#kirk rambles

[kirk-doodle]

Kirk's headcanons on EraserCloudMic

Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic:

All Pronouns, primarily He/They but will wear a pretty dress. Will die in a Good way if Oboro calls him "girlfriend"/"baby girl". AMAB. Biracial Japanese/White blonde is his natural hair color. Heterochromia one red and one sap green eye. Was in foster care. Multiple foster homes didnt want to deal with his voice quirk or mental stuff. ADHD & Autism & deaf/hard of hearing. Eating Disorder. Bisexual & Demiromantic. Speaks English, Japanese, German, French, and Spanish fluently. Knows JSL and ASL. Pillow Princess & a switch/verse

Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead:

He/Xe/They pronouns. Prefers students & others to call him Mx. Aizawa rather than Mister. Genderqueer. Will kill Oboro and Hizashi if they call him "baby girl" or anything feminine. Sugar Kitten, Grumpy Kitten, and Kitten are acceptable. AFAB. PTSD & Autism & genaric anxiety disorder. Eating Disorder. Was kicked out of the house when he was 15 because he got r*ped by a hero/student at UA and wanted to keep the parasite (hitoshi) eventually stopped calling it a parasite because Hizashi told him to. (But listen. It's called the miracle of life because our immune systems do actively try to attack invading cells because our bodies see these things as parasites) psrents are Japanese-American & Norwegian/German American Shouta has only ever lived in Japan. Hair color is a desaturated violet/purple and dyed black. Paints his nails black. Didn't speak until he was 6 years old. Mother taught him ASL and learned JSL in school. Only speaks Japanese fluently. Knows swear words in English and like 1 Norwegian word. Aro/ace spec sex positive?, but also Hyper sexual from trauma. In a bad headspace sees sexual acts as punishment for... well a variety of things including Oboro's death. Chronic pain & fatigue. Everyone thinks he is a bottom he thinks he is a service top.

Shirakumo Oboro | Kurogiri:

He/Him cismale. Loves to tease Shouta and loves being called "baby girl". Hispanic & Philippino. Has 2 moms who are amazing. Speaks fluent Spanish, English, and Japanese. ADHD & Autism. As Kurogiri he has dissociative Amnesia, PTSD, chronic migraines. Verse. Bisexual

[foldingfittedsheets]

One time I was ringing up this sweet older gentleman at the sex shop. I no longer remember what he was buying, just that he was in his fifties and radiated a bumbling gentleness that I had enjoyed.

He was chatting with me as he pulled out cash to pay, “You know, I always thought it would be so much easier to meet ladies. But then you meet a girl and you start chatting and they’re never as impressed that I know Captain Kirk’s middle name as I expected them to be.”

I took his payment with a grin and said, “I dunno, Tiberius is an amazing middle name, it was their loss.”

He looked at me with utter awe, radiating a disbelieving joy that I’d parried his quip so effortlessly with Trekkie lore. “If I were thirty years younger…” he’d said, absolutely delighted.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was gay to boot, so I just beamed and wished him a good day. He went out the door with a spring in his step and I still smile to think about it.

[kirks-slutty-red-tights]

living life as our founding mothers (writers of k/s fanfics in the 60s and 70s) intended (reading k/s smut in public spaces)

[bluesngolds]

do not tumble dry!!!

[constablequodo]

Honestly, there's something about the sheer horror on Spock's face when he thinks he's killed Kirk in amok time that always hits me like a fucking truck.

Now, I know this discussion probably isn't anything new to the spirk community, but jesus christ. Every time I watch that scene, I go from "Oh my god this is so gay. How the hell did the writers and production team not look at shatner and nimoy rolling around in the sand together and go 'yeah seems totally heterosexual' " to "Oh my god. This is so fucking sad."

The pure horror and shock on Spock's face when he snaps out of the fever and realises what he's done (or what he thinks he's done) is so....AAAA

I can't even put into words how it makes me feel, it just makes me so not normal about the show and those two as a whole all over again.

He thought he'd KILLED HIM. BY HIS OWN HAND. DURING A PROCESS HE SEEMED TO BE VERY ASHAMED TO TALK ABOUT AND HE SMILED WHEN HE SAW KIRK ALIVE AND AJAJSJ-

[not-equippedforthis]

:]]

[spocks-husband]

Every single Star Trek novel makes Spirk canon btw. All of them.

[always-a-king-or-queen]

The ache will go away, eventually. 

That was what the Professor told them, the day they got back. When they tumbled from the wardrobe in a heap of tangled limbs, and found that the world had been torn from under their feet with all the kindness of a serpent. 

They picked themselves off of the floorboards with smiles plastered on child faces, and sat with the Professor in his study drinking cup after cup of tea. 

But the smiles were fake. The tea was like ash on their tongues. And when they went to bed that night, none of them could sleep in beds that were too foreign, in bodies that had not been their own for years. Instead they grouped into one room and sat on the floor and whispered, late into the night. 

When morning came, Mrs. Macready discovered the four of them asleep in Peter and Edmund’s bedroom, tangled in a heap of pillows and blankets with their arms looped across one another. They woke a few moments after her entry and seemed confused, lost even, staring around the room with pale faces, eyes raking over each framed painting on the wall and across every bit of furniture as if it was foreign to them. “Come to breakfast,” Mrs. Macready said as she turned to go, but inside she wondered. 

For the children’s faces had held the same sadness that she saw sometimes in the Professor’s. A yearning, a shock, a numbness, as if their very hearts had been ripped from their chests.

At breakfast Lucy sat huddled between her brothers, wrapped in a shawl that was much too big for her as she warmed her hands around a mug of hot chocolate. Edmund fidgeted in his seat and kept reaching up to his hair as if to feel for something that was no longer there. Susan pushed her food idly around on her plate with her fork and hummed a strange melody under her breath. And Peter folded his hands beneath his chin and stared at the wall with eyes that seemed much too old for his face. 

It chilled Mrs. Macready to see their silence, their strangeness, when only yesterday they had been running all over the house, pounding through the halls, shouting and laughing in the bedrooms. It was as if something, something terrible and mysterious and lengthy, had occurred yesterday, but surely that could not be. 

She remarked upon it to the Professor, but he only smiled sadly at her and shook his head. “They’ll be all right,” he said, but she wasn’t so sure. 

They seemed so lost. 

Lucy disappeared into one of the rooms later that day, a room that Mrs. Macready knew was bare save for an old wardrobe of the professor’s. She couldn’t imagine what the child would want to go in there for, but children were strange and perhaps she was just playing some game. When Lucy came out again a few minutes later, sobbing and stumbling back down the hall with her hair askew, Mrs. Macready tried to console her, but Lucy found no comfort in her arms. “It wasn’t there,” she kept saying, inconsolable, and wouldn’t stop crying until her siblings came and gathered her in their arms and said in soothing voices, “Perhaps we’ll go back someday, Lu.” 

Go back where, Mrs. Macready wondered? She stepped into the room Lucy had been in later on in the evening and looked around, but there was nothing but dust and an empty space where coats used to hang in the wardrobe. The children must have taken them recently and forgotten to return them, not that it really mattered. They were so old and musty and the Professor had probably forgotten them long ago. But what could have made the child cry so? Try as she might, Mrs. Macready could find no answer, and she left the room dissatisfied and covered in dust. 

Lucy and Edmund and Peter and Susan took tea in the Professor’s room again that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. They slept in Peter and Edmund’s room, then Susan and Lucy’s, then Peter and Edmund’s again and so on, swapping every night till Mrs. Macready wondered how they could possibly get any sleep. The floor couldn’t be comfortable, but it was where she found them, morning after morning. 

Each morning they looked sadder than before, and breakfast was silent. Each afternoon Lucy went into the room with the wardrobe, carrying a little lion figurine Edmund had carved her, and came out crying a little while later. And then one day she didn’t, and went wandering in the woods and fields around the Professor’s house instead. She came back with grassy fingers and a scratch on one cheek and a crown of flowers on her head, but she seemed content. Happy, even. Mrs. Macready heard her singing to herself in a language she’d never heard before as Lucy skipped past her in the hall, leaving flower petals on the floor in her wake. Mrs. Macready couldn’t bring herself to tell the child to pick them up, and instead just left them where they were. 

More days and nights went by. One day it was Peter who went into the room with the wardrobe, bringing with him an old cloak of the Professor’s, and he was gone for quite a while. Thirty or forty minutes, Mrs. Macready would guess. When he came out, his shoulders were straighter and his chin lifted higher, but tears were dried upon his cheeks and his eyes were frightening. Noble and fierce, like the eyes of a king. The cloak still hung about his shoulders and made him seem almost like an adult. 

Peter never went into the wardrobe room again, but Susan did, a few weeks later. She took a dried flower crown inside with her and sat in there at least an hour, and when she came out her hair was so elaborately braided that Mrs. Macready wondered where on earth she had learned it. The flower crown was perched atop her head as she went back down the hall, and she walked so gracefully that she seemed to be floating on the air itself. In spite of her red eyes, she smiled, and seemed content to wander the mansion afterwards, reading or sketching or making delicate jewelry out of little pebbles and dried flowers Lucy brought her from the woods. 

More weeks went by. The children still took tea in the Professor’s study on occasion, but not as often as before. Lucy now went on her daily walks outdoors, and sometimes Peter or Susan, or both of them at once, accompanied her. Edmund stayed upstairs for the most part, reading or writing, keeping quiet and looking paler and sadder by the day. 

Finally he, too, went into the wardrobe room. 

He stayed for hours, hours upon hours. He took nothing in save for a wooden sword he had carved from a stick Lucy brought him from outside, and he didn’t come out again. The shadows lengthened across the hall and the sun sank lower in the sky and finally Mrs. Macready made herself speak quietly to Peter as the boy came out of the Professor’s study. “Your brother has been gone for hours,” she told him crisply, but she was privately alarmed, because Peter’s face shifted into panic and he disappeared upstairs without a word. 

Mrs. Macready followed him silently after around thirty minutes and pressed an ear to the door of the wardrobe room. Voices drifted from beyond. Edmund’s and Peter’s, yes, but she could also hear the soft tones of Lucy and Susan. 

“Why did he send us back?” Edmund was saying. It sounded as if he had been crying.  

Mrs. Macready couldn’t catch the answer, but when the siblings trickled out of the room an hour later, Edmund’s wooden sword was missing, and the flower crown Susan had been wearing lately was gone, and Peter no longer had his old cloak, and Lucy wasn’t carrying her lion figurine, and the four of them had clasped hands and sad, but smiling, faces. 

Mrs. Macready slipped into the room once they were gone and opened the wardrobe, and there at the bottom were the sword and the crown and the cloak and the lion. An offering of sorts, almost, or perhaps just items left there for future use, for whenever they next went into the wardrobe room.  

But they never did, and one day they were gone for good, off home, and the mansion was silent again. And it had been a long time since that morning that Mrs. Macready had found them all piled together in one bedroom, but ever since then they hadn’t quite been children, and she wanted to know why.

She climbed the steps again to the floor of the house where the old wardrobe was, and then went into the room and crossed the floor to the opposite wall. 

When she pulled the wardrobe door open, the four items the Pevensie children had left inside of it were missing. 

And just for a moment, it seemed to her that a cool gust of air brushed her face, coming from the darkness beyond where the missing coats used to hang.

[cicerigo]

“Why Mr Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles,” is living in my head.

"If I let go of a hammer on a planet that has a positive gravity, I need not see it fall to know that it has in fact fallen... Gentlemen, human beings have characteristics just as inanimate objects do. It is impossible for Captain Kirk to act out of panic or malice. It is not his nature." Rotating in my mind.

"You? At his side, as if you've always been there and always will." Forever thinking about it.

[kirk-doodle]

one day I'll draw my running brain gag of Oboro using cloud travel with the babes. he breaks out into singing "A Whole New World". All the time. Hizashi fucking. Loves it and sings along, but Shouta is fucking. Mortified everytime.

I have 2 fics I'm working on that include this.

[strawbaby-jelly]

This fannypack I wore to pride a few years ago. Thank you to my friend for executing my vision lol

[quailfence]

[Image description: text that reads “‘to me? I am not Human.’ ‘If I don't know that, who does?’ ‘I.’ Kirk sobered. ‘Spock, we have lived with that, too. From the pon farr to the spores. You've banged me—us--around once in a while. So what?’” End description.]

hello?!

(book is The Promethus Desgin)

[beaulesbian]

I can't stop thinking about the Lower Decks 2x5 episode, where mariner and boimler find a bar in which kirk and spock used to hang out and drink,

and how the new snw crossover episode would be even more chaotic if they met both of them in live action.

but even without that i feel there's some things that boimler managed to put into their heads that not everything is as it should be, yet..

(cough, some break ups and new relationships maybe? yes this is about spirk)

[constablequodo]

I love now Trekkies will go on about Spock's gay arc but won't acknowledge the fact Kirk would drop to his knees immediately for that man. Kirk is just as down bad, for good reason too.

[not-equippedforthis]

i am aware this would most likely never ever happen but can you imagine spock giving kirk a back/neck rub - as he so clearly expects - and accidentally vulcan pinching him. slumps. ah. i did not intend to do that. bridge goes silent. cap's down. someone douse him with water or something

[spocks-husband]

There was some random star trek watcher in 1966 who was like "so those two space dudes are def fucking right?" And accidentally changed the course of human history and fandom culture for the rest of time and honestly? Queen shit.