#Its a course in Starfleet Academy

[enterprise-bee]

so i'm watching TNG (and any star trek at all!) for the first time and the thing i'm most surprised about so far is just how much i like commander riker. of course, this may be influenced by several conclusions i have come to about the man that are, perhaps, supported by canon, but maybe aren't entirely canon:

he's very obviously trans. just look at the difference between seasons 1 and 2. the T finally kicked in.

he's also bi. everything about his energy supports this you don't need me to tell you this.

also, he's a band kid. hear me out: plays trombone. kind of a tryhard. makes many corny jokes. comfortable under a chain of command. that is a BAND KID. he was in the starfleet academy marching band in my mind. i am simply waiting for the day the rest of the enterprise learns this. nothing else explains his personality so perfectly. (note: this is the one i don't think has any chance of ever actually happening, but i can dream.)

also like in general i love how competent and level-headed he is. he's written like he's kind of SUPPOSED to be the like, wildcard first officer to picard's more rules-following self, except picard once got stabbed in the heart in a barfight and riker is always reminding picard about regulations like "you're the captain of a star ship don't go. die???" so my headcanon about this is that before the enterprise riker WAS a little more of a loose canon and then he got assigned to picard and realized, oh no, someone in this command team had to be the well-adjusted one and the other options were his empath situationship, his clearly insane captain, a robot, a klingon, a child, the captain's situationship, and a traumatized security officer. he had no choice. he became the well-adjusted one by proxy.

sometimes he and geordi i think hang out and appreciate being the two people who are normally kind of just doing fine.

like it never stops being funny to me that the guy who seems like he SHOULD be the womanizing loose canon is somehow largely just a respectful, competent officer who largely has his shit fully together in basically every situation. like, the entire crew is competent mind you that is one of the appeals of this show but in general riker is an emotional rock who makes sensible, by-the-book choices.

once again: the only way to reconcile this with his everything else is that he must be a trans band kid ITS THE ONLY LOGICAL CONCLUSION,

[shanastoryteller]

Star Trek please!! Happy Halloween

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Admiral Archer is unwilling to take his rescission at face value and demands a more complete explanation. To Spock's relief, and the gathered students' disappointment, he's willing to hear it in his private office.

Captain Pike slips in behind them, which gets him an irritated scowl but the admiral allows it. Spock is only marginally surprised by this. Admiral Archer and Captain Pike are known to be on good terms and James Kirk had entered the academy on Captain Pike's recommendation.

"Explain," Admiral Archer demands.

Spock hesitates.

Starfleet is of course aware of the events that took place on Tarsus IV and so they must be equally aware of James Kirk's role in it. While Admiral Archer certainly has the clearance to know the particulars, it does not mean that he does, and Spock is loathe to reveal these particulars, even to someone who could find them out himself. Additionally, Captain Pike does not have the necessary clearance, and while he does not think that James Kirk would allow his presence if he did not wish him to know, or had not already told him, Spock cannot be certain and there is no way for him to ask.

"Commander," Admiral Archer snaps. "Is this a joke to you?"

"No, sir," he answers. He doesn't find any of this funny at all.

James Kirk steps up next to him and rests a hand on his shoulder. Spock resists the urge to flinch and shoots him a disapproving look. The contact is not skin on skin, but any casual contact is discouraged. James Kirk is very well aware of Vulcan customs.

Then again, his point of contact for Vulcan culture is Sybok. His brother had been significantly more... affectionate after Tarsus IV. Spock wonders if that's something he picked up from his association with James Kirk.

"It's alright," James Kirk says warmly. "Spock, tell Admiral Archer whatever you want him to know."

He doesn't remove his hand. Human's run hot, their physiology not perfectly calibrated to survive in the deep heat of the desert, but even still James Kirk's hand feels unusually warm.

"I was unaware of Cadet Kirk's background with facing impossible odds when I made my accusation," he says. "Having been made aware of it, my perspective has shifted. Cadet Kirk does not allow rules or the constraints of logic prevent him from doing what he believes must be done. This was what he was demonstrating by bypassing and reprogramming my system."

He can feel James Kirk staring at him but he doesn't take his eyes of Admiral Archer.

Admiral Archer frowns. "You didn't know he was on Tarsus IV with your brother?"

That he already knows is a source of relief. The incredulity is less.

"Spock had exams the time I went to Vulcan," James Kirk says. "Sybok loves an excuse to go off-planet, so we usually meet up on Earth. Spock and I have never met before." He turns to him with a grin that Spock is distinctly uncomfortable having aimed in his direction. "I should have known the second I saw you. You look a lot like your mother."

Being compared to one's mother on Vulcan is a high compliment. Or it's supposed to be. Spock's had those same words hurled at him before, but it was with cruelty, as a way to demean him rather than honor the woman who bore him.

James Kirk say the words easily, exactly as they are intended to be spoken.

"You're driving me to drink," Admiral Archer says.

Spock has no idea how to appropriately respond to that.

"What about me? You're driving me to drink," James Kirk says, "which is driving Bones to as of yet unknown heights of nagging. The stress isn't good for him but he keeps threatening me with hypos when I tell him that. Can't I just be concerned for my friend?"

That is not an appropriate response on top of being incomprehensible.

Admiral Archer rubs his forehead. "Chris."

"Sir," Captain Pike returns, grabs the back of James Kirk's jacket, and hauls him out of there like grabbing a wayward kitten by the scruff of its neck.

Spock stands there, unsure, until Admiral Archer glances up and says, "You too, Commander. I'll consider this matter closed."

He nods, "Thank you, Sir," and steps outside to an empty hall. Captain Pike and James Kirk are nowhere to be seen.

Once he returns to his quarters, he video calls his brother.

He doesn't pick up.

Typical.

[floralprintsharks]

A Former Borg And A Half-Klingon Walk Into A Bar

“You did not tell me that we would be going to a bar”, Seven says in that tone of hers that always sounds judgmental, no matter what she says. And, as always, it pisses B’Elanna off.

“I don’t want to be here anymore than you do, alright? I was volunteered.”

“You would think that after all that time in the Delta Quadrant there would be more Klingons in Starfleet to be ‘volunteered’ for this sort of mission”, Seven responds, looking around warily. Her hair is in its usual perfect updo and she’s wearing—well. At least she’s not wearing one of her usual cat suits. But to say that she’s dressed well for the occasion would go a little too far. She looks extremely bland, dressed in a dark sort of suit.

B’Elanna thinks that maybe someone should have briefed her better on what exactly it is that they’re doing down here.

“Open some of those buttons”, B’Elanna says, gesturing at Seven’s button up shirt. Seven raises one perfect eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

“Your buttons. You look like a business woman who took a wrong turn. This is a Klingon bar. If people in there are supposed to believe that you came here voluntarily you have to slut it up a little”, B’Elanna says. Seven’s eyebrow raises even further.

“’Slut it up’?”, she answers.

“Have you met Klingons? All they do is fight and fuck. So if you want to go in there and not do the fighting, you have to look like you’re there for the fucking.”

There is a pause in which B’Elanna thinks that Seven is going to punch her in the face or simply turn around and leave. Instead, she slowly raises her hand to undo four buttons of her shirt, revealing a terribly perfect cleavage. B’Elanna was never self-conscious about her body—aside from its Klingon features, of course—but standing next to Seven can make even the most confident woman feel a little lackluster.

She nods emphatically and tousles up her own hair while Seven stares at her unblinkingly.

“What?”

“I am simply trying to infer how your clothes look as if you are here to ‘fuck’”, she says. B’Elanna crosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s wearing simple dark pants and a vest that shows off her toned biceps.

“Seven. No offense. But this is a lesbian bar. Lesbians love a good biceps.”

Another pause.

“Lesbian. As in homosexual female Klingons.”

B’Elanna can’t help but snort.

“Yes. Why else did you think they would send you here? Could’ve gone with… I don’t know. Someone who’s not a walking fridge.”

“I assume that many biceps in this bar will be more impressive than yours, seeing as to how you are only half Klingon”, Seven says and B’Elanna could swear that there’s the hint of a smirk beginning to form in the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah, what can I say. I’m counting on being a fuckable novelty. Let’s go. And try not to look so—well. Like you.”

Being back on Earth has allowed B’Elanna many things. Taking a guest teaching job at the academy, getting back in touch with some old friends and also… well. Getting to know some of her new friends better now that they’re back home. She’s spent an astounding amount of time with Harry, seeing as to how the two of them couldn’t be more different. And after a while off from the whole Starfleet thing, she also decided to go back to active duty, ending up more often than not with Seven.

B’Elanna never thought she’d ever help anyone else adept to Starfleet Academy or find herself arguing on behalf of it or going on an undercover extraction mission with Seven to a lesbian Klingon bar. But when the Captain asks nicely, B’Elanna is bad at saying no. She owes that woman so much.

“Would it not make more sense to pretend that we are a homosexual couple”, Seven says, pulling B’Elanna out of her thoughts and back into the real world in which Seven’s cleavage is very distracting and the Klingon hard-rock coming from inside the bar is still very loud.

Now it’s her time to pause.

“You want to pretend to be a couple. With me”, she says.

Ah, there’s that eyebrow again.

“It seems the most logical course of action. And I would, in fact, not need to look as if I was searching for sexual conquest if I am already there with a partner.”

B’Elanna can’t help but laugh about that, but she decides that maybe now is not the best time to explain the Klingon love for an orgy or the concept of polyamory to her. Instead she grabs Seven’s arm and puts it around her own shoulder before she loops her own arm around Seven’s waist.

“Well then, Ensign. Are you ready to be a lesbian?”, she asks.

“I do not think—“

“It was a joke, Seven. Loosen up.”

“Right. A joke”, Seven says, not commenting on how she has never loosened up in her life or how ‘I am Borg. I do not loosen up’. B’Elanna thinks it to herself and chuckles quietly, trying not to think about how well they actually fit together like this as they step towards the bouncers—two enormous Klingon women, wearing very little—and push open the doors.

The music thrums inside B’Elannas ribcage as they make their way towards the bar. Most of the women in here are drinking bloodwine, but there are some non-Klingons who carry fancy, colorful drinks that sparkle in the low light. B’Elanna takes note of the brawls taking place over in a corner, of the door to a separate room that probably leads to something Seven has never seen before in her entire life, Borg or no Borg, and she scans the room for their target.

“I have found our target”, Seven says next to B’Elanna. “She is sitting at one of the round tables, playing what looks to be a game involving daggers and three very lightly dressed women.”

B’Elanna doesn’t need much longer to find Sukav Resh after that particular description. She is indeed surrounded by three women who wear barely more than leather underwear and some jewelry that proudly and clearly proclaims their sexual preferences to the entire room. Most people out in these types of bars wear it. It’s not because Klingon’s are too shy to ask, they simply value efficiency. Threatening someone and buying them drinks to get laid only to find out that they’re not compatible with you is a waste of time for everyone.

“Should we attempt to join in this knife game to get the information we need?”, Seven asks and B’Elanna can’t help it. It’s simply all a little surreal.

“Would you say that you’re a submissive bottom looking to be thrown across a room, bitten extensively and spanked all night?”, she asks.

“I am unclear what my own sexual preferences have to do with our target”, Seven says, looking puzzled. B’Elanna wishes it was easier to rile her up. No fun at all.

“The women she has at her table all wear jewelry signaling that that’s what they’re looking for and look at Resh’s chains and the metal piece on her right hand. She’s signaling that she’s looking for someone to rough up, to put it mildly. So I doubt she’d want us there unless we advertise ourselves as such”, B’Elanna says, stepping up to the bar and shouting at the barmaid in Klingon to get her attention and buy her and Seven a drink.

“You have extensive knowledge about these things, Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna hands Seven a drink.

“I dabbled. Back in my academy days.”

“Dabbled”, Seven repeats. “You have had many relations with male crew-members over the course of our journey, but none with female crew-members.”

“Seven, I’m not going to discuss my sexual preferences with you while we’re on a job”, B’Elanna says and Seven opens her mouth, closes it again and sniffs her drink before pulling a face that makes B’Elanna laugh.

“That’ll put some chest on your chest”, she says with a big grin and throws her drink back.

“I doubt that I need more ‘chest’ on my chest”, Seven says and it makes B’Elanna laugh more. She looks at Seven’s cleavage and then back up.

“Yeah. Maybe not.”

Seven sips her drink and looks as if she would love nothing more than to spit it back out. But, like a brave Klingon warrior, Seven swallows her small sip and then turns her back to Sukav Resh.

“If you have intricate knowledge of these… mating rituals. Then we should make use of them to get to the target. What kind of jewelry do I need to—signal all of that. What you said before.”

“You mean that you’re a submissive bottom who wants to be—“

“Yes. That”, Seven interrupts. Maybe her cheeks look a little red, but maybe it’s just the drink or the lighting. Either way, B’Elanna finds herself weirdly charmed by it. It’s not often that you see Seven of Nine even remotely flustered.

“You don’t have to do it. I doubt you’d survive two seconds at that table. I can do it. I’ll get the information we need and when I have it we’ll find the backroom they do their business in”, B’Elanna says, opening up her vest and starting to rummage around in her pockets. She finds what she’s looking for and hands Seven a heavy necklace while she puts three metal bracelets on her left wrist.

“You had all of this at home”, Seven says and it’s not a question. B’Elanna does not comment on it. She takes Seven’s drink from her, throws the rest of it back and then tousles her own hair some more before walking over to where Sukav Resh is sitting. She can immediately feel herself be appraised as she approaches and there’s a familiar tingle that makes its way up her spine and back down into her fingertips.

It’s been a very long time since B’Elanna went to a bar like this and what Seven said is true. But it’s surprisingly easy to fall back into old habits, even if those habits have been put away for a long time. She has no idea what Seven is up to, if she’s watching or buying another drink. The dagger in Resh’s hand spins and B’Elanna smiles before she punches one of the women sitting at Resh’s table square in the face, sending her backwards over a chair.

“So. I can see there’s a seat free here”, she says, grabbing the drink of the woman she just hit and throwing it back. Resh stares up at her and then she starts laughing, hitting the table with one hand.

“I can appreciate some healthy competition. You here to play?”, she asks, looking at the bracelets on B’Elanna’s wrist and the chain dangling between her boobs.

“Why else would I sit here?”, she says, holding out her hand for the dagger. Resh’s grin grows sharp as she hands it over.

“Well then. Let’s play.”

*

One of the reasons why B’Elanna stopped going to these kinds of bars is because of her non-existent ability to regulate her own risk-seeking behavior. Getting through the academy days was already shitty enough without running to the medical facilities every second weekend. The looks of the nurses when they saw the bite marks were usually enough to make B’Elanna’s skin crawl with old, internalized issues she never really dealt with.

Being thrown back into it is… weird. And thrilling. B’Elanna likes being rough and she likes it the other way around too, she simply has a preference of roughing up men and being roughed up by women. Seven doesn’t need to know that. B’Elanna might have thought about Seven being just as strong as a Klingon with her Borg enhancements. Usually the people B’Elanna fights—or fucks—can’t hold a candle to her strength. Most of them are humans.

But Seven could probably—well. It doesn’t matter. It’s not a road B’Elanna should go down. She has a job to do and a kid to raise with a husband she’s getting divorced from. Adding sexual desires for her former Borg colleague to the mix would simply complicate things too much.

After half an hour B’Elanna is tipsy bordering on drunk, has three minor stab wounds in her arm and has been promoted to sit on Resh’s right thigh. This is definitely not how she saw the night going. She has the info. But she needs an out so she can reconvene with Seven to find the backroom for that damned business transaction. Resh grabs B’Elanna’s chin roughly and turns it towards her face. B’Elanna maybe licks her lips, trying her hardest to remember that she’s here on a mission and that she’s on duty—but she doesn’t have to ponder this for very long, because right as she’s about to elbow her way out of this situation, she’s pulled out of Resh’s lap and before B’Elanna can say anything to stop it, Resh is thrown halfway across the room.

“The game is over”, Seven says, cheeks a little flushed and hair in slight disarray. It looks really good on her.

“What are you doing?”, B’Elanna hisses, trying not to stare at Seven’s cleavage or to think about how hot it is that Seven can throw a Klingon across a room as if they weigh nothing. Thankfully Klingons love bar brawls, fights and any kind of violence, so the second Resh is thrown over to the dance-floor, three full brawls erupt and they manage to duck away into one of the side rooms.

“Do you have the information”, Seven says, making her question sound like a statement as she’s so often want to do.

“I do. I could have gotten out of there by myself, you know”, she says, feeling a little flustered. Seven raises one eyebrow.

“I am sure you could have. But I was being propositioned by nine different women while you were gone and I was tired of waiting.”

B’Elanna snorts and looks around.

“The backroom is down this corridor. Third door on the right”, B’Elanna says, looking around. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here—“

Right on cue there’s a commotion at the entrance of the corridor and some shouting about “They went that way!” and B’Elanna doesn’t really have any great ideas aside from the one.

“Follow my lead”, she hisses and grabs Seven by the collar. Seven looks quizzical, eyes darting around to find an out. There is none. So B’Elanna does the only thing she can think of to justify them being in this corridor without immediately being thrown out by a bunch of angry Klingon lesbians.

She tucks on Seven’s collar, hard, pulling her down and forward before she presses herself against the wall, hoping that Seven gets the gist of it. The seconds their mouths collide Seven makes a sound that is half surprise, half something else and B’Elanna finds herself reveling in it, blood boiling and heat rushing through her body.

Seven’s lips are incredibly soft and incredibly clumsy.

But despite her obvious discomfort and surprise, she reacts immediately, grabbing B’Elanna’s wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head. B’Elanna tries to tug on them and yes. It would take her serious effort to get out of this. She makes a big show to struggle against Seven’s grip, kissing her hard and with most likely too much tongue and teeth for Seven’s liking, but the second the voices come closer and two people stare down the corridor there’s just loud laughter and some crude whistling before the women disappear to leave them to their make-out session.

B’Elanna almost forgets that this is her colleague and that they’re undercover, because her tongue in Seven’s mouth feels incredible and the tight grip restraining her is making her heart soar. Seven’s boobs are pressed up against her and… yeah. It’s hot. Hot as fuck.

The second they’re alone in the corridor again Seven releases B’Elanna’s grip and pulls back from the kiss. Her cheeks are bright red now and her hair has given up on staying tied up entirely. B’Elanna thinks she should wear it like this more often. They stare at each other, both of them breathing hard.

B’Elanna licks her lips.

“Sorry. That was my only idea”, she says a little sheepishly. Seven swallows visibly, then turns her head away.

“I will live”, she says, deadpan. B’Elanna laughs, a little breathlessly. So they make their way down the corridor and B’Elanna tries to think as clearly as possible through the alcohol and the aroused haze that has taken over her brain now.

There’s a beat of silence as they inch forward. Then.

“Will you explain the jewelry to me after this is over? For… scientific research.”

B’Elanna has to stifle a laugh and presses a fist against her mouth. The mouth that was just kissing Seven a few seconds ago.

“Sure thing, Seven. I can help you do some research.”

This mission definitely didn’t go as B’Elanna expected. But apparently that doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Part I

We Don't Fit in Well ('Cause We Are Just Ourselves)

James T. Kirk (AOS) x Reader

Description: Riverside, Iowa. You've been here once before. Back then, everything was different. Now, you're not sure you're even in the same universe anymore. The man you might love? He's disappeared into thin air. The job you love? It might just disappear too. When everything hinges on one person, what lengths will you go to in order to save him? Can you save him while following the harsh demands you've been ordered to fulfill?

Warnings: Arguments, Mentions of Drunken Behavior, Injuries, Rough language

These will change from chapter-to-chapter. I will do my best to denote all happening as faithfully as I can. If any of these items bothers you, please do not read. One chapter of this fic includes non-graphic descriptions of Torture. All trigger warnings will be clearly demarcated in this fic.

Author’s Note: Hello my lovelies! This is my first Star Trek fic (ever), and I've been agonizing over how I could write it for so so long. This fic has been in the works since late-November 2023 and I think it's finally ready to share with you all!

I of course have to thank my faithful beta readers (and biggest cheerleaders) @desert-fern, @horseshoegirl and @sarahsmi13s for reading bits and pieces of this fic and making sure I was doing it justice. I also want to thank @a-reader-and-a-writer! Vee sent me this ask around then and nearly a year and a half later, we have this fic!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

Word Count: 3770

AO3: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

The last time it snowed, the world was a very different place. Vulcan was still one of the biggest influences in the Federation, still orbiting its sun and still home to billions of souls, which were now snuffed out. Starfleet was thriving, with thousands of cadets and personnel boldly going into the unknown on peacekeeping and exploratory missions. What you have now is a world spinning on a different, tilted, off-kilter axis. It's like there is a hush over the grounds of Starfleet Academy still, cadets flinching, fighting their laughter when before it used to ring through the central square, melding with hundreds of conversations. The ghosts of everyone who walked the halls and never got the chance to graduate, to live, encroach on the spirits of those who remain.

It's no wonder the Admiralty have pushed for accelerated courses, aching to balloon the skeleton complement staffing the vessels still operational after the Battle of Vulcan. But the appetite to join Starfleet isn't present anymore. You've been riding a recruitment desk since graduation; you know what you're talking about. It’s like Starfleet had been inexplicably linked with the disaster on Vulcan and been found culpable for it. 

Nobody wants to be affiliated with the paramilitary organization responsible for the violent death of an entire planet. The Admirals have given countless interviews on the resettlement of the surviving Vulcan people. Ambassador Sarek himself has spoken about the loss of his wife, a prominent Terran herself, and the path to healing for the Vulcan people as a whole. Time and again, he's stressed how, without Starfleet, nothing of Vulcan-that-was would have been saved. But it doesn't seem to have worked. Every day, public sentiment on Starfleet has waned, the mercury dipping lower and lower and sinking into the red until you're not sure anything will bring it back out.

Well, there is one thing that could possibly save Starfleet. But nobody’s sure if he'd agree to do it.

It's why you're in Riverside, Iowa, of all places. The last time you were here, it was in 2255, and the summer sun shone golden from a blue sky over the shafts of fragrant wheat swaying in the hot breeze. You can still recall how your uniform had stuck to the small of your back, how wisps of your hair had been snatched from your braid only to get plastered against your face and neck. Back then, only a little over three years and yet a lifetime ago, you'd been awed at the mechanisms of the Riverside Shipyard, awed at the skeleton of the Enterprise as she was built piece by piece and paid little attention to the town in the shipyard's shadow. One bar fight and a pair of new cadets on board your shuttle later, you'd forgotten all about the place. 

Until now.

Your communicator trills loudly in the cold air, the tinny sound hushed between buildings blanketed in snow drifts.

“You find him yet, kid?”

“I'm 28, Doctor McCoy! I'm far from a kid.”

“You’re all kids to me.” You can hear the irascible doctor in the background, grumbling and growling. “So, did you find him yet?”

“No, and before you ask, I'm trying to remember whether I ever knew how to walk in this much snow and if the Riverside transporter station had Eskimo dogs and sleds for rent,” you snark back.

“Touchy, touchy, kid.” You don’t have to see McCoy's face to know he's smirking at you. The man may be a southern gentleman - most of the time - but a friend still amuses him in a tough situation of their own making. “Anyone would think you didn't want to see him anymore.”

“Len …” You sigh noisily, pretending your fingers aren't trembling, like snow isn’t seeping into your boots. “This was a bad idea. There’s a reason I've been riding a booth in recruitment instead of working with Scotty on his ‘wee lass’.”

“Give him a chance to explain, kid. And if he breaks your heart, tell me, and I'll come right over and getcha. Even if I have to brave a transporter to do it.”

“You're one of the good ones, Dr. McCoy.”

His laugh makes the bile roiling in your stomach ease a little.

“I hope you know you're one of the good ones too, kid. Now bring him home.”

The comm goes dead with a sharp click, and suddenly, you're alone again, looking at the small farmhouse in front of you. It’s two-storied and quaint, with a wrap-around porch surrounding the ground floor and dark windows peering out onto the street. Snow-covered fields surround it on either side, and you think you can see bushes buried under the relentless snow.

You think it used to be white once upon a time, when it was new, with white siding, cheerful blue shutters and a dark red shingled roof - the mid-1950s American dream. The blues have faded and blended with dust, the roof browned with age. As you walk, forcing yourself to lift each foot, you catalog the way the grass has grown up through the wooden planks of the porch over long hot summers, how there is a carving which might just spell out the words “JTK was here” hidden to the side of the door.

Because, well, if you can see the jagged lines of a pen knife on aged wood, then you're definitely too close to your goals to go home. The only part of the house which doesn't look aged is the doorbell and you press it with fingers trembling with both the cold and your nerves. But you don’t hear a bell ringing. A camera unshutters, the movements well-oiled and precise. You stand still and let it scan you, holding your Starfleet identification up when prompted. But the door doesn't open.

It feels anticlimactic. All the stress, the well-meaning, gruff pep talk from the Doc, the trembling in your fingers. Who is to say he's even home? Who is to say he'd even open the door for anyone? Why did Len think he'd open the door for you? The thought of someone you adore, and yeah, you've gone way past denial to even delude yourself into thinking you like him any less than pure adoration, seeing you standing on his doorstep and refusing to open the door, hurts like a kick to the chest.

You can’t breathe as you knock gently on the wood, ignoring the splinters as they catch on your skin.

“J-Jim?” His name leaves your chapped lips like a prayer, echoing through the cold stillness around you. “Open the door, please. It's me.”

You knock until your knuckles ache, and when you pull away, there's a rusty smudge of blood on the wood. One of the splinters has done more than catch on your skin, ripping a jagged hole against the ridged bone of your hand, embedded there like the man you're trying to find is in your heart.

“I know I'm the last person you want to see out here. B-but Len suggested to Admiral Barnett that you wouldn't come back for anyone else. I tried to tell them otherwise, but nobody listened. We're worried about you, Jim. Please. Worried sick.”

You wait with bated breath for any sign of life. But none comes. You turn, fumbling for your communicator with aching fingers because at least you can tell the Admiralty you tried, right?

“If you were worried sick, why didn't you come sooner? Took ya six months to come out here … to see the famous Captain Kirk for yourself.”

Your knees go weak at the sound of his voice, but when you whirl around, your concern doesn't fade. Because you've never seen James Tiberius Kirk in such a bad state of disrepair. The just-been-fucked state of his hair is par for the course. Bloody bar fights might very well have been normal - after all, you've seen the results on his face far too many times. But drunk, so drunk you can smell the cheap alcohol seeping from his pores, hair greasy and blue eyes dull? You've never seen James T. Kirk fall so far from the pedestal he's set himself on.

“Jay…” He snorts crudely at the pet name on your tongue like he knows you don't deserve to call him that, wheeling around and back into the yawning doorway with little grace.

“Don't haveta like ya to keep you from freezin’.”

He's slurring, and your heart cracks at the rudely dismissive tone in his voice.

“Get in ‘ere, call Bones and get out.”

Jame T. Kirk is a lot of things, you know. He's smart - smarter than anyone has rights to be - and works endlessly for his crew like he'd never work for himself. But he's not a sloppy drunk. He likes alcohol as much as the next man, preferring a light buzz to quell the jitters of a perfectionist attitude without stifling his ridiculously brilliant brain. This is so far past buzzed you're not sure he even remembers what a buzz is.

Empty bottles clank and clatter against the toes of your boots as you walk in, closing the door gently. You're hit with a cloud of dust, the musty smell coating your mouth without it even being open, the fine particulate sinking into your clothing with each step. It smells like dust and rot and spilled alcohol in the enclosed space. The pungent bouquet makes your nose wrinkle, hand rising to cover your mouth and nose in a futile effort to stave the smells away. You follow Jim through the trail he's making, circumnavigating the towering piles of bottles, avoiding the puddles on the floor that may have once been bile.

The kitchen is mostly clean, even if it does smell just as bad. But at least here, there is room to move and sit. The glare you're given as you perch on the very edge of one of the cracked vinyl chairs pushed up against a small table is vitriolic enough that you can feel your resolve, cracked and patched together with string and duct tape, begin to burn.

“I told ya. Get in. Get warm. Call Bones. And get out. I don’t care what you're doing here. I just want you off my property.”

He stares at you for several moments, warm blue eyes now flinty and cold, before turning around and walking further into the house. You can hear the clattering as he knocks into things, the hushed expletives as he no doubt bashes his elbows and knees into the sides of furniture and door jambs. Once upon a time, you would have laughed, trailing after him to ask if he needed a kiss on a fresh bruise or two marring his skin. Now you’re left paralyzed between your need to make sure he is okay and your fear of overstepping.

You’re not sure how it went so wrong. One night, you’d been curled up against his side on his ratty old couch in San Francisco, warm and comfortable, soaking in the scent of his cologne. It had been a perfect night, with friends hanging out, eating good food, and drinking good alcohol. But it didn’t stay a hangout between friends. Jim was just as distracting as usual, with his pretty blue eyes and wide grin. You’d woken up the next morning, bare and aching in the best way, in his empty bed to a cold, deserted apartment. 

You weren’t sure what you’d done to make him leave. Was giving into the sexual tension with your commanding officer why he disappeared? It was a shot to your confidence and ego. He was just gone, with no note, all the clothes still in his closet, and everything untouched. You couldn’t even tell when in the middle of the night he left or where he went. It’s taken you six months to track him down. You’re not sure how long he’s been in Riverside or if he was alone the entire time, but you’ve finally found him.

It’s probably time to make some decisions. How do you convince him to come back to San Francisco? You’re not charismatic or particularly charming. Most of the time, you’re being charmed, not doing the charming. You’re yanked viciously out of your musing by the sharp thud of a body colliding with the floor. Jim’s lying at the foot of the stairs, blood seeping sluggishly from a slice on his forehead.

“Shit, Jimmy.” You soften your voice to a whisper as you lever him up. “What have you done to yourself?”

He’s sluggish and barely responsive as you sling his heavy arm over your shoulder and stagger upright. He’s completely unresponsive as you maneuver him to the living room and lay him down on the mostly clean sofa. The wound isn’t too bad, already scabbing over, but you’re more worried by how he’s been knocked out. He’s motionless, almost lifeless, were it not for the imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. You call Len three times that night - first to make sure you’re doing the right thing, second to treat the swelling, and third to get Mama McCoy’s recipe for chicken noodle soup and her award-winning pancakes.

He'll be fine, kiddo. If he's got a bump on his noggin and was as drunk as you say, he'll sleep through the night. You'll want to get some coffee in him in the morning. He'll have a bear of a hangover, but he'll be fine. Call me if you need anything, kid.

Len's advice, while comforting from a medical standpoint, only partially alleviates your worry. You spend the night in a sleepless, manic haze, focused on only two things: making sure Jim is alright and cleaning up his house, at least the kitchen and the stairs. You venture out into the cold multiple times, hauling bag after bag of trash to the big cans in the side yard, stamping the snow off your boots and shivering as you try futilely to warm up.

By the time the sun's risen, the kitchen is spotless, smelling softly of lemon cleaner, and you're no less scared than you were walking into Riverside the day before. You're terrified. Terrified at the thought of seeing censure in those blue, blue eyes. Terrified to hear James Tiberius Kirk tell you that you were only a passing flame, a quick, convenient fuck. Terrified that you’ll never be able to make him realize how much Starfleet needs him, how much you do.

The fear settles in your veins as you make an early morning trek to the grocery store. You pick up all the essentials: coffee and enough food for at least a few days more, and accept the offer of a ride back to the Kirk farmhouse. By the time the soup is bubbling away on the stove, following Mama McCoy’s exacting recipe, your nerves have soothed a little. 

Jim rockets awake at 9 o’clock on the dot, retching into the bucket you'd set by the side of the couch. Hearing him cough wretchedly into the bucket makes you feel worse than you did before. It’s a relief, knowing he’s okay, that he isn’t hurt. But he’s awake now, and you’re paralyzed. The gentle scents of coffee and buttery pancakes waft through the bright kitchen. You take comfort in it as you suck in greedy breaths to keep your rampaging heartbeat under control.

“The hell is this?” His voice is rough, deeper than usual, and just a little wondering as he takes in the magic you've wrought on his kitchen.

“Breakfast and coffee.”

He huffs, drawing his arms up across his chest, blue eyes squinting your way.

“I can see that.” 

He's stoic. Stiff-lipped and tense as he stands in the corner of the kitchen. You can feel the weight of his gaze as you flip the last few pancakes and pour the fresh coffee into a pair of mugs. You're not sure why you do it, but you step forward gingerly and press the mug into his hands. You back away slowly, like you're dealing with a spooked animal. 

His lips twitch as he looks down at the mug, his expression warring between exhaustion and anger. It's your turn to hide a grin when he takes a long sip, a grumble rather akin to a domesticated cat leaving his mouth as the rich, dark, slightly bitter liquid hits his tongue.

“What are you doing?”

You should have been expecting the question. You've had a day, a night, and months of searching to think of why. Ultimately, you stick with the simplest answer you can give him.

“I'm making breakfast. I got hungry.”

You shrug and hold out your hands, palms up to the feast laid out on the sparkling counters: buttery pancakes, golden-brown and fluffy, out-of-season blueberries piled high in a bowl, crispy strips of bacon glistening with fat in the sunlight, and the pot of coffee steaming on a trivet.

“Bullshit.” 

He yanks one of the bacon strips off the platter and crams it in his mouth. It disappears in two quick bites before his tongue darts out and laps at the grease on his fingers. You're a little weak-kneed at the motion because, unlike him, you can clearly remember what those fingers, what that tongue, can do.

“You're not here just to make me breakfast. You're here because they sent you. The Admirals. Starfleet. They want Captain Kirk as their poster boy, their golden goose. They want to parade me around, drum up more recruits and ‘boldly go’ again. They could care less about how the Federation was handicapped mere months ago - how an entire people was destroyed. Because they didn't see it coming.”

His voice is ragged, chest heaving as he sets the mug down with a sharp clack, the liquid sloshing over the sides.

“That's right.” Your voice is barely a whisper as you mop up the spill. “The Admiralty sent me. But they're not why I agreed to come to Riverside. I came to Riverside to make sure you were okay. Nobody's heard from you, Jim. We were all worried - Bones, Scotty, Sulu, Chekov, Admiral Pike - I, well, I was worried. We all wanted to make sure you were okay. The Admirals just allowed me to do so without taking leave.”

“So what are you going to do?”

You grab two plates from the cabinet and start serving up some food. You mull over your response as you set the table, giving him a wide berth as you circle him to retrieve the coffee in a second trip. You settle into one of the chairs with a sigh, your aching bones relaxing into the cushioned seat, and sip the coffee doctored how you like.

“Well, for the next few days at least, I'm going to make sure you're eating and sleeping and not drinking yourself to death. Then I'm going to ask if you would ever want to come back to Starfleet if you'd ever want to be my Captain again. Regardless of your answer, I'd head back to San Francisco.”

He sits gracelessly, long limbs splayed out until his foot collides with yours, icy against your ankle. You push his mug of coffee, the expensive, real coffee you’d spent way too many credits to purchase, his way. You’re gratified at the small smile on his face when he cuts a piece of pancake, dredges it through the frankly ridiculous pool of blueberry syrup on his plate (the only syrup Len said he wasn't allergic to) and shoves it into his mouth. It’s good to see him looking a little more relaxed, to see him eat, even if he is too thin for comfort.

“So if I tell you to leave and never look back, to forget I was ever your Captain, you'd do it?”

Your heart lurches at the thought of forgetting James T. Kirk and what he means to you. But you're sure this is a test, that he's expecting you to say you can't forget him, that you won't. You're just as sure he'll never forgive you if you say those words. Because he'll take them as a betrayal and you'll lose any ground you've gained over Eleanora McCoy's pancakes and blueberry syrup.

“I promise. But only if, after I leave, you promise you'll take care of yourself. No more drinking yourself to death.”

He quirks an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging his lips up.

“Fine. Okay. I promise I'll take care of myself. Now, will you leave me to eat all this food by myself, or will you help me?” 

Your response is to oh-so-maturely launch a blueberry at his face, a blueberry he catches on his tongue.

The shaky truce you’ve brokered extends until mid-afternoon when the doorbell rings, and Jim comes back with more boxes of food than you thought you'd ordered.

“This has to be a mistake,” you groan as you set vegetables in the crisper and load the freezer with meat.

“It's not a mistake.” Your eyes are wide with something starting to feel a lot like hope as you look at him. He'd showered after breakfast, and clean-shaven and sober, he looks a lot like the Jim you remember. You’re hoping he ordered the extra supplies and wants you to stay longer. But your hopes are shattered when he gestures out the kitchen window.

“Take a look outside.” 

The sky is dark, the clouds heavy and gray as they blot out the sun. Fat snowflakes spiral heavily down, and you have a sudden lurch in your chest as it accumulates far more quickly than you'd expect on the ground.

“You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd suspect you'd planned this.” 

He's hovering just behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his skin. Your fingers clutch at the counter because that accusation means he might not trust you even so much to take your words at face value. 

“This is a blizzard in Iowa. It'll snow for days on end, and we'll be snowed in for longer than a few days. So buckle up, buttercup. Looks like you're stuck with me!”

You stick your tongue out at him in a state of childish pique because if one day was enough to have you in a cold sweat, weeks might just kill you. The Admirals will probably be glad when you tell them. After all, it gives you more time to convince Jim Kirk to return to Starfleet. If only you were so sure it's what he wants in the same way they are.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[startrek-eridani]

Lieutenant junior-grade, Demora Sulu, helmsman

Daughter of Captain Hikaru Sulu of the U.S.S. Excelsior, Demora Sulu was born on March 24 2273. A bright and enthusiastic young crew member, her family ties made her close with many members of the crew of the NCC-1701 Enterprise. Her father, of course, but also Lieutenant Pavel Chekov, whom she considered as an uncle, as well as Nyota Uhura, who was named as her godmother. She was a close friend to Anton Pavlovich Chekov, and was secretly a bit disappointed that he decided to pursue a career in the junior ambassadorial corp rather than Starfleet. 

After graduating from Starfleet Academy in 2293, she was assigned as helmsman of the Enterprise-B on its launch. Having been on board during its disastrous rescue attempt of the El-Aurian ship and accident with the temporal energy ribbon was a very difficult experience for her. Following this event, Saavik also got closer to Demora, having only briefly met her at gatherings of the old Enterprise crew that they both happened to attend. 

Not only is Demora used to feeling like she has big shoes to fill due to her father’s success, but this experience at the helm during such an accident made her lose some confidence in her skills when she was assigned as helmsman of the U.S.S. Eridani as a lieutenant junior-grade in 2296, aged 23. Captain Saavik, having been a helmsman herself not so long before, often tried to be reassuring or to give words of encouragement that Demora is doing the right thing. As the mission of the Eridani progressed, she became more confident in herself, her skills and the path that she wanted to take.

She quickly developed a close friendship with navigator Wane Perry, whom she had met at the Academy and shared a few classes with. 

Her father taught her fencing, and she liked antique weapons. In her quarters was also a small habitat to a neutered pet tribble, gifted by her aunt Nyota.

[electronickingdomfox]

"The IDIC Epidemic" review

Novel from 1988, by Jean Lorrah. Sort of a sequel to her previous book ("The Vulcan Academy Murders"), the enemy this time is a strange virus that mutates really fast, and is decimating a colony with its increasingly deadly strains. Given the origin of the virus, and its ultimate cure, the main theme is the defense of diversity (racial or cultural) over segregation and prejudices. Which is, definitely, a very Star Trek theme, though the novel also acknowledges the difficulties in such a diverse society, and how fragile it can be.

Despite what the cover would suggest, Kirk, Spock and McCoy are mere secondary characters. Most of the story focuses instead on new introductions, like the Klingon Korsal and his sons, or the Vulcan T'Pina. Healer Sorel, his associate Daniel Corrigan, and the obnoxious Sendet return from the previous book. Sarek and Amanda are also there, though their presence feels more like fanservice this time, as there's no particular reason for them to figure in the story.

As for the novel itself, I couldn't really get into it. The narrative switches perspectives continually, so I found impossible to focus long enough on one plot thread to get invested in it. And didn't find the characters all that engaging. There's simply too many things going on at the same time, and even if all the subplots revolve around the epidemic, it's quite distracting. Your mileage may vary, of course; I'm just not a fan of this technique of "multiple threads".

This time I'm just going to give an overview of the separate stories of each character, with minimal spoilers, as they progress kind of independently to each other:

On the one hand we have Korsal, the only Klingon in the scientific, multicultural colony of Nisus. He's much more of an intellectual and pacifist than your average Klingon, and faces prejudice both from his fellow scientists and his relatives back at home. His two sons are half human, on top of that, so Korsal is worried about their future and the possibility of either the Federation or the Empire accepting them. Much of his story deals with the bonding between Korsal and his older son Kevin, as they try to help against the plague and a breaking dam, which threatens to flood the entire city. Korsal and his family also prove instrumental in finding a cure (though partial) for the virus.

T'Pina is an adopted Vulcan of uncertain origin, returning now to her native Nisus after completing her studies, and hoping to do something about the crisis. As Korsal, she also turns out to be a key to defeat the virus, but much of her storyline is mired by sappy (and kind of cringe) romance. As an aside, there's something about the way this author writes relationships that rubs me the wrong way. First, Amanda's statement that there's more differences between the thinking of males and females, than between humans and Vulcans. Or Kirk getting distracted by how attractive is a Starfleet female Commander, who's actually seriously sick, and trying to explain the dire situation to him. There's also a certain obsession to get every single character married at the end: a couple of widowed Vulcans that just met (and that haven't yet overcome their grief); or even Spock, who tells his mother about the "several suitable women he met", and his intention to marry upon leaving Starfleet (sure, Spock, keep telling us about your imaginary girfriends...). I know I'm nitpicking here, but all this made me roll eyes several times.

The medical team of McCoy, Sorel and Daniel (with occasional help from Spock) is tasked with cracking the virus' pattern of mutation, and developing a vaccine. The way they find the origin and nature of the virus is interesting, with actual analytical work. Though developing a cure turns out to be rather a matter of luck, and several happy (and unlikely) coincidences.

On the villain side we have Sendet, a Vulcan supremacist, who uses the virus to justify his views against mixed races. He and the other followers of T'Vet are being transported by the Enterprise to a different colony, since their views go against Vulcan culture. They cause a lot of problems in the ship. Problems that could have been easily avoided if Kirk had just... put them in the brig the first time.

Spirk Meter: 2/10*. When Spock falls sick with the virus, Kirk feels frustrated for not being able to see him. And even though he knows his presence wouldn't change anything, he still believes that Spock could somehow draw strength from his being there.

As for Spones, Spock insists on accompanying McCoy to Nisus, against Kirk's orders, and under the pretext of the doctor needing his logic. Spock feels also protective of him, telling McCoy to be careful around the virus. And Kirk comments that Spock and McCoy are "one of a kind"; which both quickly deny, in unison. Apart from this, much emphasis is put on the idea that Vulcans leave their katra to their spouses upon dying... Which has some "implications" for Spock and McCoy's later story (though I somehow doubt the author would acknowledge the parallelism).

*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (AOS Edition) Chapter Two

AOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Two: In the Academy

Summary: (Y/N) continues on in Starfleet and meets someone unusual, but not unlikeable, at the Academy.

            (Y/N) focused intently on their notes in the lecture. Stubbornly, they ignored the feelings of confusion and general negativity that always accompanied higher-level lectures. Some students just never had a good time. But (Y/N) was determined to focus through the haze of emotions. They had been around empaths their entire life—a few non-psychics with less psychic presence wouldn’t be a problem.

            “That’s all for today,” said the instructor, and everyone packed up and left.

            (Y/N) threw their back over their shoulder and walked out of the room. In their head, they planned how they were going to fit the homework for this class into their study schedule for midterms coming up.

            “Hey, (L/N), do you want to study later?” said their friend Uhura—a student a few years behind them but advanced enough in languages to be taking communications courses with them.

            “Sure,” said (Y/N), smiling. “But is your roommate Gaila coming?”

            “I don’t think so. She’s going out tonight on another date,” said Uhura.

            “She isn’t bringing another guy back to your room, is she?” said (Y/N).

            “I hope not. I’m going to have to talk to her about that if we keep rooming for the next few years,” sighed Uhura.

            (Y/N) chuckled.

            “I wish I was in your year, and then I could room with you,” said Uhura.

            “I have my own room for accommodations against being constantly overwhelmed by others’ emotions,” said (Y/N). Their empathy wasn't a disability, but it was a cause for accommodations where they could be given, and Starfleet was committed to serving the different needs of its students. “So I don’t think that would happen.”

            “Oh, right,” said Uhura, nodding. “How are the rest of your classes going?”

            “I’m in my last year, so they’re just getting harder and harder,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “I still have like…two years until that level of difficult,” said Uhura. “For most of my courses, anyways.”

            “Don’t you have three years of school left?” said (Y/N), raising an eyebrow.

            “I’m going to finish early,” said Uhura confidently.

            “That’s going to be a lot of hard work, but if anyone can do it, it’s you,” said (Y/N).

            The pair walked into one of the dining halls and went to grab food.

            Uhura grinned. “I’m glad someone takes me seriously. Sometimes some of the students are so condescending. Especially the ones in our communications class.”

            “Right, they think because they’re older they’re smarter,” said (Y/N), laughing and rolling their eyes.

            “Are they like that with you?” asked Uhura.

            “A bit, yeah,” said (Y/N). “I don’t go around talking about test scores or grades with everyone, so they think that I’m not doing well.”

            “I’ve heard them mention your psychic abilities. Does the empathy make it harder?” asked Uhura.

            “No,” said (Y/N), smiling. “Some people don’t want to take me seriously because I’m an empath and focus on emotions.”

            “Ugh, are they some of those ‘facts over feelings’ people who just ignore that the world needs both?” said Uhura, rolling her eyes.

            “You’re perceptive as ever,” said (Y/N), laughing and sitting down with their friend.

            However, Uhura’s words rang true. Due to their attractive features and impressive empathy, people perceived them as weaker than they really were. They were constantly underestimated, not taken seriously. They didn’t see (Y/N)’s ability to sense emotions as an advantage; they saw it as a weakness because, to them, emotions clouded judgement.

            They couldn’t see the whole picture. (Y/N) could. In the real world, facts were helpful, but the emotions within people, people affected by facts, were just as significant. (Y/N) understood that, so no matter how many times people overlooked their dedication to Starfleet as a passing folly of someone in tune with emotions.

            “Hey, (L/N), what are you up to today?”

            (Y/N) sighed as the familiar emotions that made them disgusted flew over them and they turned to see the face of a familiar classmate.

            “Flynn,” said (Y/N) civilly. “I’m studying.”

            “Are you sure you’re not interested in going out? Tonight? With me?” said Flynn, grinning.

            And there was the beauty issue. It wouldn’t be a problem if (Y/N) was just attractive and that was it. But no. People had to make it a problem by thinking that they were just a pretty face. That they were making their way through the academy by being attractive and giving a smile to everything. That they were someone everyone could flirt with successfully.

            (Y/N) certainly couldn’t change anyone’s mind on the first two issues. But the third was not something they let slide. They were their own person and deserved to be respected as such.

            “No, I’m not,” said (Y/N). “I’m studying tonight.”

            “Oh, come on, it could be fun,” said Flynn. “I know how to have a good time.” He winked.

            “They gave you their answer, Flynn,” shot back Uhura. “Go back to your friends and leave us alone.”

            “I’m waiting for their answer,” snapped Flynn.

            “Which I already gave you. Twice. I’m not interested in you,” said (Y/N), lacing their fingers. “So I’d appreciate being left alone.”

            Flynn scowled and stomped away.

            Uhura rolled her eyes. “What a jerk.”

            (Y/N) waved a hand. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. His pride is wounded. He won’t try it again.”

            “I’m sorry you have to deal with that,” said Uhura.

            “It’s alright. We’ve all had bad experiences with people,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            They just got more than others since they had a bit more of an attractive face than others. Luckily, (Y/N) could sense people’s emotions when they approached them and knew if any connection was going to be genuine or for the sake of their own fun. And (Y/N) knew one thing: they weren’t going to date anyone that didn’t really care about them as a person above anything else.

l

            (Y/N) sighed as they checked the clock. “I should head back to my dorm,” they said. “I have a longer walk than you, and I have a lab in the morning.”

            “Alright,” said Uhura. “I should sleep, too. I have an exam tomorrow.”

            “Good luck,” said (Y/N), waving as they left.

            They headed through the Science Quad of Starfleet Academy towards the upper-classroom dorms. The sun had set already, but lights illuminated the well-worn paths. (Y/N) hoisted their bag farther on their back as they passed the largest lab building.

            “Hey.”

            (Y/N) stopped as a voice called out to them from the lawn next to them. Flynn stepped out, flanked by his friends Stephenson and Boone. Feeling the tension of their emotions resting heavy in the air, (Y/N) narrowed their eyes.

            “You still uninterested in going out?” said Flynn, crossing his arms.

            “Yes,” replied (Y/N) instantly. “I’m heading back to my dorm.”

            “Oh, then how about I come with you?” said Flynn, and his friends snickered.

            “I’m not interested in you, Flynn, or what you have in mind,” said (Y/N). “Leave me alone.”

            “Hey, don’t be so mean to Flynn. He’s a really great guy,” said Stephenson, stepping up.

            (Y/N) gripped the strap of their bag tighter. “That doesn’t mean I have to be interested in them.”

            “Oh, come on, a nice, handsome guy deserves such a pretty person,” said Boone. “Just give him a chance.”

            (Y/N) glanced around. They were alone. “No. I’ve made myself clear. If you continue to harass me, I’ll report you.”

            “Report me? Why? We’re just having a conversation,” said Flynn, stepping a pace closer.

            (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t take another step towards me. I know what you feel. Just leave me alone.”

            “Don’t be so rude,” said Boone.

            “We’re being nice,” said Stephenson.

            “Come on, just try having some fun,” said Flynn, reaching out.

            The moment his hand touched (Y/N)’s arm, the emotions became unbearable, and (Y/N) reacted to protect themself. They swung their back, and it hit Flynn in the face. He fell back to the ground. Stephenson and Boone jumped in surprise and turned towards (Y/N).

            “Don’t touch me,” said (Y/N), holding their bag tightly. “Don’t ever touch me.”

            They were ready to swing again. Backing up, they kept an eye on Boone while Stephenson helped Flynn up. Only one option left. (Y/N) turned and ran. They ran until they were out of breath, legs burning from strain, and safely back in their dorm.

            (Y/N) frowned and held their bag tightly. They had never had anyone trying to flirt with them go so far. (Y/N) had a feeling—that had nothing to do with their empathy—they had just brought trouble to their life.

            But I did the only thing I could. It was the logical thing.

l

            “Cadet (L/N)?”

            (Y/N) looked up from their books to see an academy administrator standing next to them. They quickly stood at attention.

            “Sir,” they said.

            “Cadet (L/N), you are requested to come before the Starfleet Academy Committee of Student Behavior for a disciplinary hearing,” said the officer.

            “May I ask for what, sir?” asked (Y/N).

            “For violence against another cadet.”

            Flynn.

l

            “Cadet (L/N), you stand accused of an act of unprovoked violence against a fellow Cadet, Cadet Flynn,” said the leader of the disciplinary committee, Barnett.

            (Y/N) stood before them, circled by men and women with severe expressions in grey uniforms. They straightened their shoulders, wearing their red uniform proudly.

            “The accusation is substantiated by Cadet Boone and Cadet Stephenson,” said another council member.

            (Y/N) didn’t glance to their left where Boone, Stephenson, and Flynn sat. Their smug satisfaction was smog in the air.

            “What have you to say in defense?” said another counselor.

            “I admit I was in an altercation with Cadet Flynn,” said (Y/N) firmly. “But Cadet Flynn initiated. I responded in self-defense.”

            “That is not what Cadets Flynn, Stephenson, and Boone claim,” said the counselor. “They claim you lost control of your anger and frustration due to the pressure of testing.”

            Using emotions against me because I’m an empath. (Y/N) refused to show their annoyance.

            “What do you claim occurred?” said Barnett.

            “Cadet Flynn accosted me with Cadets Stephenson and Boone. I attempted to leave the situation, but Cadet Flynn turned physical, so I defended myself from harm,” said (Y/N).

            “Do you have anyone to substantiate your claims?”

            (Y/N) paused. “No.” Flynn’s self-satisfaction grew.

            “If I may.”

            All eyes turned to one of the officers observing the hearing. The room was large, but since this wasn’t a large issue, only the committee, cadets involved, and any officer who wished to be up-to-date with the issues of the academy (some were very involved in improving the campus so kept informed on these types of problems and altercations).

            The officer stood in a grey commander’s uniform. He had short, black hair and brown eyes. Severe eyebrows were offset by pointed years. He was a Vulcan.

            “Commander Spock,” acknowledged Barnett. “State your business.”

            “I am a witness to the altercation in this hearing,” said Spock.

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow. But there had been no one around. Still, the fear that spiked through Flynn, Boone, and Stephenson satisfied (Y/N).

            “I was in the laboratory preparing scenarios for a new Kobayashi Maru simulation,” said Spock. “I noticed a group of cadets outside of the window due to the strategic placement of Cadets Boone, Flynn, and Stephenson around Cadet (L/N). It was an attack formation like that of starships.”

            “We were just talking to them and standing there,” burst out Flynn defensively.

            His nerves betrayed the lie to (Y/N)’s empathy, but that didn’t matter.

            “Sit down, Cadet Flynn. You will begin another chance to speak if you wish,” said the counselor severely, and Flynn wilted. “Continue, Commander Spock.”

            “Cadet Flynn, Cadet Stephenson, and Cadet Boone moved closer to Cadet (L/N), who attempted to extricate themself from the situation,” said Spock. “Cadet Flynn then grabbed Cadet (L/N)’s arm. Cadet (L/N) swung their bag and hit Cadet Flynn in order to separate themself from any farther harm.” He held himself formally, and his gaze flicked out over the group. “They did not initiate the altercation and acted only to escape the dispute.”

            “Cadet Flynn, you may speak again,” said Barnett.

            “He’s lying. I don’t know why, but it’s not true. That Vulcan is just covering for the empath, another psychic, messing up and losing control,” said Flynn, panicked and emotional.

            Not acting rationally. A mistake in this situation, thought (Y/N).

            “I am a Vulcan, Cadet,” said Spock. “I do not lie.”

            Flynn paled. Not only was that a true, known statement, but Flynn had just made a bigoted statement against a commanding officer, a distinguished graduate of Starfleet Academy.

            “Thank you, Commander Spock,” said Barnett.

            Spock nodded.

            “Cadet Flynn, Cadet Boone, Cadet Stephenson, we will reconvene tomorrow for a disciplinary hearing on your actions,” said Barnett, looking at the three men. “Cadet (L/N), you will be called as a victim in the incident, but you may leave for now.”

            “Thank you, sir,” said (Y/N).

l

            “I’m glad those three got what they deserved,” said Uhura after (Y/N) explained everything that had happened. “Otherwise I would’ve been in an ‘unprovoked altercation with them.’ No one hurts my friend.”

            (Y/N) laughed at Uhura’s fierce loyalty. She was truly a great friend. “Thanks, Uhura.”

            “At least Commander Spock in defense of you,” said Uhura. “Cadets and officers respect him.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “It was my word against three men, so his statement helped.” They paused as they saw the very man they were speaking about walking across the quad. “Oh, there he is.”

            “I can tell you want to go and speak to him,” said Uhura.

            “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you for his appearance during the hearing,” confirmed (Y/N).

            “Go on. It’s almost class time for me, anyways,” said Uhura. “Bye!”

            (Y/N) waved before walking across the quad. “Commander Spock?”

            He paused and turned to face them. “Cadet (L/N),” he acknowledged.

            “I wanted to thank you for speaking at my hearing,” said (Y/N).

            “It was three men accosting a single individual. It was evident their words would be taken against yours, even if a lie. The logical choice was to step in,” said Spock.

            (Y/N) nodded in understanding. “It was still helpful, so thank you.”

            “Do you have a class?” said Spock.

            “No,” said (Y/N), shaking their head. “Not for another hour.”

            “Would you be opposed to answering a few questions in regard to your empathy as a Celian? I have not met another, and I appreciate an understanding of the more promising cadets graduating,” said Spock.

            I’m a promising cadet? (Y/N) stood a little taller. They had been working very hard for years to prove their skill. To hear it recognized felt nice.

            “I don’t mind answering any questions,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            Spock nodded and began walking once more, likely towards his office or a lab. (Y/N) followed alongside him.

            “What is your specialty?” said Spock.

            “Negotiations and Communications,” said (Y/N).

            “Your empathy assists you in gauging reactions,” said Spock, nodding.

            (Y/N) nodded. “But I work around it when I can’t sense their emotions,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “There are limits in all psychic abilities,” said Spock. He glanced at them. “Are you able to sense my emotions?”

            “No. Vulcans do not embrace or react with their emotions, and they have psychic blocks for just such things, so I cannot sense their emotions,” said (Y/N), smiling. They didn’t mind having a “weakness.” They didn’t need to sense everyone’s emotions all the time. They were good with people anyways. “Though I likely could if I touched someone blocking their emotions. The contact allows for a connection to form.”

            Spock nodded. These were logical vulnerabilities and solutions. “And Celians embrace their emotions.”

            “Well, we had to,” said (Y/N), laughing lightly. “Our planet found peace by embracing the idea of respecting others’ emotions and working together when someone is in pain. If we hadn’t, we would have destroyed ourselves.”

            “A very different culture from Vulcan,” said Spock. Celia’s solution to strife was to embrace emotion; Vulcan’s solution was to reject emotion. “Fascinating.”

            “It is interesting,” agreed (Y/N). “But they both found peace, so that’s what matters. I think the humans call it ‘two sides of the same coin.’ ” Their golden eyes gleamed in amusement. “Logos and pathos.”

            Spock raised a brow in the slightest betrayal of mirth. “Quite.”

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

@kyalov

[ifdragonscouldtalk]

all your titles look so interesting!!! please tell me about the 5+3 classic, tell me you love me in private, and/or Spones First Contact

The 5+3 Spones is something I've unfortunately never started because I couldn't come up with enough plot points in which Spock and Kirk kept having to get fake-married that didn't seem overdone. I don't have enough confidence in my writing abilities to redo super well done tropes without a fun spin on them, mainly because I find writing more boring than reading. As much as I like the Spock and Kirk have to get married trope when I'm reading it, writing it is a different question. If I ever come up with the other three spirk fake marriage points though, it's a fic I'd LOVE to actually get to write, because there just isn't enough Spones fics out there.

Here's what I do have:

5+3 classic spirk keeps getting accidentally married but its actually spones 1 classic jim and spock get married for diplomatic reasons (bones actually finds this amusing. so does jim. spock not so much but it’s tolerable.) 2 no word for first officer so they have to act married  (this one is a little less tolerable for spock, but bones still finds it pretty funny, although he grumbles about it with uhura and chapel and scotty) 3 

+1 for jim and bones being married  (what do you MEAN you don't honor your doctor with marriage to the highest position?) ((spock realizes hes actually jealous and being insecure because bones and jim are a more logical match than him and bones)) (((jim joking about how if he keeps getting annulments starfleet is going to talk and bones joking “wouldn’t want that honey”)) ((((people joking about mckirk’s time at the academy when they were inseparable and it reminds spock that he’s not part of the same group as the rest of the enterprise, he was their instructor and sometimes they still see him that way)))) (((((people asking jim which one of them was the better husband and of course he says bones of course he says leonard spock can’t adequately provide for the emotional needs of a human not one like jim or leonard who are so different from his mother and michael and he and len are like night and day who was he deluding himself))))) +1 spock and bones getting married on a mission +1 for spones actual wedding

That's currently the entirety of the document.

[tigerexe]

so you seem like a saavik fans, maybe youll have an answer for this. whats her deal? i thought she was like spock adopted daughter, but did she actually sleep with him??? thats very weird

I'm THE Saavik fan and I will happily clear this up!

Saavik is kind of a schrödinger's cat situation depending on How Canon you decide certain things are, but here are the facts:

Heres what happens ON screen, not taking into account beta canon or scrapped/deleted scenes yet:

-Saavik is Spock's student/protege, their past is unknown but they speak vulcan when in private and seem pretty at ease with eachother and Saavik sheds tears openly at Spock's funeral

- Saavik and David find reincarnated baby Spock on the Genesis planet and take care of him as he matures rapildy

- when genesis Spock (for some fucking reason) starts going through ponn farr as a teenager Saavik does some vulcan hand stuff that calms him down, next scene theyre seen sleeping leaning on eachother

- when the enterprise crew leaves vulcan to go on their whale adventure, Saavik decides to stay on vulcan and is never seen again in canon

So yeah, not much to go on besides the TSFS ponn farr scene which of course carries implications but is almost completely off screen and kept PG, so it's kind of up for the viewers interpretation

Where things get interesting is when we look at beta canon and plot threads dropped from the movies:

-in a deleted TWOK scene, Spock says Saavik is half romulan, half vulcan, but its left at that

-this plot is picked up MY FAVOURITE star trek novel, The Pandora Principle, in which Saavik is born as essentially a genetic experiment on a romulan military base, lived as a starving feral child for 10 years until Spock finds her on a mission. Spock takes leave from the Enterprise and lives with 10 yo Saavik for at least a year and stays in almost daily contact once Saavik enters the starfleet academy. their familial bond is explored in the novel, but never referred to anything else besides student and teacher. Its also a very very good book i think everyone should read

-meanwhile back in dropped plots from the movies, it was planned for Saavik to become PREGNANT with Spock's child after the ponn farr scene in TSFS, which is why she stays on vulcan to take maternity leave in TVH 🤮🤮🤮 this was thankfully cut by Nimoy himself because he was really uncomfortable with it.

-in the last TOS movie, Spock has a new protege, a vulcan girlie named Valeris. She was originally going to be Saavik, but the actress was unavalible so they just made a new character. SPOILERS for star trek 6 but Valeris betrays the Federation and Spock in the process, and it is safe to assume if the character had remained as Saavik, she wouldve done the same thing in the script.

-jumping forward to TNG, Picard has the line "I met [Sarek] once, at his son's wedding." It is never elaborater on WHICH son or WHOMST the son was marrying, and when Spock actually appears in TNG no wife is ever seen or mentioned. But in the novel "a Vulcans Heart" the wedding was between Spock and Saavik. I have not read said novel and never will 😬 its apparently a series of novels as well

-misc. beta canon appearences happen in the comics as well, most of which i havent read, but at least a couple seemed to loosely follow the origins established in the Pandora Principle, i.e Saavik is half romulan and rescued by Spock as a child

Tl;dr

Canonically Saavik is Spock's student, anything else is up to viewer interpretation and what beta canon you prefer

PERSONALLY i fully subscribe to the canon the Pandora Principle weaves, and pick and choose my way when it comes to the movies (ignore the TSFS ponn farr scene entirely) and completely disregard anything else. I know its literally my own but I highly recommend this approach, Saavik is like my favourite Star Trek character because of it!

[chewbokachoi]

Okay part two of my Star Trek dumpster fire rambling. Part one over here. Now we've got zh'Ezkel and T'val. Brief bio is longer for zh'Ezkel that pulls heavily from Among The Clans.

-Name: Jeylakogarinazel zh'Ezkel -Rank: Lt. Junior Grade -Department: Tactics -Age: ~30 -Nicknames: Koga (very close friends); Nazel for everyone else -Very brief bio: Ezkel, like all Andorians, has A Lot of Feelings. But unlike most Andorians, she struggled to contain them. Her clan has always been seen as bad luck, but attempts to push them by the wayside seemed to invite more bad luck. And the fact that her clan helped with establishing the Federation and given the population crisis, there wasn't anything to be done about getting rid of them.

zh'Ezkel exceled at Chekthora, the most elite Andorian military academy. For a number of reasons (to be revealed eventually), zh'Ezkel was able to claw her way to not the top of the class, but an enviable bracket nonetheless. This caught the attention of many--including those who felt Andoria needed to be on its own, especially with the population crisis. But zh'Ezkel's eerie knack for knowing things kept her out of "that crowd." Which was just as well--she had to do her part in helping with the population crisis.

Unfortunately, tragedy would strike and zh'Ezkel would survive the death of her quad.

-Current Status: The shame of surviving, the reputation of her clan's luck, her emotional instability (now worse), and having been the victim of something the Andorian government can't let the public hear of left zh'Ezkel in a very bad situation. Fortunate for her, there was a family friend who arranged for her to transfer to Starfleet--given her clan's history with the Federation, and the Federation's interest in strange abilities, and a certain captain whose goals align with zh'Ezkel's, zh'Ezkel had a new home. It's an adjustment period for her. Despite Andorians being very fascinated by other cultures and interacting heavily with said cultures, zh'Ezkel is seen by many to be a "sheltered" one and is going through a number of culture shocks aboard this new home.

-Name: T'val -Rank: Lt. Commander -Department: Tactics -Age: 50~60 -Very brief bio: T'val had spent a large amount of his time researching ways to improve archiving, particularly future-proofing it as when civilizations collapse, the more advanced a system is, the more inaccessible it is. This may or may not have resulted in him getting a chance to study with the Vulcan Grandmasters. This did allow him to explore a number of cultures to see how things were maintained, and he ended up spending a lot of time with the Trill and how they manage the information of what the Symbiotes and joined Trills learn.

This was very fortunate for one Symbiote, Kidan. A shuttle accident left the Trill dead and T'val was the only one healthy enough (and in one piece) to take on the Symbiote. While T'val was fit for such a thing, due to one thing leading to another, he had to carry Kidan longer than advised and the transfer to a proper host/Trill left him out of commission for some time.

Which was once again fortunate. It turns out somebody had it out for Kidan specifically. Kidan was supposed to be transferred to Viráy's ship and help with her mission. This time, Kidan and its host were killed and T'val ended up with an emergency-transfer to take Kidan's place.

-Current status: T'val has recovered completely by this point. And because he carries all of Kidan's knowledge, he knows what Kidan was really up to and why Viráy needs him on her ship. While performing other duties aboard the ship, T'val spends his time transferring what he has learned from Kidan so the centuries of knowledge are not lost.

But now he has a new task--helping a volatile, yet oddly sheltered Andorian adjust to her new life.

There's more to say about these two of course, but that will be revealed at a later time.

@afraidofrabbits as requested :D

[deepspacedukat]

Occupational Indulgence

Alright, I've been waiting to write this fic (and its sequel) for a while now, because it never felt like the right time. But it's here now. I fudged the dates of Mr. Eddington's assignment to DS9, but it's for my Pointy Man, so I don't care. This is part of Jorik's timeline with Jadzia.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Jorik (Vulcan OC)

[A/N: This is just a place-setting for the fic that will directly follow this in Jorik and Jadzia's timeline, so no warnings. Just fluff and Jorik being adorable.]

Warnings: Side characters involved in a romance, mild angst but not the romantic kind, angst about life in general, Jorik trying to justify his actions and potential future actions with logic.

~*~

**2371 - Stardate 48003.1 (January 2, Early Morning) - Aboard The USS Min'ow**

"I can't believe they're sending us to a Cardassian scrapheap way out in the middle of nowhere," one ensign grumbled over his breakfast. Despite the mess hall being practically full at this time of the morning, Lieutenant Commander Jorik was perfectly able to hear the ensign's complaints. For someone fresh out of Starfleet Academy, the younger officer didn't seem very enthused about his assignment. "Man, what I wouldn't have done to be posted on Enterprise. That must seem like a damn luxury liner compared to that Cardassian eyesore, am I right?"

One of the officers at his table was giggling at his remarks, batting her eyelashes at him as if her simpering might make him notice her existence. The other two were staring studiously down at their plates. A wise choice on their parts. The man being obnoxious was, unfortunately, under Jorik's command.

"Perhaps, Ensign Maxwell, you would prefer to remain here on the Min'ow and assist the engineering teams by scrubbing out the plasma manifolds on a daily basis?" Jorik called from his seat after delicately dabbing his lips with a napkin. "I'm certain they could use an extra hand, and I could ensure that you receive such an assignment if performing your security duties on Deep Space Nine is unappealing to you."

The man scoffed as he usually did.

"That won't be necessary. Sir." When he and the girl vying for his attention left the mess hall, Jorik noticed that the other two officers who'd been seated at that table looked vastly relieved. They were two of the hardest working people in his team.

"I trust the two of you have no such complaints?" Jorik was on the verge of smiling as he spoke to them. Ensigns Ava Hardy and Terry Giles had warmed to him quickly when they were assigned to his security team, and Jorik was quite content to consider them friends.

"Oh, not at all, sir," Ava said glancing at the other woman. "We're excited, actually. Bajor sounds like such a gorgeous planet."

"Yeah, I can't wait to take this one on shore leave there," Terry said dropping a kiss on her girlfriend's cheek. "And hey, who knows? Maybe this is the fresh start that we all need. What're you still doing over there, huh? The ugly bastard's gone. Come join us."

Jorik nodded his head and carried his plate over to their table. They would arrive at Deep Space Nine in less than an hour. He couldn't bring himself to tell them that this would be a rather short assignment for him, though. He did not wish to sour the remaining time that the three of them had together.

He'd tell them prior to his departure, of course, but right then all he wanted to do was savor the anticipation of a new assignment with them.

Anticipation. That was something else he would be giving up in a few weeks' time. Vulcans may not express their emotions as boisterously as other species, but they still experienced them just as keenly. He did not want to give that up, but...if his undergoing the kolinahr would placate his parents, then he would try it for them.

Luckily, Ava and Terry were so excited to be talking with him about Bajor and all the worlds beyond the wormhole that they didn't notice how quiet he'd become. They likely assumed he was just being courteous listening to them.

Good, Jorik thought, let them assume something positive. I do not wish for them to worry.

--

Just over an hour later, Jorik ascended the steps to the office that used to belong to the Prefect of Bajor. The doors slid open automatically, and he proceeded inside.

"Lieutenant Commander Jorik reporting for duty," he said standing at attention as soon as the door hissed closed behind him.

"Ah, yes. Captain Gifford mentioned that he was bringing us some extra security personnel. At ease, Mister Jorik. I'm Commander Benjamin Sisko. Welcome to Deep Space Nine." Commander Sisko stood and respectfully offered him the ta'al, which Jorik returned. "I trust your journey wasn't too rough?"

"Not at all, sir. My team and I are prepared to assist you however you require," he said walking over to his C.O.'s desk and handing him the PADD that contained his orders.

"Good, good. Then I'll introduce you to the Ops staff and take you to the security office so that Odo, the Bajoran chief of security, and Mr. Eddington of Starfleet security can brief you." One by one, Commander Sisko introduced him to Major Kira, Chief O'Brien, and the rest of of the senior officers. As they walked to the turbolift to head down to security, Commander Sisko conversed with Jorik about life on the station. "Oh, by the way, there is one senior officer whom you have yet to meet. My science officer, Jadzia Dax, is away on shore leave. She should be back in a few weeks."

Jorik's thoughts gnawed at him.

"Computer, halt turbolift," he called, and at the Commander's curious look, the Vulcan drew himself up to his full height. "Commander, I thank you for your hospitality. You have been very welcoming to me even though you have only met me today. I wish to be candid with you, sir. I will not be here on the station for more than a number of weeks."

Sisko lifted an eyebrow as he turned to face him.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Jorik took a deep breath and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Commander, my family...my parents have been rather...insistent that I return to Vulcan to fulfill an obligation. It is one that will take many years to complete, and they are becoming impatient," he explained. "It is likely that I will request an extended leave of absence from Starfleet in a few weeks' time in order to complete that task. I did not wish for you to be 'blindsided,' as your species might say, by the loss of an officer so soon after his acquisition."

The Commander nodded his head quietly as he processed what he's been told.

"Thank you for letting me know, and...well, I hope this isn't too presumptuous, but you sound a bit reluctant about returning home," Sisko observed, and Jorik dropped his gaze. "Lieutenant Comm– Jorik...I don't claim to know much about Vulcan customs, but make sure that your obligation, whatever it might be, is something that you want, not just something your parents want. It's your life, not theirs."

He looked up at his new C.O. only to find concern in his eyes.

"Thank you, Commander. I will take your words into consideration. No matter what my decision, though, I assure you that my team will do their best," Jorik murmured, then he had a thought. "I...have not informed them of my situation, however, thus I would be...grateful if this conversation could remain private."

"They won't hear it from me." When the turbolift's progress resumed, Jorik felt both a sense of relief - logical, given that he'd been honest with the Commander - and newly conflicted. His misgivings were illogical. He had no choice in the matter. Jorik would return to Vulcan and, for once in his life, ensure that his parents did not see him as a disappointment.

He would have to content himself with the knowledge that for once, he would be exactly what he was expected to be: A good, proper Vulcan.

"Jorik?" A voice snapped him out of his thoughts almost as soon as the lift doors opened onto the Promenade. He knew that voice, though it was different than before. A pair of wide green eyes met Jorik's, and all at once he recognized her.

The girl with the panda hat had grown up, and she was in a blue Starfleet uniform. Her curly brown hair had been tamed into a long braid down the back of her head.

"Cassandra?"

"You and Ensign Connor know each other?" The Commander asked from Jorik's side, but he hardly noticed. Cassandra held up a perfect ta'al just like he'd shown her sixteen years ago. Jorik returned the gesture, of course, and easily caught the young woman when she threw herself into his arms.

No self-respecting Vulcan would have stood for such a familiar, tactile gesture...which, Jorik guessed, was why he had no problem returning her embrace. He'd never been as stoic as the rest of his people, and he'd spent a significant amount of years amongst Humans. He'd secretly relished hugs from his former classmates when he received them at the Academy. Why shouldn't he? They were simply demonstrating through their own cultural practices that they bore him some sort of platonic affection, and did his own people expect him to cast aside their own saying, 'infinite diversity in infinite combinations'?

As for the young woman in his arms, he had always wondered what had happened to her. She'd seemed intelligent when he met her all those years ago, but even so, he hadn't expected her to remember something that for her must've been extremely trivial.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, Commander," Cassandra said to Sisko as she pulled back, "but I didn't think I'd ever see Jorik again. Hell, I didn't think that you'd remember me, even if I did. I'll leave you in peace, but if you're free later, maybe we could catch up sometime. If you want to, that is."

Her last remark was directed at the Vulcan officer who nodded his head.

"I would be pleased to...'catch up' with you when your duty shift permits, Ensign," he answered, and with a bright, warm smile, she excused herself. Perhaps these weeks prior to his departure would be more enjoyable than he'd anticipated. Forming a friendship with someone long lost in his past would make it even more difficult for him to leave, but he would still savor every moment.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

[chicafinal]

what if i re-read collision course. i mean its barely above your average starfleet academy au, but it has long haired spock in a printed book

[radioactive-earthshine]

Hiii!! I love your KonBart content ♥️ Any thoughts about Bart and Kon in a Stark Trek AU?

vibrates violently. i love you.

Yes. Yes I have.

So.

I haven't seen a whole lot of Star Trek AUs for them (and I get it) but how I would approach it personally is two different ways;

One is where Kon and Bart both join Starfleet and more or less have their canon backstories (Kon is a clone, he broke out etc and Bart is from 1000 in the future). The world is more or less a hybrid of modern continuity DC comics and Star Trek during TOS era.

Kon joins in engineering - his TTK is extremely helpful. People look at his arms and think he should be in security. This annoys him greatly.

Bart is in the science division, and engineering, and communications, and navigation, and medical (once). Every time he shows up he's wearing a different uniform. This is purely a gag. There's a lot of whispers about what Bart is actually primarily focused in - everyone can just look it up of course but that just defeats the fun. Starfleet allows this because of his unique abilities and eidetic memory allowing him to perform multiple stations and fill in where needed.

The other iteration take both Bart and Kon in a more Star Trek-weird direction while being faithful to DC and I am more attached to this one as it feels more like a Star Trek AU rather than a Star Trek meets DC AU (we have those in canon actually, read them!).

In this Kon is a clone, but he's a relic of Krypton and is the Last Son instead of Kal-El. A ship found him in cryostasis and dated him as being over 200 years old. Doing DNA analysis they discovered that he was in fact half human but the other half of his DNA was a mystery entirely. The writing on his capsule was eventually deciphered, but the technology housing him is completely unknown.

There are a lot of mysteries about Kon that they slowly piece together, like his name, and about Kryptonians having made contact with 20th century Earth enough to obtain DNA samples to mix with theirs. Why he exists, what his purpose was, the soul crushing truth that Krypton no longer exists and all of its people are gone, extinct, all of these are slowly answered.

He does have his TTK in this, and one of the more hilarious things is Kon did not even know that being away from a yellow sun impacted his powers that much because he used his TTK for nearly everything. He just thought he had 'space sickness' when he was away from 'a planet' too long. The connection wasn't discovered until his TTK 'went weird' due to Romulan flu and while on a planet with a yellow sun he perked up amazingly fast and was still strong. It was a whole thing.

In this I'm leaning more towards him being in communications - because it gives him the best chances of finding out more about himself. He wants to study as much about other people as possible for anything he might be able to use to answer questions about himself.

Also, he was sent to Earth when he was found and he spent a little bit of time among the officers who found him in the first place. Commanders Jonathan and Martha Kent. They give him the name Conner and essentially adopt him, and it doesn't take him long to join Starfleet Academy himself.

Bart in this true to weird-Trek lore was a space anomaly. He appeared one day on Kon's ship and people thought they were at first just seeing things. Then they thought the damned holodeck was acting up. Because people would see him very often in holodeck programs over anything else. It's how Kon and him first met - but Kon of course thought he was an NPC that was just malfunctioning. It happens! But then he started appearing in other places of the ship as a bright yellow glowing sprite.

Bart has very little memories of who he was or what he's supposed to be doing, but he has a feeling he should be 'in the real world' but everything just is going either too fast, or too slow and he just... can't... stabilize.

Eventually, Kon is able to use his TTK to 'trap him' because he is the only one FAST enough to do this. Through shenanigans involving the transporter, science and Kon they are able to stabilize him and he is no longer in that strange speedforce entity state.

Bart sort of wavers in this between being physical and a speedforce being - is much less human and more fey. In fact, even when he does give them physical samples to analyze it is unlike anything they have ever seen and nothing in the known galaxy comes close to him.

Q doesn't fuck with him.

I just think it would be funny if he showed up, saw him, and turned around while saying "Nope!"

It's one of those mysteries that frustrate Starfleet High Command.

Because Bart is in this awkward state they had a plan to take him to earth for study and asylum, and even Vulcan was interested as well, but Bart despite wanting answers about himself and what he was supposed to do wanted to stay aboard the ship because of Kon.

Captain Cassandra "Cassie" Sandsmark fights for his case and Starfleet higher command approves it - she has a way of getting what she wants.

Kon and Bart bond because Kon knows what it is like to be confused about the world and who he is, so he acts as an anchor for him and reminds him that 'it doesn't matter who you were, it's who you are now and who you want to be that's important' .... He says it for Bart but he also says it a lot for him too.

I might write a little more on this odd AU but I have like 30 other projects.

[marointhemoon]

Malcolm is...

Chapter 3 - A prime opportunity

A series of vignettes that peek into the various friendships Malcolm's had throughout his life. Most of them had never lasted. Until Enterprise. Alternate title: "Eight descriptors for Malcolm Reed, and one that's actually true."

Beginning-of-chapter notes: 1.9.2133-9.5.2137. 17-21.

Harris had had his eye on Malcolm Reed.

To be sure, the boy had been nothing special when he’d entered the Academy. Harris had first seen his name on the roster for his Introduction to Tactics course and thought nothing of it. He'd thought even less when he saw that "Malcolm Reed" referred to a skittish, scrawny boy who looked like he had more business in Sciences than in Tactics & Security.

Malcolm had been frightened of him during that first class, like most of the other cadets. Turns out, being gruff and talking extensively about your peers' brutal deaths doesn't sit too well with 17- and 18-year-olds. Go fucking figure. But the boy had sat there anyway, his big, cautious blue-grey eyes hooked onto Harris' every move as he took in every word he spoke. Harris had no concept of the boy's potential at that point, but at the very least, he knew he had at least one engaged student.

As the term wore on, the boy proved to have a real knack for the subject. Harris observed how the boy’s brain worked with almost rapt fascination. He was stellar with a phase-arm. He could make hard decisions and, more importantly, he could make them quickly. Despite his demeanor, he did well with silent team communication exercises. Despite his size, he was a natural in hand-to-hand combat.

Perhaps even better, Harris thought, the boy was intensely bad at making or keeping friends. When his peers snuck out to bars, he read in one of the lounges. When the few interested girls did come up to ask him out, he always politely turned them down. When other cadets talked about the messages they’d get from their families, he’d always turn cold and sullen, as though the very subject of family made him sick. 

Reed wasn't just some taciturn, cold, introverted cadet. The kid had fucking nobody. And throughout his time at the Academy, it stayed that way. No one to talk to, no one to know anything about him, and no one to lose. There had been maybe one other kid who’d tried to be nice to him, sometime during his third year, but that nonsense had started and ended within the span of a month.

Harris couldn't help his shit-eating grin when he saw the kid's exit review from Admiral Stern.

Ensign Malcolm Reed, while not a warm or extroverted individual, has consistently been an effective leader of the teams he has been assigned to, performed admirably under pressure, and positively influenced his teammates' performance in similar situations. His tactical abilities are notably superior to those of his peers, and he consistently achieves high marks in hand-to-hand combat and weapon proficiency. He is a thorough yet concise report writer, attentive to the needs and strengths of his team, and competent in his areas of expertise. Overall, his performance is exceptional at its best and above-average at its worst. In summary, Ensign Reed has been an exceptional student and is poised to become a valuable member of Starfleet.

A highly qualified, extremely green kid with no emotional connections?

Harris didn’t dream, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t tempted to pinch himself. Reed was malleable, and Harris had to move before the kid’s COs could fuck that up.

The time was now.

Chapters:

1 | 2 | 3 (you are here) | 4 | 5 | 6 |

[thevulcanbobdylan]

Where was Spock during Generations? Part 1. File under "I watched something last night and then I typed this in a frenzy without editing or really thinking at all"

The course was well attended, as ever. Perhaps too well—Spock counted twelve individuals he didn't recognize from the official roster, sprinkled here and there across the lecture hall. He ignored them. He had long since learned that any objection to unauthorized attendance would have little effect in the long term.

He had never reasoned out exactly why they still treated him as a curiosity, even after all these years. If anything, his legend had grown in his time at the Academy. His routine, entry-level courses were always the first to fill up each semester, and the unenrolled auditors who appeared faithfully at the back of the hall didn't always strike him as green cadets who'd simply missed the registration period. Some of them were older. Troublingly, some of them didn't strike him as Starfleet at all, and he wondered vaguely at the possibility of a security concern. He had protested at first, of course, but the administration had waved him off with platitudes.

Waving him off and shuffling him back to the head of the lecture hall appeared to be their primary objective. Clearly his presence was a boon to the Academy in one form or another, but he had never taken the trouble to pursue that line of reasoning. The posting was acceptable to him for the time being.

If there was a part of him that would prefer to be back on the bridge of a starship, it had weathered its dormancy without issue.

Of course, Spock was well aware of Jim Kirk’s return to Starfleet. Painfully aware. He was aware, for instance, that at this very moment Kirk was preparing to board the Enterprise-B for its maiden voyage. Aware that the Captain and his entourage had not actually boarded the ship yet. Apprehension and exhilaration trickled into the back of Spock’s awareness. That old obnoxious, endearing, boyish urge to fidget when he was nervous. It was pure Jim. Spock knew that he would feel it, the surge of emotion, when they finally stepped onto the bridge. That knowledge nearly set his teeth on edge.

Their bond. It was a constant source of discomfort, from vague distraction to full-blown anguish. Spock’s defenses were forced to contend with a rising emerald flush every time he considered how well he himself had seemingly known a woman called Antonia, whom he had never met. It flared in the back of Spock’s mind with every surge of feeling that flooded Kirk, and these were many. For Spock’s part, he kept it tightly contained, allowing nothing of himself to cross it, when he could help it. Of course, the marriage bond was seated deeply in the mind, and some things could not be hidden. To protect them both, he had simply resolved never to think back on their decision to live apart. His decision.

He couldn’t keep that back from the bond. And yet it had been Kirk who wouldn’t hear of having it broken.

So Spock stood at the head of the little lecture hall, delivering an overly familiar lesson in astrometrics to a crowd that listened raptly, if only in the hope that he might let something slip, some tidbit from back in the heyday of his adventures. And a part of him listened, reluctantly, to the faint shadow of Jim Kirk’s mind that was imprinted indelibly upon his own.

He pulled up another star chart on the classroom display. It would be wrong to pretend that a part of him didn’t wish to board the new Enterprise with his old crewmates. With a sweep of a hand, he zoomed in on a planetary system. The science officer in him practically itched with desire to get his hands on the cutting-edge sensors installed on the sleek new flagship. Another gesture split the screen to bring up a contrasting map alongside the first one. But he had declined with thin excuses, because he wasn’t ready to face them. He adjusted the map’s resolution. Then he stumbled over a word, because Jim had finally reached the bridge. Spock knew it beyond a doubt, because the flood of emotion that shot through him was not at all what he’d expected.

Grief. And shame. He arched one eyebrow as he corrected himself, clarifying the term he’d mispronounced for his studious listeners. He had long since stopped questioning the strangeness of human feeling that constantly hummed down the thread that connected them. Still, this was unusual. His own emotions rose in response: concern, caring… love. The desire to hold Jim in his arms and…

A flick of his fingers dismissed the star charts and brought up a series of graphs in their place. The little filament in the back of his mind warmed, as it always did when they were thinking of each other. A cadet raised a hand, and Spock acknowledged her with a nod. Jim had felt his concern; had been steadied by it. Their two minds formed a little system, finding equilibrium in these flurried exchanges. Roughly, Spock pushed the thought aside.

He answered their questions patiently. At first he thought the anxiety was his own, but the cadets were as bright and respectful as ever. The emotion was coming down the bond. As he guided the students to the logical conclusion of their inquiry, he became aware that something was wrong. First it was the exhilaration of thinking on one’s feet, but he lost the thread of classroom discussion as it gave way to the steely resolve of a mind solutioning against imminent catastrophe.

“Captain Spock?” The hesitant voice was a faint ping at the edge of his awareness as his entire conscious mind shifted directly into the bond. It pulsed wildly, perhaps with Jim’s heartbeat, as Jim threw himself against a problem Spock couldn’t see, and Spock threw himself into their link sympathetically—involuntarily.

And then it snapped.

He was vaguely aware of staggering into the desk, and of a rush of activity around him, hands on his arms, and voices clashing in his ears.

“OUT!” he roared. “ALL OF YOU, OUT.”

He turned his back and left them to their astonishment as he fled for the adjacent office, only half a step ahead of the flood of his tears.

He didn’t bother turning the lights on, and the dim of the little room pressed down around him as he sank to the floor, drooping until his forehead touched the thin carpet. He ground his teeth, vainly trying to stop the keening that rose from deep in his chest.

And when, an hour later, the admiralty arrived to apprise him of Kirk’s death, this was how they found him—already well aware.

[halloweenfrills]

Into Love: A Star Trek Tale (part 2)

"I t-told-told you! I don't know a-anything!", the nameless man pleads.

I'm sure he has a name, but to me it doesn't matter because I'm doing what I'm made for, extracting information in whatever way I need as the team of science doctors observe me from behind the glass, seeing what I choose to do to this weeping excuse of a man.

"Oh, but you do.", I coo at him, my hand reaching to pet his head, the tender gesture making him cringe, trembling beneath the restraints.

Of course he knew what I was seeking and as an experiment it was my task to extract it from him but this man, pulled from a Federation prison, was under an experiment as well, his mind gone of what he knew, any attempt to remember and a horrible pain took over his body.

Could I, Khan, extract the information with the violence I choose?

Stepping away to the right, the table was neatly laid with all manner of tools to extract information, my blue gaze landing on a jar with a vile creature slithering inside. Humming, I picked up tongs and the man on the table began screaming incoherently, nothing but wanting mercy as he no doubt knew what I was taking from the jar.

"Centaurian Slugs.", I say, stating the obvious, "You think you know pain now?", I tsk, my steps predatory as I walk back, the slug writhing in between the tongs, itching to unleash its own violence on anything the parasite could get ahold of.

Tears ran from his dark brown eyes, the smell of urine had hit my nostrils as he had no doubt soiled himself due to fear. But none of these human displays of emotion stirred anything in me, no pity, no remorse, I had information to obtain.

"No! NO! PLEASE!", I became deaf to the screaming, using one had to grab his face and turn it towards the glass, the observing scientists having a show of their own as I lower the parasitic slug to the mans ear, letting it squirm inside to cause it's damage.

A smile tugged at my lips, the first smile I've had since meeting Love...

"He's doing remarkably well.", Dr. Adam Soong notes, watching me, his prize project resort to any means necessary to complete what the Federation wants.

All in the name of the Federation. How I could laugh at my blind trust of those who made me.

"So you left Starfleet?", I had asked Love, her nodding making her hair fall onto her shoulders, my eyes observing her quick behavior change, something all too easy for me to read. Starfleet and the Federation were a touchy subject for her, when I mentioned I worked for them she became reclusive, as if she couldn't trust. It wasn't a complete lie on my part, saying I work for the Federation, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her what I was, an experiment for war.

"I left. I don't belong among the stars and universes.", she sighed, but maybe that's where she wanted to be although I liked how human she was, grounded in her mundane daily life.

"It bothers you that I work for them?", I state the obvious and her eyes immediately go to my face, searching for an expression to read, something I always make easy for her in the same way I pretend I can't read her every emotion that flickers across her face.

"Not exactly. I just...worry?", she tries to explain and my head tilts, urging her to go on. Why would she worry? In my silence she continued, "I had a friend, back in Starfleet Academy, we were top of our class and working on a research project together. He went missing.", as I listen she grabs a tablet device, pulling up digital photos and shows it to me. Staring back, her bright green eyes and uneven freckles on a happy face, and next to her, smiling just the same, was the man I had tortured with the Centaurian Slug.

"Missing?", I only glanced at the man but I was sure who it was, handing the tablet back to her, "What if he dropped out like you did?"

Love frowns, my dismissal of how she worried and felt upset her, but it would be worse to tell her the truth, that I was a dangerous experiment and had tortured and killed her friend. "You sound like the others. That's why I left. First they wouldn't listen about the files we found and then they wouldn't listen when he vanished.", her tone showing how sensitive she was about this topic. I had to hide how amusing it was to me, seeing her human emotions come so quickly to the surface.

Softening my expression, I grabbed her waist and pulled her to me, my lips kissing her temple, "I'm sorry. And I know you don't like Starfleet or the Federation. I won't talk about my work in front of you.", although I couldn't do that anyway.

Sometimes I could feel the tracker in my neck as it picked up on my own emotions, things I really only felt with her. Maybe it was her giving me my humanity and maybe my instinct to lie and keep her safe from the truth of my existence was my humanity as well.

Love and the Federation. They couldn't exist together. Not for me. But I was yet to know that in my naive beginnings...