#every time there’s animals spock is trying to hide how much he loves them

[spirkbitch]

i love spock with cats just like everyone and i don’t know how much y’all know about cat body language but i felt this would be important to share

this cat is extremely happy (understandable), she’s slow blinking (sign that she’s content/comfortable) and even making biscuits a little bit (the way she clenched her paws like she’s kneading, another sign of comfort/that she trusts the person she’s with)

and i can’t find any other clips but you can tell the whole episode that the cat actor is just so excited to be there

anyways that wasn’t really important i just think it’s nice

[portraitmypet]

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[motherfingtitan]

Hi! Big fan of your fics. I have a suggestion for one: the basic idea is that the Lower Decks characters (mainly the Warp Core Four) get involved with the ep. "Trials and Tribble-ations" Meet both DS9 and TOS crew in a subtle/not-so-subtle way (PARADOX!). Bonus: They are drawn and animated in TAS Filmation style, with some of them slightly aware. Maybe a bit of Mariner x Boimler? Hope you have fun with the idea.

Time Tribbles

The Warp Core Four decides to go back in time to the Enterprise to do some not-so-scientific research on Tribbles. They come across not one, but two famous Starfleet Crews

Tendi dragged herself to her bunk. She was absolutely exhausted from pulling double shifts in Medbay to make up for the influx of patients. Earlier today, some of the food replicators were producing food at extreme temperatures. They were also uncontrollably spewing food out, and in the case of ten forward, literally spraying boiling nacho cheese. Crew members had been in and out all day with burns. Just as she sat on her bed, she saw Mariner down the hallway. Both of them waved to each other.

"Yo, Tendi, what's up?" Mariner said as she walked up to her.

"Nothing much; I’m just exhausted from all the activity in Medbay. I did see somebody with a nacho cheese burn in the shape of an Orion continent!" She smiled.

"I have something that will cheer you up!" Mariner held up her finger and ran off, going to get her special piece of contraband.

After a few minutes, she returned with a Tribble in hand. It had brown fur and little white patches. She handed the Tribble to Tendi and sat down next to her. The cooing of the ball of fur filled the room.

"Personally, I would prefer getting drunk, but I thought this might be more up your alley" Beckett smiled as Tendi ran her hand through the fur, her eyes lit up.

"This is the cutest thing ever," Tendi squealed. She then spoke in baby talk to the Tribble, "Yes you are, you are the cutest little Tribble on this ship.”

She continued to pet the Tribble for a couple of minutes before finally speaking, "You know, I've always wanted to see a Tribble reproduce. I know that the ones they sell at the pet stores are neutered."

Beckett thought for a second before finally speaking. "Ok, so I got this really cool piece of contraband from the planet we did second contact with a couple of weeks back. I've been testing it, and I think it opens up portals to different times. We could go back in time to see Tribbles reproduce."

"But isn't that against the rules?”

"Yes, but it's for science, so it's probably ok. Come on, let get Rutherford and Boimler."

…

A few hours later, the four Ensigns were in an empty part of the docking bay. All of them were wearing 2260s uniforms. Tendi messed with her holographic disguise, trying to find the right hairstyle. She felt odd with blonde hair and peachy skin, but there was no way she could go back in time looking like an Orion. Enterprise crew members would ask too many questions.

"Bangs or no Bangs?" She adjusted her holographic remote, letting it flip through different hairstyles.

"Definitely the Bangs," Rutherford gave a thumbs up before continuing his excitement-filled lecture about Constitution-class ships. “Did you know that turbolifts were not completely voice-controlled back then? You had to hold down a bar for them to work.”

"Mariner, are you sure we should be doing this. Time travel is against 253.7-" Boimler began before being cut off Mariner.

"Rules, Schmules. Come on, Boims, this could be your one chance to see Kirk in flesh and blood."

"Fine, but I'm keeping you in check," he spoke.

Beckett then pulled out the small blue stone from her trouser pocket. It glowed softly in her hand. She set it down and stated where she wanted to go "Stardate 4523.3, USS Enterprise 1701."

The store glowed brighter until it flashed, opening up a small portal to the other ship. Its corridors were empty, meaning the Ensigns could slip in undetected.

"Ready to do science stuff?" Mariner asked Tendi.

She bounced in excitement, nodding rapidly. Mariner was the first to step into the portal. She felt slight tingles all over her body as she popped out on the other side. The Enterprise looked much different than the ships of her time. The lights had colored tints, and more equipment was exposed. Rutherford came out of the portal next, slightly dizzy but extremely excited to see such an old ship. Tendi and Boimler followed. Once through the portal, it returned to its original gem form.

Boimler slowly stood up, trying to shake off how dizzy he felt. "I feel so stiff and kinda cheap too,"

"You look different," Rutherford pointed out

"Oh god! Am I phasy again?!?"

"No, but your eyes look smaller," Tendi looked at all of them. "We all look kinda different."

"Probably some stupid time travel stuff, come on, let's got find some Tribbles!" Mariner shoved the gem in her pocket and started down the hallway, followed by the other four.

Soon, they came to the main corridor that was bustling with people. The women styled their hair in extravagant bumps and wore earrings. Most wore minidresses, a popular style in the 2260s, but a couple wore the tunic style uniform, just as Mariner was. The sound of boots tapping filled the hallway, and the gold rank bands on the officer sleeve sparkled among the sea of yellow, red, and blue. Perhaps the most striking thing, however, was the lack of aliens. The vast majority of the officers were human, a stark contrast from how diverse the Cerritos was.

Suddenly, Mariner stopped and motioned to the other three to get against the wall. From just around the corner, two very famous Starfleet officers could be heard.

"Is that Kirk?" Boimler asked

Mariner nodded, feeling just as excited as the rest of them but doing an excellent job of hiding it. Kirk and Spock were speaking with someone through the communication unit.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk." A young man with a Russian accent spoke.

"Kirk here." The captain responded

“Mister Baris is waiting on channel E to speak to you, sir."

Mariners’ heart was beating fast. She may have acted like she didn't care, but she did grow up as a Starfleet brat, and though she may have seen Captain Kirk in a holodeck simulation, it wasn't the same as being a couple of feet away from him.

"Mister Baris is coming on." The young man spoke again.

"Yes, Mister Baris. What can I do for you?" Kirk’s voice was pleasant

"Kirk, this station is swarming with Klingons." A man by the name of Baris replied.

"I was not aware, Mister Baris, that twelve Klingons constitutes a swarm."

"Captain Kirk, I consider your security measures a disgrace. In my opinion, you have taken this entire..."

At this point, Boimler had lost focus on that conversation as his eyes drifted to the other side of the hallway. There, a man with a deeper voice and a tall woman spoke. Both looked as if they were doing routine maintenance. The woman kept glancing back at the captain and the first officer.

"I had no idea." The woman began

"What?" The man replied, fiddling with some machinery.

“He's so much more handsome in person. And those eyes."

"Kirk had quite the reputation as a ladies' man."

"Not him. Spock."

Boimler noticed that, just like him, they looked out of place. He continued to listen.

"I can't believe you don't at least want to meet Captain Kirk."

"That's the last thing on my mind."

"Oh, come on, Benjamin. Are you telling me you're not the tiniest bit interested in meeting one of the most famous men in Starfleet history?"

Benjamin? He thought as he slowly went through all the people he knew named Benjamin in his head.

Benjamin Anderson

Benjamin Taylor

Benjamin Sisko

Sisko!

It was Captain Sisko! And the woman next to him must be one of his crew members. Jadzia Dax, maybe? His face twisted in confusion. What was he doing in this time?

"Guys, look!" Boimler whispered and motioned his head to the other side of the hallway.

"Is that... Sisko?" Rutherford asked. "He looks different," he added, still getting used to how everything looked in this period.

"Two famous Starfleet Captains in one day?!?" Tendi bounced on her heels.

"Why is he here?" Boimler looked at Mariner.

"I don't know, something to do with a Tribble and a bomb,"

"A bomb?!"

She shrugged. "Relax, it's on the space station. We will stay on the ship,"

"How do you even know all this?"

"I have my ways,"

The Ensigns decided that it was time to get moving. They didn't want to create too much suspicion by huddling up against the wall. The halls were so crowded, Constitution-class ships were certainly packed, even without the hallway bedrooms of the Cerritos. The colored lights enthralled Tendi. She was so used to sterile fluorescent lights that the soft blues, purples, and yellows were dazzling. She had read about these types of ships, but reading about it and seeing it were two different things.

"Gosh, I love Constitution-class ships," Tendi said.

But there was no response. She twisted her head back and forth, slightly panicking that she had lost her other three friends. She wanted to yell out their names, but that would raise too many questions. She would have to silently slither through the confusing corridors of the ship to find them, all while looking natural. Looking back and forth one more time, she decided to continue forward. Turning down a hallway, she noticed that there was a turbolift at the end. Inside were two men. One was a bulkier man in a red shirt, while the other man with slicked-back hair wore blue with a single strip of gold on the bottom of his sleeve.

"Deck twenty-one. Deck twenty-one. I said, Deck twenty-one." The man in the red shirt said. He's getting more frustrated every time he spoke.

"Maybe if you said please." The other man replied

Tendi remembered from Rutherford’s conversation earlier that turbolifts were not entirely voice commanded at this time. She continued to walk towards the lift.

"Maybe it's jammed. Help me get this wall panel off." The redshirt was starting to open a panel when the disguised Orion walked in. She put one hand on the wall handle and crossed her fingers, on the other hand, hoping that this would work.

"Deck fifteen." She spoke, and the lift started to move. She breathed a secret sigh of relief.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't." The medical man, with a British accent, spoke.

"My lips are sealed."

"Guys, where's Tendi?" Rutherford asks, trying to find one of his best friends.

"Aw Sh*t, we must have lost her" Mariner looked some more. "Tend-"

Boimler clamped his hand against her mouth. "Are you insane? You wanna mess up history?"

"Ok, then how do you want to find her?"

"Constitution-class ships only held about 300 people, so it shouldn't be too hard to find her, especially compared to a Galaxy-class ship," Rutherford suggested.

All three realize that the only way to find their friend was to just walk through the halls and hope they stumble across her. They started down the aisle, maneuvering their way through the mass amounts of people. At one point, Beckett hit somebody with her elbow.

"Oh, sorry." She said

The woman smiled and replied. She was wearing an operations red dress, and her hair was teased on top of her head. Her sleeves bore lieutenant stripes. "It's ok," she said as she walked away. She was making baby noises at something in her hand.

Mariner craned her neck just enough to see that in the lieutenants’ arms was a small Tribble. "It can't be long now."

Tendi saw the first baby Tribble in one of the turbolifts she was taking back down. She was alerted when she heard soft sweet cooing on the other side of the lift, and she couldn't resist. She picked it up, so happy to see an unneutered baby Tribble. At first, she only saw one every once in a while. Maybe one would be stuck to a wall. Another was in an older doctor's hands, and he was scanning it with a tricorder. However, the amount started to multiply, and before she knew it, Tribbles were lining every single hallway. They came and all shapes and sizes. Some were white with gray spots, and some were a beautiful shiny Brown. They stuck to the walls and the ceiling, and cooing filled the hallway, along with the occasional screech when someone stepped on one.

She tried to resist the temptation and only grab one, but every time she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with another ball of fur, and soon she had an entire armful of Tribbles. Curiously, as she wandered about trying to find her three friends, she saw Sisko and that other female officer scanning Tribbles. Both looked frazzled. She realized that they were scanning for a bomb of sorts and remembered that Mariner said it was on the space station, not on the Enterprise.

Speaking of Mariner, she finally found her friends walking towards her in a hallway. The pep in her step grew as she walked towards them.

"They are so cute!" Tendi showed off her arm full of at least ten Tribbles.

"Let's get to a private room, watch how a Tribble gives birth, and then get back to our own time," Boimler continued. "I don't want any time travel shenanigans on my file. It's not very Captain-like."

"Oh please," Mariner replied, "you realize how much stuff was on Kirk's record?"

The four came across an empty meeting room. They all walked in, Rutherford closed the door, and Tendi set one of her many Tribbles on the table. With her pad on hand, she was ready to take notes.

Tribbles reproduce fast, so it was only a matter of time before the one on the table, which Tendi lovingly named Warpy, gave birth. The ball of fur soon went from cooing to screeching as it tensed up half its body. Soon from underneath the adult Tribble, baby Tribbles emerged. Tendi was so excited, but the other three just watched with confused and uncomfortable faces. After she finished taking notes, Boimler suggested they leave.

"I'm going to miss the blonde hair, but I can't wait to have my old body back," Tendi spoke as Mariner pulled out her blue gem.

"Tell me about it; my eyes are the same color as my skin. That can't be healthy," she replied

"Maybe people look like this because of issues with the older technology," Rutherford suggested.

Mariner spoke to the gem the time she wanted to go back to. The portal opened underneath them.

"No one's got any Tribbles, right?" Mariner asked.

All of them nodded, and Mariner was the first to jump through the portal. Rutherford followed, and then Boimler. Tendi turned around one last time to her Tribbles.

"Bye, Warpy," she spoke as she jumped through the portal.

"Much fu*king better" Mariner cracked her back in the Cerritos’ shuttle bay. Tendi glanced over her notes and deactivated her disguise. Beckett came over to her and wrapped an arm around her.

"You had fun?"

"So much, thanks" Tendi smiled.

"How about we change and get some tacos?" Beckett spoke as she walked towards the doors.

"Okie Dokie" Rutherford and the other two ensigns followed.

As they walked to the mess hall, Mariner spoke to Boimler, “Glad you could join us. Ya know, you actually look confident in that old uniform! And kinda charming.”

“Thank you, I feel confident” He did a cheesy smirk.

“Annnnd now it’s gone.” She said, trying to hide the slightest blush.

They continued to their bunks to change. Unknown to Boimler, however, was a small ball of fur stuck to his vintage uniform boots.

Three days later

Ransom woke up for his morning shift at the sound of his alarm. When he reached over to turn it off, he felt a ball of fur right on his alarm clock. Upon opening his eyes, he saw that Tribbles filled his entire room, all cooing.

"Who brought an unneutered Tribble on board!?"

[ichayalovesyou]

My last Lyrical Fanfic was Pon Farr (An Amok Time Tribute) check it out Here.

Shame & Shores To Walk On:

Ship: Spirk (Spock/Kirk)

Episode: The Naked Time

Premise: Poorly timed soul baring, mutual and intense pining, angst, and very messy confessions brought on by sickness and a life or death situation.

I Am Sorry (Act One): Starts with Ugh, Spock having an emotional breakdown in the briefing room.

Bad Taste (Act Two): Starts with I Don’t Know What To Do With My Hands, Spock struggles to confess his feelings for Jim.

Better Off (Act Three): Starts with These Streets, Jim laments his love/hate relationship with the Enterprise and longs for a relationship, something real, something permanent.

The Risk Untaken (Act Four): Starts with After All, what was seen cannot be unseen, done undone, said unsaid, time warp or no time warp. Jim & Spock have seen things in one another that neither was ready to show, the question is what do they do about it?

Full fanfic below!

~Act One: I Am Sorry~

Ugh~by The Warning, from Queen Of The Murder Scene (Album) “I am in control of my emotions”

Spock is having a full blown panic attack, he’s enraged, embarrassed! He hasn’t had one since he was a child! What could have possibly brought this on? Was it the accidental meld with Christi- the disease. He cannot be seen like this! But, the Captain needs him. Spock is horrified to discover that he needs him too. Where had this need come from? Why did it insist on tightening his throat and setting his hands trembling? He cannot be seen like this!

“There’s so much more to this than that, suppress those feelings bite them back.”

The Sailor Song~by Autoheart, from Punch (Album) “I am an officer, an officer!”

Spock is absolutely irate with himself, this was horribly unprofessional, horribly Human. He is a starfleet officer and his Captain needs him, they’re all in grave danger and all he can do is sob?! And shudder?! The Vulcan in him wanted to run, hide, desperately. The Human half, more than anything else, wanted to seek Jim out. Neither could be satisfied, so here he would remain, and hope he would be found. Not just by anyone, but, by Jim…

Pathetic.

“Your overbearing best friend, hoping, for some attention.”

Love Love Love~by Of Monsters & Men, from My Head Is An Animal (Album) “My duty- my duty is to- too late. Too late. I’m sorry.”

The shaking, the tears refused to stop, no Vulcan meditation or mathematical litany could get them to cease. Spock was suddenly overwhelmed with the pointlessness of it all. The effort to stop it, the effort to fight both halves of himself. He did not have the strength to fight the needing, wanting for James Kirk. The Captain, who did not have time for a First Officer who was now unfit for duty by his own carelessness. No, it was better that he was alone, he had failed.

“And those bright blue eyes, can only meet mine from across a room filled with people that are less important than you.”

Lazy Eye~by Silversun Pickups, from Carnavas (Album) “Where have you be-?! What happened?”

To say Captain Kirk was shocked to find his First Officer in such emotionally compromised straits would be a woeful understatement. Spock barely recognized that he’d arrived, whatever Jim was saying, it didn’t matter, not yet, perhaps never. There was a silver lining to this, madness, brought on by the disease, it was that Spock was free. He could speak his mind, his heart- If he could get these words out, then maybe the freedom would be permanent. He had to tell him.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment, all my life. But it’s not quite right.”

~Act Two: Bad Taste~

I Don’t Know What To Do With My Hands~by Minor Alps, from Get There (album) “Living on a planet where love, emotion, was in bad taste.”

Precision and coherence had left him with the carefully cultivated logic Spock so prized. He had been flung so violently against his human half in this moment, normally enduring a constant fight to come to the surface, was now running amuck. He felt like a freak of nature, he was, a freak of nature. But that didn’t matter, so long as he could talk to the Captain, Jim deserved to understand. Understand what has prevented him from speaking his heart all this time. If only he could reach him. Then everything else could matter.

“May be some kind of monster, maybe I just don’t know how to reach out, reach out.”

The Moon Will Sing~by The Crane Wives, from Coyote Stories (Album) “I respected my father, our customs, I was ashamed of my earth blood.”

Spock felt his resentment claw at his throat. The blow reminded him of childhood bullies. His father, though he’d never struck him, but wasn’t much better; Cold, seeking weakness, seeking emotions, that forbidden humanity. Why did he feel as though something had been kept from him? What had been stolen and could it be found again? This madness let him see it, but he could not touch it. Whatever it was, he wanted to give it to Jim, why couldn’t he understand?

“My heart knew the weight, ten years worth of dust and neglect, we made our peace with weariness and let it be.”

Runs In The Family~by Amanda Palmer, from Who Killed Amanda Palmer? (Album) “Jim.. When I feel friendship for you I’m ashamed!”

Spock quickly found his resentment mingle with rage. Why did his parents insist upon his being born of two worlds?! Could they not have afforded him the blessing of being from only one? There was no logic in being shamed for biological differences by his peers! It was illogical to feel shame over it! Why couldn’t Jim see what he was trying to tell him? Why wasn’t he listening?!

He grabbed Jim’s hand, perhaps they could both be certain then.

“We tend to bruise easily, bad in the blood, I’m telling you ‘cause I just want you to know me, know me and my family”

The One~by The Warning, from Queen of The Murder Scene (Album) “Understand Jim? I’ve spent a whole lifetime, learning to hide my feelings.”

Could the Captain really understand? He was Human after all, and there was no doubt Spock’s feelings, grotesque or not, were undeniably Human. Spock needed an explanation, he needed words, he needed them so that they could be given back. All he could receive from the Captain were feelings, feelings between to shouts that could not yet matter. The emotions that radiated from his touch were as painful and confusing as his own. More so than the feeble strikes that accompanied them.

“Can you explain to me what’s this feeling? Love it or hate it it’s never leaving. Want to believe, that you feel it too.”

~Act Three: Better Off~

These Streets~by Bastille, from All This Bad Blood (Album) “I’ve got it, the disease… Love. You’re better off without it and I’m better off without mine!”

This new, vulnerable Spock, Jim was ashamed to admit, scared him. And not just because he smacked him clear across the table! If Spock was trying to say what he thought he was, he couldn’t afford it! He couldn’t allow it, he wished he were more like Spock, able to just block the feelings bubbling up within him. Everyone he’s ever loved has left or gotten hurt, he couldn’t let that happen to Spock. The only thing that could not leave him was this ship, and he could not afford to lose her!

“These streets are yours you can keep them, in my mind it’s like you haunt them, and passing through I think I see you, in the shapes of other women.”

Various Storms & Saints~by Florence + The Machine, from How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful (Album) “You’re allowed to notice her, a captain’s not permitted-“ “Jim.”

Jim found himself thinking of Janice, he couldn’t touch her, not after what his other half had done. Besides, he shouldn’t, he didn’t deserve it- and Spock… He wanted him too, but the ship needs him more, it needed them both more. It hurt so much all the sudden, it was like he was drowning, anchored to the bottom of the ocean, if he could reach the surface for a moment- what made Spock think they could be together?! Have anything at all?!

“I know you’re bleeding but you’ll be okay, hold on to your heart you’ll keep it safe, hold on to your heart don’t give it away.”

Crimson Queen~by The Warning, from Queen of The Murder Scene (Album) “A beach to walk on, a few days no braid on my shoulder”

If they could just get out of this place, live to fight another day, then, maybe! But… even if the ocean would be gone and the anchor would still be there, there’s nowhere to go. Why did this scare him more than the immediate danger? More than any other feelings he’s felt for someone else? Was it just the disease… or something more?

“I know love shows in mysterious ways, still my screaming makes no sound, just silence at the roundabout.”

Hearts A Mess~by Gotye, from Like Drawing Blood (Album) “…no beach to walk on.”

“Sinner repent?” Ha, that much was true, it seemed to James Kirk that these, whatever these feelings were, were his repentance. He couldn’t reach out, couldn’t speak, and Jim didn’t want to, couldn’t afford to. The blood was still there, it could be wiped away. The ache? He could live with it for now, he’d live with it forever if he had to. As long as Spo- the Enterprise and its crew were safe.

“Your hearts a mess, you won’t admit to it, it makes no sense, but I’m desperate to connect, and you can’t live like this.”

~Act Four: The Risk Untaken~

After All~by The Altogether, from When We Were Kids (Album) “Are you alright Jim?”

Part of Spock looked forward to being cured, the other wanted to hold onto the madness, just a little longer. He thought of the three words he could not say even with the peculiar freedom the sickness brought, and certainly could not say on the bridge… “Let me help” would not work, the captain could not show weakness at this time, perhaps, this other verbal trinity would suffice, in place of “I love you”.

“To heal the hearts the world had broke, a song for every sacrifice.”

Three Little Birds~by Branches, from Three Little Birds (Album) “… are you?”

Neither of them answered, but the silence was more than enough, of course they weren’t alright. They had revealed to each other things neither were ready to share. Sure, they’d survived, thankfully no one had died. Jim was no longer drowning, the anchor was lighter than he had remembered, and Spock seemed, fine, back to normal, sort of. They weren’t alright, but maybe, they would be.

“Singing don’t worry, about a thing, ‘cause every little thing is gonna be alright.”

She~by dodie, from Human (Album) “We have three days to live over again.” “Ha…Not those last three days.”

Three days, all over again, perhaps they could pretend what happened… No of course they couldn’t, what is done cannot be undone, nor said unsaid. But, what was said? Did he know? did he understand? Does he feel the same? For now, he is content to let the answer lie hidden. Not daring hope that he was right, but… why was he still staring at him?

“Am I allowed to look at her like that? Could it be wrong? When she’s just so nice to look at.”

Drive~by Incubus, from Make Yourself (Album) “We may risk it some day Mr. Spock.”

Fears and aches or not, Jim had learned a great deal about his First Officer today. It would only be a matter of time before the Vulcan in him took over again. If the anchor was light enough, maybe he could drag himself, little by little, close enough to reach him. Regardless of what may come, at least they knew each other now. If Jim could help it, he was going to learn more.

“Whatever tomorrow brings I’ll be there, with open arms and open eyes.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

June 8: The Man Trap

My mom and I started our long-overdue rewatch of Star Trek TOS (aka the best television show of all time) today so here are some liveblog-ish notes on 1x01 The Man Trap:

Kirk talking about Bones’s love life in his official log--so inappropriate. He’s such a gossip. I know this wasn’t intended to be the first televised ep but I love how he’s introduced being adorable and joking with his friend.

If Darnell thinks the young blonde woman is McCoy’s ex-girlfriend, he must assume that McCoy had a love affair with a literal child lol. Use your brain, boy. Darnell is who people who don’t like Kirk think Kirk is.

PLUM.

P L U M

Every single shot of Kirk is so romantic.

He knows all the regulations by heart. So far confirmed: gossip; romantic; nerd.

Oh no she ate Darnell.

Uhura is Certified Adorable.

Vulcan has no moon.

Spock is definitely undeniably worried that the killed crew member is Jim; I will not be taking criticism on this post. I feel so bad for him all the time. Everyone thinks he doesn’t feel but he Feels So Much. (This is going to be a comment on every single episode I can tell.)

Okay someone’s died so we’re done gossiping now.

They’re trying to figure out what happened to all the salt in Darnell’s body and I’m just like...... guys........ someone ATE the salt, obviously.

Everything Kirk says is flirty. “I’m not counting [your mistakes] Bones.” Certified bi because Shatner could not stop flirting.

“Stop thinking with your glands.” Lol.

It’s pretty hilarious that Yeoman Rand was eating Sulu’s food. And he didn’t notice.

That plant (Beauregard/Gertrude) is so obviously a hand in a puppet.

I find it so touching that Uhura wants to speak to someone in her native language. It doesn’t come up all that often but a lot of these people (arguably all of them, if you imagine as I do that “standard” and “English” are not synonymous) are not speaking their first languages most of the time.

Salt Monster McCoy!

They’re going into quarantine lol.

I get a lot of enjoyment watching Kirk and Spock run and hide and crawl among the sand and ruins.

I feel like Spock is getting way more distracted by the buffalo story than Kirk is.

I also get a lot of enjoyment out of the irony of this scene where everyone sits around talking about where the salt monster might be and she’s literally right there, discussing herself. Like I was also listening to the words, mostly, but I just was really tickled by the whole scenario.

That’s an interesting hypothesis FOR A SALT MONSTER.

I wonder how much stock to put into Kirk’s ideas about what Crater got out of his relationship with the salt creature. Is that just his opinion or is it supposed to be narratively true? Much to think about.

She ate Crater.... So much for needing love.

Spock goes absolutely feral every time Kirk is in danger. Every single time. Wild as hell.

You know I used to be moved by the buffalo comparison but now I think it's not really right. The buffalo are animals. The salt creature is more like a human. I assume they were the dominant life forms on the planet? The ones that built all the stuff?

This isn’t really a criticism of ST because I don’t do that but maybe it’s just easier for Crater, and Kirk et. al., to think about buffalo than to think about humans themselves dying out for lack of resources. If it’s hard to kill anything that’s the last of its kind, then it’s doubly hard to kill the last of a species that could have been humans themselves.

This story is really wild and it gets wilder the more you think about it. The archaeologist  wants to learn about a long dead civilization, except somehow one member of the civilization is still alive (not sure how since she needs so much salt) and she kills his wife and he's like 'okay I'll just marry the salt creature instead' and they just live together for a year.

I mean I guess another possibility is that the salt creatures weren't the ones who built the ruins and maintained the civilization, that they WERE like buffalo, but if this level of skill and intelligence is what their "animals" were like, then what could the "main" inhabitants have been? Like imagine Earth but everything is dead except one buffalo.

My mom and I were also wondering what happened to the salt. The whole planet looks very desolate. The ruins are big and occasionally ornate but also sparse--like there used to be a lot more. Maybe a totally different environment. Or possibly, the ruins are from an older civilization still, that did not overlap with the salt creatures. Alternately, they did overlap, in which case--what were the others like, to live with beings who can shapeshift, read minds, and hypnotize other beings. (Just immune?) Were they adversaries? Did they destroy each other?

The thing is there are many possibilities, because the planet is such an unknown. It doesn’t even have a real name. It’s quite a sad episode, really.

[werewolves-are-real]

Would you be okay with sharing a snippet? I an so curious as to what you are working on!

Sorry I took so long to answer! I’ve mostly been working on Star Trek fics right now - a lot of Star Trek fics - and unless otherwise stated I assume most people are asking about Temeraire, lol.

So, I included both types!

Temeraire:

This is from a fic where Laurence gains wings + a tail + scales, due to the all-powerful Celestial Dragon Magic. It’s a thing, which I entirely made up. (The whole covert just kinda conspires to hide him from the rest of Britain)

________________

“What the hell are you doing?” Someone laughs. “What, are you stuck?”

“I am trying not to wake Captain Laurence,” Dulcia complains. “Do not laugh at me.”

“What? Oh – that is Laurence. Why, he is more like a dragon every day,” Chenery says, amused.

“Well, he is a dragon,” says Dulcia.

“I suppose so. Come on, now – I told you we need measurements for your new harness. You are getting far too fat.”

“That means I am healthy,” Dulcia sniffs. “And Messoria tells me it is rude to call females fat.”

“No has ever accused me of being polite.”

They leave.

Maximus is still snoring. Laurence blinks up and realizes it's grown late; he often sleeps outside at night, but for the life of him he can't remember why he chose to take a nap in the Regal Copper's clearing, rather than his own rooms. Messoria still seems to be asleep, but Laurence pushes away her wing and decides to return to Temeraire.

He feels vaguely guilty, and it's not hard to determine why.

'More like a dragon every day,' Chenery said. Is it true? Laurence still feels like himself. But then, a few months ago he probably wouldn't have joined a pile of dragons for a midday rest, so perhaps there's some merit to the observation.

Temeraire, when he explains his concerns, is unfazed.

“Well, I suppose you act a little different,” he says. “But I do not think that is a bad thing or a good thing. You are still the same in every way that matters.”

This is not reassuring. “Different in what ways?”

“Well, for one you sleep out with me more often,” Temeraire notes. “Which can only be good. And also your scent is a little different, so the cows are afraid of you now.”

“That is not quite what I meant, my dear.”

Temeraire stretches his wings. “You worry far too much, Laurence. You are different than when we met, but so am I. Even Granby has gotten much nicer, and cadet Roland has learned to clean my scales better than she used to. Everyone changes. As long as you do not change in a bad way, I do not see the problem. And I cannot imagine you doing anything evil, after all.”

The simple logic makes Laurence smile a little. And, oddly, he does feel better. “I suppose that is all true,” he agrees. “But...”

He is not just worried to find himself changing. He wonders if he is still transforming – becoming other, something less than human not just in body, but in mind.

Yet, looking at Temeraire's expectant eyes, he can't voice the thought. Dragons do not think like humans, perhaps – but even a few months has taught Laurence that they are no less unique, and their opinions no less worthy.  

It is a thought he must consider more. Laurence shakes his head. “My dear,” he says. “I am sorry. You are entirely right; perhaps I have worried for nothing.”

“You always do,” Temeraire sniffs. “You ought to discuss your problems with me sooner, Laurence; you can be very silly about these things.”

__________________

Star Trek:

section of a continuation for “Identity,” where Spock has been given a physically feminine body after a transporter accident, and prefers to stay that way.

__________________

Over the years, Spock has found that it can be helpful to seek out certain crewmates for advice regarding the emotional undercurrents of confusing situations. In her early years at the academy she often sought this advice from Cadet Elisa Ryland, who she met through a number of astrophysics courses. Ryland had a quiet, rational demeanor that struck her as almost Vulcan, and she was often able and willing to explain issues of human sociology without any accompanying embarrassment. Spock still corresponds with her, although the current Lieutenant-Commander Ryland is not a sentimental woman.

Later Captain Pike became something of a mentor to Spock, who found the older officer full of useful command wisdom. In recent years Jim has been her closest confidante in all matters.

But she cannot approach Jim regarding an issue that does, after all, include him. Which is how Spock finds herself standing before Doctor McCoy's quarters, carefully weighing her options.

At last she buzzes at the door. McCoy is openly surprised to see her. “You need something?” he asks. Spock has only visited his quarters six times in the past several years.

Seven times, now. “I am here regarding a personal matter,” Spock says.

McCoy raises his eyebrows but immediately stands aside. “Well, take a seat.”

Spock politely accepts a glass of water; she is unsure if this is a rare deference to Vulcan tradition, or merely one of McCoy's own ingrained social niceties.

“Now,” McCoy drawls when he's resumed his own seat. “You're welcome any time, Spock, but you don't exactly make a habit of dropping in. What's this about?”

Spock considers how to phrase the matter.

“The captain is trying to seduce me,” she declares, and subsequently watches as McCoy chokes on his drink.

“I take it back,” McCoy tells her a minute later, wiping liquid from his chin. “You are never welcome here again. Goddammit.”

Ignoring this hyberbole, Spock continues. “I would seek your advice in this matter. In different circumstances I would not necessarily object to the captain's intentions, but I consider his motivations suspect.”

“Not opposed - oh, god,” McCoy says. “Spock, if you're going to tell me you're in love with Jim, I really need a drink first. A good shot of bourbon or five.”

“I am not 'in love' with the captain,” Spock snaps. “On Vulcan it is typical for partners to be chosen on the basis of mental compatibility. After Jim, Uhura or Sulu would also be excellent mates.” McCoy chokes again. “But I recognize that humans require a different type of connection. I fully intend to find a Vulcan husband.”

McCoy still looks a bit dazed. “Husband?” he echoes. Spock isn't sure why everyone is so preoccupied with the sex of her hypothetical mate. The doctor shakes his head, as though drawing himself from a daze. “Right, okay. First of all, Sulu would be thrilled to date you – male or female versions – and I ain't saying anything else on that.” Spock raises an eyebrow. “Second – I can't say I'm really surprised. Just to, uh, clarify – Jim never flirted with you before?”

“No, Doctor. Surely you have realized he has no interest in men.”

“Yeah, that's obvious,” McCoy agrees. “Despite the rumors. But you're... well, you're not a man. And you're so damn pretty it's a waste, if you won't slap me for saying it.”

Spock ignores the latter comment. “The point remains,” she says, “That Jim never possessed such interest before. I can only presume that he is acting on lust, which I find distinctly uncomfortable.”

“I'm distinctly uncomfortable,” McCoy mutters.

Spock stiffens. “If you do not wish to discuss this subject, Doctor...”

McCoy waves his hand through the air before she can finish. “Hell, Spock, I ain't sending you away. And you're right – Jim's being a dog, and you deserve to be mad about it. But there ain't any easy solution, except to give him an earful and tell him to shape up.”

“I see,” Spock says. “That seems insufficient. I have rarely known the captain to make personal errors.”

“Oh, we all make mistakes when we stop thinking with our brains.”

Spock tilts her head. She is genuinely unfamiliar with this idiom. “With what else would he think, Doctor?”

Oddly, McCoy reddens. “Nevermind that,” he coughs. “Listen. Just talk to him. That's all you can do.”

“I do not see how that will discourage his... interest.”

“Well, no. I don't think anyone's invented a way to stop men looking at women. But you Vulcans think action is more important than feelings – and even us humans can control ourselves that much.”

A fair assessment. Still: “I would not expect you to advocate emotional suppression, Doctor.”

“There's a difference between making yourself a computer and refusing to be an animal. The first is masochism – the second is just good manners.”

“Very well,” Spock concedes. Though she would never say so, it's somehow reassuring that McCoy doesn't seek to blame her for the captain's attentions. Spock knows that many people over the years – men and women – have found her attractive, though usually it was only the challenge – the exotic nature of Vulcan romance – that appealed to them. Somehow those pursuits never bothered her like this. “I will speak to him tomorrow. Though based on Jim's persistence in past encounters I am unsure if his behavior will change.”

“Jim ain't like that, Spock – you tell him 'no' and he'll back off. And if he doesn't,” McCoy adds darkly, “I'll have a talk with him.”

[fleetofshippyships-archive]

Prompt?: Kirk is afraid Spock would never be with a human, especially not his captain. (He's wrong.) - It's okay, I totally understand. It happens. I just felt so bad because I tried really hard to phrase it in a way that would be clearly not a fic request and also not overly specific, and felt horrible that I'd failed and added to your frustrations. I super love your ideas for it and look forward to seeing wherever you go with it!

(So sorry this took forever, Anon! After all that confusion, I ended up using your original line anyway haha with minimal tweaking! So it was great in the end! I hope you are still around to read it, and that you enjoy it. It got quite long, and, um, a tad… angsty. But it has a happy ending, I swear.)

Jim is afraid Spock will never wantto be with a human, especially not his Captain. At times, he wallows in thisfeeling, seeing Spock and just hurting with how much he wants him. Howmuch he wants Spock to loosen his tight grip on rationality, and feel something.To feel something for him. How badly he wants more of the human side of him,buried under all that Vulcan logic. The side he sees so rarely, but is soenamoured with after such brief, brief glimpses, even if the Vulcan logic isjust as appealing, in its own way.

At other times, he pushes, and pushes,for some faint glimmer of hope as Spock is frustrated into displaying emotion.He revels in those moments of lost control, and feeling. He is drawn inby the outward displays of emotion, still mild by human standards, butdeafening by Spock’s.

Sometimes those displays are warm,and almost friendly, and other times they are harsh and angry.

Either way they make Jim’s breathingstutter, and his hands itch with the urge to reach out and touch the minusculeshifts in Spock’s expression that reveal those rare emotions.

But always, always, Spockspeaks of the superiority of logic, and the messiness of human emotion.Intentional or not, he expresses his disdain for Jim’s kind, and dashes anyhope a previous slip may have given Jim, and Jim retreats back intoprofessionalism. Retreats for fear for pushing too far, and losing Spockcompletely.

Even as some barriers between themcrumble, and a friendship blooms, he remains afraid.

For all that they spend time togetheroff-duty, for all that Spock begins to tease, and joke, in his own Vulcan way,Jim fears it will disappear at any moment. That Spock will remember Jim isnothing more than a human, with messy, inconvenient emotions.

Even as he holds close to his heartevery game of chess, every casual touch, every joke and raised eyebrow, andtwitching of lips, he fears the day it will shatter and crumble and disappear.

Sometimes he even fears he is nothingmore than an experiment. A fascinating specimen for Spock to dissect, andanalyse. To poke and prod into different situations solely for the purpose ofrecording his reactions.

Has he not considered kissing Spock,not only to show him how he really feels, but also to push that littlebit more, to see if he can bring out the human part of him, and watch him feel something,even if it is only revulsion?

Even though they are borne offeeling, his own reasons sound experimental at times, and everything he fearsSpock may be doing to him. But he can’t stop wanting to push.

But he can never push that far, inthat way.

***

Spock is the one to kiss him, andbeneath the elation, the burning need for more, is the sinking suspicion thatit’s all a game or experiment to Spock, who could never want a messy, illogicalhuman.

But the kisses continue, along withthe chess games, and jokes, until Jim is seeing more and more emotion beneathexpressions that, at first glance, appear to remain perfectly Vulcan.

He must be learning to read himbetter, or perhaps Spock is letting him see more. He doesn’t know for sure, andhe isn’t sure he wants to know.

The kisses become touches, and sharedbeds. Moans and gasps, and the shattering of Spock’s logic as he begs for moreand less, and ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ all at once as he trembles beneathJim’s hands.

And it’s everything Jim ever wanted.The lingering looks, the shared jokes, and the inhuman, but soothing, coolnessof Spock’s skin being the first thing he notices upon waking, and the lastthing he feels as he falls asleep.

But some part of him doubts, evennow. Even when he seems to have everything, and Spock seems to want him just asbadly as Jim wants him. When Spock even seems to love him.

Because the criticisms of humans andhuman emotion continue.

There’s the twitch of an eyebrow, andthe slight tilting of lips, and it’s all a joke, but Jim wonders, and fears.

***

Then everything changes.

***

They’re crash landing on a mission,and they’re stranded. Spock’s logic is failing, and Jim’s emotions are met withharsh words, and even harsher looks. Spock is no longer a Spock Jim knows, andeverything that was falls away, and the fear returns. The fear of along-lasting experiment, or some kind of joke.

Because stranded, and wounded, theyclash, human and Vulcan, and nothing seems to work. They don’t work.

And Jim is so cold he can barelyspeak, and Spock’s fingers are sliding over his face, but he can’t even feelthem. All he can think about is that surely Spock should be the one faringworse, being far more susceptible to the cold, and when he’s already given hiscustomary extra layers to Jim. But nothing Jim says can make him stop talkingabout how the Captain is more important, and that Jim must survive. Andthey just keep fighting.

And then they’re melding.

Spock’s voice is in his mind, andit’s saying, ‘No, Jim. No.”

But he doesn’t know what that means,and it’s so cold, and he’s just so tired, and sleeping seems like such a betteridea than fighting again about their next step, and who should have the extraclothing.

Because they used to work so welltogether, fit together so seamlessly, and now suddenly they’re strangers.

It’s just easier to sleep it allaway.

***

When he wakes, Bones is swearing, andthreatening, and it’s so normal Jim smiles before he remembers. But then heremembers, and first he panics, and asks too many questions. But Bones muttersabout stupid Vulcans, and Spock is okay. And then all he can think aboutis how he and Spock became complete strangers in the course of one mission, andSpock has probably put in a transfer request while he was recovering.

For all his attempts to fix theirsituation, and all his attempts to hide it, Jim had been so afraid. Dying aloneon that planet would have been regrettable, but Spock dying with him?Unacceptable.

His messy human feelings have gottenin the way, and now Spock will be reminded of all the ways he hates humans. Allthe ways humans and Vulcans just don’t work. Like they hadn’t worked down onthat planet.

Being trapped in the med-bay willonly leave him with his thoughts the moment Bones steps away, and he has nothingto occupy himself with, so Jim plays the oh-so-familiar game of gettingreleased early, until he’s walking out, and his expression crumbles. He doesn’twant to return to his room. All that will be waiting there will be a transferrequest. If Spock isn’t gone already.

Or even if he wants to stay, then itwill be over between them, if it had ever been real in the first place.

Down on that planet, Jim had provenjust how incompatible he and Spock are, as his messy human emotions causednothing but friction and fights, as Spock’s logic tried to save them, and Jimgot in the way.

Who had he even become? Letting hisfeelings for Spock get in the way and endanger them? He hadn’t thought clearly,and it had nearly gotten them killed.

Words like ‘emotionally compromised’flash in mind, as he enters his quarters, and moves straight for his bed, justwanting to try and sleep it all away again, as his head starts to pound, andhis body ache from what it went through.

Only, Spock is there, sitting up atthe sound of the door, and blinking sleepily.

Some tension in Jim just melts away,faced with the familiar sight of Spock when he’s sleepy. Too out of it to pullall that logic together and form his Vulcan mask of emotionlessness. But awakeenough to still be so Spock.

Familiar enough that all Jim wants todo is crawl into his arms, and press his sore head to the soothing cool skin ofSpock’s neck, and pretend everything is still okay. Like they didn’t ruineverything down on that planet. Like Spock hadn’t finally lost patience withhim, trying to keep them both alive.

“I did not anticipate you brokeringyour release for another three hours,” Spock says, holding out a hand, andpulling the covers back. “I was intending to be there.”

Jim stares at his hand, and then hisface, watching as his expression focuses, and tightens, and then fades into thefamiliar nothingness that will only be broken but the faintest of twitches togive away emotions. Twitches that Jim has spent months learning, and suddenlywishes he hadn’t.

“You need rest, Jim,” Spock says, hisvoice still soft and low, no longer with sleep, but calculation. Treating Jimlike a wounded animal. “Come to bed.”

It’s all Jim wants, but to go back tothat peace, only to find themselves at odds again like they had on that planet…

In his indecision, Spock rises fromthe bed and sighs. An open, frank expression of tiredness that throws Jim offbalance at once. After what they went through, he expects more of the Vulcan.For the situation to be explained logically, until the only possible solutionis the ending of their relationship.

“Jim, you foolish, foolish man,”Spock says, stepping close, and enclosing Jim in a gentle embrace.

Even confused as he is, Jim meltsinto him. Spock’s neck is cool and soothing against his forehead, and thepounding of his headache. He relaxes, and breathes in the soothing, familiarsmell of him.

“You mistook my anger as being causedby your humanity,” Spock says, murmuring into his ear, and holding him close.“It was caused by fear. Fear I was unable to control. I was… compromised. Youalmost died.”

Jim says nothing, only brings hisarms up to return the embrace, and hopes, and hopes.

“You are not an experiment to me,”Spock continues, sliding one cool hand into the hair at the base of Jim’sskull, and pressing lightly. Jim relaxes further, letting his head rest fullyon Spock’s shoulder. “You are… a great unknown that I will never understand,but a certainty all at once.”

“That sounds infuriatingly illogical,Spock,” Jim mumbles, closing his eyes.

“Indeed,” Spock says, with that pitchin his voice that indicates amusement. “But your illogical, contradictory humannature is part of why I love you, Jim. I should have said so, but I thought youknew. You are so… you are more in touch with…”

Jim smiles into Spock’s shoulder, asthe last tension in him melts away when he hears those words. He feelsincredibly stupid, but he’s too tired, and still too sore, to dwell on thatnow.

“Love is difficult for us all,Spock,” he says. “What did you see in the meld?” All Jim remembers is thealmost sad ‘No, Jim. No’ in his mind.

“Everything,” Spock admits. “I hadnot realised you were so… insecure. That you doubted us. That you were soafraid I would end our relationship. I have always held back from gleaninganything more than a cursory sense of emotion from your skin. I never feltthose things from you. Not in any way that I understood, at least.”

Jim manages to extricate himself, sohe can look at Spock, and try to gauge what little there is to gauge from hisexpression.

“We never did talk about any of this.We just sort of… happened,” he says slowly, wondering if he might actually killBones when he tells him about this spectacular misunderstanding. If anyonecould die from laughing at Jim’s stupidity, it would be Bones.

“Can you be so happy with someone soalien to you?” Spock asks. “Someone that understands so little, when it comesto your human needs and emotions?”

“I thought you saw everything in themeld,” Jim returns.

“I find myself wanting… wanting tohear you say it,” Spock confesses, and his brows twitch in an indication ofuncertainty. Or possibly in frustration at his own illogical desire.

Jim sighs, and turns to the bed. “Whywere you sleeping in my quarters?” he asks, groaning softly as he slides intothe bed, and looks up at him. “That seems oddly sentimental, for a Vulcan.”

Spock moves closer, and Jim pulls thecovers back, and holds out his hand.

“I found it… comforting,” Spock says,taking Jim’s hand without saying anything about how illogical it is to offeraid climbing into a bed, when it is so unnecessary.

“How illogical,” Jim says softly,smiling as he settles on his side, and Spock presses up against his back,soothing and familiar.

Spock’s fingers trace the contours ofJim’s face, but never settle. Jim sighs, the coolness of Spock’s skin sosoothing, as his head continues to ache and pound.

Even if Spock has already seen it inthe meld, saying it out loud is harder than he expects. He feels even morefoolish for that than his former insecurities.

“Being with you is everything to me,Spock,” he whispers.

Spock’s lips brush against the backof his neck, and Jim closes his eyes and relaxes. “Your life holds more valueto me than any other in this universe, Jim,” Spock says softly. “Even if yourhuman emotions are, at times, infuriating, and illogical. Even if, at times,you seem so fragile, and so easily taken from me.”

Jim smiles, and takes Spock’s hand,guiding his fingertips over his face. “Show me?”

“You should rest,” Spock says,although he doesn’t move his hand away.

“I passed out once already in a meld,so maybe—”

Their minds are connected before hefinishes the thought, and he can feel Spock’s amusement.

And then, like a flower unfurling andradiating heat, he feels Spock’s love, filling him with a soothing warmth, andchasing away some of his pain.

And it’s everything.

Link to AO3, if you’d like to leave me a comment =)

Prompting rules | My other prompted drabbles: Tumblr or AO3

(Goes without saying after the last few days, I’m incredibly insecure about this fic. But it’s unfair to the prompter if I never posted it after writing it! So here we are.)

[sarah-wants-to-write]

I Dare You to Love; Part Two (Star Trek AOS)

Shari has settled into her role on the Enterprise, and her friendship with Jim continues to grow. Days settle into routine, though it's thrown for a loop when she finds her friend in need of help. Help Jim didn't even know he needed and in the end, a truth comes to light that could change everything.

(A/N: feel free to ignore the subtitle in the gif. It’s the look he’s giving that matters~)

        It had been a few months since the Enterprise left Yorktown, and Shari wasn’t at all surprised to find herself busy. Day in and out, studying the records of previous planetary surveys that the Enterprise had done, along with her work with Asha, and the occasional away mission. Being the only high-ranking zoologist, she had been on plenty of missions. It didn’t hurt that most were with her new friend, Jim Kirk.

        Being friends with the captain definitely had its positives, both personally and professionally. Professionally, it meant that he trusted her judgment and actions even more than if he’d just based it off her work. Personally, it meant that she’d been introduced to and became friends with many people on the bridge. Spock found her work with Asha rather fascinating, discussing his old childhood pet I-Chaya with her in confidence. Shari gladly honored his request to not speak publicly, and expressed her sympathy at the loss of a beloved pet. Uhura was a perfect friend for fun talk, along with Sulu, and Chekov was like a little brother to her. Constant conversations in Russian, with Shari switching to Ukrainian or Polish when he was getting too…enthusiastic about something, just to get the kid re-focused.

        Of course, the rare occasion happened where someone found their soul mate, and shifted.

        It was the strangest part of human physiology, according to Spock, and Shari couldn’t help agreeing. Every human, and potentially half-human, had either an animal sleeping within their soul, or a song in their heart for their fated one’s animal. When someone was trying to find their soul mate, those with the animal within would hear from them, telling them yes or no. Some were more cooperative than others, from what she had heard.

        When a pair finally met, and the shifter’s fated one was in danger, the shifter would turn into that animal. Mostly predators, though some were larger prey animals that were scary when angry. Size also depended on the age at which it happened. When the shift happened, though, the shifter wouldn’t be able to change back without the help of their mate. For that person, they had to sing or hum the song in their heart, which usually ended up being a song that both in the pair knew, which fit the two perfectly. After that, the shifter would be able to change back and forth at will, to protect their mate.

        When Spock asked what determined which in the pair would be the shifter, Shari could only shrug. It was honestly something humans had speculated on for years. Sometimes only one person was the shifter, sometimes both were, and there were many theories about it.

        Each time a person shifted, Shari was immediately called in, just in case the person was injured and wasn’t changing back any time soon. Her gentle nature and firm hand had earned the lieutenant a reputation as one of the better medics on the ship, and most crew who were able to shift came to her for help on how to take care of themselves in animal form.

        The process of shifting what something that Shari talked about with Jim quite a bit whenever he came by her lab and office. They spent so much time together that he insisted she could call him Jim when they weren't on official business. Stuck there with her work most of the time, her dear friend came by to talk quite a bit when he could. Though mostly, he came by to say hello to Asha and spoil the levytsya with attention. Shari often teased that he only liked her for her lioness.

        “Well, not only.” Jim would shoot back, smiling as they both laughed. Most of the time, they did reports together, especially those concerning away missions they’d both been on. It was nice, having company, and always good for a laugh when one of her Ensigns came by with paperwork and jumped upon seeing their Captain on the floor with Asha’s head in his lap, just tapping away at his PADD like it was the most normal thing in the universe.

        However, today was somehow…different. Normally, Shari would have seen Jim at lunch, or just around in the halls, but she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the man. Working in her lab, her back to the door, she smiled when she heard the tell-tale jingle and whoosh of the door opening.

        “It’s about time you showed up, sir.” She teased, keeping her back to the door.

        “Didn’t know you were expecting me.” Okay, that southern accent distinctly wasn’t Jim.

        Turning around, Shari was surprised to see Doctor McCoy standing there, with a slight smirk on his face.

        “Sorry, commander,” she smiled sheepishly “thought you were the Captain.”

        “Then I take it you haven’t seen him,” McCoy responded, more of a statement than a question “everywhere I’ve looked on this damn ship, I can’t seem to find the man. He’s either not been there or had just left.”

        “Is everything okay, sir?” she asked, concerned that their CMO was looking for the captain so thoroughly.

        “Our fearless leader’s dodging his annual physical again,” McCoy sighed “his usual antics, which he drags most of his friends into. If you see him, please try and send him my way.”

         “I’ll shoot you a message if he stops by here,” Shari agreed “and try to keep him here so you can actually find him.”

        “Even better,” the doctor nodded “thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll see you around.”

        “Of course,” Shari smiled, nodding back as he left “happy hunting, Doctor.”

        She could hear McCoy laugh a bit as the door closed, and chuckled a bit herself, before going back to her work. Though she couldn’t help her worry now. Jim seemed fit, so why would he avoid his physical? Sure, medical anxiety wasn’t uncommon-she dealt with it herself-but he seemed like the type who would do something he didn’t like right away just to get it over with.

        Not too long later, her door opened again, and this time it indeed was Jim.

        “Afternoon, Captain,” she greeted, smiling “busy day?”

        “Just making my rounds,” Jim replied, smiling back “how’s your work going?”

        “As interesting as ever, since it’s survey study day,” Shari declared, holding up her PADD to show the report “haven’t had many visitors, so it’s been quiet.”

        Watching as Jim greeted Asha, before settling into his usual spot so she could rest her head on his lap, Shari was even more worried. Jim may have been smiling and upbeat, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Was it just a long day?

        “Doctor McCoy came by earlier,” she spoke up, watching Jim’s head shoot up to look at her with guarded curiosity “asked if I had seen you, said you had an appointment and he’d been looking for you.”

        “What did you tell him?”

        “The truth; I hadn’t seen you yet today. Wished him happy hunting.”

        Jim chuckled a small bit at the snark, though his shoulders were almost as heavy as the near-silence in the room. The only sound was the occasional computer beep or chirp as both of them returned to their work.

        “Not curious about why?” Jim asked, not looking from his PADD. Shari glanced at him, and saw that Asha was watching him too, with a twitchier tail.

        “I am,” she replied, looking back down at her own PADD “but your reasons are your own, Jim. I’m curious, but I won’t pry.”

        Jim hummed in response, and it was quite for a good while. Shari had decided not to message McCoy, deciding that her friend needed time to sit and relax. The question of why he was avoiding the doctor had almost slipped her mind, if she was being honest.

        “It started with doctor’s exams. Said that it was to make sure people were okay during the famine.”

        Shari looked up at Jim’s sudden, quiet declaration. He was looking down at Asha, petting her head, and pointedly not looking anywhere else.

        “Most think it was sudden,” he continued “a jump from coup to…but it wasn’t. That’s why he could get as far as he did.”

        As he spoke, Shari got up from her seat to sit on the floor near Jim, heart breaking as she put two and two together. She knew that Jim was a survivor of Tarsus IV, but she hadn’t expected to ever hear about it from him.

        “And after, I was in and out of hospitals for a long time,” he concluded, shoulders tense as he finally looked up at her “so….”

        “You’ve got more reason than most, then.” Was all Shari said, hesitating before reaching and putting her hand on his.

        “You don’t seem surprised,” Jim declared, eyebrows furrowing “I’ve never talked about it, so how did you…”

        “I did my homework, when I found out about my assignment here,” Shari admitted, smiling sheepishly when his eyebrows shot up towards his hairline “I’d always admired and looked up to you, and wanted to know more. When I read about what happened on…well, my heart broke, and I now really understand why you don’t like appointments or physicals.”

        The look in Jim’s eyes was strange, but Shari didn’t squirm under his stare. It was more that she felt…seen. Like he was seeing the real her.

        “Though you should probably go and get it over with,” she suggested, watching his eyes lose a small bit of the twinkle that had come back “the Enterprise needs her Captain in top form. Would it help if Asha was there?”

        “I honestly don’t know.” Jim replied, looking down at the lioness, who seemed to have the same concerned look as Shari.

        “Would it hurt?” Shari continued, watching him think it over.

        “No.” he declared.

        “Then I don’t see why she shouldn’t go with you,” she replied, shrugging a bit “I’ll go as well, say I have to talk to M’Benga, so Doctor McCoy doesn’t question it too much. Could say it’s part of my work with Asha, as a potential comfort animal in the Med Bay.”

        Seeing she was offering him the choice, and a good-not to mention truthful-cover story for the situation, Jim was surprised to find himself agreeing.

“Okay, let’s go.”

~

        To say that Bones looked surprised when Jim walked into the Med Bay was an understatement. Shari walked in right behind him, and Jim watched as she went straight to M’Benga to talk. Asha stayed right by his side, though, clearly as dedicated to helping him as Shari was.

        “Alright, Bones, let’s get this over with,” he told his friend, nodding over to a bio bed “want me over there?”

        Bones could only nod, getting his PADD and equipment together as Jim went over to the bed, Asha sitting on the floor right next to his knee.

        “Lieutenant Neilson’s work?” Bones asked, nodding down to Asha as he got set up.

        “You could say that.” Jim nodded, hand going to Asha’s head to help ground his mind. This was one of his closest friends, nothing bad was going to happen. Asha was here, too, as was Shari.

       Nothing bad was going to happen.

       That became Jim’s mantra, helped by the rhythmic scratching and petting of Asha’s head during the whole appointment. Once things were done, and Bones stepped away to log everything, Shari approached with a smile on her face.

        “How did she do?” she asked quietly, gesturing to Asha, who had plopped her head on Jim’s lap in contentment from all the scritches and pets.

        “She helped,” Jim admitted, just as quiet as he gave a small smile that finally reached his eyes “draft up the paperwork, and I’ll make sure Bones gives the green light on this part of your experiment.”

        “I’ll head to my office and get started,” she nodded, smiling for him “I’m glad she could help. I hope you don’t hesitate to talk to me about things, if you need to. I promise I’ll listen. It’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

        Jim’s smile grew, putting his hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze as he nodded, before Shari woke Asha up. She bid Jim and Bones farewell before she left the Med Bay, Asha by her side. Jim watched as she left, heart feeling lighter than it had all day.

        Shari was a good and loyal friend, a highly intelligent scientist, and an incredibly beautiful woman in Jim’s eyes. She’d won his loyalty and fierce friendship, especially with what happened that day. Jim would rain hell on anyone who tried to hurt her.

        Deep inside, the wolf in his soul had fully woken up, and couldn’t agree more. 

[kiran-wears-science-blues]

So tonight is the three year Andrew anniversary, which is awesome!!! But I’m also letting it go. 

Now that I’m hanging in one place for 4-5 years I want to try to start dating seriously, and since I’m looking for something monogamous for now, it’d be unfair to be engaging with real emotions for someone else, regardless of how fictional that someone else is. Andrew can still be a favorite character, but anything that would be inappropriate with a real life ex would be inappropriate with him, which includes self-insert fantasies. 

I mention this here because I have a lot of wonderful anons who engage in the Andrew stuff with me, and my birthday is coming up and in past years I’ve had wonderful people drown me in Kiran/Andrew stuff, but I’m asking to not receive that anymore as I’m trying to move on. I absolutely love everything you guys have given me, but it’s time to let go. (If anyone forgets, that is a-okay, I’ll just reply privately.) 

But thank you all so much for all the support you have given me over the years of this whole Andrew thing. It means the world to me. This was a fantastic journey and I loved every second of it. 

I wrote one last self-insert thing to see this out. 

Andrew’s hands are soft as they brush my hair behind my ear, but I can feel the rough callouses of physical training on his fingers. I lean into his touch, my eyes closed.

“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”

I nod once. “Will be,” I murmur back.

---

The first time I dreamed of Andrew, I dreamed of his pain. He was quiet and distant, troubled thoughts keeping his eyes downcast. I reached to him. He was startled by my touch, but accepted it – in time he came to seek me out when he was overwhelmed, would tuck his head into my shoulder as he melted into my hugs.

I dreamed I lay down to nap with the afternoon sun warm on my bed. I was drifting when a shift in the mattress woke me. Andrew had lain beside me, his back pressed right up to my chest, sadness a tension running through every line in his body. I slid my arm around his waist and held him close to me. He relaxed. I felt warmth suffuse me as I pressed my face against his neck and felt his hair tickle my nose.

I woke to reality – a cold, empty bed, but that warmth still radiating throughout me.

Dreams are not reality, and yet they usher in emotion as vivid, as tangible, as any waking feelings. Dreams are not reality, but they are moments of experience all the same -- gifts that do not have to follow the rules, where fiction can be made flesh and bone and wrapped in a hug.

---

I curl up into a ball on the couch, fleece blanket draped over my shoulders. Andrew brings us tea -- mine in the Star Trek mug with the likeness of Kirk and Spock emblazoned on the side; his in the mug painted in a facsimile of R2-D2. I cradle my tea in my hands, and the scent of chamomile wafts up to me.

---

I wonder what Andrew would smell like. I like to think of cedar and cinnamon – they go together, and they call to mind the earthiness and homely comforts I associate with him. Cedar and cinnamon. But it’s only a romantic, poetic phrase that would never capture the nuances of a personal scent.

It was late summer in Montreal. I pressed my face into a sweatshirt and a pillow and an old stuffed animal and imagined them Andrew. The sweatshirt smelled not of much; the pillow of me; the stuffed animal of the milky muskiness of an old childhood toy. The window was open, letting in the scents of thunderstorm. My roommate had lit a candle; it smelled like pine. My feet were propped up on one of many boxes stacked around the emptying apartment, and dust tickled my nose.

I was on the cusp of a move, of letting go of a home that breathed happiness and trying to rebuild all that on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. I was going to leave almost everything behind. I was nervous and excited and wary and hopeful, and the feeling of being caught in the currents of life was so strong it was almost overwhelming. But Andrew was coming with me.

It was all so fucking tangible – the feeling of change of hope of growth of life, and of Andrew being there. He’d be coming with me in the form of a pillow and a sweatshirt and a stuffed animal and a whole lot of imagination, but it all tangled together and he felt real. I could almost feel his warmth, could almost see the scrunch between his eyes as he thought. I could almost smell him.  

I tightened my arms around the pillow and inhaled again.

----

“You wanna watch something?” Andrew asks, as he scoots onto the couch next to me.

I pull my knees up so they’re resting in his lap. “Sure. Surprise me – something I haven’t seen yet.”

Andrew quirks a slight smile. It’s that awkward, asymmetrical kind of smile, the one that so wonderfully suits the restless energy he has even now as he snuggles up close and pulls out his phone.

Andrew talks in references the way others talk in idioms. Sometimes I get them. Sometimes I stare blankly at him, and he catches my bewildered expression. “Oh man, you’ve never seen that? It’s going on the list.” Then it’s times like now the list comes out.

“I’m sorry; I can’t decide,” he declares after a moment, and pushes the phone at me. “What do you want?”

I skim the list. “How about Indiana Jones?”

Usually the thought of Harrison Ford would make Andrew light up, but when he smiles this time, it’s sad. I find his hand and give it a squeeze.

“Okay,” he says.

---

I started the list based on the references in the show or the comics that Andrew would make and I didn’t know. It grew to references he made in fanworks; then the list grew to include anything I simply thought he’d like and I hadn’t seen.

Star Wars, James Bond, Ghostbusters, Men In Black, Jurassic Park.

It began in Montreal, movie nights in the apartment softly lit by multicolored fairy lights. Friends passed around “Andrillow” as the pillow-sweatshirt-stuffed animal conglomeration had been named, laughing, hugging, hiding behind his mass of fluff when dinosaurs jumped out of the shadows.

Later, on the other side of the ocean, it was just me and the pillow. But movie nights with a pillow can be surprisingly healing when you’re struggling to adjust.

Back to the Future, Battlestar Gallactica, Footloose, Mission Impossible, Jaws.

I curled up against the plush of Andrew’s chest and propped the laptop up in front of us. One of the sleeves of his sweatshirt tangled around my arm. I felt a rush of softness, and I thought of the hormonal changes one undergoes as a result of experiencing reliable social support and fondness and love – increased serotonin and oxytocin and reduced cortisol in response to stress. I wondered, if one were to sample my saliva, what would the effects be of pillow hugs and sharing in the interests of a fictional character?

Maybe a test would find me aptly in love. Maybe there would be measurable effect on my hormone levels, but not as strong as it would be with a flesh-and-bone partner. Maybe there would be nothing at all. But in Leeds, where underwhelming days melted together and movie nights with a pillow were a regular heartbeat of happiness that kept it all alive, I had to think there would be something.

---

Andrew usually has many opinions about the movies we watch. Oh, he’s good about not talking over the movie; he would never want to compromise a movie-watching experience like that. But I can see his reactions in his body language, in the way he tenses or relaxes or leans forward or shifts his weight.

Today, he’s barely watching. When I try to hold his hand, he fidgets restlessly; we finish our tea and he goes to make more without pausing the movie.

“What did you think?” I ask when the credits roll.

---

Andrew’s not real. I know that, of course. I feel his unrealness most in his silence.

Andrew is so defined by his words, by his passions and opinions and stories. But to hear them, I write – contemplate his perspectives on media I know only tangentially, painstakingly word them in his voice. There are only so many words I can write for a storyteller before I make him obsolete. I write and create and imagine and examine, and the more I build Andrew’s character in my head, the less real he feels. He is no longer his own; he is an entity of my imagination and biases. That is not whom I love.

But then there were comics that wrote him in a pen other than my own, and in the smallest details I would never have considered, I fell in love again. I wouldn’t have given him polo shirts or boaters shoes – and oh, the watch! I was so bowled over by that watch; such a small detail, so not me. I could imagine it was pure Andrew, and I loved him for that damn watch.

There were of course the out-of-character moments, but there were also just the moments that pushed my expectations, and how I loved him for each. In Pieces on the Ground tells me we’d argue about the merits of media piracy. I’ve considered what moments of tension we might have, but what a gift to have an unexpected disagreement. I’ve cried over new issues in which Andrew appears, because those are the moments where the realness of Andrew would be the most poignant; one short appearance of a handful of panels would protect him from being consumed by my own imagination for months.

I still ache to hear him talk. To hear him ramble, to see his eyes light up as he tells me about the nuances of comics I’ve never read, to hear his opinions, to learn more about him. For him to teach me who it is I love.

But he is not real.

---

We fall into a heavy silence. Our second cups of tea are finished; the television is dark.

I feel my chest ache. I’ve anticipated this moment, but it still sucks. My eyes prickle at the corners, and I squeeze them shut. I lean into Andrew’s shoulder; he wraps an arm around me.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair.

“We always knew there was an expiration date,” I tell him. “It could never be forever.”

“I know, but…”

He trails off. I twist a hand in his shirt. Fuck, I hate to let go of all of this. To let go of this source of joys, of inspirations, of support, of tenderness. My head spins with all the points of my life he has touched: hundreds of thousands of words of writing, a novel, drawing, embroidery, baking, secondhand joy at the Star Wars merchandise in every grocery store, friendships –

I exhale. “This was an incredible run. I don’t regret a damn thing.”

“You’re going to be great.”

I nod haltingly, then pull back and let Andrew’s arm slip off my shoulder. “Thank you. I really did love you.”

“I know.”

I give him a small smile and squeeze his hand.

It’s time to let go.

[theamazingdrunk-blog]

Reposting DarkAngel's spec without permission

Little Know Facts about Louis and Lestat © Dark Angel

rueroyale@yahoo.com Spoilers: VampChron

Status: Complete Characters: Lestat & Louis Disclaimer: This piece of speculative fiction is not meant to infringe upon, sidle up to, nor slip in on top of the rights of the author of the Vampire Chronicles, Knopf Publishing or it’s subsidiaries, Kith and Kin, Geffen Pictures, Warner Home Video, Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, The Estate of Pointe du Lac, L’etat d’Auvergne, The Talamasca, Pointedulac Renovation and Construction, The Lion Court - Bar and Strip Club, Dulac Real Estate - New Orleans, LA, Melmoth Prophylactics Company, L&L Gazebo and Porch Swing Manufacturing, Amadeo World Enterprises, Molloy Bourbon Distillery, any other SPEC Authors, any SPEC readers, their pets, close relatives or chiropractors. Thank you. Author’s Notes: I began writing this in 1996 when I first discovered the a.b.a.r Archive. I want you all to know that if any of the statements below directly or indirectly oppose or contradict anything that has been written in your or any other SPEC, this is unintentional, and I am sorry. Conversely if anything contained below has already been stated in your or any other SPEC, this is also unintentional and again I am sorry. It is just for fun. One vampire’s view. Please enjoy. Dedication: With generous suggestions from Father of Lies to whom it is dedicated.

I am a vampire, one who is known to you from the writings of the aforementioned. I do not wish to identify myself further than this, as I am not possessed of the need for fame. I have read the “Anne Rice” books as well as the literature which has been appearing in alt.books.anne.rice. These are very interesting. Some are so close to reality that I feel convinced that I am not the first one of our little family to submit writings here. The portrayal of Louis and Lestat, in the books and in these specs, compels me to reveal a few of these facts (personal traits, mortal experiences, abilities, likes and dislikes) which may give everyone a clearer image of them. Even in their own writings, they fail to describe themselves or each other the way that I see them to actually be.

I do know them personally. I have lived with them. I am extremely fond of them both, this is why I feel the need to dispel the notions of a weak, whining Louis and a violent, self-centered Lestat. These are stereotypes which emphasize the very worst (notice I don’t actually say non-existent) qualities of these two very charming and well-rounded gentlemen quite out of proportion.

Lestat de Lioncourt *******************

-loves puns. The worse the better.

-plays radio and CDs extremely loud. Has been made aware that this is quite annoying to every one else, but seems to revel in causing others to yell at him.

-often breaks into to song with little or no provocation, usually accompanied by dancing. Has actually danced on tables.

-being the last surviving member of his family, is technically the Marquis. He sometimes mentions this , as in “is this any way to treat le Marquis d’Auvergne?”

-is very sweet, often presents a member of the family with a single flower, for no reason at all.

-is terrible at video games and has very little patience for them, though he loves new technology and is very knowledgeable about computers. He can take them apart and put them together, though if he is asked to fix one, he is more likely to appear with a brand new one instead.

-writes poetry incessantly, some of it is very good, and a few are truly beautiful, but with the volume he produces, invariably most are going to be quite bad. This is also true for lyrics and music which any passerby is unfortunately subjected to.

-whenever he sees Tom Cruise, in magazines, videos or on television , has taken to exclaiming “There I am!” This started with the film and has now progressed, everyone has now picked it up, “There you are, Lestat!”

-still occasionally buys dolls, I am not sure what he does with them.

-will do nearly anything, including acrobatics, to make someone laugh. (this is usually practiced upon Louis)

-loves riddles.

-seems to know an infinite number of songs which he plays on the piano, he is a virtuoso. Plays more ragtime than classical, however.

-is a very tactile person. Hugs everyone as often as possible.

-takes an intense dislike to certain media (personalities, programs, movies, bands, songs, etc.) and will go on long tirades about these people or whatever it is, each and every time they appear, to the point where many of us offer to just go and kill them if this will in some way placate him.

-is still enamored with the Shakespearean play, “Macbeth”, to the point of obsession. He has seen it countless times and purchases copies of it in print, on video and even on CD ROM. It is due to this obsession that the rest of us have been treated to : “Macbeth-the one man show”, “MACBETH!-the musical”, and even “Lady Macbeth-an all-drag revue” (the specifics of which I do not care to go into, and how he convinced the others to participate, I’ll never know )All have been delightful!

-is still deep in mourning over the seeming demise of the heavy metal music scene. You would think it was a close relative. Now he has closets full of black leather clothing which he claims he can’t wear anywhere.

-is terrible at spelling, but loves to work crosswords and cryptograms.

-would do anything, at any time, to help a member of the family.

-pouts often, over trivial things mostly, but this is usually short-lived.

-has sent the entire coven personalized autographed copies of all of his books, with his dialogue printed in red, of course.

-loves fresh flowers and has new bouquets delivered every night.

-has an intense dislike of insects.

-is much more generous and adorable than he has been described. Is constantly buying things for someone, or giving things away.

-is actually very paternal. He likes to take care of people and animals, and can be very gentle and comforting. Often teases his fledglings by referring to them as a father would “this is my youngest, David”, or “Well, Louis is a middle child, so we must expect these things”, “tell Papa what’s wrong”, or even “Bedtime for you, young man” and “Go to your Room!”

-loves books, has stacks of them everywhere, including at other vampire’s lairs.

-his nicknames among us are “Trouble” and “Brat” (shortened from “Brat Prince” of which you are all aware). Once, at Night Island , several of us were sitting quietly together (reading, playing games etc.) when Lestat appeared suddenly in the middle of the room, striking a rather affected pose. “Who am I?” he demanded, trying to start a game of charades. Louis looked up from his book and said quietly, “The Nyades Road ghost?” Lestat has been The Nyades Road ghost ever since, as in, “Telephone call for the Nyades Road ghost”, “Who do these boots belong to? ” “The Nyades Road ghost” “Of course I didn’t do that, what do I look like, the Nyades Road ghost?” Daniel has taken to calling him NRG (energy).

-loves to play hide and seek in its many different variations.

-loves pseudonyms and uses them as often as possible. Often they are names of established characters, such as Clarence Oddbody. Has also used: Timothy Cratchit, Samuel Spade, Nick Charles, Dorian Gray and Rick Blaine. He also uses other people’s pseudonym’s, such as Oscar Wilde’s Sebastien Melmoth, has also used: Richard Bachman (Stephen King), Alan Smithee (any director who does not want to be associated with a film he or she made), Max Schreck (Name given for actor who portrayed Nosferatu, but strangely no records of a Max Schreck can be found), Apollo C. Vermouth (Paul McCartney) Dr. Winston O’Boogie (John Lennon) and even Pandora Spocks (Elizabeth Montgomery as Serena). Also likes Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Mark Twain, David Banner, Peter Parker, Thomas Mapother and Howard O’Brien. When making reservations or holding tickets for himself and Louis, loves to put them under some variation of Louis’ name, ie. Louis Lioncourt, Louis Armstrong, Lancelot DuLac, Joe Louis, Ludwig Loch, Luigi Punta Lago, Pointdexter Lewis or of course, Brad Pitt. And then makes Louis pick them up.

- is a dog person, as you have probably guessed. Talks more to Mojo than anyone else. Bathes and brushes him often. Takes those disgustingly cute pictures of him - Mojo on the couch, Mojo at the table, Mojo reading a book, Mojo in front of the Christmas Tree, Mojo at the computer, Mojo calling his broker, Mojo fixing the VCR, Mojo kicking back having a beer.

-is not particularly fond of cats, even as a meal.

- when they are living together, almost constantly messes with Louis’ hair, to the point where Louis threatens to smack him, and I believe actually has on occasion. Frets over it more than his own, even. HATES it short. Would only cut his own hair if it were somehow unavoidable.

- loves shopping, for himself or others.

- calls Louis “Precious Darling” if he thinks no one can hear him. It always makes Louis smile a little embarrassed smile. Louis almost certainly has little private names for Lestat, but he is far more discreet about them. I suspect, on the basis of some very circumstantial evidence, that one of them may be “Tomcat”.

-would secretly love to have the entire existing coven living all together

Louis de Pointe du Lac **********************

-has a beautiful voice. Sang in the choir of his parish cathedral as a child. Still sings softly to himself. Will sing with Lestat if cajoled long enough.

-loves the smell of grapes. It reminds him of his youth, there was a grape arbor at Pointe du Lac.

-often becomes enamored of certain television shows and will not miss them. Uses the VCR more than anyone else in the family, to the extent that he has worn out several machines. Has closets filled with shelf after shelf of tapes.

-often asks Lestat to play the piano for him.

-though they do argue and fight, even physically, Louis does have the best rapport with Lestat, and is often asked by others in the coven to “ask Lestat something for me, won’t you?”. Which Louis always does.

-plays practical jokes, like sending Armand a series of tapes entitled, “How To Speak With A Spanish Accent”, or sending boxes of cheap plastic fangs to any one of us. Since the film has come out, he always makes certain that a crimping iron is prominently displayed in their bathroom whenever they have guests. He has even had it engraved with Lestat’s initials.

-is a very good story teller.

-has a subtle , yet very lively , sense of humor. His standard greetings to Daniel include, “I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to talk to you” and “I never give interviews, monsieur”. He had a fake book jacket with the title Daniel Molloy-Boy Reporter by Anne Rice made up, put it around a copy of their book (IWTV) and sent it to Night Island.

-is the “family” photographer.

-has an iron will, matched with a vicious temper. Though he is very slow to anger, and does tend more toward depression, when he is finally provoked, he is intimidating to us all, strength, age, and powers notwithstanding. All of us who have witnessed, or even heard about one of Louis’ rages (which have been few, four in over two hundred years) do all we can to avoid him during one of them. I can say with confidence that we would all fear to be the focus of one. You have certainly read about one, recorded in IWTV, in which he burns down the Theatre des Vampires. Another occurred during the time that we were all together, while Lestat was with Akasha. It was so upsetting to everyone that even Lestat, with his well known penchant for publishing even the most disturbing things about all of us, declined to include it in his book.

-keeps a record of everyone’s “birthdays”(some significant date in their lives if they don’t know their actual birthdate) and sends gifts.

-is an excellent speller and mathematician. He was trained early to keep the books and the plantation journal at Pointe du Lac. He has proof-read all of Lestat’s books, is the only one Lestat trusts to read his proofs without taking anything out, or changing anything. Has often been asked to check up on various mortal accountants retained by one or the other of us, to be certain that our investments are being handled wisely and honestly.

-usually pays little attention to his surroundings, allowing Lestat to decorate as he pleases when they are together, and doing nothing when he is alone, but enjoys the traditional holidays very much and loves to drape the entire house in greenery and ribbons and fruit for Christmas, as was done when he was a child at Pointe du Lac. Lestat loves to counteract this by buying the brightest, cheapest tackiest decorations ( huge plastic lighted Santa with reindeer for the roof, brightly colored elves everywhere, Fake-snow-in-a-can on the windows, lights that play Christmas carols and blink in time to the music, welcome mat that says “Ho Ho Ho” when stepped on, silver icicles strewn everywhere, mistletoe in every doorway, all kinds of automatons, such as are usually seen in store windows - Santas, Little Drummer Boys, Elves working, Christmas trees that fall over, ect. Shiny red and green garlands everywhere, and even one of those cardboard fireplaces, next to the real one) and putting them up before Louis wakes, or while Louis is out.

-loves candlelight. He often turns off the lights in his room and lights several candles instead. He has been lectured about the danger of this, but he persists in secret. When he is discovered he will blow them out and use electric light for a few nights. He has had his candles confiscated after setting off the smoke alarm.

-knows how to drive and usually has a car, but prefers motorcycles and nearly always has one. Says it is closer to horseback riding.

-when annoyed or irritated with Lestat will call him “Lestat Christophe Marie!”. No one knows if this was Lestat’s actual name. When asked, Gabrielle claims she doesn’t remember, Lestat claims that it was not, Louis made it up. Louis will say only, “It is Lestat’s name.”

-often disappears without warning. For instance, once, in 1990 when he was living with Lestat, he was sitting on the floor, watching a video in the living room, Lestat was in a chair behind him. Louis got up, turned to Lestat and said, “I’ll be back.” Went into the kitchen, apparently out the window and was gone for three weeks. Lestat has threatened to put his face on a milk carton.

-according to Talamasca files, the name on Louis’ baptismal certificate was “Louis Michel Rene Antoine”.

-loves to gamble. He generally stays away from casinos, but has cleaned every one of us out during card games. Always has a bet going somewhere. His nicknames among us are “Lucky” and “Ace” (we can’t all call him “Beautiful One”). Loves to play Pool or Billiards. Has been known to hustle other players.

-is still somewhat claustrophobic and suffers from vivid nightmares often.

-loves film and video. Avoids quoting them very much, but can identify nearly any quote that is put to him.

-adores video games, although he owns none himself. Becomes immersed in them for hours and loses all track of time. Has had to be literally dragged to safety at dawn.

-is the most avid and interested listener of all the vampires. Will sit for hours and listen to Maharet, Khayman or any of the others describe their lives as mortals or vampires. Has asked Daniel to tell him of all of the other stories he had collected before they met. Loves to listen to David’s adventures.

-has very refined manners. Still stands when a lady enters a room, opens doors, pulls out chairs, sends thank you notes, etc.

-is a very graceful dancer. Had lessons as a child.

-periodically puts great sums of money in church poor boxes.

-often uses the French pronunciation of our names, such as, Davide, Erique, Danielle.

-can discuss philosophy and religion at length.

-draws and paints but doesn’t want anyone else to ever see his work. He often burns it once it is completed. Lestat has stolen some of the sketches while Louis was out hunting, and he says they are quite good.

-loves jigsaw puzzles and board games, especially chess.

-was a cat person in his mortal life, and was always making pets of the cats at Pointe du Lac. Now however, he avoids pets mostly, but since he has had Mojo foisted upon him, takes very good care of him, and I believe, loves him very much. Mojo has formed a very close attachment to Louis, taking any opportunity to lay on his lap. If Lestat is gone, Mojo will follow Louis and never leave his side. Is somewhat opposed to all the picture taking, but only as much as to say, “Lestat, leave poor Mojo alone.” Speaks to Mojo in French, claims that Mojo is bilingual.

-hates to shop for himself, but will shop for nights and nights to find just the right gift for Lestat.

-has no particular attachment to his hair, if not with Lestat, will cut it very short as soon as he wakes, but does not burn it, because he believes the odor would attract attention. As a result, has garbage bags full of hair that he regularly disposes of. Lestat likes to take them and give them to wig-makers and doll makers. This distresses Louis, but he cannot quite explain why.

-knows much more about Voodoo than you would ever believe. Not that he practices it …as far as I know.

-still uses his real name as much as possible, though Lestat advises against it. As forms and registrations have evolved, has changed it to Louis DePointeDuLac, then Louis Depointdulac, now it is usually Louis Pointedulac, or if the name space is especially short, Louis Dulac. When Lestat does prevail in forcing him to use a pseudonym, always uses something as far from his own name as possible, which results in Louis’ mail and phone messages coming for : Giovanni Martelli, Ciaran O’Shea, Bobby Lee James, Alexei Andropov, Angel Martinez, Dmitri Stadopolous, Biff Weatherington, Ping Chang Lee, Casimir Pulaski, DaShawn Lincoln, Ingmar Thorvaldson, Kefentse Unika, Israel Goldberg or Trinity Lovechild Smith. Lestat gets great joy out of this, and if he happens to retrieve the mail, or take a phone call, will often call Louis by whatever pseudonym it came under, for the rest of the night.

-has never, ever gone underground. There are other unsaid explanations for his disappearances.

FINIS

THE END

[writeyouin]

Hey if you have time: ReaderXChekov where reader gets injured on an away mission and has to go see McCoy but plot twist reader is afraid of doctors and tries to hide. Chekov finds reader and drags/coaxes them to med-bay and stays while they get treated and is in general a good partner and friend. Bonus points if McCoy is grumpy that they are being so affectionate while he is trying to work, but secretly is glad Chekov is there because he knows reader is scared of doctors.

Chekov X Reader – An Apple a Day

A/N – Writing for Chekov but thinking of Jaal in Mass Effect Andromeda.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

There was no doubt about it. Being a red shirt officially sucked. Sure, you’d often heard jokes about it but you’d never actually believed it. Now, you were stuck behind a rock on a desert outcrop, shielding yourself from Klingon fire while Kirk and Spock did the same a few metres away. Ideally, you could have laid covering fire down all day until Scotty beamed you back aboard the Enterprise. The planet however, ruined that plan with its highly magnetic field, meaning that because of interference with the sensors, Scotty could only beam the three of you back if you were all grouped together; that meant you had to leave the safety of cover so as not to risk Kirk or Spock’s life. It’s not that you didn’t trust Kirk and Spock to have your back but being the only security member there left you wishing you were the one protecting your team, the way it was meant to be; after all, you were the best shot of the landing party.

“I couldn’t have been more scientifically minded. Nooo, I had to decide punching things was more fun.” You grumbled silently, mentally preparing yourself for what was to come next.

At Kirk’s nod, you sprinted the daunting gap which had seemed pitifully small only a few minutes ago. Seconds before you made it to safety, you felt a stinging sensation under your ribs. You knew all too well the pain of a phaser shot and this most certainly wasn’t it. A risky glance at your attackers revealed that the Klingons were accompanied by some form of unknown animal. It was a creature the likes of which you’d never seen before, an iguana-like animal, about the size of a large German Shepard, that apparently spat some form of acid. You felt tugging on your arm and in the next instance, the three of you were back in the transporter room.

Kirk gave you a concerned once-over, his gaze lingering on your torn shirt, the bile had lightly burnt the skin underneath. You glanced down at the injury; fortunately, it wasn’t causing much pain past a light stinging.

“Spock, comments?” Kirk demanded, never looking away from you.

“The Klingons have been suspected of creating genetic hybrids for some time now, Captain. Lieutenant (L/N)’s injury appears to be the work of the first one we’ve seen; effects are unknown. It is advisable that the lieutenant is escorted to med-bay for immediate treatment and long-term observation.”

Kirk nodded at the practical analysis, meanwhile, deep-routed fear clawed at the back of your mind, making you nervous about what could come if you didn’t act fast. Hiding your reservations, you tittered a small laugh, Spock raised a curious eyebrow.

“Come on guys, a doctor for this paper cut? I’ve had worse injuries from falling over, I feel fine, really.” You grinned breezily.

“No, Lieutenant.” Kirk argued. “I want you checked over by Bones.”

You held up your hands in mock surrender. “Alright, you got it. I’ll go to med-bay right now if it puts your mind at ease. Still, I really do feel fine so it’d be a waste of your time for you to escort me when I already know the way.”

“You sure?”

“Stop fussing, will you? I’ll see you later.”

Before any more arguments could be made you ran out of the room, taking a left for the turbolift but changing direction as soon as you knew it was safe to. If you were going anywhere, it was straight to your hab-suite for a change of clothing. Once in the safety of your room, you glanced at the wound which had dried out rather quickly, you hid it with the new shirt and left quickly, heading to the one place you would fade into the background; Engineering.

“Vhat do you mean ‘not here’? Vhere else could (s)he be?” Chekov asked McCoy dubiously. He’d come to pick you up from med-bay as a surprise only to find a disgruntled McCoy arguing with Spock over the comm-link.

“I mean that (Y/N) is not in this room, nor has (s)he been here since the mandatory physical at the beginning of the year.” McCoy growled gruffly.

“But (s)he’s hurt, zhe Captain said so.”

“I’m sure (s)he is but I don’t have time to play a damned game of hide and seek on a ship this big. You want my advice? Get a tracking device. Better yet, check with Scotty, (s)he’s probably with him in engineering anyway.”

“Really?” Chekov looked hopeful.

“HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?” McCoy burst out irritably. “You’re not gonna find anything here, go ask somebody else and stop wasting my time, I do actually have other patients, damn it.”

Chekov knew better than to provoke McCoy further, he left the doctor alone and begun his search for you, trying to reach you through your communicator every so often but receiving no reply.

You didn’t remember entering the empty storage room, in fact, you didn’t remember much at all. All you could focus on now was the debilitating effect the iguana-dog had had on you; evidently, the bile it produced was a fast acting venom with a delayed start, not an acid. Knowing what had damaged you however didn’t help, what you needed now was a cure. You were currently experiencing a wide-array of symptoms, each worse than the last. It had started with mild nausea and sweating. Then came the dimming vision. After that, your breathing had become shallow and laboured. Even if you wanted to see a doctor now, which you didn’t, it wouldn’t be possible; small movements alone caused serious pain to flare through your body, as if your skin was on fire.

The next stab of pain caused you to wonder exactly how much time had passed, it had lost its effect at some point around the dimming vision. Had it been seconds or hours? Was it even the same day or had you slipped into a different one? How long did it take for the various new symptoms to occur?

At some point during your suffering, mild delirium set in. You were stuck reliving the previous battle, except, with each rendition, there was something else out of place. In one battle, you were walking on the ocean’s waves, in another you were fighting the people you’d lost through the years. Finally, you could hear echoes of things you’d heard before while you fired your phaser at imaginary foes. One echo however, was new, something you’d never heard said before. The familiar voice resonated within your thoughts, bringing you briefly back into reality.

“Pavel.” You mumbled upon feeling his arms wrap around you, raising you into the air; it felt vaguely like flying.

“Argh, you stupid, stupid… Hang on, McCoy vill fix zhis.” Chekov stressed frantically. He couldn’t believe his eyes, your skin was almost translucent, revealing the veins and arteries underneath.

“No.” You batted his chest lightly, barely a tap. “I’m fine… don’ need him.”

Chekov wasn’t listening, he was too busy trying to keep you steady as he ran the way to med-bay.

“Don wanna hurt ‘gain.” You argued bleakly through laboured breaths.

“He’ll make you better lyublyu (love).”

“…Docs ’re dangerous.”

“Not zhis one. I promise.”

Fresh waves of pain coursed through you, you writhed against Chekov who tightened his grip on you.

The only indication that you’d reached med-bay was McCoy’s exclamation of, “Good God man.”

“Doctor.” Chekov pleaded helplessly, so sure that he was going to lose the one person he truly loved aboard the Enterprise.

“On the bed.” McCoy ordered.

“Don’t leave.” You whimpered, using your little energy to grasp Chekov’s shirt.

“I’m here lyublyu (love), don’t vorry.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll make my work much easier.” McCoy grumbled sarcastically, hiding his concern for you behind a disdainful tone.

Shouted words turned to fuzzy mumblings and then to nothing as your body finally gave in, though whether to exhaustion or medication, you weren’t sure. McCoy did his best to stabilise you, all the while issuing orders to Kirk and Spock through his communicator; if he was going to save your life, you’d need a different kind of help.

After hours of work, pumping you with endless hypos and chemicals, your survival became a waiting game, relying purely on the success of Kirk and Spock. Chekov stopped murmuring comforting words to you for the first time since he’d brought you in. Fresh tears fell freely from his eyes as he gripped your hand and steeled himself for the question he’d been dreading since the start.

“Vill-” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Vill (s)he make it?”

McCoy sighed, lifting an uncomfortable hand to his face. “I don’t know.”

Although he’d been prepared for the answer, Chekov shuddered queasily. What he really wanted to hear was something along the lines of, “Yeah it looks bad now but it’ll be okay.” or, “(S)he’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

It was foolish to wish for a lie but that was all he wanted to believe. Hearing the truth was acknowledging the likelihood of your death and that was something he simply couldn’t bear. After hearing that, Chekov couldn’t bring himself to ask anything else so he settled for whispering all his plans for the two of you in the future, slipping naturally into Russian as a small comfort to himself.

You struggled to open your eyes, squinting against bright light that forced you to keep them shut for a minute. You didn’t think you had ever felt worse, every muscle ached like it did after intense training, your mouth held the after-taste of vomit, and you could feel extra pain where you knew several hypos had been used; on top of all that, there was a heavy weight on your thighs and you wondered briefly if you’d been paralysed. You fought against the light again, forcing your eyes open until they adjusted. If you’d had the energy to smile, you would have, Chekov was sat on a chair next to your bed, his head was resting on your legs and his usually neat hair was ruffled all over the place.

“Glad to see you’ve joined the land of the living.” Nurse Chapel beamed at you, bringing a large glass of water with a straw in it.

“H-”

Nurse Chapel help up a hand. “No talking. I expect you to drink that first and then you’re going to let me run some tests; when I’m done, you can talk, understand?”

You bobbed you head lightly, instantly regretting the headache it brought with it.

“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” She passed you the water, making sure you were taking steady sips before scanning your body and talking again. “You know, you’re lucky you got me instead of Doctor McCoy. He’s worked on you for almost 60 hours straight and let me tell you, he’s furious; still, underneath all that crabbiness lies a heart of gold, if he yells, it’s because he cares. Now tell me, do you remember what happened?”

Disjointed memories of your delirium came to you, the only true one being of the iguana-dog. You put down the now empty glass and cleared your throat, ready to test your voice. “Venom?” You croaked.

“Yes, venom that you foolishly tried to hide. Venom that we didn’t have a cure to.”

“How-”

“Spock and Kirk had to ‘liberate’ one of the creatures that did it from the Klingon camp so we could synthesize a cure; I imagine they’ll want words with you too.”

You cringed, the thought of a telling off wasn’t appealing, surely the venom had been enough of a punishment already.

“Don’t worry.” Chapel smiled. “They won’t get to my patient until you’re fully recovered.”

You silently prayed that wouldn’t be for a long time so you could put off the punishment. “What about the iguana-dog?”

“Iguana-dog? Oh, the Triffid that poisoned you?”

You raised an eyebrow at the name.

“Yes, that’s’ in the animal lab being examined, though it made quite the effort to get to you. Spock believes that the scent the other Triffid made the creature friendly towards you; it’s tried to attack everyone else on the ship you know.”

“I always did want a pet that could kill me.” You joked, lying back uncomfortably.

“Well you’ll have to talk to Kirk about that, for now rest, it’s been a long-”

Chekov stirred, mumbling a tired, “Lyublyu (love).”

Chapel sighed sympathetically, “I’ll give you two five minutes together, any more than that and I’m fetching McCoy.”

Chekov stared blearily after her before coming to his senses and turning his attention to you. “(Y/N)!” he grabbed hold of you enthusiastically, quickly letting go when you cried out in pain.

“Shit, do you need a doctor, vater, sleep, tell me and I’ll get help.” He hovered uneasily, clearly ready to run wherever you needed.

“It’s okay, jus’ need a little rest and I’ll be right as rain.”

Chekov stared wide-eyed, unsure of what to say next. He was past anger and elation; right now, he just wanted to care for you and make your recovery his number one priority.

“Thanks for staying with me.”

“Lyublyu (love), I’m never leaving.”

“Good luck with that, five minutes and Chapel gets McCoy to throw you out.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

You managed a weak laugh at Chekov’s bravado, he was swelling his chest out to look bigger. “Easy there Rambo, McCoy would wipe the floor with a toothpick like you. What’s say we leave the fighting to a pro like me?”

“Leave zhe fighting to you?” Chekov tutted. “Zhat’s vhat got us into zhis mess.”

“Alright, alright, then you think you can stay on guard duty while I sleep? Who knows what kind of experiments McCoy’s ready to try when I nod off.”

“He vould never.”

“Wanna bet? I hear he’s pretty pissed at me.”

“(Y/N) please, zhe whole ship is pretty pissed at you.”

“Oh yeah? What about you?”

“I’m zhe vorst of all, unfortunately I’m stupid enough to love you.”

You grinned and continued the conversation, quickly losing track of time. Nurse Chapel watched through the window in the adjacent room while McCoy complained at her about anything and everything he could think of concerning you. “-and on top of that Chekov’s still in there and I know he won’t (Y/N) leave to do his damned job; that’s distraction in the workplace.”

“Oh hush.” Chapel chided. “We both know you’re glad (s)he’s not alone.”

McCoy blustered. “No. I’d be glad if the idiot didn’t fear doctors, I’ve never heard of anything so ridiculous in all my years.” He kept complaining while rifling through drawers, making himself look busy as Chapel listened; she shook her head and continued to observe you, letting McCoy get all his ranting out before he could get to you, though she feared you would still get an earful anyway.