#I did laugh out loud at the pon farr thing

[power-chords]

I’m reading a 1985 Joanna Russ essay on Kirk/Spock fanfiction because, you know, midrash paratext etc, and this shit goes so hard:

But that's not all that's in the material. In many ways the K/S world is a great advance over the standard romances. For one thing, there is explicit sexuality instead of the old Romances' one-kiss-in the-moonlight. And I believe Lamb and Veith see rightly when they describe the androgyny of the relationship, the impossibility (despite the coding into the Spock character of so many female traits) of assigning gender roles to either partner, ever—obviously this is very different from the romances, in which a woman's problems in life are solved for her by a dominant male. The K/S insistence that the characters be first-class human beings is inevitably compromised by the social necessity of awarding that V.I.P. status only to men.

To me one important conclusion we can draw from these stories is that sexual fantasy can't be taken at face value. Another is that no sexual cues are morally privileged (though some kinds of sexual behavior certainly are) since sexualizing any kind of behavior drastically changes the meaning of that behavior. Translated into real life, the "hurt-comfort" theme of K/S would simply be pernicious, from the woman who can do sex only under the guise of pity, to the lover who wants to keep her beloved dependent and powerless, in which condition she can then "love" the beloved. What excites in fantasy is both far more exaggerated than real life and not the same as in real life; that is, fantasy isn't just a vicarious substitute for real experience; its meaning as experience becomes changed when it's made into fantasy. Without understanding the rather complicated context of the fantasy, one "reads" it literally—like the woman friend of mine (new to Star Trek) who said in disgust that K/S was about rape and power games. This is simply not true in terms of the genre. In fact, the story that evoked this response is a classic K/S tale in which Spock goes into pon farr again after pages and pages of agonized misunderstandings, thus (thank goodness!) providing a way for the lovers finally to declare themselves and make out like crazy.

What seems to be happening in sexual fantasy is that any condition imposed on or learned with sexuality is capable of becoming sexualized, either as sex or a substitute for sex or as an indispensable condition of it. Such a process is certainly at work in the K/S universe. Yet it's perfectly clear to me that K/S writers and readers don't literally wish to become male any more than they literally want their dear ones to bleed and die in their arms or to die with their lovers. What they do want is sexual intensity, sexual enjoyment, the freedom to choose, a love that is entirely free of the culture's whole discourse of gender and sex roles, and a situation in which it is safe to let go and allow oneself to become emotionally and sexually vulnerable. The literal conditions and cues of the K/S world, far from being impeccably moral, are sexualizations of situations and behavior K/S fans did not choose and quite likely wouldn't want in reality. Moreover they are situations and behavior that are absolutely antithetical to getting sexual and emotional satistaction in the real world, which fact at least some of the K/S readers and writers know perfectly well.

[nat-20s]

what’s poppin everyone please have this fun lil writing warmup/short story inspired by me thinking “Dancing in the Moonlight” was definitely 100% about werewolves

~*~

“So, this your first transformation?”

The counselor? Leader? Tour guide? Asked this with a perfectly jovial tone, as if the typical social mores surrounding, ugh, lycanthropy, didn’t apply to her. They didn’t know what exact title to call her, and her name tag just said “Luna”, which, reflecting on it, either was a joke on her part or a reflection of her parents’ sense of humor.

Picking at the scabs from last month, they cringed and replied, “No. Uh. Second.”

Luna lets out a low whistle. “Oof. That sucks. Guessing you got bitten rather than inherited the ol’ wolfman gene?”

“That’s...kind of personal?”

Unlocking the front door of the log cabin that served as King Harvest’s Headquarters, Luna shrugs and says, “Shit, sorry. Forgot the whole weird stigma around your source of the once monthly nightmare, as if it fuckin matters. Also, I know, I know, ass out of you and me. Hey, you got any dietary restrictions? Gluten, peanut allergies, the like?”

Voice flat, they tell her, “I’m vegetarian,” and waits for the obvious response.

As they wander through the cabin towards the kitchen, Luna flipping on the light switches, generic club music starts to filter in. Instead of the obvious response, Luna asks, “You like veggie burgers? Or maybe pasta? I’d offer salad, but that’s really not gonna cut it for tonight.”

“I ate before I came.”

With a snort, she tells them, “Oh yeah? Did you have about 4000 calories?”

“No? Why would I have?”

Sweeping out her arm, she gestures at the food laying out on the counter and tells them, “Then eat up! 4000 is really a minimum for the night if you don’t want to feel like someone physically beat out all of your energy in the morning. 6000 is more the target area, but we got, hmm, about 15 minutes before things get uncomfortable, and half an hour max before things get dire.”

They glance down to the food, and, admittedly, the broccoli alfredo does look pretty appealing. Still, they have to ask, “Is this a cult?”

Luna lets out a bark of a laugh that has nothing to do with her (maybe) being a werewolf. “Okay, first of all, what kind of cult is like ‘fuck yeah, we’re a cult’? Secondly, despite the first thing, I can say that we’re not a cult. I know how “King Harvest: Center for Movement Therapy” sounds, both clinical and vague enough to be suspicious as hell, but I didn’t come up with the title, blame my long deceased dad for that one. Plus, ‘King Harvest: Bitchin’ Wolf Dance House’ probably wouldn’t look good on the grant applications.”

“Grants?”

“Oh yeah. This bad boy’s been publicly funded since its opening in 1972. Hence no membership fees.”

“Is that why animal control is giving out your business card? Are they one of your sponsors?”

“Nah, that’s just Jack. Me ‘n’ him go way back, hell, to his park ranger days.  I mean, yeah, I think he’ll campaign for us, but mostly I think he just hates capturing a wolf in the night only to have a naked, trembling human in the morning, and he knows that our program significantly reduces the odds of that happening, at least in this neck of the woods.”

They let out a hum, then glance back down to the food. As appealing as it down look, they’re still about..30% convinced this is an elaborate organ harvesting operation. Or sketchy sex thing.

Apparently sensing their hesitation, Luna says, “You got a favorite chip?”

“Salt and vinegar.”

Grabbing a sealed family sized bag from the overhead cabinets, Luna tosses it to them. “If you come back next full moon, either eat enough in advance or have a real meal here. That being said, excuse the turn of phrase, you should wolf that down. It’s sure as hell better than nothing.”

They catch it, and the bag opens with a puff of air that speaks to a reassuring lack of tampering. As they toss a chip into their mouth, Luna grabs a water bottle from the fridge and places it down next to them. “So? Any questions for me? We’ve still got about ten minutes before we have to go out there.”

Rolling their eyes, they tell her, “No. None at all.”

“Great! Soon as you’re done eating we’ll get you started.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Yeah, no shit, smart-ass. Seriously, what are your, we haven’t got much time.”

“I don’t know? The whole..thing? I mean, how is it supposed to..work? Like? At all?”

“You ever see Amok Time?”

“Is that relevant?”

“It’s a yes or no question babe.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then the explanation is going to be a lot more technical and take a lot longer, ultimately to likely make less sense.”

“...I’ve seen it.”

“Great! So, Pon Farr is basically this chemical blood imbalance that results in fuck or die disorder, yeah? But then Spock neither fucks nor dies, and eventually the vulcans get their shit together and find out that an intense fight can serve the same function, and the blood fever chills out. Lycanthropy operates on a similar enough basis for comparison. You’re compelled to act out on energetically heavy base instincts, returning to the ways of the wolf or whatever. Traditionally, that’s done through running and hunting, which has, historically, been a crapshoot at best. Theoretically, sex can also get the job done, but I’m sure you can imagine how that gets extremely dicey extremely quickly. Either restraints or isolation has been implemented for a while, but, c’mon, they’re bandaid solutions, and they’re far from foolproof. Luckily for us all, my grandmother decided to connect back with her ancestors, and there was a handful of stories having huge festivals to deal with ‘moon violence’. She tried it out, and, yeah, dancing works.”

“That sounds…”

They don’t know how that sounds. Made up, mostly.

“Like a bunch of hippie bullshit? Yeah, it kind of is, Grandma Josephine was a huge hippie, but it’s hippie bullshit that works. In fact, let’s go see the others, it almost always makes things clearer.”

Figuring that whatever they’re about to see can’t be worse than their transformation last month. They head through the sliding glass door out the back, the thump of the music suddenly loud enough to be felt in their chest. The sight that awaits them makes them drop their chips and let out a gasp. Barely able to speak, they exhale out, “None of them...they’re not wolves. How..how??”

Indeed, the roughly forty people jumping to the pulse of whatever they’re listening to (some to the in house DJ, some, apparently, to what’s playing over the large headphones they have adorned), resemble the image of a wolfman much more accurately. They bare claws, fangs, elongated snouts, upright ears, and  serious amounts of hair, but they’re on two legs, and moving like humans. Some of them are even singing along to the lyrics, which really shouldn’t be possible.

Luna grins, making it obvious that she’s used to this level of shell shocks. “Ultimately, you do have to give into some damn rigorous instincts. But dancing is a human instinct, not a canine one, so you end up, well, humanoid. Pretty nifty, huh?”

“And they all..they all keep their minds? I didn’t...they don’t blackout?”

“Not since we banned alcohol in the 90s! Here, watch this.”

Luna nods her head at the DJ, and the DJ, obligingly, turns down the music for a moment. The members of the crowd not listening to their own music pause, then look towards the door. She cries out, “Hey gang! HOW WE ALL DOIN’ TONIGHT?”, and gets a mix between a howl and “WOO!” cried back. The DJ then turns the music back up, and the general movement of the crowd resumes.

They should be more skeptical. They want to be more skeptical, they were just minutes before, but it’s hard to disagree with something right in front of you. “This will work for me? I just..have to dance?”

“Well, it’s not guaranteed. Few things are. But we have yet to have someone turn violent on us. If you start to fell yourself slipping from consciousness, though, I do ask that you start heading further into the woods, as to not hurt other guest. If you find yourself just getting tired, there’s beds inside, and a fair amount of pillows around the edge of the quote unquote dance floor, if you end up in more of a nesting mood. Also, I recommend taking off your shoes before you start.”

“What? Why?”

Luna gives a pointed glance at the dancers’ feet, which, ah. They’re about twice as large as normal and at least twice as sharp. The converse on their feet would be no match. “Ah.”

“Ready?”

They shove off their shoes and place the remainder of their chips aside. “As I’ll ever be.”

Good thing, too, as they’re starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in their chest that was the prelude to disaster last month.

Luna strides to the center of the dance floor, which is really a plush lawn surrounded by forest. The crowd naturally moves around her, and she yells out, “Aiyana! Play my song!”

Aiyana gives a nod, and the opening notes of “Dancing in the Moonlight” start to sound out. “Seriously?”

Luna shrugs, grinning like a fool, and says, “It’s a classic!”

“It’s cliché at best.”

Luna shrugs, and then begins dancing. She’s hardly elegant, but she is dazzlingly joyful in her uncoordinated movements. As the song reaches the first chorus, she gives a twirl, and in the split second it takes, she’s transformed. They blink in shock, not knowing you could transform that seamlessly, that quickly, that painlessly. Luna in half wolf form is just as expressive as the human Luna, and she gives a nod over her shoulder as if to say Come on.

Feeling somewhat foolish, they start to bop their head to the tune. Luna lets out a huff and grabs their hands, spinning them around and forcing them to get moving. At first, it’s them indulging Luna, but as they let themselves get lost in rhythm, they feel a stretching sensation in their face and limbs. It’s not unpleasant, more like when you wake up and work out the tension in your spine. They open their eyes and look down at their hands, now covered in fur in and made for slashing. It didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt, and they’re still themselves, and they had no idea that full moons could be like this, maybe for the rest of their lives.

They turn their head to the night sky, and their body can’t help but continue to dance. Despite all their fear, all their dread, “movement therapy” worked, and they can admit, at least to themselves, that they feel warm and bright.

[cipher-fresh]

Your Vulcan Friend-Federation Gothic

This is an ending but i’ll probably wind up writing more YVF. Consider this an AU ending

You and your Vulcan friend have been close over the last years. It's incredible, really. You'd had quite the time. They've been the only thing you could think about the last few days, but it wasn't like you minded. They had been fidgety and agitated the previous week, and you'd picked up on it. They gave some answer about upcoming promotions, and they seemed to be lying, but you took it, as they must have had a reason to lie. You didn't want to pry. The day after that, the two of you had spent nearly sixteen hours together, a long and exhausting, and very physical day of fight exercise. After a one-on-one training fight you weren't soon to forget, your Vulcan friend had left for a few hours, and you saw them later, passed out in their bed in your quarters.

And since that day, you have felt something more of a connection- something quite more than the emotional and *close* relationship you had, after that you felt this spark, an almost instantaneous, mindful connection. And then? A few more days later, the telepathic connection began.

You, who didn't join Starfleet early enough to have fought in the Dominion War, had sat down in the corner of your quarters and been under storm of a barrage of memories you knew were not yours. Flashes of hiding from the Jem'Hadar on a moon their shuttle had crashed on, and powering up a phaser rifle in case of their dragon-headed faces decided stick their nose in your- their business.

You take a step back after the memory stops you in your track because for a few seconds, you were utterly enveloped and inside the mind of your Vulcan friend. That was one of their memories, you could recognize the sound of their breathing, their body, and it had the feeling of them, an overwhelming sensation of *them*.

Your Vulcan friend had found you in the corner, and made the swift decision to take you to Sickbay, as you were a sobbing mess in the corner. It had been so up-close, surreal and loud. You sat on a bio-bed in Sickbay, and were concerned when the Medical officer asked your Vulcan friend to sit with you, right next to you in the bio-bed. Was something wrong?

The doctor and the nurse wave you over with a tricorder- "*Medical* tricorder, please"- and cast the results of the scan to one of the Sickbay computers. They take a few minutes to look over the results, on a connection with a Vulcan doctor who meekly sends over Vulcan medical files. the one doctor brings your friend over and tells them something private, and the nurse talks to you.

They tell you that your Vulcan friend had created a telepathic bond with you the day you were awake for sixteen hours together, and the bond had been growing steadily. That makes sense, you figure. You have not been able to get them off your mind.

"Okay.." you say, after fidgeting in place. "What can you do to- get it to stop? Does it need to be broken?"

The nurse and the doctor talk once more, and your Vulcan friend glares daggers at them.

"The meld is- frankly, I've never seen a telepathic connection so strong involving a non-telepathic recipient."

The medical staff exchange looks.

The two of you are sent back to your quarters- the medical officers find there is very little they can do to break the bond. Since there's nothing they find they can do, the two of you wake up the next day, ready to keep working.

You find, in the following days, if your mind drifts- over and over, it's to your Vulcan friend. They admit one day their thoughts have drifted to you- and somehow, you could just tell that they were thinking about you. How flattering. In the weeks after, you find your Vulcan friend to have picked up mannerisms of yours- they annunciate more, louder and more more emotionally than their stoic Vulcan drawl. Your body language, voices, accent, posture, all of them blending between the two of you.

You're more in sync, now. If one of you needs something, the other grabs it for them. You know where the other is, you haven't bumped into each other for not knowing of the other's whereabouts, you don't need to say anything when you both get back to your quarters and collapse into your respective beds. You both like still talking to each other- nothing was better than the ache in your stomach and throat after having laughed hysterically, to respond to a long-winded conversation with them, back and forth if for nothing if to hear the pleasing sound of the other's voice, a certainty of their presence.

One day when you were recalling some Anecdote from the Academy that they weren't there for, and they described out the memory in details similar to yours. You knew for a fact they couldn't have known about that memory, and that you haven't told anyone else. Even more interesting, was the reverse, when you could list off details from a memory you could have sworn happened, but had no other outer connections to- something implanted in your mind, just the lightbulb memory with detail of the event that did not happen to you. Your Vulcan friend had sat up and addressed it- that was something that had happened to them, and certainly not to you. Despite that, both of you could access these memories they certainly did not make, these memories of the other person.

After this, you cared less about whose memories could be whose- you seemed to be sharing the same amount anyway. You got special permission from the Captain to work in every Security mission together- the two of you would never have to be apart as you worked during Alpha shift. Two guards who knew each other's moves could better take down an opponent, right?

Every day you were seeing more and more of your Vulcan friend- and you were quite glad you did. You would hardly even think now, about how you had a fault telepathic bond between the two of you that should have been broken like a normal mind meld. No, this was just how it was with you. You would both receive flashes of memory from the other, but you didn't mind. It was them, and there was nothing more you'd like to think about.

A change was marked when you recalled a memory from them, where you saw yourself there- but had no recollection of you, your human self, having ever been there. This wasn't a case where you were remembering something from your Vulcan friend that you happened to not recall, this memory was one of the two of you, in a period of time before you'd met, during the Academy.

This is disturbing to you at first- but then you come to a realization you like- what sort of memory is a memory without the two of you? Honestly, it hurts a little bit to think that you were living your life with them, and that they were living their life without you. This connection was meant to be. You need each other. Who cares if your memories aren't quite truthful, at least you're together.

The days and weeks progress, and you find no shortage of times to look back at and bask in your friendship, even if they didn't really happen. Just seeing your Vulcan friend there makes you smile. You can hardly tell which ones happened before you met them, anyway. It's like they've always been there. Always. And that's beautiful to you.

You're asked one day to help someone out with something down by Engineering. You agree, and walk over to go tell your Vulcan friend, and sensing you, they stand up to hear what you have to say.

"No, I only need one person." the Engineer says.

"What?" you ask. "Of course they're coming with us. Uh, me."

The engineer looks at you quizzically, but lets it slide, and you both come along.

You find yourself more tired than usual, and share a meal in your quarters. You order some Vulcan food together. You don't need to ask the name for some of them, as you already know them. A few of your coworkers, usually those who knew you best in Security- (Obviously, knew you best except for each other.) brought up how you kept talking about memories you shared before you knew each other, but inserted the other into them. You chastise them, playfully, and tell them it's better to have memories like this, even if they were...you search for the word, altered, then remember the painful memories of times when you weren't together. What were you supposed to do, imagine back to your life before you met your Vulcan friend?

You have your Security job together, and you find yourself closer and closer to yourself- no, them- no, yourself....you take a step back. You are a human, they are a Vulcan, and you are Security officers. And it's painful to be away from each other. They had slipped away across the hallway corner for a moment, and been struck with fear- you knw where they were, but what if they had been hurt by one of those awful guests you were assigned to protect? That wouldn't do. You chased right after them, and it was like you had scratched an itch, or breathed fresh air after polluted gunk when you saw them again, affirming they were right there and they were safe.

You can never focus, these days. You stand there as a Security officer, but you probe through your own mind, and the mind of your other half. They've had a wonderful life with you. Top marks at the Academy before you met, and you remember the times during the Academy together. It didn't need to make sense, it just existed, because you were together. You recalled something that wasn't infiltrated by the memory of Them, and the obscene loneliness, coldness of the thought frightened you. No, no-no-no, you can't have this. You didn't exist before them. Before your connection. How appalling to consider a part of your life where they were not there. Perish the thought.

Your combined scheduled Medical appointment is together, for the same time- the two of you get scanned together, and the medical officer addresses you at the same time. Your Vulcan friend's start of the Pon Farr had started this telepathic link, and they hadn't said anything, but through your hours together that week up to the frenzy, you had accepted. Maybe a few months ago, you would have had some questions, but the you of today doesn't. It's wonderful to you that something so vital to you- to them, they had settles on you for. And they had- you had accepted. Wonderful.

The doctor tells you that your mental bond has been sustained by both of you- and the force of it is eating up a substantial amount of the calories the two of you consume. It's effect was lessened by the both of you contributing, but the medical officers are baffled at how a non-telepath could help the upkeep of a telepathic bond like this. They perform a few more scans, and you wish that they would finish up, the two of you could be doing something much more important. It wasn't like the two of you had anything wrong, you were just bonded. Like, remember the time the two of you had seen that lightshow together, when you were seven years old? That was wonderful. And remember when you met each other for the first time as plucky young ensigns?

The final scans, to the medical team's horror, show that the pair of you are functioning startlingly in sync, as if two organisms of a singular entity. Your heart rates match perfectly, your blinking happens at the same time, your brain functions depend on the other to round out themselves. If your bond were to break now, this far in, with the way your brains have began to depend on each other? You'd suffer brain damage. It would be like if one cut the corpus callosum and simply scooped a hemisphere out, you needed the other half.

Of course they- you need the other half, you reason. The two of you are parts of a whole.

Awful Starfleet officers, lying about your relationship, connection and bodies. Who was allowing them to say this about us? The two of you- them- us- only need each other.

A human and a Vulcan make a break for it, experiencing the final collapse in the dam of their minds that make them separate beings, the reader as a human being, You cease to exist.

A human and a Vulcan hijack a shuttle from the Shuttle Bay, escaping the prying eyes who insist they're not one in the same. The shuttle is on autopilot as two bodies, as close to one as they will ever be, hug tightly in the seats as the shuttle's mechanics fail and it crashes toward the nearest planet. Something had happened, whether the shuttle was defective, or the autopilot failed, whatever the reason, the onboard systems were failing and it plummeted the two bodies toward their deaths.

It is not certain how soon the two of them died. Whether it was from the heat of the shuttle crashing into the atmosphere, the actual crash onto the earth, or of it was hours or minutes later, bruised organs giving out and the two of them diluting their shared pain across their connected brainwaves. They had started as two consciousnesses, and two bodies died, but in this instance, at this point, the universe wound up with a net loss of one soul.