scatterbrainedcapybara

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

In case you aren’t familiar, Michael Scott Moore and David Rohde are both journalists. Moore was held by Somali pirates for 977 days. Rohde was held captive by the Taliban for 7 months after being abducted in Afghanistan.

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Oooh, I know this is a bit obvious of me, but 'Catch Your Voice'? Because I love having additional headcanons while I am podficcing something. ;D Or, alternatively/additionally, 'The Issue of Cuddling'?

Sooo, for the sake of podfic (Catch Your Voice and none for The Issue of Cuddling because I’m selfish that way and this is getting a bit long. ;)

1. This (huge picture) is the cruise ship where Clint sort-of-not-really meets Phil.

2. There was supposed to be a second part to the story but I never got around to writing it. So, Additional Headcanon: The What Was Phil Thinking Edition.

Phil never even realized he was falling in love with Clint (because he’s never had any close friends, not really, and friends want to spend time with each other a lot and get worried and get that flippy heart feeling and want to smile when they see each other, right, THAT��S TOTALLY NORMAL FRIENDSHIP) until Nick Fury pulled him aside and told him he better decide soon whether he wanted that boy or not because, dude, heartbroken assets are the whiniest little fuckers underneath God’s blue sky.

And Phil was all, “Bwuh? What no we’re friends what are you even talking about wtf?”

And Fury was all, “YOU RAN INTO A COLLAPSING BUILDING FOR HIM AND KEEP REQUESTING HIM ALL THE TIME SERIOUSLY EVERY SECOND REPORT IS LIKE, BARTON THIS AND BARTON THAT AND THEN BARTON WTF YOURSELF YOU’RE DRIVING ME NUTS.”

And right after that, lasagne-and-mac’n’cheese and Clint asking him out and Phil just panicked, okay? It happens! And so he said no, and Barton let it drop easily enough, so Fury can stick his, “Wrong fucking decision, asshole!” where the sun don’t shine!

Except then Phil not-quite-dies and everything hurts and he’s miserable enough even before Fury plonks that laptop down on his hospital blanket and starts pulling up security feeds and field reports, and, just. Clint is a wreck.

He’s a wreck, and it’s over something completely stupid, honestly, Phil’s an important man but in the grand scheme of things he’s nothing, and there is Clint, grieving. For Phil.

And, okay, obviously he misjudged the situation? Like, entirely? But he’s an adult and a professional and he can absolutely keep his calm face on as he tells Fury, “I may have made a mistake there.”

And Fury’s “Damn right you did,” is smug as hell, but whatever.

Phil’s gonna go get his man.

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

There is a recurring and entirely unplanned bit that keeps happening with my friends, and it goes something like this:

I get a silly idea for a new religion.

My friends are like "cool religion, I'm on board."

They proceed to interrogate me about the religion.

The minute I don't "yes, and" to one of their questions they're like "cool, time for our first schism!"

At this point we've got the whole process down to like 5 or 10 minutes.

Now I'm not saying that my friends could never be convinced to join a cult, but I have faith that they'd manage to get themselves excommunicated on their first day.

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Honestly, ever since becoming a fanfic writer myself I’ve become like 500% more understanding and patient about other authors’ update schedules. An author takes 6+ months to post their next chapter? Yeah, totally get that real life can get in the way. An author abandons a fic? Disappointing, but it happens- sometimes inspiration for a story just dies. An author apologizes about taking so long to post a 10k word chapter? Dude, that’s like 18-20 pages on Word single-spaced. It takes me at least a week to write an essay for school a quarter the length of that, and that’s with a deadline. 

It’s probably the most important thing writing fanfic has taught me, tbh. How to fully appreciate the hard work someone else has put into their story. How important the role of the audience is to an author. And that no matter what, you are never entitled to demand more of a story that you are getting for free. 

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Every single person who's ever been associated with trek could tell me I'm wrong and I would still believe unwaveringly that this is Jonathan Archer's official Starfleet file photo

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

There is no greater bond than the one between a person and the fictional character they’ve written 50k+ words about

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

More of the handsome Dominic Keating

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Found a website and made pet pet for them

link:https://benisland.neocities.org/petpet/

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Ok past me, I appreciate the attempt to summarise your plot ideas when you abandoned this WIP. But what the hell were you aiming for with "fire" as the entirety of the notes for this section?

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

This is legit just star trek TOS

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Riker clock.

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Kiss prompts!

"i really, really want to kiss you right now"

+ “shut up” (affectionate)

+ almost kisses that are interrupted by a third party

Dual role ask answer!

Janelle Kelly and Michael Rostov appear together for approximately one (1) minute in Vox Sola, but have stolen my heart (and somehow I managed to inveigle @talshiargirlfriend to write and post the very first stories about them - lucky me!)

In honour of Enterprise Ship Week 2005 and in answer to @talshiargirlfriend's kiss ask, have some rarepair love!

Rostov awoke to the sound of beeping and a strong antiseptic smell; strange rustling noises, too. His chest hurt when he breathed, his head pounded, and - he twitched, and let out a tiny groan - his shoulder throbbed. Actually, he ached all over, but his chest, shoulder, and head seemed to want to be noticed more than any other pain he might be experiencing. 

He forced his eyes to open further, and watched hers widen. "Hey," he managed, as she leapt to her feet - albeit with a wince - and leaned over him, still holding fast to his hand. "No crying." 

She gave a small, damp laugh, and he was pleased to see a little smile make its way onto her face. "You're not the boss of me, Mike Rostov," she said tremulously, but let go with one hand to swipe at her eyes with her forearm before returning it to grip his hand tightly once more. 

He was too exhausted to do much more than smile back, but he squeezed her fingers and gave her an approximation of a wink, trying to better focus his eyes on her. Her hair was awry, pulled out of its neat bun, and there was soot on her face. She looked a mess, and at the same time, like the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Then his brain picked up that she was clad in her black undershirt, and there was a bandage around one wrist; not the one she'd used to wipe her eyes. 

"You were hurt?" he asked worriedly. Janelle shrugged, but nodded. "What happened? I remember the explosion, but not much after that."

"You were heading for the console, but the overload made it through the relays faster than you could run, and it exploded just before you reached it - luckily, or you'd have been caught directly in the blast. It threw you back hard enough to hit the side of the warp core platform, and that's probably how you broke a rib and dislocated your arm, and hit your head hard enough for a concussion. And then you fell on me and I broke your fall."

"I fell on you?" She nodded again, looking sheepish. "But I'm twice your size. I must have hurt you!" Looking alarmed and casting a glance in the direction of the door, Janelle patted his hand. 

"Hush, Mike, or the doctor will be annoyed that you're agitating yourself." With an effort, he tried to calm himself, raising an eyebrow as an indicator for her to continue. "I came out of it with a sprained wrist and knee, and a few bruises, but you were mostly limp by then. And you didn't fall on me with your full body weight, so I was able to wriggle out from under you and drag you away."

His brain fog was clearing faster, but Rostov was still a little confused by what she was saying. "Janelle, I weigh ninety kilograms and you can't weigh more than sixty-five, soaking wet. And you had an injured knee. How were you able to drag me?"

She grinned, and there was a hint of his happy-go-lucky Janelle. "I'm pretty strong, Mike, and I know how to lift heavy things," she said. "I'm not an engineer for nothing. And I was already full of adrenaline, running after you, so I was pumped up and ready. I probably couldn't do it as easily now as I did earlier, but I could move ninety kilograms if I had to. Besides, I only dragged you to the door, not all the way to Sickbay."

"I'm still impressed. And thank you for getting me out of there." 

"I couldn't just leave you there. And I know you wouldn't have left me if the tables had been turned." Her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Though I guess it would have been a lot easier for you to carry me out of there. But you were in front, so…"

He rolled his eyes. "Wait, don't tell me - I was pulling the jackass move?"

She chuckled. "I wasn't going to say so, but yeah, I guess you were."

"And there you were, hot on my heels, close enough for me to fall right on top of you."

To his amusement, she blushed. "Shut up, you."

She looked so lovely, he thought, even so dishevelled, her uniform rolled down to her waist and undershirt pulled up along one forearm to allow for the bandage on her slender wrist. 

"Janelle," he said softly, his gaze fixed on her. 

"Yes, Mike?" 

"I really, really want to kiss you right now."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and dear lord, now she looked even more lovely, a little flustered, but determined. "Will it help you feel better?" Concern radiated from her voice, but her eyes were drawn to his mouth.

He widened his eyes just a fraction, knowing it made him look disarmingly vulnerable, and tried to look as pathetic as possible. Well, he was in pain, after all. 

"It can't hurt to try," he said hopefully, and watched her lean forward, her beautiful face moving closer. Her eyes started sliding shut, and Rostov closed his in anticipation…

"Well, crewmen, how are things going here?" came the cheerful voice of Doctor Phlox, and Janelle jerked backward, Rostov taking in a huge gulp of air in shock and immediately yelping as his abused rib protested. 

"Could be better, Doctor," he managed, unable to hide the wince and deciding to lean into it as he saw the doctor's shrewd gaze move between him and his now fiercely-blushing colleague. "When can I get out of here?"

Phlox sighed and shook his head. "Now you sound like Lieutenant Reed, crewman," he said, "so I will tell you what I would have told him in your shoes. You have a cracked rib, a dislocated shoulder, and a mild concussion. I'll be keeping you overnight for observation, and tomorrow we'll see what sort of state you are in and whether you're ready to be released. But don't count on going back to work for at least a week." 

His gaze turned to Janelle. "And as for you, crewman, you might not have a concussion, but you have a badly-sprained wrist on your dominant arm and a torn anterior cruciate ligament on the opposite knee. Neither are life-threatening, but I would like you to stay overnight so I can keep you off that knee for as long as possible - especially since you were still using it for leverage when you dragged a weight somewhat excessive for your musculature, hmm? And you will also not be returning to work for a few days."

Janelle looked at Rostov almost guiltily and then nodded at Phlox, saying "Yes, Doctor," without demur. Rostov followed suit, albeit without the slightly guilty face, and rolled his eye at Janelle in a bid to indicate that they would be talking later about how she'd downplayed her injuries. She might be ranked higher than him, but he still didn't want her hurting herself for his sake. 

Although, well ... this was Janelle. Not like he could actually take her to task, not if he valued his skin; she was too feisty for that, and he didn't want a strip torn off his hide for presuming, even if she was acting guilty right at this moment. That was probably just because she felt sorry for him, and judging by the new spark he saw in her eyes, the guilt was rapidly dissipating.

Well, if they were going to be in Sickbay overnight at the same time, that wasn't too bad. And booked off work for a few days? Perhaps they could recuperate together, Rostov mused. As the doctor took himself off, drawing the curtain around their beds, he raised his hand carefully to avoid hurting his rib again, bringing Janelle's to his lips. 

"Are you going to give me a lecture?" she asked diffidently. Mike hesitated. 

"Not if you're willing to give that kiss another try," he hedged, and watched mischief bloom in her eyes. 

She leaned over him again, and he watched in fascination as those beautiful eyes stared into his before sliding closed as her lips met his mouth. They were incredibly soft, incredibly gentle, and he felt his own lips opening beneath hers as he inhaled the taste and scent of her.

All too soon, she drew back, and he let out a little sigh of frustration; he wanted nothing more than to keep tasting that wonderful essence that was Janelle. Opening his eyes, he watched her compress her lips between her teeth as though she was tasting him, and a flush of pride washed through him.

Now she was watching him, looking a little shy and apprehensive, as though she was worried he might not have found it as incredible as she had. On the contrary; he wanted more.

So he gave her his biggest, saddest, softest eyes, and whispered, “Can we do that again? I think we may need to practise some more.”

The brilliant smile that blossomed on her face was ample reward; made even better by hearing her murmur, "Hopefully there won't be any further interruptions.”

And to Rostov’s satisfaction, there weren't.

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

Phlox is very good at his job.

For @talshiargirlfriend, @aprofessionalprotagonist, @pearlypairings

----------------

Phlox hummed to himself, tuneless and cheerful, as he inventoried his pharmacy. There had been a run on painkillers recently after the survey of a particularly bright nebula and a lack of forethought on the part of many of the more enthusiastic crew members had led to a rash of eyestrain headaches. Ah, humans. He could never tire of them.

He heard the door open, but didn't turn. "I'll be with you shortly," he announced, inputting his stock into his PADD.

"Take your time, Doc," said Trip Tucker. "I, uh, I can wait."

Unless Phlox's ear deceived him, the Commander sounded sheepish, which boded well for an entertaining interaction. He could also never tire of the way in which Trip could be so thoroughly forthright and yet so easily embarrassed. And always by the silliest things.

He completed his inventory, and rounded the corner to see Commander Tucker, hands in his pockets, shifting his weight awkwardly. "Now," Phlox said brightly, "what can I do for you, Commander?"

"Can we…can we do this over there?" Trip asked, nodding towards one of the partitioned exam areas.

That did nothing to quiet Phlox's amused curiosity. "Of course, of course!" He led Trip lead the way, pulled the partition to, and waited.

The Commander heaved a sigh of prepared resignation, unzipped his uniform, and removed his dark undershirt, leaving him in his regulation blue tank top. Which was not sufficient to hide the series of vivid (and suspiciously mouth-shaped) bruises decorating the left side of his neck and shoulder.

Phlox smiled broadly, but only on the inside. "Hmmm," he said.

Trip sighed again, realizing he was going to have to explain himself. "T'Pol heard somebody in the mess hall givin' Rostov grief about Kelly leavin' hickeys, and well…she got curious." He tried to shrug his left shoulder and winced slightly. "It was a lot of fun, mind you, and I kinda like the battle scars, but…now she's embarrassed." He rubbed the back of his head, looking vaguely dejected.

"It seems to me," Phlox said, consulting his scanner, "that if you don't mind the more…physical reminders of her affection, perhaps Commander T'Pol shouldn't either."

"That's what I told her!" Another deep, despondent sigh. "But she can barely look at me with my shirt off, and I like havin' my shirt off around her, Doc."

"Well, the bruises are remedied easily enough," Phlox said, selecting an instrument. "Make yourself comfortable, Commander; this will only take a moment."

When Trip had left, Phlox stroked his chin thoughtfully. "It isn't meddling," he told his osmotic eel, chosing to take its silence as agreement as he sent a low priority message to Commander T'Pol.

She appeared later that afternoon, eyes sweeping over Sickbay as if she might discern the reason for his summons before he even spoke. In this case, he doubted it immensely.

"You wished to see me, Doctor?"

"Yes, yes, have a seat, won't you?"

She did, an eyebrow delicately elevated.

"I saw Commander Tucker this morning," he said, seeing no need to for preliminaries. "He presented with some very interesting bruising."

Her throat moved in an almost imperceptible swallow.

"I hope you can forgive my intrusion," he continued gently, "but I cannot help but feel that, if you both enjoy the activity, its outcome is nothing to be ashamed of."

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Finally, she said, very quietly, "Vulcans are physically stronger than the vast majority of species we have encountered since we became space-faring. It is considered… unseemly to exhibit that strength overtly."

"Even in private?" Phlox asked softly.

She looked down, and didn't respond.

"But you do enjoy it?" He knew he was taking a fatherly tone - he could hear it in his voice, and couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Yes," she said, almost too quietly to be heard.

"And if Commander Tucker enjoys it equally…?"

Silence again.

Humans and their enthusiasm, Vulcans and their reticence, Phlox thought. T'Pol's people had labored so long and so hard to wrestle their darker impulses into submission that they had inadvertently done the same to a whole host of other, more benign desires.

"Where is the logic in shame, T'Pol?"

Her head lifted, her gaze almost sharp, her mouth set in a hard line… and then it relaxed a fraction, and she nodded.

"He says that he likes that I can… put him where I want him." Her eyes dropped again, and Phlox could swear he saw an olive flush rising in her cheeks. He smiled.

"Why not take him at his word?"

"I suppose there is… no compelling reason not to," she said carefully.

"Precisely!"

T'Pol stood, straightening her shoulders with enormous and thoughtful dignity. "Thank you, Doctor. I believe this has been a productive discussion."

"I'm delighted to hear it," he said, beaming at her. She inclined her head, and left, but unless Phlox was very much mistaken, there seemed to be a purposeful glint in her eyes.

He had a feeling he would shortly be seeing Trip Tucker bruised and limping and not complaining the least.

[scatterbrainedcapybara]

I know this isnt good enough and it's unfinished,but i don't want to miss my timezone's Monday