#THEY WERE SO CLOSE BUT SO FARR

[mooooonnnzz]

okay,,,, hear me out,,,, how being ford's and stan's younger sibling and maybe like- remember when ford asked stanley to take the book and sail away? maybe what if ford asked reader to do that instead? and what if instead of ford being pushed into the portal it was reader? idk man i justn want some sibling angst >:]

World/Insured

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

᧔o᧓ i told myself it was gonna be a short lil fic

᧔o᧓ its 3k words guh

᧔o᧓ i had a lil too much fun writing this

᧔o᧓ if i made a taglist, would anyone be interested in being in it? if so, dm me or comment :p

᧔o᧓ angst!!

᧔o᧓ gnreader!

᧔o᧓ thats really all, enjoy!

᧔o᧓ request r open!!

𝜗℘ “[Name]! There’s some mail, can you be a doll and get it for me?” Stan shouts from the living room, a loud cheer following right after. His favorite football team of his was currently playing out of state and by the obnoxiously loud whistling and joyful cries, they seem to be doing good. Moodily stomping your foot on the ground, you yell; “Why don’t you get you slob!” while furiously scrubbing the dirty dishes clean. “But it’s sooo farr.” He whines. You could perfectly imagine his hand lazily reaching towards the door, exaggerated groans leaving his lips. Letting out an annoyed groan, you drop the plate down in the sink and shut off the sink. Walking out of the kitchen and into the living room, you point an angry finger at him. “You’re washing the dishes since you’re being a lazy bum right now.” You walk away, ignoring his protests against washing the dishes. Opening the door, you pop your head out and see a single postcard placed on the floor matt. You picked it up, curious about the unfamiliar postcard. “Gravity Falls?” You read out, closing the door with your foot. You’ve never heard of a place called that before? Flipping it on its back, in bold big letters read ‘Please come! - Ford’ Your heart catches in your throat. You had to reread the message again to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

𝜗℘ “Stan!” You need to show Stan this. He’d be the one to make sense of this all. Maybe you were imagining things, so delirious on the sadness of your distant brother your brain chose to cheer itself up by hallucinating postcards by Ford. That sounds plausible, right? “What’s up? Did you change your mind?” You don’t bother responding and shoved the postcard in his face. His face scrunches in confusion as he plucks the postcard from your hand. “Gravity Falls?” The same lost expression was pulled on his face. “Now, flip it on its back!” You said, tapping the card eagerly. Stan clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, slapping your hand away. “I will! If you’d let me.” He grumbled, turning it around. He reads the text, his eyes slowly widening. “FORD?!” He screams, abruptly standing up from the sofa. “He wants to talk to us now?” He glares at the postcard, anger swirling in his body. “What could he possibly want!”

𝜗℘ “I dunno but it sounds urgent.” You said, uncertainty in your tone. “You’re seriously considering seeing him?” He throws the postcard on the coffee table in front of him. “Is this something you really want to do?” Stan asks you, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s eyeing you carefully as if you have no idea what you’re talking about. “Yes, Stan! This is our brother. We need to go see him.” Stan pinched his nose, grumbling under his breath. “Fine,” He rolls his shoulders. “If we want to leave now, we better start packing.”

𝜗℘ While packing you wondered what Ford would have wanted. Did he want to reunite? Is this a sort of wedding invitation? Has he gone mad? So many scenarios filled your head and yet none of them felt right. Stuffing your clothes in your bag, you zip it close. “I’m done packing!” You announce, walking down the stairs. “Hurry, Stan! Or I’m going to leave without you!”

𝜗℘ “You better not!” Stan came rushing down the stairs, a bag strung across his body. “You ready?” You ask him, turning off the lights in the hallway. “I guess,” Stan shrugs, twisting the knob to the door, pulling it open. “After you.” He bows down to the floor. You kneed his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You look ridiculous, get up.” You laugh.

𝜗℘ The car ride over to Gravity Falls was full of bostrious conversation from you and Stan. “Do you think he has a beard now?” Stan gasps, a grin pulling to his face at the thought of Ford with a beard. “Or a buzz?” You add, moving your head to the beats of the song that faintly played on the radio. “Nah, he would never.” Stan shakes his head. “The chances are never zero!”

𝜗℘ Checking the weather for probable storms was something you should’ve done beforehand. Stan was the first to notice how much snow had been falling and how roughly the wind slammed against the car. Thinking nothing of it, you continued onwards, telling Stan that he was probably making a big deal. He wasn’t. Nearing Gravity Falls, a snowstorm plowed through the small town and unknown to you and Stan, you got caught in it. That led you to pull over onto the side of the road that was practically just a white forest wonderland. “And who’s fault is this?” Stan asked sarcastically, motioning towards the car that was stuck in the snow. Fortunately for you and Stan, you were right where you needed to be. “Whatever, we’re close anyway.” You scowl, treading through the thick snow. “I think I might get blown away!” Stan’s loud voice pierced through the loud wind. “Stop being so dramatic!” You latched your hands around Stan’s wrist. “Oh, you’re so sweet.” Stan said, covering his face from the snow with his forearm. “Sure,”

𝜗℘ Approaching the shack, you knock on the door. “Ten bucks he doesn’t—“ The door whips open and a crossbow gets shoved to your face. “Woah, woah!” Stan swiftly stood in front of you, his body shielding you. “Who are you? Have you come to steal my eyes!”

𝜗℘ “Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome.” Stan said, unbothered with Ford’s unusual greeting. Standing on your toes, you peered your head over Stan’s shoulder. You warmly smiled at Ford. He saw you and Stan, his eyes softened and his shoulders untensed. And for a split moment, Ford had a comforting feeling settle on him. He thought everything was going to be alright, but a slight shadow moving behind the trees triggered his paranoia back tenfold.

𝜗℘ “Guys! Did anyone follow you at all?” He looks warily side to side. “Eh, hello to you too, pal.” Said Stan, annoyance evident on his face. With one final look outside, Ford grabs you and Stan by the collar and pulls you in the shack. He shines a flashlight in Stan’s eyes then yours. “Why did you do that?” You pushed Ford away from you. “Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren't... uh, it's nothing. Come in, come in.” He urges you in, darting away further into the house. You closed the door and surveyed his house. Skeletons of certain animals were hung around, various books were stacked on top of each other and thrown around the house, and loads of crumpled up balls were scattered across the hallway. “What a mess this is.” You whisper to Stan who chuckles softly. “I’m telling him you said that.” Stan cheekily smiled. Removing his hand from his jacket pockets, he held his hand palm up in front of you. “You owe me ten bucks from earlier.” You sighed, grabbing your wallet out of your pocket and grabbing a crisp ten dollar bill. “Thank you!” He grabs it, sniffs it and shoves it in his pocket. “You’re weird.”

𝜗℘ “Uh, you’re gonna explain what’s going on here?” Stan asks, as you walk into another room, your mouth going slack in shock at how messy the room is. “You’re acting like mom on her tenth cup of coffee!” An amused puff of air left your nostrils. “He’s acting way worse than her.” You say, your eyes locking on a large animal skull that laid on top of an empty tank. “Don’t touch that!” He already knew that look in your eyes, a look where it told everyone who knew you that you were going to touch whatever caught your attention. “Thought I could get away with that.” You mumbled.

𝜗℘ Ford fills his arms with stacks of paper and a thick journal with the number one drawn on it. “Listen, there isn’t much time.” Ford starts, looking back to see if he missed any papers. “I’ve made huge mistakes and I don’t know who I could trust anymore.” He glances over to the skeleton who was positioned to where it's empty eye sockets stared directly at Ford’s side. Uncomfortable with the skeleton, he turns the head around. Stan’s immediately off put with how Ford’s talking. “Hey, uh, easy there. Let’s talk this through, okay?” He says, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder. A glimpse of conflict flickers on Ford’s face. “I have something to show you two. Something you won’t believe.” Stan claims he’d understand, you heavily doubted that, this is Ford we’re talking about. Whatever he has to show, it is nothing within the lines of normal.

𝜗℘ He instructs you to follow him down to his lab. “Is this what you’ve been doing for 10 years?” You pondered out loud, your eyes taking in every machine that covered the place. What you weren’t expecting was the big triangular portal that stood in front of you and Stan. “Do you understand any of this?” You harmlessly jested. Stan dumbly stared at the portal in front of him. “Nope!”

𝜗℘ Taking steps towards the machine, Ford began to explain why such a thing was built and why it should never be turned on. He opened the side of his trench coat, his hand grabbing the book that was tucked in a pocket. “There’s only one journal left.” The journal was in front of you. “This is why I’m entrusting [Name] to hold onto the book.” You grabbed the book and you instantly felt queasy. “I have something to ask of you both,” His hands lay on you and Stan’s shoulders. “Remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat?” Your eyes glimmer with excitement. Was this the moment you and Stan have been waiting for? Are the Pines finally reuniting once and for all? “Take this book, get on a boat and sail away as far as ya can! To the edges of the earth!” He emphasizes this with a raise of his hands. “Bury it where no one can find it!”

𝜗℘ “You want us to get away from you?” You restated, voice slightly clipped with anger. “We just got here, Ford! And now you’re saying to get away from you?” You repeated, hoping your words held some kind of weight that would’ve shattered the ridiculous idea Ford had conjuring in his mind. “[Name], you don’t understand what I’m up against!” Ford says. “What I’ve been through!”

𝜗℘ Stan must’ve took what Ford said personally with how he was huffing out through his nose. “No, no!” Stan points at Ford. “I’ve been ban from three different countries! [Name] was outcasted by Dad because he didn’t bother taking care of them after you left! You think you’ve got problems? Me and [Name] have been struggling to stay afloat, Stanford.” He directs a finger to Ford’s chest. “Meanwhile, where have you been? Living it up in your fancy house in the woods! Selfishly hoarding your college money, because you only care about yourself!”

𝜗℘ “I’m selfish? I’m selfish, Stanley?” His eyebrows furrow inwards. Ford opened his mouth, ready to blow a few holes into Stan when you interjected. “I did not come here to hear you guys fight!” You stood in front of Ford, shoving his book in his hands. “Ford, I love you so much but we did not come all the way here just to do your dirty work.” Ford jerked his head back in disbelief. “My dirty work? Really?” He chuckles dryly. “And to think I could trust you with something valuable like this!”

𝜗℘ “Forget it,” Ford looks down at his book. “Forget all of this.” He waves his arm around his surroundings. “Why did I bother to ask you guys to come here? It’s pointless, everything is!” Ford babbles to himself, his hand that wasn’t holding the books was deeply entangled in his hair. You grew concerned over your brother, taking a step toward him, you reached a hand out. “Ford, are you o—“ A hand slams straight into your chest, pushing you back and stumbling over your feet. Stan grabs a hold of you, steadying you before yanking the book away from Ford. “You want to get rid of this book?” With his other hand, he digs it in his pocket. “Fine, I’ll do it then!” He pulls out a lighter. Flicking the lighter on, he holds the fire below the book. “My research!” Ford tackles Stan to the ground, the book flying out of Stan’s hold. You hurriedly rush over to where the book is and grab it. Ford removes himself off Stan and steadily approaches you like a wild animal. “Give me the book back, [Name].” He swipes his hand towards you, but you quickly back away into his lab.

𝜗℘ “Don’t let him get the book, [Name]!” Stan groans out, standing back up from the floor. “No!” Ford snarls. “Don’t listen to him, listen to me!” Ford took two steps forward while you took two steps back. “I’m sorry, Ford!” The back of your shoe slams against metal. Whipping your head behind you, you see yourself backed into a control panel of some sort. “Why must you do this to me? To your own brother!” His voice cracks with each word. “Whatever you’re doing here is slowly killing you, Ford. This isn’t right.” You shake the book in your hand. Whatever that’s in this journal must have something to do with Ford’s declining sanity. “Your brain can’t comprehend the sheer amount of important information that is in that book! You can’t destroy it!” Ford lunges towards you but you were faster than his fatigued body, you duck below and roll out of the way. His fingers brush against some controls, powering on the portal.

𝜗℘ Running back to where the portal stood, you threw the journal to Stan. “Catch!” You yell. Stan perfectly catches the book. “What do we do with it?” He questions, his eyes speedily darting to the book and Ford who was running up to him. “Destroy it!” You watch Stan stepsids Ford. “No!” Ford desperately yells out. Stan ran back into the lab but was pulled down by Ford delivering a well calculated kick to his ankle. “Give me back my book!” Ford cried out, kicking Stan to the back of the control panel. A guttural howl of agony left Stan, his hand flying to his back. He fell forward and you could see the upper right shoulder of his jacket was burnt off, a sizzling marking was blistering on his skin. “Stanley, oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, are you alr—“ Stan punches Ford in the face, causing him to stumble back into the lever, fully activating the portal. “Some brother you turned out to be!” Stan threw his book to the floor. Ford raised himself to his feet and was about to run to the book when you grabbed the back of his shoulder.

𝜗℘ “Stanford, do you really care more about stupid mysteries than your own family?” You spoke quietly, your sorrowful eyes locking with Ford’s erratic ones. “I—“ He gulps, his eyes shooting to the discarded book on the floor. “Don’t reach for the book, Stanford, please,” You beg, your voice shaky. “I can’t watch you guys fight anymore.” A look of sadness covers his face as he pushes you back, your feet overstepping the yellow and black caution tape. “I can’t let you take this away from me too!” Ford snatches the book from the ground, a relief sigh leaving him. The book was finally—

𝜗℘ “[Name]!” Stan screeched. “Stanford, what did you do!” He screamed, his hands grabbing his shoulder, fingers digging into Ford’s skin. Ford turns over to see you being pulled in by the portal. “[Name]!” Ford runs to you and he attempts to grab you, but you’re too far up. “Stan, Ford!” You call for them, your hand reaching to them. Stan fruitlessly tried snagging a finger, your sleeve, absolutely anything! But nothing. “What’s happening?!” You cry out in fear, seeing half of your body disappear within the portal. “Stanford, fucking do something!” Stan shoves Ford back. “I-I don’t know what to do!” He stammers. Stan grips the lever and with all his strength, pulls back, trying to switch it off but it wouldn’t budge. “Stanle—“ Your voice gets lost to the whirling wind of the portal and with a quick blink, you were sucked in, lost to time and space. The portal blasted Ford and Stan back.

𝜗℘ Stan groggily gets up, clutching his head in his hands. “Y-You!” Stan stumbles over his words, ears ringing loudly. “If it wasn’t for your obsession with this book, [N-Name] would’ve still been here!” His eyes water with tears. “Stanley, I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Ford glanced at the portal, it was still intact, there was some hope! “We can power the portal on!” Ford scrambles to his feet and runs over to the portal. “It’s not going to work, Stanford.” Stan says, clenching his teeth so tightly he would’ve chipped a tooth. Stan watches with blurry eyes as Ford pathetically puts all his nonexistent strength into pulling the lever. “Stanley, help me!” He pitifully pleads. “It’s not going to work!” Stan yells. “All you do is bring bad luck wherever you go! You-You don’t do—“ His voice dies in his throat, a shuddered sob leaving in its stead. “Forget it, Stanford.” If you were here, you knew you wouldn’t want them to fight anymore. He held back his words in favor of you. “Stanley, we can fix this! We just need to find the other books.”

𝜗℘ As Ford shouted out different ways they could boot the portal back up, Stan left the lab and stared at the bag you left near the door. Grabbing it, he pulled it to his chest and sobbed onto it. You were gone and he wasn’t sure he was going to get you back.

Part 2

[favvn]

Another scene dissection!

Turbolifts are for privacy and a great place to visually show how Spock is descending out of control.

Kirk stares at Spock before beginning. He understands something is terribly wrong with him, something far beyond stress and an overdue need for rest if he is ordering the ship to Vulcan and going against orders in doing so.

It looks as if it physically pains Spock to get the words out, and all he can do is parrot back the last three words Kirk says.

Spock does not deny that he changed the course to Vulcan, despite not remembering that he had done so. He accepts that he must have done it, that Kirk is not charging him with a falsehood. He accepts that his perception of reality is cracking and that the event that Kirk is asking him about actually happened, despite having no knowledge or memory of it. Call it the acceptance of the captain's authority or Spock returning the same trust that Kirk has placed in him earlier.

Think about it: Spock cannot recall his actions or the thoughts he must have had before taking those actions. A lesser person could take complete advantage of Spock at this time, could lie and manipulate him into believing whatever reality they wished. Yes, Spock has the strength of a Vulcan, has the ability to kill someone with a specific touch, but matters of perception are world-ending, regardless of physical strength. If Spock were to believe he killed someone at this time, with as unstable as he is, he would believe it wholeheartedly, without question.

The door to the turbolift opens--privacy is broken, light from the corridor shines on Spock--and Spock turns to Kirk, telling him, "Captain, lock me away. I do not wish to be seen." What a thing to do to set the scene for the line! And what a thing for Spock to say! He does not ask for help. He does not ask for time or patience or understanding or care. All Spock wants is to be hidden and locked away, as if he will turn into a gruesome monster that will destroy all he holds dear, either directly by his actions or indirectly by becoming something that is alien to even himself. This is a showing of vulnerability from Spock.

SPOCK: "I cannot--no Vulcan could--explain further." KIRK: "I'm trying to help you, Spock." SPOCK: "Ask me no further questions, I will not answer!"

Kirk says the word "help" and Spock moves closer to anger in his response. He is immediately shutting Kirk out over that one word. Again, it is a denial of need and a denial of the care and love that would see him safely through this time. To allow the care and love of another is to admit he needs, is to risk the unraveling of the pon farr and Spock cannot let go of his control and discipline for that. He must--to his own mind--be stronger than the need for love.

And now Kirk has exhausted all options. He has tried to meet Spock as a human who is mindful of Vulcan sensibilities. He has tried to meet Spock as a friend who cares. Now he will be the captain who will order his first officer to take a complete medical examination--to be seen by another and in the harshest light of science. (One could say the other layer of insult to injury in this is that Spock will be seen by McCoy, the very human he gets into arguments with all the time owing to their differences, but if anything, McCoy is finally getting his wish, which is to know what is going wrong with Spock because despite their verbal spats, he cares deeply for Spock.)

Spock looks as if he moves in a trance from the turbolift. He turns around and stares at Kirk, stares at the doors closing, before walking further. It is obvious that he cannot believe what Kirk has done--another subtle push towards what Spock desperately does not want, like a pawn moved to immediately be taken in a chess game. But the fact that the pon farr exists as something between life and death (sex can create life, death is self-explanatory), something that can end in life or death, something that feels like a death to Spock with how he is changing out of his control, suggests a weary Orpheus looking back upon love and a past life in the form of Eurydice. (I admit, this is a stretch. I don't believe it fits perfectly, nor do I believe Sturgeon had it in mind, but I want to connect them anyways / who would I be if I didn't indulge in a little madness for sanity's sake?)

Spock moves like a man lost in the rest of the scene. He is surrounded by other crewmembers going about their duties, but no one sees him wandering and looking so unmoored. The last time he looked like this, it was after Nurse Chapel unknowingly infected him with the virus in The Naked Time and Spock found himself apologizing for and struggling with love.

One last observation: the musical theme that is associated with Spock in this episode, that bassline that sounds so heavy and final at the end of this scene has the ringing of bells mixed in with it, the same bells that start the ceremony on Vulcan. The bassline has been heard prior to this scene, when Kirk enters Spock's quarters after he threw the soup, but the bells are notably missing in that scene. It is subtle, but like the thudding heartbeat of Poe's Tell-Tale Heart, Spock is haunted by a sound of a fate he cannot escape. (The musical themes surrounding Spock in this episode mirror his unraveling in general, especially in the track Contrary Order. The musical score sounds as if it might as well be asking, "Maybe? Maybe not?" or "To be? Or not to be?" with how discordant it is and how that matches Spock's inner turmoil.)

[vintagetvstars]

CLOSED! Preliminary Hot Vintage TV Men List

Alright folks! We have one week left on submissions for the Hot Vintage TV Men's Bracket! As promised here is a list of all the Hot Vintage TV Men who have been submitted and passed our preliminary eligibility checks. There are a handful of guys on this list and one or two not on it that we are currently still debating on so reminder that this list is not final and subject to change.

Currently we have 231 Hot Vintage TV Men!

Also in advance of the competition I'd like to remind anyone submitting propaganda for someone that starred in a show that aired only partially during our timeframe or was under 18 for a part of a shows filming, to please make sure you are only submitting propaganda that is from within our timeframe and when the actor was 18 years or older. This is also just good to keep in mind in general as several people submitted actors for shows that aren't eligible for our tournament either because it was outside our time period or in one case the actor was underaged for the entirety of the show (though many were eligible for other shows they were submitted for). We do our best to screen for these things but sometimes it's hard to tell or it’s a show we don't personally know well enough so we appreciate help from y'all letting us know if you do catch anything.

List below the cut

Preliminary Hot Vintage TV Men List

Dick Van Dyke

Alan Alda

Hugh Laurie

Peter Falk

Adam West

Donnie Wahlberg

Kevin McDonald

Scott Thompson

David Duchovny

Henry Winkler

Leonard Nimoy

Scott Bakula

James Garner

Tom Selleck

Dave Foley

John Astin

Joe Lando

Patrick Troughton

William Shatner

DeForest Kelley

Michael Ontkean

Russell Johnson

Kyle MacLachlan

Bruce McCulloch

William Hopper

George Clooney

Jeffrey Combs

Michael Horse

Mark McKinney

Jensen Ackles

Alejandro Rey

Mitch Pileggi

David Cassidy

Jeremy Brett

Anthony Head

George Takei

David Selby

Rod Serling

Paul Gross

Desi Arnaz

Tom Baker

Richard Dean Anderson

David Keith McCallum

Richard Chamberlain

Charles Shaughnessy

David James Elliot

Vincent Van Patten

Darren E. Burrows

David Hyde Pierce

Randolph Mantooth

Ricardo Montalban

Gene Anthony Ray

William Hartnell

Patrick McGoohan

René Auberjonois

Alexander Siddig

Reece Shearsmith

Michael T. Weiss

William Shockley

Spencer Rochfort

Danny John-Jules

David Hasselhoff

Conner Trinneer

Patrick Stewart

Jonathan Frakes

Paolo Montalban

Scott Patterson

Armin Shimerman

Anthony Andrews

David Schwimmer

Blair Underwood

Sylvester McCoy

Andrew Robinson

Pierce Brosnan

Thorsten Kaye

Anthony Starke

Darren McGavin

Clint Eastwood

Joseph Marcell

Michael Vartan

Richard Ayoade

George Maharis

Michael J. Fox

Dwayne Hickman

John de Lancie

Andre Braugher

Robert Carlyle

Dean Stockwell

Matthew Perry

Robert Fuller

Michael Hurst

Dana Ashbrook

Jonathan Frid

Dirk Benedict

Martin Milner

Demond Wilson

Robert Conrad

Telly Savalas

Peter Davison

Michael Praed

Jason Bateman

David Tennant

Brian Blessed

Miguel Ferrer

Micky Dolenz

Wayne Rogers

Mike Farrell

Michael Dorn

Cesar Romero

Eddie Albert

Nate Richert

Nicholas Lea

Brent Spiner

Dick Gautier

John Corbett

Jeremy Irons

David Suchet

Raymond Burr

LeVar Burton

David Wenham

Clint Walker

Larry Hagman

John Goodman

Matt LeBlanc

Tom Smothers

Erik Estrada

Jeremy Sisto

Colm Meaney

Stephen Fry

Ted Bessell

Ron Perlman

Luke Halpin

Ted Cassidy

Kevin Sorbo

John Cleese

Colin Firth

Colin Baker

Fred Rogers

Ben Browder

Keir Dullea

Randy Boone

Kent McCord

Jimmy Smits

Mark Lenard

Jon Pertwee

Fred Grandy

Mark Hamill

Ted Danson

Adam Brody

Noah Wiley

Eric Close

Lee Majors

Jamie Farr

Tony Danza

Kabir Bedi

Seth Green

Rik Mayall

Hal Linden

Diego Luna

Peter Tork

Sean Bean

Sam Neill

Eric Idle

Ted Lange

John Shea

Ron Glass

Tony Dow

Mr. T

John Hurt

Avery Brooks 

Billy Dee Williams 

James Marsters 

Robert Vaughn 

Kevin Smith 

Davy Jones 

Luke Perry 

Robert Duncan McNeill 

Simon MacCorkindale 

Keith Hamilton Cobb 

Chad Michael Murray 

James Earl Jones 

Bruce Boxleitner 

Timothy Olyphant 

Andreas Katsulas 

Valentine Pelka 

Peter Wingfield 

Sebastian Cabot 

Michael Nesmith 

Timothy Dalton 

Michael Shanks 

Joshua Jackson 

Michael O’Hare 

Robert Beltran 

Simon Williams 

Paul Johannson 

Daniel Dae Kim 

David Boreanaz 

Boris Karloff 

Robert Wagner 

Brandon Quinn  

Walter Koenig 

Richard Hatch 

Christian Kane  

Francis Capra  

Nathan Fillion 

John Forsythe 

Patrick Duffy 

Tony Shalhoub 

Ioan Gruffudd 

Garrett Wang  

Joe Flanigan  

Rider Strong  

Michael Tylo 

Bruce Willis 

Skeet Ulrich  

Jeff Conaway 

Paul McGann 

Scott Cohen 

Mario Lopez  

Martin Kove 

John Stamos 

Judd Hirsch 

Johnny Depp 

Tom Welling 

Matt Bomer 

Grant show 

David Soul  

Bob Crane  

Tim Russ 

Rob Lowe 

Neil Patrick Harris 

[cecilysass]

Shine On (3/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 3: Might Be My Fault

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 20, 2015

The knock on the door makes Mulder jump and sit up abruptly on the couch.

His first thought is that maybe Scully forgot something, but even as he’s scanning the room for anything of hers, he’s realizing: he hadn’t heard her car come back up the drive. 

He hasn’t heard any car come up the drive.

For thirty seconds he’s in bitter disbelief that danger could possibly be at his door right now. When he’s sitting here with his heart in pieces, his whole world in shambles. 

Then again, if there’s one thing Fox Mulder knows all too well, it’s that life will always kick you when you’re down.

He stands up slowly, moving silently to his desk drawer where he keeps a weapon just in case. He sticks the gun in his waistband, safety on. He’s careful not to make too much noise.

No need to overreact. It could be nothing. There are a few neighbors around—although they’re a bit of a hike away—and it could be someone coming to his house on foot for perfectly innocent reasons. Still, his experience, his training, and his instincts tell him to be prepared. 

Some very dark, small voice inside his mind tells him something else: All your training assumes you don’t want someone to strike you down. That you have something to live for. But that’s not an accurate assumption in this case, is it? Why do you bother? She’s never coming back.

He shakes his head. He can’t think like that. Besides, there’s comfort in just slipping into g-man mode, something he knows how to do without thinking. 

The curtains in his front window are drawn, so he can just peer out from the side. There is someone standing there, but Mulder can only see the back slope of their head and back. A man, he thinks. He’s standing too close to the door for Mulder’s vantage point. If this guy would just take one little step back, Mulder could see him perfectly.

Almost as if he could hear Mulder’s request, the figure takes a step back, stepping precisely into Mulder’s frame of sight. 

It’s not a man. It’s a boy. A  young teenager, facing the front door expectantly.

Mulder lets out a deep breath. All right. This is more likely a neighbor request then. Probably a kid selling magazine subscriptions for the junior high track team or something. 

“Hi,” Mulder says, opening the door with a tepid, friendly smile. “What can I do for you?”

The boy stares back at him, and Mulder’s investigator instincts snap back into place. This doesn’t look like a kid selling magazines. This looks like a kid who is very, very anxious.

“I–” The kid stops, bites his lip, looks at his feet. “Somebody, uh, told me to come talk to you.”

“To me?” Mulder scratches his head. He tries to wrack his brain about why a local kid could be sent to talk to him. He knows some of his neighbors probably think he needs help with keeping up the yard. “Oh. Uh, is it about those downed trees on the edge of the property? I know sometimes people pay kids to cut wood up and haul it away or whatever. Were you … interested?”

“No, no,” the boy says. He’s got brown hair, straight, and he runs his fingers through it nervously. “It’s not like that. I came here … for your help.”

“For my help,” repeats Mulder. His eyes scan the yard, the road beyond, looking for signs of a car that could have dropped the kid off. 

“Yeah,” the boy says. He clears his throat. His eyes land, just for a moment, at the handle of the gun visible at Mulder’s waistband. “I need help. Somebody told me you could help me. Fox Mulder, right?”

Mulder nods. “Yeah, I’m Fox Mulder,” he says. He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Listen, I used to be an F.B.I. agent, but I’m not anymore. I’m not really someone who can…help people.”

The boy is undeterred. “I think you can help me.”

Mulder looks him over. He has a lightweight jacket on, but his shoes look dirty. He’s shifting his weight from foot to foot. There’s something sad about the kid, like he’s carrying an invisible burden. 

Mulder has the oddest sensation, just for a moment, that he can actually feel the kid’s sadness. That he’s experiencing the same heavy sensation blooming in his chest as the kid is.

The feeling fades away quickly. Probably just one depressed guy feeling empathy for another.

Why the fuck don’t you try to help him? What else do you have to do?

“Okay,” Mulder says with a sigh. “Sure. I have a lot of questions. But come inside. I’ll see what I can do.”

The boy follows Mulder obediently. His eyes, sharp and observant, fly all over the room, taking in every detail. He stares at the piles of books on the floor, the same perturbed expression on his face that Scully had.

“I’m reorganizing my books,” Mulder explains halfheartedly. “Why don’t you come sit at the table with me? More room over here. What’s your name?”

“Jackson,” the kid says, sliding into one of Mulder’s kitchen table seats. 

“Are you hurt, Jackson?”

“No,” he says. 

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

Some muscle twitches in the kid’s face, and Mulder can see that yes, he definitely is hungry and thirsty. He wonders how far the kid has walked today. So many questions, but experience has taught him to take care of basic needs first. 

“I’m okay,” the kid says with a modest lift of his shoulder.

“I was thinking about ordering a pizza,” Mulder says. “If I get one, will you eat it? It would be a favor. I can get more if you share it with me.”

“All right,” Jackson says, watching him closely. “I like Italian sausage.”

“Hey, that’s my favorite,” Mulder says pleasantly. “What a coincidence. Let me order, and then we’ll talk.” 

Mulder picks up his phone to call. There’s only one place that delivers out here in the boondocks, and he has their number saved. As he gives them the order, he watches Jackson rise from his seat and wander around the room, examining Mulder’s belongings, picking up books and pictures on the shelves. Mulder realizes with bemusement that for a few minutes the mystery teen has managed to entirely sidetrack him from his own troubles.

An intriguing case could always do that, he thinks.

“Who are they?” Jackson asks, when Mulder is off the phone. Jackson is holding up a framed black and white photo from the sixties, a relic from the intact days of his parents’ marriage that Mulder has only recently had framed.

“They’re my parents,” Mulder says. “A long time ago, when they were young.”

“Are they still alive?”

“No,” Mulder says. “No, they’re gone.”

Jackson nods seriously, looking at the photo. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. It’s been some time now.”

Jackson tilts his head thoughtfully. “Can I ask you… do you sometimes feel bad that they died? Like it was your fault?”

Mulder frowns, startled. “How would you—why would you say that?” 

“Sorry,” Jackson says, his face flushing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to … My parents are dead, too.”

“Oh,” Mulder says, his tone changing. “I’m sorry.”

“They were murdered,” Jackson adds in a monotone. “They were shot. Just a few weeks ago.”

Mulder lets out a breath. “Oh, wow,” he says. “That’s recent. That’s a lot, Jackson.”

Jackson puts the photo down and walks back over to his seat at the table. He makes unsettling direct eye contact with Mulder, and when he does, Mulder can see that his eyes are wet. 

“Is the reason you came here to see me …. something to do with that?” Mulder asks. “Something to do with your parents?”

Jackson nods, but can’t seem to say anything else, his lip quivering. Some tears stream down his face. Mulder recognizes signs of trauma all over the kid and knows not to push, even though he definitely wants to know more. 

“You want something to drink?” Mulder says gently. “I have spiced apple cider. That good kind from Trader Joe’s. You want some of that?”

“Okay,” Jackson says, sniffing. Mulder stands to get the cider. “I don’t know what Trader Joe’s is.”

“Oh, it’s just a grocery store,” Mulder says, opening the fridge. “There’s not one near here, but I go to the one in Alexandria sometimes and stock up. Maybe you’ve seen one before if you’ve gone into DC.”

“I’ve never been to DC,” Jackson says. “I’m from Wyoming.”

Mulder turns around from the counter to look at Jackson, surprised. “You’re from Wyoming?”

“Yeah,” he says. “This is the first time I’ve ever been this far east. Really the first I’ve been anywhere except Wyoming, Colorado, Idaho — and my uncle Wyatt’s in Minnesota.” 

“How did you get here? To Virginia?”

“Someone drove me. To see you.”

Mulder’s puzzled. “Someone drove you? Who drove you?”

Jackson looks down at his hands on the table. “I can’t tell you that.” He swallows, looking ashamed. “Is that okay? I just … can’t tell you.”

Mulder shakes his head in bewilderment. “Yeah, well, of course it’s okay,” he says. “Tell me whatever you want. I’m just trying to figure out what you need from me, Jackson.”

The microwave, which has been humming, now dings, and Mulder lifts two mugs of cider to the table, placing them in front of Jackson and himself. He notices that Jackson never stops staring at him, taking in every detail. His eyes are intensely green, bright, constantly shifting at everything around him.

“All right,” Mulder says. “What do you need me to know?”

Jackson sips his cider, sitting up very straight and stiff. He bizarrely reminds Mulder of Scully sitting on the couch before, sipping her tea and refusing to let her guard down. 

The kid sets down his cup. “They think I killed my parents,” Jackson says. He stares meaningfully at Mulder. “They think I woke up and shot them, then went to school like nothing happened. They’re trying to arrest me.”

Mulder stares back at him, blinking. “But you didn’t shoot them.”

“No.”

“So you’re on the run? From the police?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “I left my school. I snuck out. I’ve been running since.”

“And somehow, you ran all the way from Wyoming to Virginia,” Mulder says. “To see … me.”

Jackson scowls slightly. “I can tell you don’t believe me all the way. That you’re suspicious,” he says. “But that’s the truth, I swear.”

“I’m not exactly suspicious,” Mulder says, although he is, just a little. “I’m just trying to figure out how I might be of help. I mean, I’m not a lawyer, or even a private investigator, Jackson.” He cradles his cup of cider, appraising the boy. “Back when I was an F.B.I. agent, my partner and I, we dealt with cases that had to do with unusual circumstances. The supernatural. Is there anything about what happened to your parents that might be … unusual?”

“They were shot,” Jackson says, monotone again. “It wasn’t supernatural.”

“Why do the police think that you killed them?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson says. His stoic face crumples. “I don’t know the answer to that. I wish I did. They seemed really sure.”

Mulder studies him. He’s experiencing a strong feeling of certainty that the boy didn’t kill his parents. It’s a feeling probably derived from his rusty profiling skills, but right now it feels more like a pure feeling. 

“Hey,” he says impulsively, reaching for the kid’s arm. “Whatever happened  …  it’s not your fault, Jackson.”

The boy draws away. “No,” he says, his voice tight. “That’s the thing. I think it might be my fault.” 

Mulder sits back in his chair again, then slowly crosses his arms. “I don’t follow.”

“I didn’t kill them,” Jackson says. “I loved them.” He swallows. “But I think they were killed because of me. I can’t think of any other reason why. That’s why I’m here.” He licks his lips anxiously.

Mulder waits a moment expectantly, but Jackson doesn’t continue. “Why do you think they were killed because of you?” he prompts.

Jackson’s staring at the table, not looking up. “I think it has something to do with my birth parents,” he says, so quietly Mulder can barely hear.

Mulder’s mug had been halfway to the table, but he now freezes in place. Gradually, he becomes aware of the sound of the clock on the kitchen wall ticking and finds himself moving again.

“You’re adopted?” Mulder asks in a careful, precise voice. He sets his mug down.

“Yeah,” Jackson says. 

“How… how old are you?

“I’m almost fourteen.”

Mulder has to stop again. Almost fourteen. Born in spring 2001. The boy is watching him closely, a curious expression on his face. 

“Do you…know who your birth parents are?”

“I know who my birth mother is,” Jackson says. “Not her name. I don’t know her name. But I know who she is.”

Mulder finds he can’t speak. He sits there staring at the boy, trying not to observe a hundred new things about him. The texture of his hair. The color of his eyes. The shape of his face. His tendency to lick his lips when he is nervous.

“How do you know who she is?” Mulder manages finally.

“You said you’d worked supernatural cases, right?” Jackson asks. “Well. I’ve seen her… in my mind. In these flashes. That’s something I can do. I’ve seen her calling for me. Crying for me. A few times in my life. I sort of figured out that was who it was.”

Mulder runs his hands down his face, trying to absorb this.  “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I have questions about all of that, but okay.” He steels himself. “You said you knew who she was. Who—who is she?”

Jackson looks up directly at him, with a pointed expression, like he thinks he should have figured this out already. “The woman who was here before. Who you fought with. The woman who drove off. With the red hair.”

Mulder closes his eyes. He keeps them closed for a moment, searching desperately for some idea for what to say or do next. 

He opens them and nods slowly at the boy.

“All right,” he says in a rough voice, running his hands together. “All right then.”

He folds his hands on the table.

“Then first off,” he says, “you should know you have been to DC before.”

***

[bumblingbabooshka]

The ages of Tuvok's children (and Tuvok himself) are nebulous and change depending on the episode (Ex: Janeway says he's almost one hundred[1] but later Tuvok implies he's over one hundred[2].)

Sek is Tuvok's oldest child, described as "a mature teenager" and seems to be in college during 'Repression'. He speaks about changing his major from exo-linguistics to musical composition. However in 'Hunters' Tuvok is given a letter which says Sek has both undergone the pon farr and become a father. This episode takes place in season 4 - yet in season 7 when we see him, Sek is a college aged teenager. Asil is Tuvok's youngest and while in 'Once Upon a Time' he seems to portray her as a small child still in need of guidance (akin to Naomi) - Janeway says in 'Fury' that she was present at Asil's kolinahr ceremony which would imply to me that she's been an adult for a long while. This would match up with the fact that in 'Lineage' Tuvok tells Tom Paris that his parenting skills are "somewhat dormant" since it's been "many years since [his] children were young." (Notably he does not say 'since I've seen them' implying to me that even before canon they were all adults) However it contradicts Sek's apparent age in 'Repression'. If Sek is a college aged teenager (17 at the youngest, 19 at the most) he would have been 10 or 12 years old when Tuvok left as 'Lineage' takes place in season 7 and he is Tuvok's OLDEST. Though I guess it depends on what Tuvok considers 'young children' and how close in age his children are. [1] Fury: "So, not long until you hit the big three digits huh?" <- It's possible that Janeway got the date correct but his exact age wrong (ex: right month and day but incorrect year)

[2] Meld: "I have studied violence for over one hundred years" <- It's likely Tuvok is speaking more theoretically. To be born Vulcan is to 'study' violence but he still places his age at 100+. [3] In 'Flashback' Tuvok and Janeway are brought back to an approximately 80-year-old memory in which he was around 30 (I think he says 29) and Janeway says he left Starfleet for 'over fifty years'. He himself states that he studied the Kolinahr for six years then married T'Pel. So: At 30 he was an ensign then he left Starfleet. He married T'Pel at 36. As of season 1 he considers himself married to T'Pel for 67 years meaning he's around 103 at the time of 'Ex Post Facto' However, Asil is established to have been conceived during Tuvok's 11th pon farr. ('Alice' - this information is dubious since it comes from Tom Paris in a sequence where he and Harry incorrectly guess Tuvok's age) If he had his first at 36 that would mean she was born when he was 113. Tuvok states in Unimatrix Zero that he was born on the Stardate 38774. I don't know enough about Stardates to do anything with this information. I googled around and it seems Voyager begins at stardate 48315.6 which other sources say is 2371. There's no point to this post - I just like Tuvok and so I gather information about him to show my devotion. At some point in his past he fucked up his elbow so bad that they had to replace the joint with a prosthetic. Did you know that? It's established in 'Blood Fever'.

[kirk-spock-fics]

Non-AO3 Fics

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LiveJournal

A Highly Logical Human Custom by majestic_fic

PG tos, kirk/spock getting together, jealous spock, misunderstandings, pining, holiday fic words: 7,500 'Based on this prompt: The science department Christmas party. Dr. Helen Noel is a highly competent psychotherapist, so Spock's negative response to her dancing with his captain is exceedingly illogical, isn't it?'

Heart-Shaped by mullenkamp

PG tos, kirk/spock fluff, humour, established relationship, valentine's day, spock gets drunk on chocolate words: 4,006 'ST TOS prompt as usual, requesting fluff that involved Spock drunk on chocolate. Apparently, Spock dwells on bewildering things when drunk on chocolate.'

For the Love of a Human by gentlest_sin and pencil_tricks

R tos, kirk/spock getting together, amok time, pon farr, injured!jim, mind melds, alternating POV, slash words: 6,936 'Prompt: At the end of Amok Time, when Spock sees Jim in Sickbay and gets all happy and stuff, McCoy says something I'd like to see written. He says something to the effect that if he and Chapel hadn't been in Sickbay, then Spock would've been more emotional or whatever. Well, I think he's right. Spock only clamped down on his emotional reaction when he saw McCoy and Chapel looking at him. So, I'd like to see the scene, if Spock and Kirk were alone. It doesn't have to be like instant slash or anything, actually I'd prefer it not to be. Maybe pre-slash, where each is thinking about their feelings at that moment after everything they've been through. Or, you know, I'm in love with you but I'm hiding it - that kind of thing is always great.'

Other (Private Sites/Hosts)

Another Piece of Action by Farfalla_the_Butterfly_Kitten

teen tos movies, kirk/spock post-TVH, old married spirk, established relationship, fluff, humour, mind melds words: 3,220 'Somewhat post-trilogy (i.e. after the whole whale movie thing), McCoy is having disturbing visions of pinstripes….'

In Check by K'Sal

NC-17 tos, kirk/spock getting together, misunderstandings, mind melds, accidental bond, flirting, t'hy'la, humour, first time, slash 'the whole history of tv-era k/s framed in logical debate: kirk finds it necessary to deploy his (usually well-hidden) logical skills and bests spock roundly.'

Closing Time by Omega (orphan_account)

gen tos, kirk/spock, post-canon angst, pining, poem, short fic words: 256 'Spock leaves for Gol'

Incident Report by K'Sal

PG tos, kirk/spock established relationship, humour, misunderstandings, t'hy'la, epistolary words: 24,723 'kirk sends spock an incident report, but spock claims there wasn't an incident. just what exactly is going on here?'

[deersalad]

I Mean I'm Sick of Meaning, I Just Wanna Hold You

Tags: F/F, Mariner/T'Lyn, Mari'lyn, Fluff, Friendship, Star Trek, Lower Decks, Kinda Canon compliant, T4T Summary: What's a Vulcan to do with these feelings? Well T'Lyn is about to find out and Mariner is going to be very integral to this journey of self-discovery and deviation from Vulcan norms. "My objective was to be comedic and arouse you sexually, I believe I have succeeded on both counts." Mariner was trying to tamp down her laughter as T’Lyn’s monotone voice hit her like a wave breaking on rocks. She couldn't believe what she was hearing from T'Lyn, who was situated on the couch with her legs crossed in those black regulation star fleet pants - god how does she pull them off so well? But she focused her mind back on the situation at hand, T'Lyn had called her here because of a "peculiar situation" and Mariner could tell that she was acting unusual, she wasn’t meeting her eyes and kept tracing a seam in those form-fitting pants- god she needs to gets her mind of the gutter her friend could be in danger.

"Woah woah wait, is this like pon farr? God wow I've always been curious! But like not in a weird way! I just heard about when it happened to Spock and you know there's those rumors about him and Kirk and I mean back on Earth the humans who repress themselves the most tend to be the freakiest and oh my god I am going to shut up." Mariner closed her mouth and yet her eyes communicated more than enough as they quickly flashed a look from T'Lyn's eyes to her curves that were hugged by that Andorian-blue science officer shirt. She briefly thought of Jenifer but pushed that thought to the side, it wouldn't serve her here, this was an entirely different beast and she had to focus on helping her friend. Mariner mentally decided that the shirt was closer to warp core-blue anyways as T'Lyn began to speak and move imperceptibly closer to her on the couch in her room. 

"Well, not exactly. As it seems you are aware, pon farr occurs roughly every 8 years for a Vulcan of sexual maturity, and the symptoms can be quite debilitating and even fatal if not handled. But it is not yet time for my next cycle and I do not feel the regular effects… instead I am experiencing something pon farr-like." T'Lyn's eyes moved the smallest degree downwards and to the right to look at Mariner, who didn't notice. 

"Uh huh and you want me to take you to sick bay in case something happens or whatevs? Or like, do you want me to go on a daring adventure with you to find a hot Vulcan doctor who can diagnose you and or help you if this is pon farr?"

"Well, when I invited you here to my room I was not quite certain why I reached the conclusion that it would be most beneficial to call on your aid but now I… I believe I understand the logic I was operating on." T'Lyn again moved a quarter millimeter closer to Mariner who had a visible look of confusion. "Woah like did your Vulcan mind powers detect something special in me that you need?" Mariner said with a wry smile and small laugh before it was cut short by T'Lyn reaching her hand over and touching the very tips of her fingers for a moment. "Well, you are not wholly incorrect," she paused as a shudder passed through her from the hand to hand contact, "I do not believe this is related to my Vulcan nature but is rather a consequence or perhaps comorbidity of my heightened emotions and spontaneity.” T’Lyn placed both her hands in her lap in a futile attempt to stop her from yet again acting so impulsively. 

Mariner’s look of confusion was now tinged with worry as she looked on her friend who was clearly fighting some kind of inner turmoil, “hey sorry if my joke was off-color I know this is probably stressing you out and stuff, I can grab T’ana and bring her here if you’re worried about being around the other crew,” Mariner began to stand before being interrupted suddenly.

“No.” T’Lyn still wasn’t looking at Mariner as she let out that singular word that hung in the air.

Mariner waited for a followup and when she received none she decided to venture forth, “hey girl, are you like infected by a parasite or mind virus or something, you’ve just… look I noticed you touching my hand and even I know enough about Vulcans to know that’s way out of character. Usually you’re down to go to sickbay just to see all the weird places people get stabbed so you can record it or whatever, I remember you typing up a storm on Orion whenever someone, usually me, got impaled one way or another. Sorry, god, my mind’s all over the place and wait is this like that one time with the Betazoids? Do I need to give you a pep talk?”

T’Lyn gave a solemn shake of her head, “No, I have no reason to believe that my current status would be affecting your or anyone else’s emotional state. I can logically see why you would consider my behavior odd, the hand touch was an impulsive movement and I do apologize.” Mariner could not believe that she was still dodging around what was going on and why was she so feeling so fucking worked up? She wasn’t thinking straight, “Hey do you want me to get Boims? He knows everything about niche alien conditions, I can also grab Rutherford or Tendi, both of them are way smarter than me and frankly I still don’t see what logic brought you to asking me for help,” she let out a nervous laugh at the self-deprecation, what the fuck was this feeling? WHY WAS SHE THINKING SO MUCH ABOUT JENNIFER?

“No to both counts, I understand I am being vague and not sharing my lines of reasoning and for this I do apologize, I am just experiencing something I do not fully have the words for. I requested your help specifically and I know it was the correct decision. These past few days you have continuously been coming to mind in unrelated circumstances and thoughts, this initially troubled me as I was worried that I may have been psychically projecting onto you. But I had Dr. T’ana run a series of medical diagnostics and there were no abnormalities. Still I requested a copy of the scans she performed, particularly of my brain.” She paused as she felt her hands fighting her to reach out to Mariner, who was still standing. 

“Yeah ok all that makes sense and wow you and Tendi really have got to talk about medical shit sometime, but if all the scans were normal then what’s up?” Mariner was still confused and sat on the small coffee table across from T’Lyn, falling flat on her back as her legs hung over the side. She was feeling weird whenever she looked at T’Lyn and that certainly wasn’t helping the situation. 

“Well I pored over the documents and images and I could not find anything indicating illness, possession, psychic interference, strange energies, or any other possible source of imbalance. But I started to look at the areas of neural activity on the scan and the part that would be analogous to your hypothalamus was experiencing higher than usual levels of activation but not to such an extent as to alert the doctor…” T’Lyn said this in a way that made Mariner feel stupid for missing something. “And…?”

T’Lyn took a moment to respond, her hands were visibly shaking and Mariner was afraid she was about to cry, "and… well the hypothalamus is one of the oldest parts of the human brain in terms of evolutionary development and is integral to some of the most basic and instinctual parts of your psychology and biology. For us Vulcans it is much the same.” Again she paused completely, and at Mariner’s continued look of confusion and concern she decided to push onwards,  “Well, its function is to maintain the homeostasis of the human body via influence of hormones and the nervous system, it regulates many drives, including sleep, hunger, thirst-” 

God she was so fucking cute when she went on and on about all the things she knew but Mariner could tell she was stalling and she knew even the tiniest bit of time wasted could mean all the difference between life and death, “hey I’m sorry to interrupt but I have gotta get you moving along, I can tell you’re stalling and if you’re about to reveal to me that you’re going to explode, or liquefy, or turn into a slime in 5 hours or something then I would rather know that sooner than later, so what’s your hypowhatever got to do with this?” God she sounded like her mom, she didn’t want to be stern but she cared a lot about T’Lyn, she was a good friend and Mariner didn’t want anything to happen to her.

“That is what I was about to get to, in Vulcans our analogous section of the brain carries many of the same function but it also works to regulate pon farr, it operates much the same way as the hypothalamus regulating sexual drives but in a much more drastic manner that affects the totality of Vulcan biology. After looking at everything I determined that I seemingly experiencing an activation that is not on the scale of pon farr but is somehow related. I believe this is the reason for my strange and illogical thoughts and behavior and I feel that you may have a solution.” T’Lyn let her shoulders slouch the tiniest bit after getting all this out, as if she were relaxing after an intense exercise.

Mariner instantly shot up into a sitting position and looked at T'Lyn, “oh my god, T’Lyn, you’re not going to die, you’re just horny.” P.S.: So my partner and I watched the new episodes of season 4 and I made a one off joke that's the starting line of this fic and somehow that morphed into the both of us full on writing so here you go: All you Mari'lyn enjoyers I guess can eat up or whatever. I don't have an AO3 account but whenever I make one I'll upload this on there, this was actually a pretty fun writing exercise.

[electronickingdomfox]

"Spock, Messiah!" review

This novel was written in 1976 by Theodore Cogswell and Charles Spano. The Enterprise crew is experimenting with some new brain implants, that are each attuned to one native of the planet Kyros, to acquire the same knowledge, personality and behaviour of the alien, and thus mingle better with them to study the Kyrosian culture. But everything backfires horribly when Spock gets the personality of a madman with messianic aspirations, and becomes the planet's tyrant.

The best thing of this book is that UK cover above, with fabulous Spock. Do not read this book under any circumstances. No, really, it's pretty bad, and Spock is barely in it. Though the novel has a few saving graces so I'll begin with those:

The Good: The story is entertaining enough, with a clever twist at the end. And even if the concept of having Spock as the villain or under some sort of mind control is nothing new, at least the Klingons aren't behind it for a change.

The culture of the Kyrosians is well developed and vividly described. As well as the intricacies of Federation's technology, if you're into that (I'm not, so I can't tell if the science is sound or not). Descriptions are too detailed for my taste, but your mileage may vary. Anyway, the action and danger keep things interesting.

Also Kirk is a history nerd.

The Bad: The authors don't seem to know or understand the characters. Scotty has red hair (?????). I guess because they wanted him to be as stereotypically Scottish as possible. Kirk refers to Spock as a living computer all the time, which is something that only McCoy would do, and only in jest. And in general, characters aren't... in-character.

The brain implant would have been a good idea to behave as a native and respect the Prime Directive, if the natives had at least been notified and agreed to it. As it is in the book, it's a flagrant violation of privacy. The Enterprise crewmembers are tapping into the aliens' emotions, memories and behaviours with no consent at all. Good job, Starfleet.

There's also some crap about Vulcans. Supposedly, Vulcans are biologically unable to feel emotions (no, they don't, it's just they're good at supressing them) and also have zero sexual urges outside pon farr (yeah, tell that to Amanda).

Which reminds me, the horniness level of this novel is absolutely off the charts. I don't think even the TMP novelization comes close. We have Kirk in the shower, feeling water massaging his "taut, muscular body". Though that's more or less in line for Kirk. But then we also have lurid descriptions of Spock having sex with a woman (non-consensual on Spock's side of course). A female ensign jumping naked to swim in a lake for absolutely no reason, or doing a full striptease before a horde of dangerous, hostile warriors. Chekov, naked from waist down, getting a hipo-spray in his ass right in the Transporter room, in front of everyone (okay, this was funny, but couldn't it wait for sickbay?). As well as the implication that Chekov got a cavity search from some guards. Yeah, I know the original show addressed sexual issues sometimes, but it was never this crass. This stuff is fine for adult fics, but here feels out of place.

All this would be somehow understandable if the writers had never seen Star Trek and were just doing a job. But it's obvious from references to other episodes that they've actually seen it. It's just they didn't understand shit.

The Awful: Almost every time Uhura or Sulu appear, they're referred to as "the black woman" or "the Oriental". Anyone who has seen five minutes of the series knows that Uhura is black and Sulu is asian, but reminding the reader of this fact all the time, kind of defeats the reason why Roddenberry wanted them on the bridge in the first place. Anyway, since Uhura and Sulu barely appear in the story, racism doesn't escalate beyond that. But then there's...

Ensign George. A female crewmember who is used to exemplify rampant sexism and misogyny galore. And since she's a regular character, there's plenty of opportunities for that. Every five pages or so, she loses her clothes, or is scantily clothed, or being harassed by leering men (including McCoy and Chekov). All of this, however, is fine since she's really slutty (actually not, she's being influenced by another person's mind). The writers run out of adjectives for her body: "sensous, voluptous, delicious". At one point, she literally says that it was "her fault" that Chekov got into a fight to protect her from a sexual assault (it would have been more noble for Chekov if he wasn't also harassing her two minutes earlier).

And how did Ensign George end up a regular in the story? She's interested in Spock, but as her real self is quite shy, she links herself to a seductive Kyrosian to get her abilities. Their personalities are too opposite though, so she loses control and ends up having sex with Spock. The incident leaves her ashamed and traumatized. What would the sensible thing to do? Remove her implant immediately and restore her to her normal self, right? Well, no. Let's leave it in her, so she can be used by Kirk and co. as sex object to bargain with the natives, should the need arise. The real Kirk would NEVER, you bastards!

Did I also mention that Kirk uses counterfeit money to reinstate a Kyrosian doctor in his clinic, after such doctor was expelled for drinking and abusing young women? Yeah...

If anyone thinks the original TOS was sexist, just compare notes with this novel. And remember, this book came ten years later. For my part, Cogswell & Spano can stick their writing up there where Chekov got the hypo-spray.

Spirk Meter: 1/10*. Kirk seems annoyed about women finding Spock attractive, and the one thing he can't believe is that Spock slept with one. Messiah Spock may be planning a war and conquest on a planet, that's possible, but this one thing has to be "an hallucination, as impossible as Spock flying". Kirk also sighs his name the first time their eyes meet, after being turned into the Messiah. However, most of the time, Spock is treated just as an enemy to defeat, and Kirk even coldly suggests killing him if necessary.

On the other hand, one has to wonder what's going on between Kirk and McCoy. The doctor is described as Kirk's only friend aboard (everyone hates Spock in this book), and the only one around whom Kirk can be emotional. The two of them spend a lot of time drinking alone in Kirk's quarters. The doctor enters uninvited while Kirk sleeps and wakes him with coffee. And he seemingly stays there while Kirk strips to enter the shower.

There's also a little bit, about McCoy being afraid of showing his "true feelings" for Spock.

*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.

[misscongeniality18]

Hi! Could you like to write something about reader and Peter where she knows him since forever and growing up they have fallen in love with eachother. Anyway at some point they split and later they meet again (maybe she is an FBI agent too and he asks for her help with Rose?). Then they argue because something dangerous happens so the truth? Thank you so much for your time!

I would absolutely love to! This idea is just *chef's kiss* but I hope you don't mind if I change and add a few things?

Still Falling For You, Part One - Peter Sutherland

Synopsis ! Peter meets another agent assigned to protect Rose, and to his surprise, it's his high school sweetheart--you. (Starts after Peter spent the night on the couch outside of Farr's office.) Pairing ! Peter Sutherland x fem!reader Genres ! Friends-to-lovers, (sort of) enemies-to-lovers Warnings ! Angst, fluff, language, violence, no use of y/n Disclaimers ! Everything I know about the FBI is from TV shows, so this might be an unintentional crossover with Criminal Minds? Idk, it just happened Word Count - 1733

" It took us a while Because we were young and unsure With love on the line What if we both would need more But all your flaws and scars are mine Still falling for you " - Still Falling For You, Ellie Goulding

Requests are still open, but please be patient! Thank you!

Masterlist Request Guide Part Two

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After making it through a car chase, managing to stay hidden through the night, and getting Rose safely to the hotel, Farr wanted to add another agent to the detail protecting her—a personal agent in the hotel room while the Secret Service remained in the lobby.

“Think of it as a gaining a partner,” she said. “This agent is coming straight from the head office. She was top of her class and is one of the best criminal profilers on the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico. POTUS was close friends with her mother, so she pulled a few strings to get her to come here on special assignment.”

As he considered it, Peter supposed it would be nice to have someone with Rose while he could go back to Night Action. If something were to happen, he would need to be there to answer the phone. Rose memorizing the phone number only proved how much she was freaked out by the situation she was in. He’d stayed on the line and talked to her through the night just to reassure her that everything would be alright.

“Here she is now,” Farr said, looking over Peter’s shoulder and calling out a familiar name, and the sound of it made his skin break out in gooseflesh.

At first, Peter thought it was just a coincidence, another agent having the same name as you. But when you stepped around the corner into the foyer of Farr’s office, Peter was spiraling backwards through time to his high school days, to a time of laughter and holding hands, to sweet kisses in the rain and feverish ones underneath the bleachers. Peter was brought back to a time before his life fell to pieces.

The two of you had grown up next door to one another, quickly becoming best friends. When Peter’s mother died, your own mother offered to help Peter’s father with taking Peter to school and basketball practices, to feed him dinner when he had to work late, to help keep order in their lives. Whenever Peter wasn’t in his own home, he would be at yours, and as you grew older, you and Peter would only grow closer.

It came as no surprise when the two of you had started dating. Your parents had even hoped it would happen. You and Peter had known each other the way no one else did. And through your relationship, you had been each other’s firsts. First kiss, first love, first everything. It was epic, but even epic things can come to an end.

When you both were sixteen, Peter’s father was arrested. The two of you had tried to get his name cleared, but then Pete Sr. died, and the rumors speculated that it was either a car accident or suicide. That had been Peter’s downfall. You had tried to be there for him, but he slowly pulled away from you. He would stay home and have cereal for dinner instead of coming to your house for a home-cooked meal. He would walk to basketball practice instead of getting a ride from you on your way to cheer practice. He would stop answering your phone calls and send you to voicemail. He even stood you up on the night of your senior prom.

Eventually, you’d had enough. You walked up to his front door and rang the bell, but he hadn’t even answered. You knew he was inside. You could see him sitting on the couch.

“Peter,” you had called out. “I know you’re struggling, but you need to talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t.”You thought that might stir him to move, but Peter hadn’t budged.

“Look, Pete, I don’t know if I can continue waiting for you. I don’t—“ You choked on your tears, and a few had managed to escape. “I don’t think we can be together anymore. I’m sorry.”

That was the first thing Peter thought of when he saw you again, the sound of you crying. He’d kept up with how you’d been after graduating high school through your mom’s posts on Facebook. He saw the pictures of your college years, of Spring Break trips and summer vacations that he no doubt would’ve been on if the two of you had stayed together.

When your mother died in an accident during your sophomore year of college, the posts stopped, and Peter couldn’t bring himself to look at your profile or even contact you. He’d felt horrible after how he treated you when his father died, and he didn’t want to add salt to the wound when your mother passed.

Even after ten years, you still managed to look as beautiful as you did back then, only more professional and grown up. Your face had sharper features, but your eyes were still soft and kind, reminding Peter of lazy summer afternoons laying in the sun. Oh, how he had loved looking into your eyes.

And now, he still couldn’t seem to look away.

Peter was surprised to see you, even more so as an FBI agent like him. You’d always had an interest in criminal justice, intending to become a lawyer after completing your undergrad, but Peter never would have guessed that you would turn to psychology and become a profiler. He supposed it might be useful for protecting Rose from the whackjobs who were after her.

“Peter,” you gaped, startled to be seeing him again.

He breathed your name, reminding you of the last time he sighed with your name on his lips, and the thought made you blush. You cleared your throat, your voice tightening. “How are you?”

He stared down at you, and it was frustrating that he was still freakishly tall. At least, compared to your height. “Um, I’m fine. You?”

“Fine.”

Diane Farr looked between the both of you with narrowed eyes. “Do you two know each other?”

You nodded.  “We grew up together.”

“And we dated,” Peter continued, and you shot him a glare. He should not be bringing up your personal history together at the workplace.

Farr raised a brow. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No, ma’am. It won’t,” Peter assured, and he looked at you for confirmation.

You nodded. “No, ma’am.”

“Good. Why don’t you join Peter to see Rose at the hotel?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded again, trying to keep your words to a minimum, because if you were to speak, you were afraid that you would say a lot more than you intended.

Peter led you outside to the car. You started toward the driver’s side, so used to being the one who drove whenever you were in a car with Peter. However, Peter beat you to it, and you glared at him in frustration. “So you can drive now?”

The banter between you picked up as if you’d never spent any time apart, only with more anger and hostility. “Yes, I can drive.”

As you slid into the passenger seat, you studied him, seeing the change in him from the stubborn teenager to mature and suave adult he’d grown into. You also couldn’t help but notice that he’d bulked up a little, too.

You blinked, returning to your annoyed expression. “At least I don’t have to drive you around anymore.”

“You were the one who offered. You are older than me, so you got your license first.”

You glared at him. “By only four months. Besides, you kept failing, so I had to keep driving.”

“Are we really arguing about this right now?”

“You tell me.”

Peter sighed, a grin spreading across his lips. “Still as obstinate as ever.”

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted.

“And you still like to have the last word, good to know. I’m still wondering why you never followed through with becoming a lawyer.”

You swiveled your head to face him, your eyes narrowed and frightening. “Who said I didn’t?”

“So you’re a lawyer and an agent?”

“Double major in psychology and criminal justice, and I went to law school, so yes, I’m a lawyer and an agent.”

Peter shifted in his seat, his eyes checking the car’s mirrors every once in a while. He wasn’t sure what to say. You’d done more than he expected, and he couldn’t help but swell with pride over your accomplishments. After all this time, you were still amazing.

“What made you decide to become a profiler?” He asked, glancing in your direction before turning back to the road.

Your chest tightened, and your throat began to ache. “My mom.”

“You mean her accident?”

You clasped your hands together in your lap, head lowered. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“What?”

The car jerked as Peter spun to face you. You grabbed the ‘oh shit’ handle as you cried, “Watch it, Peter!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, correcting himself and the vehicle. “What do you mean it wasn’t an accident?”

You sighed, leaning back in your seat. “She was killed in a bank robbery. Two unsubs, a classic case of a dominant and submissive. She tried to talk one of them down, but he shot her instead. She talked to the submissive, who would’ve done anything for the dominant’s approval—“

You caught sight of Peter staring at you as he pulled up to the hotel and put the car into park. “I studied the security camera’s footage after I joined the BAU. I won’t go into the technical details to bother you, but my boss wasn’t happy that I was looking into cases without permission. He let it slide though, as long as I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”

Peter grinned at you, the same mischievous smile that would make your heart flutter when you were younger. “Still have that rebellious streak, huh?”

You refused to let the blush form on your cheeks, but you still bit your lip in embarrassment.

Peter noticed that little action, and it still drove him crazy. He cleared his throat, taking the keys out of the ignition. “Are you ready to meet Rose?”

You nodded. “What’s she like?”

Peter smiled again, and the butterflies filled you once again. “For as well as I know you, I have a feeling that the two of you would be nothing but twin pains in my ass.”

You quirked your lips in a smirk. “There is nothing I would enjoy more.”

Yeah, I rolled with this idea and didn't want to make it too long, so it's going to need a part two.

[trekkie-lkm-archive]

Info: Okay, this is kind of borrowed from Roddenberry's Star Trek, but what if Spock can't actually experience sexual arousal until his first pon farr… which hasn't happened yet?

T'Pring is dead, and Spock has gotten involved with Uhura, but they are limited in their sexual repertoire because Spock is effectively asexual (look it up on wikipedia--a lot of asexuals are in relationships).

Anyway, Spock and Uhura eventually break up b/c she isn't asexual and it's just not working for her any more, and Spock and Kirk are becoming friends so Kirk finds out about the whole asexuality thing. They get to be pretty close in part because Kirk starts to trust Spock since he doesn't view him as a rival or a potential sex partner. However, after a couple of years, Spock starts to have some weird feelings about Kirk … and Kirk doesn't find out until Spock starts cock-blocking him. Kirk's all "what the hell" but doesn't take it too seriously … until Spock gets really sick and won't tell anyone why.

Also, McCoy has never heard of pon farr and quite frankly few humans have, so Kirk and McCoy are kind of clueless at first … though Uhura might have an inkling (maybe Spock told her a few things when they were going out).

Verbose prompt is verbose. (thread)

Fill: 1/2 + Journal

Author: Shatfat

Archive Link + Journal

Fill: 2/2

Author: anonymous

Archive Link

[cannedinternets]

IT IS 3AM AND I CANNOT SLEEP. TIME TO TALK ABOUT STAR TREK.

Wait okay so. Bonds. Vulcan bonds. Vulcan telepathic mating bonds.

At some point Spock’s going to go through Pon Farr again. And if he’s is in a relationship with Kirk and Bones, he’d probably bond with both of them? (Arguably he’s already bonded to  Kirk at the end of Amok Time. And Bones did carry SPOCK’S FUCKING SOUL KATRA in his head so that’s gotta count for something, right??)

Now, to my knowledge, we don’t really ever get a good look at what the bond DOES, canonically. But I’d imagine it’s like...a low-level awareness of the other person/people in the bond unless someone is focusing or very emotional. We DO know that all Vulcans share low-level telepathic bonds with those close to then, like friends and family (and apparently ALL VULCANS are part of a telepathic collective? Like they’re an almost-hivemind? WILD.)

So...what does this look like, from an outside perspective? I don’t imagine anyone ANNOUNCED this to the crew, both b/c it’s really not kosher for the three highest-ranking crew members to be in a relationship, and b/c you just. Don’t tell people “hey my boyfriend is going into heat so me and our OTHER boyfriend are going to let him fuck us into the ground” like???? Not to mention that NO ONE KNEW WHAT PON FARR WAS THE FIRST TIME?? Not only is Spock a closed-mouth dumbass, APPARENTLY the entire Vulcan race would rather let some people possibly die in space than let anyone know anything about their medical needs? Anyway.

Commander Spock is sick.

At first, you thought it was merely that he was fighting with the Captain or the Doctor (or both). He’s been slightly ...off for a while, not making as many comments as usual and not arguing with the Doctor and, in general, not looking in the Captain’s direction if he can help it. He seems much more tightly controlled than he has been for a long time, which is never a good sign. The bridge crew has definitely noticed, though no-one has called attention to it.

“It’s like Mom and Dad are fighting,” Chekov jokes uneasily in the breakroom one day. But, from the glances the others share, you can tell it’s not a joke. Not really.

And now Commander Spock is gone, and so is the Doctor. Worried glances are exchanged, but nothing is said. The Captain is looking increasingly frazzled, though he still jokes and talks to the bridge crew, doing his best to lighten the mood. Eventually, someone tentatively asks what’s wrong.

“I don’t know,” is the terrifying answer, “but Bones is with Spock, so he’ll be fine.“ That is more reassuring than it should be - the Captain’s faith in the Doctor is legendary, and documentedly well-deserved. If there’s something wrong with Commander Spock that Doctor McCoy can’t fix, likely no-one would be able to fix it.

But still. Commander Spock was sick, and now he’s gone, and he and the Captain and the Doctor were fighting and- a call comes in.

“Medical to Bridge.”

Yeoman Rand has stopped with a cup of coffee halfway to her mouth.

Lieutenant Uhura was gesticulating, and her arm drops.

The science officer manning Commander Spock’s console is white-knuckling the back of his chair.

The bridge is dead silent.

“Medical, this is Captain Kirk. What’s-”

“Jim, get your ass down here right now.“

The comm cuts out. The Captain looks surprised, then grim.

“Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Aye, sir.”

The Captain vaults over the console and sprints to the lift, and then he is gone.

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

The rest of your shift passes, mostly in tense silence. There is no further communication from Medical. Acting Captain Sulu glances at the comm occasionally, but otherwise doesn’t show any sign of worrying. Others are not so composed, but no-one breaks or makes a scene. That’s about as good as you can expect, considering.

Next Alpha shift, it’s Doctor M’Benga that gives an update, not Doctor McCoy. That alone would be anxiety-inducing, but the update itself is worse, as is the fact that M’Benga looks supremely uncomfortable. Is he lying? Is it worse than he says?

“Commander Spock’s suffering from an affliction that caused his mental shielding to fail. He’s been isolated in his quarters, with Doctor McCoy monitoring and Captain Kirk standing by to help. Please try to avoid going to Deck 6 if you can; it will be harder for him to rebuild his shielding if there are mental presences nearby.“

Later, you will think about how clever that sequence of not-lies was. In the moment, you are worried for the safety of  the three highest-ranking crew members of the Enterprise.

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

Every shift starts with a reassurance that everyone is still alive, but no real information is present. You do your best to not think about it. Helmsman Sulu and Lieutenant Uhura trade off the Acting Captain position. Chief Engineer Scotty comes up from Engineering one day to be Acting Captain - under other circumstances, that would have been a fun day. He jokes as much as the Captain does, but he has a different sense of humor. And he invites the crew to go out drinking after shift. (You all politely ignore the fact that there isn’t supposed to be any alcohol on board - the Engine Still is an open secret at this point.)

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

[ronqueesha]

What Star Trek race has the kinkiest sex, do you think?

Good question.

Orions are up there. The Lower Decks episode this week confirmed that Orion sex dungeons are extremely common. And largely serve as places for males to get high off pheromones and do literally anything Orion women ask of them. Weddings have a daddy/daughter knife throwing dance. So if that's a family friendly tradition, who knows what might happen in the bedroom on an Orion wedding night.

It's also possible that humans are the nastiest of all the alpha quadrant species. In the same Lower Decks episode this week, Mariner said that free-love sex clubs are common on Earth (a big nod to Gene Roddenberry himself. Like all 20th century scifi writers he was super horny. A part of his vision of a future utopia was a place where consequence-free orgies were the norm) Since Earth is a post-scarcity society where everyone is free to live however they want, that would give people a lot of time to explore what they like with other like-minded people. DS9 also has a brilliant speech that explains humans are not quite as enlightened as they pretend to be. So perhaps in private, humans really are the biggest freaks in the galaxy.

It's not strictly canon, but a lot of Star Trek beta canon mentions a holonovel series called "Vulcan Love Slave". Which at least ties into the idea that other species think that Vulcans get super nasty behind closed doors. Especially when they're in fuck-or-die Ponn Farr mode.

It's also not 100% canon, but Andorians have been said to have at least 4 biological sexes that are necessary for having children. So even vanilla Andorian sex for the purpose of procreation might get freaky from a human point of view.

My heart says Romulans. But mostly because Romulans are my favorite and I adore the idea of evil space elves having freaky sex because they don't have the same emotional control as Vulcans do.

You know who I think actually ISN'T very wild, at least comparatively? Klingons. We know that their mating practices are HEAVILY ritualized, and involve a great deal of violent courtship before any actual mating happens. Klingon sex might be rough and violent, but something tells me they don't often indulge in much beyond that.

[cecilysass]

Shine On (13/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 13: Revival

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 23, 2015 9:05 am

For fifteen minutes neither of them moves.

They sit on the floor soaked in their son’s blood, Mulder’s arm limply around her, staring at the boy’s body lying before them, still and unmoving.

*** She knows they should stand up. She knows this. They should make calls. They should clean up the glass from the shattered door and the broken coffee pot. They should take showers and prepare for the house to be a crime scene.

But she can’t. She can’t look away. With his eyes closed he looks so much younger. More like a little boy, and she never saw him as a little boy. The slope of his cheeks, the delicate thin skin of his eyelids: this is what remains of her baby, that baby she loved so much and expected to raise.

His lips are stained with blood, but they are round and perfect and look just like Mulder’s. Just exactly like Mulder’s.

***

After fifteen minutes she becomes dimly aware of the sound of footsteps on the porch through the jagged maw that was once the front door, and she knows she should be concerned. She should at least turn her head to Mulder and look at him. They should appropriately evaluate the situation.

But she doesn’t lift her eyes from Jackson. She can’t, yet.

She feels Mulder’s arm pulling away from her. He seems to be trying to get eyes on the person approaching the house.

“Hello?” he calls half-heartedly. His voice is weak, almost unrecognizable. It sounds like it belongs to an old man.

The creak of footsteps grows closer, and Scully has the thought that maybe someone has come back to finish the job, to kill her and Mulder. To make sure there are no witnesses after all, despite all the cryptic statements about flesh and blood and old allies.

She reaches out and tentatively touches some of Jackson’s soft dark brown hair, in a way she never did in his life.

Maybe I deserve to die. For failing to protect him.

The footsteps crackle over broken glass as whoever it is walks into the house, walking right up next to them. Scully bows her head, allowing some tears to drop onto Jackson’s mangled chest.

She closes her eyes now. Waiting. Preparing herself for whatever additional violence is about to come.

“You’re too late,” Mulder says dully to the stranger. “He’s gone.”

Hearing his voice distantly reminds Scully of something, nudges awake a thought inside her: Mulder. Mulder is here, too. She can't just meekly watch him die. 

She forces herself to look up.

It’s not an armed man, but a petite woman in a black coat, staring down at them impassively. She doesn’t seem very dangerous.

Ah, she thinks listlessly. The mysterious Rose. What does it matter now? Scully looks back down at Jackson’s motionless face. None of his secrets matter now.

“He’s not gone,” the young woman tells them suddenly. “We need to revive him.”

Scully and Mulder say nothing at first, as though they haven’t heard what she has said. Neither of them move.

“Did you hear me?” the young woman says. “He’s not gone.”

“He is,” Mulder says shortly, his head snapping up towards her. Then he shakes his head, and his tone grows softer and more despairing. “I’m sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry.”

“I would know if he were gone.” Rose’s answer rises in pitch just slightly. She looks at Mulder significantly. “Maybe you can tell, too. Try and see. Reach out.”

“Jackson hemorrhaged,” Scully replies, monotone, emotionless. Whoever this Rose is, she obviously needs to understand. “The bullet likely hit an artery. He bled out fast. There’s no possible way. He’s gone.”

“He’s not,” Rose repeats back to Scully in a fierce voice. “Try to revive him.”

“I’m a doctor,” Scully says, her voice a flat line. “I know when someone is alive or dead.”

“That’s not always true. You have to try.”

“Scully,” Mulder says, his tone suddenly different. “Let’s hear her out.”

“You feel it, too, don’t you? His shine?” Rose turns her attention to Mulder. She crouches down next to him. “You can tell he’s still here?”

“Maybe,” Mulder says quietly, his eyes bouncing from her to Scully. “Maybe. I feel … something. I can’t tell what it is.”

“A person can’t be alive after having lost so much blood,” Scully recites robotically. “He needs the blood to sustain basic life functions. He hasn’t been breathing. For fifteen minutes.”

“Jackson isn’t like other people,” Rose says. “He has a set of abilities, some of which you know about, and some of which I don’t think anyone knows about. Maybe including the ability to survive more than human beings can survive. To go into temporary stasis. Like … some of the hybrids can.”

“Like you can?” Mulder interjects softly.

“Yes. Like I can.” She turns back swiftly to Mulder. “Which is how you were misled … back then.” Her next words are low and urgent. “You can’t be misled again. Please don’t be. He’s still here, Mulder.”

“Yeah,” Mulder responds, furrowing his brow, his face beginning to come into focus, to take on an intensity Scully doesn’t understand. “Yeah.” He takes hold of her shoulder. “Scully, we need to try to revive him. Right now.”

“When we were misled back when?” Scully repeats, bewildered. “What’s she talking about? Who is she?”

“We should try CPR,” Mulder emphasizes.

“Right now,” Rose agrees. “Who will do it?”

Scully blinks, looking from Mulder’s gaze to the young woman. “Me, of course. Me.”

It feels ridiculous, sad, against every bit of training she’s ever had. To try to revive her obviously dead son feels like a pathetic act of futility.

But Mulder’s eyes are close on her, so she leans over and begins the process of trying to keep Jackson’s circulatory system alive, even knowing that for the past fifteen minutes no air has been filling his lungs and no pulse thumping through his veins.

She begins chest compressions, the sickening squelch of his pooled blood under her fingers. The only thing she can do is keep her mind empty. Don’t dwell on anything but the familiar movements. She tilts his head, giving him two rescue breaths. His mouth is still bloodied, and she tries not to think about the copper-penny taste on her lips.

Then she pulls back, watching his chest in silence to see if it moves.

It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t.

“Nothing,” she whispers. She looks up at Mulder’s face. His eyes are on her.

“Now you do it again, right?” he asks. “That’s how it works?”

Scully twists her mouth, nods. She can’t possibly let him down, not when he is looking so hopeful. Not when she failed to protect his son to begin with. She’ll do any irrational thing he wants.

She positions her hands on Jackson’s body for the chest compressions again.

Press, press, press, press: her hands rediscover the required rhythm, the natural backbeat of life.

Each time her hands bear down she feels more hopeless. She wonders if she will break his ribs, if she will damage the body of this poor child of hers further. She tries to empty her mind again. When she can’t do that she tries to think more like Mulder; she tries to will herself into believing it might work.

All along she can feel the young woman Rose leaning tightly over her shoulder, her breath drawn. In a different situation, Scully might be curious about this. As it is, she can only focus on what she must do.

Thirty compressions, then back to the breaths. She takes careful hold of his chin and tries again, pushing air forcibly into his lungs with her own.

She brought him to life the first time, in Georgia, years ago. It was a miracle then. Maybe she can do it again.

She stops, waiting and watching.

With a sound like an inflating balloon, Jackson suddenly gasps, his eyes fluttering open.

Scully’s mouth flies open, too. Not possible. The boy’s chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, as he tries to gain control over his lungs again.

“Jackson,” Mulder says shakily. “Jackson, can you hear us?”

Scully stares. Her hands, still smudged with blood, are still extended unsteadily in front of her, as though they’re about to do more compressions. She’s afraid to trust her senses, afraid to move.

Jackson, wheezing a little, looks at Mulder and begins to cough violently, pushing himself up on his elbows. Blood foams from his mouth.

“Oh Jackson,” Scully whispers. She makes herself move, dabbing at the blood on his chin with the sleeve of the tee-shirt she’s wearing, which is covered in blood already anyway. “Jackson, it’s going to be okay.”

“I’ll get him water and a washcloth,” Mulder says, leaping up.

“What’s going on?” rasps Jackson. More blood dribbles from his mouth.

“Just wait,” Scully says in an artificially high voice. “You’re okay. You’re… going to be fine. Just let us take care of you for a moment.”

He sinks backwards again on the floor, wincing a little.

“I don’t understand. What about the entry wound?” Scully whispers in horror to Rose. “What about the bullet? Internal damage?”

“I think he must heal fast,” Rose says, sounding perplexed. “He must. You could … look at the site of bullet penetration.”

Scully reaches down and examines Jackson’s torso, visible through his ripped shirt. She runs her fingers over his rib cage, sticky with blood, but she can no longer see the site where the bullet pierced him, no source of bleeding.

“It’s completely closed,” Rose observes in a whisper. She seems to be surprised by this, too. “That makes it … hard to kill him. Maybe impossible. This changes things.”

“I got shot,” Jackson mumbles in shock. “That man shot me, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t kill you,” Scully says. She touches the hair on Jackson’s head affectionately, not caring for a moment about giving him space, not caring about the blood on her hands. “You’re alive. You’re going to be okay.”

“There’s blood … everywhere,” Jackson breathes, sounding panicky. “Is that my blood? On the floor and all over you?”

“Here’s a damp washcloth,” Mulder offers. He crouches down to hand it to Jackson. “You can wipe some of the blood off.”

“Did you save me, Rose?” Jackson croaks, accepting the washcloth and wiping his mouth.

“You saved yourself,” Rose says with a small tight-lipped smile. But, Scully thinks, Rose did save him, or at least her unlikely advice did. “You seem to have the ability to bounce back from death.”

“Wow.” Jackson stops wiping his chin. “Really?” He looks at Scully for confirmation, which she finds oddly touching. She nods weakly, and he turns back to Rose. “So I’m, like, immortal. Like a god.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Rose says, her smile brightening. “I have some of the same abilities, you know, so you’re not that special.”

Scully raises her eyes to study Rose more carefully, noting this dynamic between her and Jackson. Didn’t she imply she was a hybrid? Where did she come from? How does he know her? The girl’s eyes, alight now with happiness, are very clear and very blue.

Jackson smiles crookedly. “We’re superheroes,” he mumbles, dazed. “Like the brother and sister in The Incredibles.”

“Something like that,” Rose says. She looks like she wants to cry, but she presses her lips together into a tiny smile instead. Scully frowns, wondering. Part of her is tempted to begin pressing for information right now.

But Jackson is still so pale. First things first.

“Let me examine you, Jackson,” Scully says crisply. Nothing here is normal, everything is upside down, but her tone is all business. A personal specialty. “And let’s get you cleaned up.”

***

Jackson is remarkably healthy for someone shot a half hour ago, although he’s suffering from what Scully might describe as low level shock. After he rinses off in the shower and dresses in Mulder’s old sweat suit, they wrap him in Scully’s quilt. He sits bundled on the couch, a slightly stunned look on his face.

Scully crosses her arms over her chest, trying to formulate the right series of questions, when Mulder clears his throat and wipes his palms on his pants.

“We should probably figure some things out,” he says. All in the room look at him. There are still visible tear tracks on his face. Scully imagines there must be on hers, too. “Do we need to take Jackson to the hospital, Scully?”

“I don’t see why,” she says. “There are no signs of serious trauma. We can monitor him here.”

He nods. There’s an abrupt frigid gust of air from the hole that is the former front door, and Mulder speculatively looks it up and down. “We need to consider this problem, then. It’s freezing out,” he says, gesturing to the destroyed door frame. “I either need to find a way to make this weather proof, or we all need to relocate to a motel tonight.”

“Yes, agreed,” Scully says, nodding, trying to keep up with what he’s saying.

Rose is sitting silently on the desk chair, and Mulder walks to her, putting his hand on her shoulder. “And what about you, Rose? Do we need to be worried about your immediate safety? Are there going to be more Walled Garden operatives coming for you?”

“No,” she says blankly. She looks like she is about to say more, but her eyes land on Scully. “No. I don’t think so.”

Scully’s eyes dart in the space between her and Mulder. The relationship between Rose and Jackson is perplexing enough, but this interaction is even harder to interpret. Mulder seems almost protective of Rose, like he knows her.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Scully says softly to Rose. “But … who are you, exactly?”

There’s a pause, and no one answers. Rose looks at her feet, her discomfort apparent.

“Yeah. All right, Scully,” Mulder says, placating. “We should talk about it.” She hates the tone of voice he’s using. It’s the one he uses to calm her down when he thinks she’s being unreasonable, and her question isn’t unreasonable. “I think that first I should get some plywood I have in the shed out back. Maybe I can board the door up for now. Then—I don’t know, we can sit down and talk, make a plan.”

Scully does not like this at all. But she raises her chin up and down in a reluctant nod. “Do you need help?” she says.

“Why don’t you take care of Jackson?” Mulder suggests. “Rose, why don’t you give me a hand with the plywood?”

Rose nods shortly, glancing again at Scully.

“It will just take a second,” Mulder assures Scully, clearly reading her expression and body language. “We’ll be right back. We’ll all talk.”

“All right,” she says. She stands, watching as Mulder silently bundles up in his winter coat and smiles at her, then walks out the gap into the cold morning.

Rose follows him, burrowing her hands in the pockets of her coat again. She pauses, angling backwards, and her blue eyes shoot back inside towards Scully for a moment.

Almost like the curiosity is mutual.

Scully realizes she’s gnawing on her bottom lip as she meets the young woman’s eyes. She gives Rose a cautious smile instead.

Even after both Mulder and Rose have disappeared from sight, she stands there, facing the gap in the wall.

Her hands run slowly up and down her arms. She’s wearing a clean oversized shirt of Mulder’s, but there are still streaks of dried brown blood everywhere on her skin, even in her hair, and she feels cold and uneasy. She tries to warm herself as she puts pieces together.

She thinks over what she heard Mulder say to Rose just minutes ago, about operatives from something called the Walled Garden. She wonders if that’s the same organization the hybrids who came for Jackson were from.

“I know,” Jackson says in his hoarse voice from the couch. “You hate not knowing the whole truth, even for a few minutes. Right?”

Scully has the inappropriate urge to laugh, remembering suddenly that Jackson hears all of her thoughts. She really needs to get in the habit of remembering. Feeling suddenly very tired, she walks back to the couch and sinks down next to him. He is watching her with an intent, serious expression.

“That’s right,” she admits. “Is that something you saw using your shine, Jackson?”

“Yeah,” he says, “but even if I couldn’t, I think I could tell from how your face looks right now.”

That does make her smile a little. “I’ve always tried to appear inscrutable,” she says, “but people often seem to be able to tell when I’m upset.”

“Me, too.” Jackson pulls the blanket tighter. He eyes her. “I’d like to have a poker face, but I just don’t have one. My face gives away more than I want to, I guess.”

Scully’s smile deepens. “Exactly.”

“That’s not always necessarily bad,” Jackson says.

“No,” agrees Scully. “Not necessarily.”

Jackson pulls in a breath. “Mulder’s worried about how you’ll feel about what he's going to say. He’s worried that … you’ll be upset.”

“Oh.” Scully leans her head back against the couch, feeling rising trepidation. She doesn’t look at Jackson, continuing to stare instead at the wrecked door frame. “What do you think?” The wind rattles into the heart of the house again, sending a deep-reaching chill through her. “Is he right?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson says. “Maybe.” His brows knit together. “You know… you know how you told me you’d tell me the story of your first kid—of Emily—but that it was a sad story?”

“Yes,” she says cautiously. She squints as the light filters through the front windows, becoming suddenly more starkly bright.

“Well,” Jackson says, swallowing. “It is a sad story. Just not in the exact way you thought.” He hesitates. “You know how genetic brothers and sisters sometimes have the same traits. The same abilities.”

In slow motion Scully turns her head to look at him.

“That’s what it is, I guess. Although … I don’t know if her having those abilities and me having those abilities is actually because we are brother and sister,” Jackson says. “Because she has them because she’s a hybrid. And I have them … because of some reason nobody understands.”

Scully stares at him blankly. She thinks about Rose, all sorts of details from her memories now coming into crisp focus. The strawberry blonde hair, the blue eyes. Mulder’s hand on her shoulder. Mr. Potato Head. The brother and sister in The Incredibles. How we were misled back then.

“I didn’t have any idea I had a sister,” Jackson continues. He turns to face Scully now, his voice turning secretive and important, like he wants her to know. “But I think she’s known about me for a long time. I think she’s been watching out for me. She’s the one who saved me after my parents were killed.” He’s watching her face now. “You get what I’m saying, right?”

“Yes,” she says, the word whisper soft.

But she’s not sure she does, not really. That woman, that adult woman. It couldn’t possibly be. She was dead. It had been confirmed. They knew she was dead. It was the only way she would have ever left San Diego and not looked back.

She becomes aware that Jackson’s expression is changing—his eyebrows arching, his lips drawing together. He looks concerned for her. Worried. Tender. He looks just like Mulder.

“She’s not Mulder’s kid, like I am,” Jackson says curiously. He’s clearly listening to her thoughts. “Is she?”

“No,” replies Scully again.

Jackson seems to consider this a moment. His eyes slide over to her again, worried.

“I can tell you’re upset. But … I thought you’d want to know so you didn’t wonder,” he says uncertainly. “And I thought… maybe somehow me telling you would be better than them telling you?”

He’s watching her so closely. She knows she needs to think straight here, to pull it together.

“I did want to know,” she says, her voice brittle. “And you’re right, Jackson, you telling me is better. It’s just …”

A shock. The nauseating discovery that she’s failed to be a mother for two children, not just one. That this child went from being a cherubic preschooler to a stoic young woman in black without her, with whatever chaos happening in her life, just because Scully wasn’t brave or wise enough to question what was conventional and safe.

“Okay,” Jackson says suddenly. “Come on. Jesus. Stop.”

Her eyes focus back on him, on his pale face.

“That’s what my therapist would call negative self talk,” Jackson adds, rolling his eyes self-deprecatingly. “And, uh, I’m hearing all of it.”

She feels her lip trembling. “Jackson,” she manages. “I’m sorry. It’s just …”

“Rose probably hopes that you’ll be happy to meet her now,” he says pointedly. “Because that’s a pretty good thing, right? After all this time. That you get to finally meet each other. Maybe even be … something like family. Isn’t that kind of badass? Isn’t that a pretty good thing?”

She doesn’t need a shine to see into his thoughts right now.

Silent tears are on her face, and she takes his hand in hers, squeezing it. Looking into his eyes, she lets him feel her joy, her real joy.

“It’s more than a pretty good thing,” she agrees simply. “It’s a miracle.”

She realizes, somewhat to her surprise, that she believes what she’s just said.

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly. She notices there are silent tears on his face, too. “And like the third one today, too.”

They don’t let go of one another’s hands. They wait in silence for Mulder and Rose to return.

***

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Fifty-Four: Des Voeux

Oh gang, we're rapidly running out of living POV characters as you can see. But that means we do get a glimpse into the inner life of the Notorious C(F)DV, a generally sweet lad more akin to his real-life counterpart than to his gremlin-like show one.

Des Voeux is deliriously happy, right off the bat. As well as successfully hunting and gorging themselves on seal out on the pack, his party have spotted real proper leads in the ice with clear water all the way to the Adelaide Peninsula and Back's River. "Everyone could leave Rescue Camp. Everyone there now had a chance at survival." :(((

His joy doesn't last for long, however, as his party returns to camp not to fanfare but to abject misery. The men at Rescue Camp are so despondent that they don't even react to the eight tasty seal carcasses Des Voeux and his men haul behind them. "Did someone die?" asked Charles Frederick Des Voeux

The last men standing with any kind of seniority/rank gather in a tent to fill Des Voeux in, all but one of them smoking like chimneys all the while. They are: Second Mate Edward Couch, First Mate Robert Thomas, Captain of the Hold Joseph Andrews, and Captain of the Maintop Thomas Farr. They've found the bloody carnage that Hickey's party left behind them: "[the remaining bones and flesh] Had knife marks on them" finished Robert Thomas. "Lane and Goddard were butchered by a human being" "Not a human being" said Thomas Farr. "But some vile thing in the shape of a man."

The conversation that follows has definite shades of the E10 Lawful Mutiny scene with Des Voeux cast in Little's role instead. "We have to go after him and the murderers with him," said Des Voeux No one spoke for a moment. Then Robert Thomas said, "Why?"

It's hard to disagree with them really. They discuss the lives that would be wasted in such a battle, mentioning Thomas Johnson again who - as we now know - was sent to track the Mutineers to ensure they really left only to fall bloody victim to them. Des Voeux argues first for Crozier and then for Goodsir but the others reason that they don't even need the surgeon any longer - Tom Hartnell has learned enough to be able to administer what few medicines they have left and as for surgeries... Couch smiled sadly, "Lad, do you really think that anyone who needs actual surgery from this point on in our travels is likely to survive, no matter what?" That ever-so-slightly condescending reference to Des Voeux's youth gets to me especially, it really does! He's just a wee guy!

The assembled men still worry about predation from Hickey and the Mutineers as well and have some choice words to say on the matter: "... He sees all of us as livestock. What if he's just waiting out there beyond the next rise, waiting to attack the whole camp?" "You're turning the caulker's mate into a bogeyman" said Des Voeux. "He done that to his self already." said Andrews, "But not a bogeyman, the Devil. The actual Devil..." I feel like that specific phrasing - his self vs. himself - can do SO much heavy lifting if you want it to. You could interpret it as Hickey not just being corrupted but as devoting/losing his entire sense of self to that corruption. Delicious stuff!

The remaining men decide explicitly that Des Voeux should lead the Expedition entire as he's the highest ranking left among them. He accepts this though he vows to continue to consult closely with the other four in the tent where necessary. Poor Hodgson is mentioned here, in a way that makes me laugh much much more than it really should: "Technically," said Thomas Farr, "Lieutenant George Henry Hodgson is in charge of the expedition now" "Oh, fuck Lieutenant George Henry Hodgson up the arse with a hot poker," said Joseph Andrews, "If the little weasel were to come crawlin' back now, I'd strangle 'im with me own hands and piss on his corpse."

It's not long before Des Voeux faces his first tough decision as official leader and, when it comes down to it, he turns more Le Vesconte than Little. You're not going to like this one, gang, or what it means for poor scurvy-ridden Jopson...! "Here is my first decision as new commander of the Franklin Expedition. When we drag the boats to the ice in the morning, any man who can walk to the boats and get into harness - or even into one of the boats - comes with us... But tomorrow, only those who can walk to the boats will leave Rescue Camp." :(((

[andy-888]

Now with the new episode of SNW I'm wondering when Spock realized that Jim was his T'hy'la. While I love those ffc where Spock meets Kirk and at first touch he lowkey knows, but refuses to accept it, I feel like is a bond that takes time to form? The only reference we have is that Spock knows Jim is his T'hy'la during his Kolinahr ceremony and that is 2 years (if I remember correctly) after the 5 years mission ended so my theory is that he may have realized the last years of the 5 year mission and thinking he would not be reciprocated (bc there WERE rumors that they were lovers and Jim said it was just friendship and that he wouldn't choose a Vulcan bc of their pon Farr every 7 years), plus his desire to follow the Vulcan way, he choose to go through Kolinahr.

Somehow I also feel like Kirk never really came to know about the T'hy'la bond/term. The rumors about their and i quote "unusually close" friendship were enough so Spock never really brought himself to explain.

Idk I'd love to know what ppl think since I haven't been in this fandom for long so I may get stuff mixed. Also I loooove to hear new facts and opinions about these subjects! 💖

[kinkyliterotica]

(Image does not belong to me and I don’t claim ownership of it)

Part 2

Ensign Vorik x OC Pon Farr Smut

Summary: Ensign Elisha has come to resolve Vorik’s Pon Farr. With little knowledge of his culture and their practices, she is surprised to see such a logical man reduced to such raw emotion.

Warnings: Smut, Pon Farr, Interspecies Sex, Rough Sex, Begging, Slight Breeding Kink

———

The doors slid open and Elisha was standing in front of him in her uniform. His robes were dusty gray and hung formally, surprised to see him in traditional garb. This was all so strange, but she was so excited. Her body was a live wire.

She stepped into the room and the door shut behind her. The lights were low, but she could still see Vorik’s face clearly.

“In truth, I’m...surprised you agreed to come.”

Elisha said, “I’m surprised that you called.”

Vorik looked at the floor, “I could not...hold out any longer.”

“From what, Vorik?”

Vorik raised his head and moved steadily closer to her. Observing her posture and mannerisms. She stood quite still, waiting for permission to move. Maybe even a little afraid.

“It is called; Pon Farr. Meaning, ‘The Time’. Once every seven years we males experience an...uncontrollable desire to fulfill our base most instincts. To mate. If it is not done, then we die.”

“You would die from this?”

“Most certainly.”

Elisha moves towards him until there is only 2 feet between them. Vorik’s breath hitches. She’s wearing perfume.

“Have you done this before?”

“Never. Have you?”

Elisha laughs nervously, “Not in this way, but yes, a few times.”

Vorik gulps, “My only desire is that I be a satisfactory mate. You are giving me the gift of life in exchange for your body and mind. Whatever you ask of me will be given, readily.”

Elisha steps slightly closer.

“Tell me what you want to do with me, Vorik. I’m getting impressions, but I want to hear you say it.”

Vorik, his hands shivering from restraint, closes the gap between them and slips his hand onto the base of her neck. He can hear the thrumming of her heartbeat as he leans in close. He puts his lips onto her ears, his breath on her jugular.

“I want to devour you.”

Elisha gasps and allows herself to fall against him. She feels his tongue as he licks hungrily at her neck. Her nerves fire off and pleasure shoots straight to her core. His teeth nip and nibble at her skin like he was a wild animal. She can’t contain her moans, she can’t remember the last time she was this turned on.

She's so vulnerable to him now, so exposed. Teeth on her flesh and blood boiling under his skin.

“You are my mate, forget all those who have come before. You. Are. Mine!”

Vorik sinks his teeth into her right beneath her left ear. She yelps faintly as she collapses even further into his arms. He has her pinned, their body’s connected by this primal act of him marking her.

He releases his mouth from her flesh and speaks into her ear.

“This mark makes you mine, everyone on this ship shall know it.”

Elisha pants as endorphins flood her brain with enormous waves of pleasure and pain. His possessiveness is so raw, so primal. Nothing will keep him from her anymore.

“Vorik…”

“Let me touch your mind.”

“How--”

Before he can reply she feels his fingers pressing into her face from jaw to her eyebrow. Nothing can adequately explain the feeling of their minds melding. His powerful desire dominates her every thought, spilling into her mind. Her telepathy has never been so strong. She feels the burning blood, the fever, the ache in his lok. The desire he has for her is barely contained within his body.

Vorik feels Elisha’s fear and excitement. She knows little of what she’s in for, but she wants it so badly. She's been so lonely for so long, she needs to be touched, be held, be possessed. She wants this as badly as he needs it.

They both moan loudly as they share in the pleasure of knowing one another. Their connection was strong for good reason. Their minds are one. They are one.

“Elisha--”

“Vorik--”

Vorik slowly opens his eyes and drags his nimble fingers down her face. He gently captures her face in his hands and presses a firm kiss upon her lips. Her lips are softs and warm. She darts her tongue out between them and he jolts a little at the intrusion. He’s never kissed in the way humans do before. The intertwining of tongues somehow escaped him during his research.

“Here, let me show you.”

Elisha grabs Vorik’s face and pulls him down on her lips. She slips her tongue nimbly between them and coaxes him out. He is hesitant at first but quickly falls into a rhythm.

“I need to taste all of you.”

“Give me a moment to--”

“No! Your flesh, your body, I need it now.”

He grabs her uniform by the collar and rips it off. Her rank pips hit the floor with a ping as her top tears straight down the clavicle.

Elisha laughs deliriously as Vorik’s mouth descends on her clavicle. He drags his gnashing teeth and tongue down further and further until he reveals her breast.

“Your skin is delicious. I can taste your need. I can smell your cunt from here.”

“Oh Vorik!”

Vorik grabs her breast in his hand and pinches her nipple painfully.

“Gentle!”

Vorik jolts and lets go immediately.

“Just, be gentle with them please. They’re sensitive.”

It takes great willpower for Vorik to return to sensibility for even a moment. He grits his teeth and shivers as he holds himself back.

“...I don't wish to harm you.”

“I know.” She reassures him.

Vorik cautiously uses a single digit to roll and tweak her nipple. She grinds against him deliciously and he nearly loses balance supporting them.

“Vorik I can’t stand any longer.”

Vorik sweeps up Elisha in his arms like a fireman and throws her onto the bed. Her head rushes and tries to keep up as he continues to pull her shirt to shreds.

She laughs in surprise. A day ago she never would have pictured this Vulcan pillar of logic hungrily ripping off her clothes. He was a man overcome with need, no logic left in sight.

He slides on top of her, once her chest is exposed and holds himself up on his elbows as he cradles her breasts in his hands, this time more gently.

Vorik practiced his technique on her breasts and alternated rolling the buds in his fingers and licking and sucking on them. She arched into him and mumbled incoherently as he coaxed her into pleasure once again. Just as she had relaxed, he bit one and she yelped again. It wasn’t painful but it did alarm her. His teeth on her flesh were too overwhelming.

“Oh that sound thrills me, make it again.”

He bit gently on her nipple again and she yelped weakly in response. She’d never experienced pleasure like this before. It rolled through her like waves and she never wanted it to end.

While he worked on her breasts she hooked her legs around his thighs and sent his hips crashing into hers. She got some leverage and ground her pelvis into his so deliciously. He had never felt this before, and she knew it. While this wouldn’t excite an experienced man, for a virgin just the idea of their most private parts touching would send him into a frenzy. She was gratified when it did.

Vorik begged, “I need...I need more. I need to be inside of you. Please”

Vorik vaulted himself off of her and removed the rest of her clothing. He stripped her down until the cold air hit her naked body. Next he shed his clothes sloppily until the great weight of them hit the floor. He was suddenly naked. Stocky and muscular and painfully hard.

Elisha instinctually held her legs back and Vorik held his lok to her entrance in an unsure and inexperienced way. He gripped her thigh while he used his other hand to guide his member closer to her entrance. She was soaking wet but he met resistance still. He tried vaulting his hips and failed to enter her. He looked towards her with pleading eyes.

“Permit me entrance.”

Elisha looked at him sympathetically and smiled comfortingly.

“Like this.”

She reached down between them and took her lok in her hand. He stiffened at the contact and moaned an almost painful sound. Elisha took the tip of his lok and rubbed it around the wetness in her entrance, spreading her juices on his tip and preparing her for penetration. Vorik’s eyes were crazed, his body was rigid. He moaned loudly and threw his fist into the wall behind them. It dented but did not give way.

“Cease this torture, I can bear it no longer!”

Elisha ignored his frustration and moved her hips forward, “Now.”

Vorik snapped his hips forward and was instantly buried within her. His mouth hung open, and his hands grabbed the headboard affixed to the wall as he processed this sensation for the first time. Her muscles contracted around his throbbing length and they both sighed in contentment. It didn’t take much longer for him to need to move within her.

He moved his hips back and snapped them forward again. She let out a loud moan that was drowned out by Vorik’s. He growled uncontrollably like an animal. He bucked his hips into her wild and frenzied. His movements were sloppy and inconsistent but his vigor was what thrilled Elisha. She was sure that never in her life had a man needed her as much as he did right now.

Their bodies were coated with sweat and pheromones and they grasped onto everything around them to keep from falling. His thrusts were hard and his twin size bed wasn’t able to accommodate them. Ultimately they were unsuccessful, and rolled onto the floor with a heavy thud, falling apart for a moment as they gathered themselves.

“Come back, I’m not finished yet.” Vorik snapped.

Elisha barely processed what he said as she climbed up onto her elbows and knees. A moment later his lok was shoved back into her entrance from behind. Her mouth hung open and her eyes shut tight. He felt so huge inside of her like this. He pounded his hips into hers and she was overwhelmed with sensations. Her muscles tensed and she withdrew into her pleasure as she orgasmed so brightly she couldn’t make a sound.

Her vaginal muscles contracted around him and he was too far into the blood fever to recognize that his mate had just reached her pleasure. Perhaps it could have been his lack of experience, never having seen a woman orgasm before. It wasn’t as if pornography was a part of Vulcan custom. He continued pounding into her as his sweat dropped onto her back.

Elisha tried to speak but her voice was too weak, “Vorik, I can’t…”

Vorik stiffened as his lok was trapped within her contracting pussy. Oh, she was beautiful. Completely undone around him, completely his.

“You’re my mate, you’re mine!” He bellowed.

He scooped his arms around her midsection and pulled her up to bite into her shoulder. She screamed and tried to shove him away. She wanted to enjoy her orgasm in peace. The pain was a distraction, an unwelcome one.

By this point, Vorik’s poor body had nothing left to give. He exploded within her, his seed hitting her soft cervix and leaking hotly down the base where they were joined. He saw stars. His grip on Elisha loosened and he fell onto his side. Not an ounce of strength or seed left in him. Elisha came tumbling down with Vorik, and she was also completely devoid of strength.

They both fell asleep on the messy floor of his quarters, completely naked, and completely free.

———

Elisha woke from a deep slumber to feel Vorik’s hips grinding against her. There were no clothes to act as a barrier and his rough humping irritated her already sensitive vulva.

Elisha grunted her protest, “Wait, I’m not ready.”

Vorik was still sweating, his arms slick and shivering as he pulled her back against his chest.

“Mate, I have need of you again.” Vorik moaned. His voice was sleepy but his body was quite awake.

He continued his rough thrusting and finally Elisha had had enough. She turned around and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow to get him off of her. Her strength was not as great as his, so surprising him was the only tool she had to break free.

She stood and moved further away from him, grabbing onto the wall for support and holding her hand out as a warning for him to stay back.

“I told you, Vorik, I’m not ready.”

Vorik’s face was screwed up into a look of anger and indignation. He was more foregone than before. Less logic even then when they last mated.

“You cannot resist me, we are bonded!” He nearly shouted. The deep fear was evident in his voice. He was terrified that she would leave him, when they had only just begun.

Elisha took a deep breath and steadied herself. His emotions were so powerful that it took great concentration for her to right her own mind to its own needs. She relaxed her posture but maintained her distance.

“Vorik, I’m not leaving you. I need to use the lavatory. I need a moment alone.”

Vorik looked at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language. His eyes were still desperate, he moved towards her, reaching for her hand.

“No!” Elisha shouted, ripping her hand away from him. He was more foregone than she thought.

She looked to her left towards the lavatory. The quarters were standard issue, the layout was the same in his room as it was in hers. She knew it would take only a few steps to reach it and create a barrier between them.

“We cannot be parted, it is not the way.” Vorik pleaded.

Elisha looked at him for a moment before darting to the lavatory. She was faster than him and reached the room before he could. She quickly slammed the door and said, “Computer, Ensign Elisha Security Override AL-126, lock this door, accept only my voice for activation.”

The computer chimed back, “Door locked.”

“No!” Vorik roared.

Elisha heard him bang his fist against the door, the heavy metal impenetrable even for a Vulcan. He continued to throw his fists against the door, roaring like a caged animal. She had caged herself, keeping the wild beast at bay.

A sudden fear struck Elisha as she realized that this was far from over. She rushed over to the toilet and relieved herself, wiping her vagina gently with the biodegradable paper. She was already raw from their last session. She had been well prepared, but it likely had only been hours since they last mated.

She saw the familiar white globs of cum that had settled into her while she slept. She could be pregnant. The thought excited her more than it frightened her. She had wanted a child for a long time, but who knew if they could even reproduce successfully?

She held her head in his hands, what had she gotten herself into? When he said days she hadn’t thought it would be ‘every waking moment’. To be honest with herself, she hadn’t thought about it much at all. She had acted impulsively, on instinct. Maybe she had been wrong. Maybe this was too much for her to bear.

She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t really know what Pon Farr was. If this was what it was, she understood why he had feared it so. To say that Vorik’s lust was insatiable was an understatement.

She got up and looked at herself in the mirror. Her mascara had smeared on her cheeks, and he had bites and bruises blooming on her chest and body. She looked like she’d been beaten.

There was a medpac in the cabinet. It was clean and well organized, everything in its place. Tasteful candles sat on the counter and the towels were neatly folded. Vorik was not only neat, but he had decorated as well. At least when he was of sound mind.

He seemed so far distant from that person he was now. It was difficult for her to correlate the ill, lust-driven, desperate man begging on her door, with the one that she had known before.

She patched her wounds up with the tools from the pac. She put ointment on her bruises that would disperse the blood flow, injected herself with a hypo for the pain, and started using a dermal regenerator on the bite marks on her shoulder. When she reached the one on her neck, she hesitated. That was where he had marked her, intentionally. Her heart sunk as she thought about erasing the mark from her skin. Maybe, she would keep just this one. She wasn’t sure if it was for herself or for Vorik, but she felt attached to it.

After she dealt with her injuries she drank a few large glasses of water that she desperately needed. She splashed some water on her face and wiped away the smeared makeup. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice.

Vorik had stopped banging on the door by the time she was finished. She approached the door and wondered what he could be feeling right now. She felt some guilt for abandoning him while he was so clearly not in his right mind to understand her. However she wasn’t a sacrifice to be offered up to him. She was a conscious, living, breathing woman, who needed to be treated like one. She was here of her own volition, and she wouldn’t get bullied into mating with him.

“Vorik.” She called out.

She heard Vorik scramble to his feet and approach the door.

“My mate, come to me.” His voice was more seductive, more alluring than it was before. Possibly allowing some space between them convinced him to change his tactics.

“Vorik, I want to help you, but I don’t feel what you feel right now. I need you to be gentle.”

“The fever is upon me. It is impossible to resist. It is not the way.”

Elisha became indignant, “If you don’t find another way then I will leave!”

Vorik was silent for a moment. “Bond with me, I will make it right.”

Elisha remembered how it felt to bond with him, the rush of endorphins and the elation of pleasure. Perhaps if they bonded once again her body would allow her lust enough to make their next inevitable mating less painful.

“You will feel no more pain, my mate.”

Elisha steeled herself for whatever would happen when she opened the door. Hesitantly she said, “Computer, disengage lock.”

“Voice recognition accepted, locks disengaging.”

The door whooshed open and instantly Vorik was in front of her. She braced herself to be swept up into his arms by force, but instead he offered her his hand. Extended were two fingers, index and middle, pressed together. She looked at him confused.

He remained still and looked at her face expectantly. When she didn’t respond he reached for her hand, and slowly pressed her other fingers down until she mimicked his. He held them upright and pressed their fingers together. A jolt went through her fingertips when they touched, the feeling almost as intimate as kissing. He stroked his fingers up and down hers in a way that was seductive and gentle. She had never felt anything like this before.

Elisha stroked her fingers up and down Vorik’s, and watched his face melt into calm as she did it. She wanted to ask if this was helping, but she didn’t want to interrupt their connection with her voice. It was lovely, that’s all it needed to be.

After a few moments of their wordless exchange Vorik reached his free hand towards Elisha’s face, and she allowed it. His fingers pressed gently again from temple to jaw, and their minds melted together.

“My mind, to your mind, my thoughts, to your thoughts.” He recited.

It was entirely different from last time, not a crashing together of two unfamiliar minds, but a gentle joining of two. It washed through her like descending into a warm bath. Enveloping her and covering her, while leaving enough room for her, ‘self’ to still exist.

Soon she felt the oncoming of Vorik’s lust. It was not as untempered and wild, but instead it felt heavy. Like a large burden born on his shoulders alone. She wanted to share it with him, the weight of his lust and need. He shouldn’t have to bear it alone.

When she opened herself up to that act of empathy, she felt the lust seep into her body, into every pore, into every iota of her being. It was hot, boiling, like a great fever. Is this what it felt like? The blood fever he had mentioned? It was like it crawled into her skin. Suddenly her body was aflame. She needed to be touched, to be held, to be bit, to be penetrated. She needed the raw, primal feeling of being filled. She wanted to pounce, she wanted to scream, it hurt, but it hurt so good.

Elisha’s eyes flew open, her skin was sticky with sweat.

“I need.” She said, not knowing why, but saying it because it was true. She needed. She needed him so much.

“I know.”

Elisha lunged forward into Vorik’s arms and wrapped her legs around him. His Vulcan strength was more than sufficient to bear her weight as he hoisted her up on his hips.

Her body acted on its own, knowing only what to do, not knowing why. Her lips sought out his skin. She kissed and licked and grazed his neck with her mouth. Biting down on the same place he had marked her. Biting hard.

He hissed and gripped her thighs tightly, pinning her body against him while she tasted of his skin and something else wet. Had she really bitten him that hard? She was incapable of gauging her own strength right now. She pulled away with her lips green and Vorik growled at this sight.

“You have tasted my blood. Do you burn?”

Elisha whimpered pathetically, “Yes, I burn.”

She clawed at his back and tried to grind against his lok while she was in his arms.

“What do we do?” She pleaded. Her skin was fire, her lips were molten. Her core dripped so eagerly that beads of her desire hit the carpet beneath them.

“What is in our nature.” He said resolutely.

Vorik carried Elisha over to the kitchen island and laid her down on the cool marble. The surface was ice cold against her skin so much that it almost distracted her from her need.

Vorik grabbed her pelvis and dragged her towards the edge of the table and plunged into her. They both let out a pained cry as his lok once again was buried inside of her. The pleasure was indescribable, a great overwhelming bloom through her entire being.

Vorik was more sure of himself this time, he started rocking within her immediately. He gathered her thighs in his arms and held them squarely against his chest, leaving no room for Elisha to escape.

Elisha couldn't control her cries as every emotion in her body came spilling out from deep inside of her. She screamed like a wild animal, clawing at her flesh and moaning at this great relief from the pressure building inside of her.

This was meant to be, this was as close to her primal nature as she ever had been. Connected by mind and body to a man who had seen all of her. She wept, tears spilling from her eyes as she came suddenly and without hardly any clitoral stimulation. It was unlike her but entirely natural.

Her body shook and shivered, and quickly she realized she wasn’t finished, she needed more. Post-orgasm and still needing him to pound into her like she’d been starved for a lifetime of touch.

Vorik held her legs like his arms were made of steel. Her feet were getting numb but she didn’t care. His body was firm and strong.

Vorik suddenly threw her legs aside and scooped her up into his arms again, whisking her away to the floor where his robes and blanket had fallen.

“My mate, I need all of you.” He was full of affection.

“I’m here, I’m here,” She reassured him.

Vorik’s eyes were shut tight as he laid his length on top of her. He buried his face into her neck and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. He was shivering and groaning as he entered her again.

Despite the roughness of their coupling, the affection between them was potent. Arms wrapped around one another, both with their mind touching, bodies joined in pleasure.

Elisha felt wetness on her neck. Though at first she thought it was her tears, she realized it was Vorik’s. This withdrawn Vulcan man was weeping. From what she knew of Vulcan’s this was not common practice even among children. This was perhaps the first time in Vorik’s life that he had let go of all inhibitions and just wept. Like he was freshly born, new life exploding out into the world.

Elisha was lost in the delirium of pleasure and finally said something out loud she’d never have done without the fever.

“I want your child, Vorik. Put a child inside me.”

Vorik growled from deep within his chest. Almost like he was incapable of speech. He had awoken to a completely carnal state. He grunted and groaned like an animal, no words were exchanged, but they both knew his answer.

Fuck yes.

He bucked his hips, once, twice, and released inside of her, violently. She felt his warm seed in her belly. She reached down and pressed on top of her uterus, putting her cervix is the optimal position for conception. He looked down and saw her feeling her womb and subsequently, the outline of his lok inside of her. He shivered fully, quivering with desire. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His woman accepted his seed into her womb so she could bare his child.

His eyes rolled into his head, his lok painfully overstimulated. He didn’t lose his strength like he had last time. In fact he felt invigorated. He tightened his arms around her, and whispered Vulcan words of affection into her ears.

“Tishau Elisha.” (I care for thee Elisha.)

“Lesek. Lesek. Lesek.” (Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

They stayed like that for some time, consumed by their own bliss. They spoke little, and when they did it was kind.

Vorik’s lok remained inside of her, his refractory period was ending and need crept up in him once again. He had regained little of his logic back, he was still deep in the fever. He lifted his head to look at Elisha’s face. His eyes betrayed his unspoken question. Elisha nodded.

He moved within her once again, more steadily this time. Rocking his hips gently back and forth. His lok hurt, his body ached, but it was nothing in comparison to the pleasure he felt from being inside of her.

He carried on steadily for what must have been hours. Elisha had experienced the Pon Farr for herself, and though the immediate effects had passed, she had great compassion for his needs. Though she was overstimulated, though she was hot and tired, she persisted. For that was the affection she had for him. She was his mate, and she would see this through with him, until the end.

---

Neither of them knew when they fell asleep. It was not a conscious act, but a result of their exhaustive physical activity.

“Ensign Vorik, please respond.”

The Doctor’s voice through the comms pulled the couple out of their slumber. They were not still joined, but their bodies laid spread across each other. Their eyes met, both blurry and confused.

“Ensign Vorik, please respond!” The overworked Doctor pleaded.

Vorik cleared his throat, but before he could speak Elisha smiled brightly at a brilliant idea.

“Ensign Vorik is quite...indisposed at the moment Doctor.”

Vorik’s eyebrows hit the ceiling. Surprise and flattery clearly written across his features.

“Ah, I see well...I’ll make a note of that for my records.”

Elisha chuckled quietly to herself.

“I’d like the both of you to report directly to me after you’re...finished.”

Vorik chimed in, sounding more like himself than he had in days, “Very well Doctor, now if you will please excuse us.”

The Doctor happily ended his transmission. Vorik rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in his hands. That was when Elisha noticed something surprising on Vorik’s neck.

“Oh wow.”

Elisha reached her hand out and stroked the outline of the bite she’d given Vorik. He didn’t react in surprise or pain to her touch, instead he tilted his head back and leaned into her touch. She made the softest sound of approval at the physical contact.

“Do you remember leaving that mark?” Vorik asked casually.

“I didn’t realize I’d bitten you so hard.”

Vorik reached out an arm towards her face and touched the same mark he’d left on her.

“The placement is identical.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

Vorik removed his hand from her neck and placed it on her arm. He drew her hand into his for the same ‘Vulcan kiss’ that they had shared before.

“It is called the Ozh’esta, the ‘Finger Embrace’. It is an act of romantic affection between our people. Quite like a ‘Vulcan Kiss’.”

Elisha looked at him curiously.

“You can read my mind.”

“I always could, I simply have your permission to do so now that we are bonded.”

Elisha observed Vorik’s condition. His hand was warm but not hot and sweaty like it had been before. His demeanor was calm and respectful. He was acting like himself again.

“It looks like your fever has passed.”

“It would appear so. However, my Time has not yet passed.”

Elisha raised her own brow, “How many more times we need to…?”

Vorik deliberated, “Twice more should be sufficient.”

Elisha laughs and says, “I can’t believe you still have the stamina.”

“This Time brings forth a supernatural response on our bodily systems. Some have withstood trials much longer than ours.”

Elisha shakes her head in disbelief, “That’s good to know for next time.”

Vorik was thoughtful for a moment.

“That is assuming that you would be willing again, in seven years.”

Elisha realized what she had implied. She considered how to phrase her next sentence.

“While I can’t predict--”

Vorik reaches out and grabs her wrist possessively.

“You need not say another word. You are my mate, for as long as you wish.”

Vorik lowered his head down to her wrist, to kiss the sensitive bit of skin. His mouth climbed up her forearm to her shoulder and eventually back to her neck.

Elisha remembered that they may be together for a lot longer than seven years if she did conceive the last time they mated. It seemed that she had thought about the commitment before the relationship in their case. In the moment it felt right, but in the light of day it seemed frightening, and impulsive.

“Are you ashamed of your desire for a child?”

“Yes.” She answered honestly.

Vorik spoke into her ear directly, his voice soothing and calm, but with a small fire still behind it.

“It is only natural for a woman to desire a child. Therefore is it only natural for a man to want his woman to carry it.”

Elisha’s heart lights up at the idea of carrying Vorik’s child. She wondered if right now there was an egg being fertilized in her womb. They hardly knew each other and they were talking about having a child together, this was madness!

“That is no longer the case, we are bonded.” Vorik protested, seeming offended.

Elisha felt her heart sink. Her mind and her body were at war with each other. On the one hand, she cared for Vorik, and believed that they did share a strong connection. On the other, they had only met each other a handful of times before they entered into this big commitment together. She wanted a child, both logically and illogically. It was too late to back out now.

“You’re afraid. You feel...regret.”

“Possibly, it's hard to tell right now with you, doing what you’re doing to me.”

“Do you wish me to stop?” Vorik sounded disillusioned, he was of sound mind enough to cease his foreplay.

Elisha looked down at him, and considered this for a moment. She finally concluded, “No,” Her voice got quiet and husky, “I want you to taste me.”

Vorik eyes glazed over with affection and possibly amusement. He headed south to her rapidly wettening cunt and placed himself between her legs.

“It’s possible you will have to...make me aware of your preferences.”

“I will.”

Vorik gently settled himself between her legs. He used his fingers to separate her lips and looked at her anatomy as if he was dissecting it.

“It would be beneficial for you to vocalize your preferences.”

“Oh I will.” Elisha giggled.

Her laughter died down immediately when Vorik lowered his face down to her cunt and began licking at her clit like a dog in a water bowl.

It sent jolts up her spine to feel his clever Vulcan tongue flicking away at her most private parts. Elisha’s clit became swollen as Vorik worked it with his mouth. First he used just the tip of his tongue, unsure how to move and at what pressure.

“Ugh! A little, a little higher! Aaaah!” Elisha pleaded.

He flicked his tongue higher up.

“More, more of your tongue, flatten it.”

He flattened his tongue.

“Faster!”

He moved faster, his jaw starting to ache from the effort. But Vorik didn’t care. He would endure any amount of discomfort as long as it guaranteed her pleasure.

Elisha’s voice raised in pitch and octave. She was on the edge of intense release.

Elisha couldn’t hold on any longer, the dam broke and wave after wave of uniquely singular pleasure rippled through her. She felt the tingling in her fingers and toe and the warmth spread until she couldn’t make a sound.

“Shall I assume that you were satisfied?” Vorik asked, not in any way cocky. This was the first time he’d tasted a woman there, he wanted to make sure it was pleasurable for her.

“Very much so.”

Vorik waited until Elisha had come down from her orgasm before placing his hand over her womb. She noticed, and she didn’t wish to speak. She just wanted to feel right now. She reached out her hand and placed it on top of his. Their eyes met for a moment of understanding.

Elisha nodded.

Vorik slowly removed his hand and sat on his haunches, bringing Elisha with him. He lowered her onto himself with impressive ease. They fell into one another’s arms to what felt like home to the both of them. This was not a rough or ready coupling, but gently, like lovers. They were silent except for their steady breaths.

Eventually, Vorik spent himself inside of her again, and neither was the first to let go.