

Data stared up at the doctor as if expecting him to make a move.

“I am uncomfortable”.

A pout.

🚼 [ yknow, it's like regular data except without all the modesty subroutines & stuff ]

He was going to kill Q with his bare hands.

The child was obviously Data, though much shorter and proportioned more like a child. McCoy vaguely remembered Q saying something about ‘acting his age’ before leaving him in this mess. Oh yeah. Q was definitely going to die.

“Data? Do you remember me?”

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Spot could be especially masochistic in her affection, and Data was all too aware of it. This was one of the games she played, and he’d tried very hard to train her out of doing it with guests, at the very least, to no avail.

“I realize that this phrase is typically used ironically, but I do believe that her actions denote her fondness of you.”

That, or his cat is just... completely bonkers. That was equally likely.

“Please, feel free to use my sink. It should provide sufficient sterilization until you reach sickbay.”

For a long moment, Reg just stared at the door Spot had just disappeared into. Then he look at his bleeding wrist. Then back at the door. Then back at his wrist.

“…ow,” he finally said, though his tone was more of confusion than of pain. “That… that’s never happened before. With… with any cat.” He looked at the bedroom door again. “Ow.”

Then it seemed to sink in that he was bleeding and he took a closer look. “I should… should probably clean that…” His brain was already filled with thoughts of the scratch getting infected, festering, rendering his hand useless…

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[ When human crews have been in space aboard a ship or station for extended periods of time, do you think that when they return to Earth, they experience barometric headaches? I mean the barometric pressure aboard a ship/station is probably regulated to within a single percentage. Imagine someone living on a station for a year or two and returning home to earth to visit and like, being crippled with a headache that no amount of caffeine or asprin can combat all because it's going to drizzle later that day ]

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Data may have had a larger hand in finding an extra seat for the android than he’d ever let on. It was one secret he’d probably be wise to keep, at least for now.

“I am flattered,” he admitted with a bashful smile.

In shuffled a handful of students, and the rest began to slowly filter in.

“Perhaps you should take your seat, Mister Crusoe. But please feel free to contact me any time outside of class; I feel there is much we could learn from eachother’s similarly unique perspectives.”

Damn, Data thought he was getting really good at this humor thing.

"Mister Crusoe, I understand you will be attending my Humanities course this semester."

He nodded once, cheerfully. “Yes, I am very much looking forward to the class, especially taught by someone with a unique perspective as yourself.”

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[ me: *plays 2 radically different muses (and one who falls pretty perfectly into the middle)*

me: so I guess I don’t have a type, then ]

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Spot’s rumbling purrs grew louder with every affectionate little flick of her tail and suddenly, unprovoked, she struck. Claws dug into the Lieutenant’s hand and she pinned him there, feet kicking red stripes into his wrist and teeth dug into a finger to prevent his escape.

Data would have gasped, but instead immediately reached for a spray bottle near by. One spritz and she launched out of Barclay’s lap and bolted into the bedroom at top kitty speed.

“I apologize for her behavior,” Data said, taking Reg’s arm in his hand to inspect the damage. Sure enough, there were red raised lines and pinpricks of blood up and down the soft part of the poor man’s wrist.

“I hope you are not too injured. The damage seems superficial.”

Then again, Data was no doctor.

“Uh… n-no, it’s… it’s just cats.” Spot rolled herself over in his lap, and Reg started rubbing her tummy, smiling as her purrs grew noticeably louder. “Though… I don’t really spend time with animals much, so… I suppose it’s possible. My sister’s dog likes me,” he remembered, though he was quick to add, “But that dog likes everyone.”

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Data’s Sins

(link to test)

Tagged by: @ltbroccoli & @nashforhire

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my BEST FRIEND @frankenbolt commissioned some robot boys a while back, so HERE THEY ARE. 

Nick Valentine and DiMA from Fallout 4 Vision from that choice MCU And Data from TNG, playing the violin because of course he is. 

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zodiac signs as iconic star trek things

aries: captain kirk’s ripped shirts

taurus: KHAAAAAAN!

gemini: mirror-verse spock’s goatee

cancer: ode to spot, a poem about data’s cat

leo: chekov’s hair

virgo: picard memes

libra: vulcan salute

scorpio: the concept of pon farr

sagittarius: boldly going where no one has gone before

capricorn: spock holding a black cat

aquarius: i’m a doctor, not a ______

pisces: an overwhelming number of tribbles