#specially in front of McCoy

[andy-888]

"Kirk and Spock should have kissed" WRONG they already did multiple times or do you think Spock holds hands with everybody? Hmm? Do you think he goes squeezing random hands like that hmmm???

[earlgreytea68]

After watching last night's medley, I'm just overwhelmed how deeply Patrick loves the people around him, and how much he shows that love through his music.

Travis McCoy met Patrick the day Ray Charles died, and he was crying, which told Travis that Patrick was something special. And boy, was he right.

He's devoted his entire adult life to faithfully translating Pete's story through melodies, and singing his words, even before he thought of himself as a singer.

He started making music for cartoons, so he'd have something to share with his kids before they grow up.

He plays concerts night after night with everything he has in him, even when he's terrified, miserable, and often sick, because he wants us fans to know that our love matters to him.

And when his dear friend passes, how does he commemorate his friend's memory? Through song. Because how else could he do it, than through the language of his heart?

That expression of love through music is just one of the billion and one things I adore about him, and I really hope history recognizes him for the treasure he is!

I couldn't even respond to this at the time because it was just all so much, but you're so right. Music IS the language of his heart. It's so easy to see it as his job, and to think it's just what he does, but no, every time he sings he pours his heart out at us, night after night after night after night, this is Patrick Stump's heart out there in front of us. No wonder he gets so hurt when it's rejected, and no wonder he gets so emotional when it's accepted. And really, he's so brave to keep doing it.

[rmoonstoner]

***

Poisoned Empanadas

***

Pairing:

Moon Knight (Jake Lockley) x Spider!fem!reader

Spider-Man 2099 (Miguel O'Hara) x Spider!fem!reader

***

18+

Warnings:

Violence, strong language, mentions of death, mentions of depression, sexual themes, volatile emotions, dats a big boi, dats an angry boi, reader gets hurt, whumpy, hit-you-in-the-feels, why are they so sweet?

***

Summary:

Miguel goes out on patrol with you and your friends. Something noteworthy happens. We see a side of your ex that you don't get to.

***

Chapter 6 - Panades, Belize

This empanada is from Belize. Like many other Empanadas, they are usually crescent shaped and packed full of white fish and a variety of beans, sometimes with cheese and other meats. The shell is made of corn flour, giving it a yellow color, and is deep fried in lard until fully cooked and golden and crispy on the outside. It is typically serced with salsa made of onions, cabbage, and peppers.

***

The next morning.

Everyone was seated around the table, except for Stephen and Miguel. Stephen had made it clear that there would be a mandatory meeting this morning, before anyone was allowed to leave for the day.

"What do you think? Is the doc gonna find a missing Spider?" Gwen asked.

"Pffft. If that man is smart, he wouldn't dare leave." America laughed as she jotted down some quick notes for class without even looking up.

"I dunno. He broke my arm. It takes a lot to do that." Peter huffed. America stopped and looked up at Peter with a deadpan expression.

"He what?"

"Yeah, but it's fine. Stephen fixed me up as good as new. Miguel even apologized! I believe his apology was genuine."

"That's not good enough, Peter! He owes you, now. He broke into your building that you inherited from Tony. He beat you up and shattered your arm. You're lucky Stephen was available!" Gwen complained, while America hummed in agreement.

"Shhh, I hear them coming down the stairs!" You hissed at them both and you picked up your tea to feign like you were occupied.

Stephen had Miguel marching into the room in street clothing. Miguel was in simple blue sweatpants, some white sneakers, red socks, and a tight fitting black tee with a faded Led Zeppelin logo on the front. Miguel had a frown and he seemed to squint at the bright lights of the kitchen. He grumbled as he took a seat next to you and started to rub his eyes generously.

"Damn. You look awful." Gwen declared while looking at the large man that was hunched over the table.

"Mmmhmmm." Miguel huffed back. When he removed his hands, he was still squinting badly. He looked like he was hungover.

"He will be fine. He's light sensitive." Stephen said while the lights dimmed and the curtains in the kitchen windows closed. He set down a pair of red sunglasses beside Miguel and patted his back.

"These have special lenses. A friend of mine, Doctor Hank McCoy, developed them for a colleague of his. They should help with your sensitive eyes and also if you happen to have hellfire spewing from them." As he explained the glasses, Miguel snatched them up and put them on.

Stephen was quick to set the table for breakfast with a simple hand gesture and he motioned for everyone to dig in. The moment a steaming cup of coffee appeared in front of Miguel, he took it and guzzled it down. He didn't even make a face at the temperature, and merely sighed happily as the caffeine flooded his system.

Everyone ate and talked. Stephen and Peter were discussing the genetic testing he was doing at the lab, and how it was set back a few months for obvious reasons. One of which was sitting there, trying to be invisible. Gwen was helping America with her notes by making flash cards versions of them.

And that left you and Miguel to sit there awkwardly. Miguel was listening to Peter talk about his experiments. You sipped your tea and poked the food around your plate until it was eventually all gone. When breakfast was done and cleaned up, America left through a portal, while Peter and Gwen followed her.

"You're free to leave, if you want, but please remember that when I summon your presence, you better come running." Stephen said as he waved his hand dismissively.

You gawked at him. Whatever discussion they had, they certainly weren't letting on about anything they talked about. Miguel was quick to get up and leave, only stopping briefly at the door to say his goodbyes.

"So, uh… I'll see ya tonight? Sanctum roof?" You asked. He sighed and nodded.

"Yeah. The doctor said I have to stay within sight of one of you four. I assume that includes the black and red Spider-Man?"

"Yeah. He was the new kid, before I came along." You laughed and rubbed the back of your neck. Miguel chuckled and turned to leave.

"If I show up early, can we get pizza again?" He turned back to give you a dopey grin. You blushed and agreed.

"Yeah. We can get pizza." Miguel gave you that adorable fangy grin and he left before he said something stupid.

He made his way down the steps and towards the general direction to his hotel. Miguel's brain was filled with images of the night ahead.

The doctor had basically given him an old school vibe of; 'If you hurt my daughter in anyway, shape, or form, I'll blast you with my boomstick.' The daughter being you, and the boomstick probably being some sort of magic spell pulled from the depths of Hell or something.

The other Spiders were mentioned as well, with him being just as clear about not hurting them either. Miguel understood why. He did kind of severely damage Peter's arm.

But, the man made it very clear he wouldn't tolerate Miguel playing around with you if he wasn't serious, or if you weren't interested. Stephen said, no, he demanded, that Miguel was absolutely not allowed to come on to you first. No intentional flirtatious behaviour or comments, unless you initiated it first, any sex that could happen, he needed your explicit and coherent consent.

No drugs. No alcohol.

No consent. No sex.

It was terrifying and awkward for Miguel to sit there like a shrinking lump in a massive chair. He felt like some awkward and scared teenager in the fifties, and not a grown ass man from the not so distant future, with superpowers and a couple of doctorates.

The fact he was technically a doctor as well didn't even cross Stephen's mind. He knew first hand that having a doctorate didn't make you a good person. He was more worried about the kind of person Miguel was. Miguel didn't even know that yet. He had lost who he was and he was still figuring himself out.

Miguel suddenly smiled at the thought of the major loophole to the wizard's words.

If you initiated the flirting first, he could roll with it. Stephen didn't give him any sort of level to adhere by, except for explicit sober consent from you.

He had a sudden thought that you were still watching him through the window, and he stopped to look over his shoulder. You were there, up on the window where people normally shouldn't be, smiling, your face lighting up when he locked eyes with you and you began to wave in a silly manner. He waved back and felt his face heat up even more. The heat was threatening to sneak on down to his nether regions, but with a quick thought process change, he saved himself from a surprise erection.

What also helped that surprise erection disappear, were the sudden 'ooo's' and 'ah's' and kissing sounds coming from Lyla.

"Shhh. Stop it. Please?" He covered the faceplate of the watch with that deep heat in his cheeks returning full force.

"You like her." She giggled back.

Miguel didn't answer. He started to walk again and picked up his pace as he swiped away Lyla's face and began going through his messages. Stephen had given Lyla the app details and she downloaded the program. It was an app that Peter and the others had worked on for communications between the Spiders and the different hero factions they were a part of.

He saw he was added to three chats. One was the room for the Spiders, and it was named 'Your Friendly Neighborhood Spiders'. Since being added only that morning, there had been an overwhelmingly large amount of texts. He decided to wait until he got back to his hotel to check those.

Another was set to an unnamed chat that contained Stephen, America, Peter, and you. He assumed that was the house chat.

And the last chat thread had been started with just your name at the top of the box. That one made a deep grin form onto his face. It was a simple, yet funny greeting.

5:01am

You:

Hello there, handsome. It's me, the bane of your existence! Lol.

He happily replied and sent back a message.

9:23am

Miguel:

Haha, very funny.

As he was sending the message, he heard a car door open to his left. With a quick sidestep, he avoided the door. A man got out and slammed the door shut as he turned away from Miguel. His collar was up, hiding his face, while the man wore a newsboy cap with the rim over his eyes. The man lit up a cigarette and appeared to be leaning on the cab as he typed away on his phone. He was clearly agitated.

Miguel didn't want to have a hassle with some random guy right after leaving your presence, while still in full view of the Sanctum. He promised the wizard that he would behave himself during his stay here.

That cabbie brought the phone up his ear, and his voice went from frustrated and angry to calm and collected. He wasn't calm for very long, and he started to cry and rub at his face with his sleeve as he pleaded into the microphone.

"Hola. Last call for now. I'll try again tomorrow if I haven't heard from ya by then.-" The sound of that man's voice hit Miguel's ears and he felt a knot twist in his gut. He sounded so God damned familiar, and he couldn't place why.

*- I miss you, my pretty little star, mi estrella. Te extraño mucho. Please consider giving me a call. Te amo…"

And there it was.

The Spanish accent that sounded a little too close to his own. The jet black hair that was slicked under the back of the man's hat and over his olive skin. The little nickname he had heard clear as day in his dream. The one the grey suited man had affectionately referred to you as, right before Miguel took his place.

He took a quick glance at the license plate and subtly took a picture of it with his watch. He even got the man in the photo frame as well. After, he took a video of him typing away on his phone and he turned his head, as if he were about to look at Miguel.

Miguel was quick to speed up and leave, turning down an alleyway and going to his hotel as he shot you a text to message him if you needed him for any reason. The man only caught a streak of him leaving and thought nothing of it as he got back into his cab and drove off.

***

When Miguel left, you found yourself quickly clambering up the wall to the large circular symbol in the glass. You peered out the window to watch him walk away while Stephen chuckled and gave you privacy. You were sure you looked insane, like a gecko stuck to a glass tank, sideways, face close to the glass, but not exactly touching it.

Miguel's ass looked quite nice in those sweats as he was walking away. Your eyes followed him as his form got smaller and smaller. He turned around and saw you, which made you blush and bite your lower lip. You waved. He waved. You smiled. He smiled. He turned around and kept going, and your eyes lowered back down to his rear. It wasn't until he nearly collided with a car door, when your eyes darted away from that scrumptious bottom.

Your heart dropped.

It was Jake. He was wearing a scowl as he absently tossed a middle finger at Miguel for nearly getting in his way and he slammed his door. The sound was so loud, you could hear it. You even saw Miguel wince and quickly move away from him, but not too far as he stared at the audacity of the other man. It didn't look like he had seen Jake's face. If he did, you just knew he would have stopped dead in his tracks and confronted him.

You watched as your heart sped up, thudding harshly in your chest as Jake didn't even look back at Miguel while he pulled out his phone. You gulped as you heard your phone down on the table start to ring and vibrate against the old wood. All you could do was dumbly look down at it while it skittered about making a horrible buzzing noise accompanied with Jake's ringtone.

After six rings, it stopped and the lights went dim. You sighed in relief and relaxed, but then it started to buzz again. You let go of the window and dropped to the floor, eyes not leaving the device. You brought both hands to rest against the table as you leaned over it, glaring when you saw his name flashing across the screen, along with the one photo of his stupid face in that stupid hat of his that you forgot to remove from the phone contact list.

Again the phone stopped, and this time it went to voice-mail. The phone was quiet for a moment, until the voice-mail registered and the screen lit up while the phone vibrated to alert you to a new message.

You let go another heavy breath of air and relaxed, resting your head against the desk and sighing. Maybe he had given up, maybe he wasn't. You had no way of knowing.

However, you did know that Jake must have come back and seen the car missing. He must have panicked when he saw that the house was stripped bare of anything you owned. He was probably actively looking for you.

But he had no idea where you were, right?

Right?

You bit your lower lip and picked up the phone, going straight to look at the alerts and call history. You could see one from Miguel, but it had to wait until you inspected the ones from Jake, first.

Jake had actually called you five times. He left four voice mails. Before listening to them, you checked your text messages. He had sent you around ten of them, right after you had sent Miguel a message and put the phone down for breakfast.

***

6:37am

Jake:

Heya, doll. I'll be coming into town in thirty. See you soon. I missed you a whole lot.

7:02am

Jake:

You still like those Redbulls? I got a couple cases of the ones ya like.

7:07am

You have missed a call from Jake Lockley.

7:08am

You have a new voice-mail from Jake Lockley.

7:10am

Jake:

Is this a joke? Real funny.

7:16am

Jake:

Mi estrella? Hello?

7:21am

Jake:

I talked to the neighbors. They said they saw you packing and getting rid of things. Did you go to the school you were talking about? I must have forgotten.

7:29am

You have missed a call from Jake Lockley.

7:32am

You have a new voice-mail from Jake Lockley.

7:43am

Jake:

Where are you?

7:46am

Jake:

I found the sale papers for the car. Why did you sell it? Was there something wrong with it? Why did you sell it to Clint?

8:07am

Jake:

I called Clint. He said you sold it to him like two weeks after I left. Said you didn't need it and never used it. I'm not mad or upset. It's your car. I'm going to go grab some breakfast and call ya in a bit.

8:45am

You have missed a call from Jake Lockley.

8:50am

You have a new voice-mail from Jake Lockley.

9:13am

Jake:

I am getting worried, here. At least respond to me, so I know you're safe.

9:20am

You have missed a call from Jake Lockley.

9:27am

You have a missed call from Jake Lockley.

9:28am

You have a new voice-mail from Jake Lockley.

9:30am

Jake:

Please, sweetheart. Please reply. I know I said we were on a break, but I came back. I just had to see you. I have only a week, before I gotta go back. I'm sorry. Please, mi estrella?

The messages were sweet and sad. Your heart panged for Jake. He was acting lost without you. He wasn't even showing any signs of being angry. He was clearly worried about you and your safety.

You dialed up your voice-mail and waited to hear his voice.

"Hola! How is my beautiful girl, eh? I see a lot of empty space. What's going on here? Are you renovating? The mailbox is pretty full."

When the message finished playing, you frowned. He sounded nervous, like he was pretending to be optimistic and happy. You could hear the disappointment in his voice. You waited for the next one to play.

"Did you… Did you go to that university that you were talking about? Ya said something about a Stark scholarship a few times. It looks to me like… Like ya moved out. I hope not. There's literally nothing of yours left here, except the junk mail. Uh, anyways, please shoot me a call back."

Now his voice had melted into a hollow tone. You almost cried, but you held them back.

You remembered how violent and volatile he was towards others. Miles had seen him beat the crap out of a few people. Gwen had reported seeing him yelling at gang members... And both Peter and Stephen had some not so nice things to say about him. What if his next voice-mails were rude and belligerent?

What if he threatened you?

"Hola, sweetheart! I am just calling to be sure you know that I support whatever decision you are making. I know you're probably mad at me right now. I get that. That's okay. If you don't want to see me again, please just let me know. I promise I'll leave you alone, once I know that you are okay. Please?"

Your heart broke at his begging and pleading. His voice was cracking and he sounded like he was sniffling. Was he crying? He never did that around you.

"Hola. Last call for now. I'll try again tomorrow if I haven't heard from ya by then. I miss you, my pretty little star, mi estrella. Te extraño mucho. Please consider giving me a call. Te amo…"

By now Jake sounded quite depressed. He wasn't yet giving up, but for today he claimed that he was.

But wait… Did he just admit to loving you? You had to play the message again, and it made you feel both extremely good, and terribly sad.

Now you were crying as you set the phone down. You paced around the room for a long moment, then remembered he was just down the street. With a quick couple of jumps and flips, you got back up to the window and looked to see if he was still there. You completely missed your phone's muffled buzzing again as it sat on your sweater.

He was just getting back into his cab and you cursed to yourself. There would be no way to chase him down with the way he drove. You had a hunch he was looking around the city for any sign of you. You thought about telling someone of what you saw, but then that would just freak everyone out for no reason. You decided to wait and see what happened and kept it a secret for now. You weren't going to reply, not yet anyways, but he'd know you read the messages.

***

Jake was anxious as he walked through a park he used to take you to. It was close to the bridge, with his favorite taco truck near by. He always enjoyed looking at the lights up there. He once admitted to you that he would sit here and smoke weed while watching the Spider-Folk go about their business across the buildings in the night sky.

What he didn't reveal, was that he was there to specifically watch you. How he adored your outfit and the way you'd gracefully leap about with those lights, or swing with your webs. He missed coming out at night for his cabbie job, because he spent most of the night following you around, making sure you were safe.

He even kept his secrets to himself, secrets that would have made everything easier for the both of you if only you knew.

It was the middle of the day, and he sighed as he sat down on a bench with a couple of pork carnitas and watched the boats on the water go by. He chain smoked for a while and eventually went back to his car to drive around for a few hours. He didn't catch any sight of you, but he did see Bruce Banner walking with Natasha Romanoff, hand in hand.

That image made him feel smaller. He had that with you, and he just had to go and fuck it up by not being honest with you.

By nightfall, he found himself driving lazily down a strip of cheap motels with bars and pubs across the street. He wanted to keep himself occupied and his mind off of you, so he went looking for fares.

A few hours in, he'd made a good chunk of money. A bunch of college frat boys needed rides up to a dormitory, and that took up most of his time to make three separate trips. He didn't mind. It was a fair and honest rate and they all tipped him quite well. One of them even handed him a bottle of whiskey and a bag of weed, before he stumbled off to his dorm.

Jake was just making a turn down Bleeker street when he noticed a sparkle of orange on the roof. His foot hit the pedal and he sped up to get closer. Once he was close enough, he parked the cab and got out to get a better look.

There on the roof was one of those portals he'd heard so much about. Jake frowned and watched as you leapt on through and set off some lights into the air. A moment later, a black and red Spider-Man was zipping towards the roof from the left, while the white Ghost-Spider came flying down from the right.

Jake's frown grew wider at the sight of that, but he was relieved that he didn't see the large Spider-Man. He was almost going to call you again, but when he checked his messages, he saw that you left him on read.

He sighed and almost gave up. He decided to have another cigarette and a drink from the booze he was given as he waited a few more minutes, before he would consider leaving you alone.

He was half way through his cigarette when a very tall man walked past him while talking to his watch. He was wearing a baseball cap, his hair falling out the sides and hiding his face. He was wearing sunglasses. At night. Jake raised an eyebrow, but the man was fully occupied. Whatever. He wasn't important. It didn't matter anyways, as the guy just dipped into the pizza place and out of sight.

His attention was caught by the OG Spider-Man walking through the portal, and you going back inside. He grumbled about that, hoping you'd come back out soon.

***

It was exactly an hour before the meet up time, and Miguel was patiently waiting in line to make the pizza order. He was getting what he got last time, while you had sent him a list of what everyone else wanted. There was an extra large pepperoni and mushroom for Miles and Gwen, a pesto linguini for the doctor, and two boxes of wings for you and Peter. After he ordered and got the food, he made his way back to the Sanctum.

On his short little walk, he passed by a cabbie faced away from him that was smoking and drinking a rye and coke in a can. The light was off on the cab, and the man looked exhausted as he blankly stared ahead and power smoked what smelled like weed to Miguel. He chuckled and passed by the poor tired man without another thought, without even looking at his face.

It was New York at night after all.

When Miguel arrived at the Sanctum doors, you greeted him and beamed at the food in his arms

"Heya, big guy! Good to see you!" You said while grabbing his arm. With a tug, you went trotting over to the library, Miguel happily following you and enjoying your hand on his bicep. The door closed itself and Miguel noticed, finding it creepy.

"Stephen! The food is here! Can you please open up a portal to the roof, again? His hands are full." You asked the doctor, who had been peacefully doing Sudoku a moment ago. He looked up at you, then at the bags in Miguel's hands, then raised a brow.

"Oh, uh, before we go up, here's your green pasta." Miguel quickly handed the man his take out box. Stephen's mouth just barely curled upwards, showing Miguel that the man was appreciative of the meal.

"Thank you. The others are waiting upstairs." Stephen said as he opened a portal and went right to work unboxing and eating his food with chopsticks that appeared from thin air. When you got through the portal, Miles stood up and pointed.

"That's the guy?!" He was not subtle, nor was he quiet about his shock and clear disdain for seeing Miguel's face.

"Yes, Miles. That's the guy." Gwen said as she grabbed his arm and tugged him back a bit. The young man was furious to see that face.

"Ya got some nerve, Lockley! Showing your face after what you did to her!" Miles hissed. In an instant Gwen had slapped her hand over his mouth and quietly apologized to Miguel. You decided to speak up and explain.

"Miles. This is Miguel O'Hara. This is not Jake Lockley. Yes, they look a lot alike, but this man isn't my ex. He is one of us. Please welcome him."

"Yeah. He's alright." Peter piped up. Miguel gave him a confused looking eyebrow raise at the lack of mentioning the broken arm. Was Peter just going to pretend it didn't happen? Either way, his calmness was bleeding through to Miles, and the young man calmed down enough to sit.

"Miguel will be patrolling with us from now on. I figure having a massive brick wall on the team will help out with all the smaller Spiders we have." Peter continued as he dug into the food.

Okay. So it did look like he wasn't going to mention the arm.

"What powers does he have?" Miles asked.

"Uh, the usual spider stuff. I have super strength, stamina, speed, agility, dexterity, durability… I can jump thirty feet, more if I absolutely have to. I have sharp fangs that secrete a paralyzing toxin…" He opened his mouth and showed Miles his teeth.

"... Oh, and I have retractable claws." He finished as he held his hands up to show his talons. Miles gawked then looked up at Miguel's face.

"What spider bit you? Did you see it?" Miles asked. Miguel's face scrunched up in annoyance.

"Uh… Well, about that… I did this to myself."

"What!?"

"Yeah… I was experimenting with genetics, and I had a sample of some superhuman Spider DNA, then an accident happened at work, and well… This happened. I bulked up over night, got taller, and I could see better… But I now have an intolerance to bright lights." He explained it like it wasn't a big deal. You suspected there was more to it, but you didn't dare ask in front of the others.

You just wanted to get through tonight.

***

"I don't understand. We have business to attend to, my son." A gravelly voice boomed through the silent night.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I have time." Jake's voice replied. The sounds of metal clicked and snapped, and a flame lit the dark alley up once again. His face was visible, a white stick stuck in the corner of his mouth as he puffed away.

"You have exactly seven days. Seven days, and you go back to Egypt, no matter what." The louder voice hissed, while the quieter and calmer man shot a death glare at the other.

"Mierda, get off my back. You know I'll get us back there in time."

"Are you sure? You said that the last time, and Steven woke up in a ditch, covered in blood, when he had just been at work for a double shift." The comment drew a string of silent curses from Jake as he tapped his cigarette.

"That was my mistake. I didn't get back before the sun came up. At least there was a dead deer on the road, so he just assumed he hit it."

"On his bicycle? Really?"

"Whaddya want from me? They still have no idea I exist."

"Uh huh. They also have no idea you've been dicking down a Spider for the last three years, while Marc's been married to Layla for half of that time."

"It doesn't matter. They broke up when she found out about you."

"That's what you think. Marc left of his own accord and he lied to her about me. Steven wants them to go back to her."

"Not gonna happen. I just know if Steven and Marc see my sweet Galaxy-Spider, they'll love her, too. They'll forget all about their Scarlet Scarab."

"What? You think they will just magically forget about their wife?"

"No, but they will choose her over Layla. I am sure of it. Besides, Steven only just found out about Marc and Layla. He's only ever kissed her once." Jake argued as he summoned his suit.

"Jake, my son… Will they not be furious to find out there's another alter, and that he's been in a committed relationship for this long, with absolutely no sign of it? You basically made Marc into a cheating scumbag, without his knowledge, and Steven by association as he's made it clear that he wants Layla."

"It's different. We are different. Different lives-"

"But will she see it that way? What about Layla? She doesn't deserve this shit, and she's Taweret's Avatar now. She is fully aware that Marc has DID." The old bird said simply. Silence permeated the air as Jake power smoked the rest of his cigarette. Khonshu cleared his throat, then continued.

"And what of your precious little star Spider? Do you think she's going to be happy to find out about Layla? Or that she's married to Marc?"

More silence as Jake refused to look at his boss.

"You really think she's just going to jump back into your arms after you left like that?"

"Of course she will, it's a silent understanding."

"Riiight. And this has absolutely nothing to do with that explicit nightmare you had the other night?"

More silence.

"You better keep the dark suit on, then. It's harder to see than your white and black suit." The loud voice rumbled.

Jake didn't reply as he snuffed his smoke out between his gloved fingers and threw the butt away. He straightened his jacket and adjusted his tie while looking at himself in the windshield of the yellow taxi.

"Mierda …" Once satisfied, a dark grey mask slowly materialized onto his face, stitching itself up over his left eye. He slowly removed his hat and threw it inside of the trunk of the cab, then turned to watch the Sanctum.

He saw four different colored lines zip across the sky to a tall building, while multiple blobs of lights were deployed in the sky. Soon after, five colorful shapes were dashing across the horizon. Jake scowled when he saw another, much larger Spider with them. He took a deep breath and set off in a run to follow them in the shadows.

***

The night was going…

Well, it was going.

Between the four of you, you managed to nab a few gangsters each and drop them off at the police station. You had performed nicely, and had even forgotten the fact that Miguel was a new addition to the team. He seemed to understand what you were doing and didn't need to be verbally told.

Miles was eager to show Miguel his own powers, by demonstrating them on the four guys, right before he had caught them, while Miguel watched them drop like electrocuted flies. Gwen wasn't eager to show off at all, and her and Peter had stayed by the group they had already collected. That just left three guys to round up, and you went after them once Miles began to tie up the ones he grabbed.

Miguel was quick to follow you. He waited for your signals, and he followed your nonverbal commands perfectly. When you pointed to two guys trying to make their way through a crowded street where people were leaving from the clubs and bars. They were obviously trying to blend in, and it almost worked, but your eyes spotted them easily, as did Miguel's. Unfortunately you didn't see where the third one went.

You each picked a side of the street, concealing yourselves in the shadows as you followed them to the bus terminal by the club owned by a local gang leader. If they went inside, you would lose them, and then it would be you and Miguel tucking tail and running.

Miguel found an opening and he gave you a look and quick gesture towards the one that was going around the back of the building. You nodded, and he shot off towards the man at a terrifying speed that sent vibrations through the pavement that you could clearly feel.

That left the other guy, now leaving the safety of the crowds at a run. He moved fast for a big and out of shape guy, but you were certain that you could catch him in time. You pulled some orbs of light into existence right in front of the guy to surprise him. He screamed and swerved away from the gang hideout.

Shooting a few webs at his legs, you managed to catch him. Just as the thrill of it hit your veins, you were hit over the back of the head and passed out.

***

Miguel had seen it all happen. He was tasked to take down the one guy, while she was sent to fetch the other. He made quick work of his target, and just as he was coming back around the corner, his target tied and slung over his shoulder while he kicked and squirmed, Miguel witnessed the third man come out of the hideout and run at the other Spider. Miguel dropped the guy in his grip and sped forward.

As quick as he was, he hit the guy, but he missed the trash can lid that flew out of his hands, hitting her directly in the back of the head. He watched in horror as she made a weak sounding sigh and went down like a sack of potatoes.

A blinding rage filled him as he clambered to the man that had caused the blow to her head. The thug skittered back, his face full of terror as Miguel snarled and grabbed him by the leg. With a heavy jerk, he yanked the man towards him and bit him in the leg. The man screamed and kicked at his face.

Miguel let him go, only to watch him stagger a few car lengths away and collapse to the sidewalk. The bite had taken its toll on him, and he was now out cold and twitching. Miguel figured it was safe enough to go check on the Galaxy Spider, but when he went back to the spot she had fallen, she was gone.

Miguel panicked.

If he came back without her, the wizard would certainly be pissed. Not to mention the other Spiders would be just as displeased. Miguel looked around, his eyes darting every which way. A glinting of some sparkles in the alleyway caught his eye, and he was moving towards them with as much stealth as he could muster.

"Shock, this isn't good. My first night on patrol with her, and she gets kidnapped!" Miguel muttered to himself.

"Perhaps you should be careful about this. Approach from the rooftop." Lyla's voice hit his ears and he scaled the wall immediately with his webbing.

Once on the roof, he made his way towards the other end of the alley. He was careful to remain hidden, but in efforts to do so, he couldn't get a good look at who was hauling her away. Every turn they made, he was always just one step behind, just getting a glimpse of the dark silhouette that held a sparkling Spider.

There were a few times he lost sight of them. Lyla couldn't pick up anything from the security cameras in the area, but his nose caught the scent of flowers in the air. He followed the smell. It was paired with whatever scent the man had, which smelled like some sort of designer cologne, mixed with cigarettes, liquor, and blood.

***

Series Masterlist

***

Notes:

I hope you are liking this story so far. Please let me know. Yes, I know I put she/her instead of you at the end. It's from his POV.

***

Special thanks to:

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[leohtttbriar]

a right to your intimacy

Pon Farr awakens vampiric bloodlust in Vulcans--Nyota doesn't find this erotic, at all. Written for trektober: Day 28 monster of the week

By the time they made it to Vulcan, Spock had tried to suck nearly half the crew dry and McCoy managed to lure Spock into the brig and lock him behind the reinforced shields while he raved and spit and otherwise made a nuisance of himself. 

“Let me out, Jim,” he had said, as if he wasn’t covered in three different people’s blood. 

“Do you think he understands ‘No,’ at this point, or is the vampiric lust addling his language functions,” said Nyota. 

“I think he’s completely nuts,” said McCoy rubbing his hand over his neck in the exact spot Spock had almost bitten him. “But he needs help.”

Spock launched himself at the brig walls. 

It was possible the shields weren’t going to hold with the way he was expressing his profound rage at not being able to sip at McCoy's arteries.

Nyota and McCoy (being the most well-spoken and the most "medical-professional" of the crew) were sent to greet T’Pring as she was beamed aboard—the woman Spock had called before the blood-hunger had officially taken the driver’s seat. She was tall and imperious but that could’ve just been Nyota projecting, who was feeling rather short and helpless in that particular moment. 

“Where is he?” asked T’Pring. 

“In the brig, ma’am,” said McCoy, like the polite, southern weirdo he was. 

Then, as they were exiting the turbo lift on the security deck, the alarms blared and Chekov’s tinny voice echoed from the speakers: He got out! Run for your lives!

“Why couldn’t Spock have attacked him instead of Sulu,” said McCoy. 

“I like it,” said Nyota, pinching her fingers and pulling the corners of her lips down, dramatically. “It adds a certain… je nais se quois.”

“Did you just say something in French?” asked McCoy. “You looked like a French chef for a second there.”

“I would never say something in French,” lied Nyota. “Or English. You know that.”

“I believe Spock is coming this way,” said T’Pring. She pushed in front of Nyota and McCoy and shifted into a defensive posture, fangs coming out. “Stay behind me.”

A loud noise, like an elephant tripping on a basketball court, emerged from down the corridor, and then suddenly there was Spock with fresh blood on his face and shirt and hands. 

“Oh hell, I hope he didn’t kill Jim,” said McCoy. 

Then Spock was on them. 

Or, really, on T’Pring, who was really on Spock, if one was doing the math right. He leaped at them all, claws out, hissing, and T’Pring snatched him out of the air and threw him to the ground. 

They fought viciously, green blood splattering, clothes ripping, snarling, growling, yowling, and everything else that was violent and gruesome and decidedly bad. 

“Should we run?” muttered McCoy, watching anxiously as T’Pring locked her thighs around Spock’s torso from underneath him and tugged on his hair.

“That might make it worse,” said Nyota, who was also staring at T’Pring’s thighs. “Might trigger his predatory instincts.”

“I think that’s bears,” said McCoy. 

Then Spock, strong from the feast of at least four different people now, threw T’Pring off him, and slashed out with his fingers, catching Nyota on the arm and then yanking McCoy to him and sinking his teeth into his neck with a fairly inappropriate groan. 

T’Pring leapt to her feet, pinched his neck, and he dropped. 

McCoy swayed on his feet. “Whoa nelly.”

T’Pring hoisted Spock onto her shoulders and said, “I have brought Vulcan strength restraints. Where is sickbay? We can begin the transfusion now.”

After McCoy had transported the thoroughly fainted Captain to sickbay and then got Spock set up in his specialized handcuffs with a steady supply of T'Pring's Vulcan-blood juice on a drip, he sat himself down in a chair to watch his sickbay of blood-deficient patients recover while he snacked on a packet of chocolate chip cookies. 

Nyota led T’Pring to the mess hall, figuring the least they could do was thank her with an inadequate, replicated meal. 

Just before they reached the hall, however, T’Pring stopped Nyota with a cold hand on her arm. 

“You are bleeding,” she said, gesturing to where Spock had snagged Nyota in the flesh of her bicep. 

“Oh yeah,” said Nyota, ripping the fabric away on her sleeve to reveal the gashes. “That’s annoying.”

T’Pring said, “May I?” Which should have been enough to clue Nyota in to what she was about to do, but, as it turned out, it was not. 

Nyota said, “Sure,” and then T’Pring was pressing her to the bulkhead and laying her mouth on Nyota’s bleeding skin. 

Nyota gasped as T’Pring licked up and down the wounds, careful and detail-oriented and definitely too sensual for Nyota’s state of mind. A tingling started as T’Pring’s saliva dried and Nyota watched in astonishment as the gashes sealed and healed like they were years old instead of minutes. 

T’Pring stepped away and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Nyota said, “On second thought, I have food in my quarters.”

It clearly did not occur to T’Pring that Nyota had meant herself until they had reached a place behind closed doors and Nyota was pulling T’Pring’s teeth onto her neck, saying, “Plenty to spare.”

But, of course, T'Pring responded logically. 

[denimbex1986]

'David Tennant will front a BBC4 documentary delving into classic Doctor Who ahead of the sci-fi's 60th anniversary.

Talking Doctor Who will see Tennant, who played the Tenth Doctor and who is now returning as the Fourteenth Doctor for the upcoming 60th anniversary specials, travel back through the BBC archives to tell the story of the classic era of Doctor Who.

The documentary will also include archive interviews from past Doctors, including the late William Hartnell, who played the First Doctor, through to Sylvester McCoy, who played the Seventh Doctor.

Tennant will also share some insights into what it's like to be the Time Lord and how his experiences compare to his predecessors.

The hour-long programme is set to air on Wednesday 1st November.

It was recently revealed that much of Doctor Who's classic series will be coming to BBC iPlayer for the first time in celebration of the show's 60th anniversary.

More than 800 episodes will be available on iPlayer from 1st November - however, the BBC recently confirmed that the back catalogue won't include the very first story, An Unearthly Child, due to a rights issue.

A spokesperson for the BBC said: "This massive iPlayer back catalogue will be home to over 800 hours of Doctor Who content, making it the biggest ever collection of Doctor Who programming in one place but will not include the first four episodes as we do not have all the rights to those."

Returning showrunner Russell T Davies had previously said: "I'd like to thank the BBC for all the hard work to get this massive back catalogue under one roof, at long last.

"I'm so excited for new viewers – imagine being eight years old, spending winter afternoons exploring the '60s, '70s, '80s and beyond. And we're determined this won't be a dusty museum – we have exciting plans to bring the back catalogue to life, with much more to be revealed!"'

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 3) Chapter Twelve

TOS! Spock x Empath! Reader

Chapter Twelve: Anger Beginning

Summary: The Enterprise encounters Klingons, and tensions run unusually high.

            Captain’s Log: A distress call from a human colony on Beta XII-A was picked up by the Enterprise. A landing party has beamed down to investigate further, and we remain on alert due to the claims of being attacked.

            (Y/N), Kirk, Chekov, Bones, and a security officer materialized on the planet surface and held their phasers tightly.

            “Report, Mr. Chekov,” said Kirk as they carefully surveyed the territory.

            “Full scan, results negative,” said Chekov. “Radiation level normal. Atmosphere and terrain undisturbed. No evidence of a colony, nor any residual after-effect of a force that might have annihilated.”

            “Life readings, Dr. McCoy?” asked Kirk.

            “Nothing,” said Bones. “But they said they were being attacked by an unidentified ship.”

            “Which we were unable to detect upon approach,” said Chekov.

            “An entire human colony, a whole settlement…Who did it, and why?” murmured Kirk angrily. His communicator beeped, and he answered it instantly. “Kirk here.”

            “Spock here, Captain,” said Spock. “Sensors have picked up a Klingon ship closing fast.”

            “Deflectors on. Condition Red,” said Kirk. “Protect yourselves. Total reply if attacked.” He scowled. “So that’s the answer: Klingons.”

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Captain, there is no evidence of anything, yet. We should remain neutral so we don’t initiate any issues.” They didn’t particularly like the Klingons (after all, the ones they had met had been pretty rude), but they were a negotiations officer. They were there for diplomacy.

            “Captain, the enemy ship is drifting, totally disabled, and we never fired upon her,” reported Spock.

            (Y/N) furrowed their brow before a sudden sensation stole their attention. A collection of new emotional auras appeared, vibrating with anger and aggression. “Captain!” they said in alarm, and the moment after they spoke, a landing party of Klingons rounded a boulder.

            One officer walked up and went to strike Kirk, but (Y/N) stepped in front and blocked him. He pushed them back and glared, and his anger burned around (Y/N).

            “You attacked my ship,” he spat, glaring at Kirk. “Four hundred of my crew, dead. Kirk, my ship is disabled. I claim yours. You are now prisoners of the Klingon Empire, against which you’ve committed a wanton act of war.”

            (Y/N) blinked and raised an eyebrow. Now this was a strange development. The situation didn’t make sense at all. And as the anger of the Klingons and the tension wavering around (Y/N)’s friends, they knew they would have to tread carefully to keep war from breaking out.

            They stepped back alongside their friends as the Klingons pulled their weapons and circled around them. The Captain of the Klingons began pacing in front of them.

            “Three years the Federation and the Klingon Empire have been at peace—a treaty, we have honored to the letter,” said the captain.

            “We took no action against your ship, Kang,” replied Kirk curtly.

            “Were the screams of my crew imaginary?” snapped Kang. “What were your orders, Kirk? To start a war? You’ve succeeded!”

            (Y/N) winced as the anger from their friends and the Klingons spiked. It was like there every emotion was heightened.

            “To test a weapon? We shall be happy to examine in,” said Kang.

            “There was a Federation colony on this planet!” snapped Kirk. “It was destroyed!”

            “By what?” sneered Kang. “No bodies. No ruins. A colony of the invisible?”

            “Yes.” Kirk glared. “A test of a new Klingon weapon leaving no traces? Federation ships don’t specialize in sneak attacks.”

            “Captain Kirk, Captain Kang, neither of you has proof the other has done anything. This seems to be a misunderstanding. Let’s try to talk before either of you does something you’ll regret,” said (Y/N), interjecting firmly.

            Kang tsked. “Of course, the Celian among you is trying to twist the situation to benefit you. Such a soft species ready at your beck and call. Pathetic.”

            (Y/N) kept their face expressionless, but they frowned inwardly. Every word seemed to irritate the Klingons, and the anger was a constant cloud around them. Though, (Y/N) was glad their appearance wasn’t brought up like it had been Kolax.

            “He lured my ship into an ambush by a false Klingon distress call. You all will tell us why, with proper persuasion,” declared Kang.

            “You received a distress call?” spat Kirk. “We received a distress call!”

            (Y/N) was growing frustrated with the lack of logic coming from all of them. None of them were stupid. They should know that this was all quite strange and there was something more to the situation.

            “I don’t propose to spend the rest of my life on this ball of dust arguing your fantasies!” shouted Kang. “The Enterprise is mine.”

            “Captains, please—”

            “No,” Kang cut them off. “I’ve heard enough of you Federation scum. Captain Kirk, you will instruct your Transporter Room to beam us aboard.”

            “Go to the devil,” responded Kirk promptly.

            “We have no devil, Kirk…” drawled Kang. “But we understand the habits of yours.” He paced before them like a predator eyeing its prey. “I shall torture you to death…one by one…until your noble Captain cries enough.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed, and Kang’s anger burned at them, but the fear of their friends pricked at their skin in an ugly mixture.

            “Who will be first?” questioned Kang, anger intensifying as he glared at the group.

            It’s almost unnatural, thought (Y/N). I know the temper of Klingons, but this is ridiculous. They opened their mouth to speak, to volunteer themself since even if their friends were being foolish and blinded by anger, they refused to let them get hurt, but Chekov broke from the group first.

            “Cossacks! Filthy Klingon murderer!” He ran at Kang, and even Kirk tried to stop him, but he broke away. Two Klingons grabbed Chekov and shoved him to the ground, but the Russian glared at them, anger flaring up into flames of emotion. “You killed my brother, Piotr! The Archanis IV research outpost, a hundred peaceful people massacred! Just like you did here! My brother…You killed my brother!”

            (Y/N) blinked in surprise, stepping back from the fire of his anger. They had never seen such intense fury, and the knowledge that Chekov had been hiding such a fact was unexpected.

            “So you volunteer to join him,” said Kang coldly. “That is loyalty.”

            Another Klingon pressed a device to Chekov’s cheek, and the Starfleet officer screamed in agony as it buzzed. (Y/N) and Kirk pulled against the Klingons holding them back, unable to just stand there and listen to Chekov’s cries.

            “Stop the torture!” cried Kirk, and through the haze of anger whirling around them all, worry broke through, stronger than anything else. Kirk wanted his friends safe and well. That was more important than his anger.

            Satisfied, Kang nodded to his officer, and the Klingon released Chekov.

            “Jim, you can’t hand over the Enterprise,” said Bones urgently.

            “Help Chekov,” ordered Kirk, not responding to the comment.

            “Don’t plan any tricks, Kirk,” warned Kang. “I will kill one hundred hostages at the first sign of treachery.”

            “I’ll beam you aboard the Enterprise,” said Kirk. “Once there—no tricks.”

            Kang searched his face for evidence of lies before nodding, and his officers let go of Kirk’s arms. Kang handed the communicator over, and Kirk sullenly flipped it open.

            “Captain, you can’t,” said Chekov. “Don’t let these animals have the ship.” Beside him, Bones kept the Klingons away as he checked his state.

            “Animals?” Kang scoffed. “Your Captain crawls like one. A Klingon would never have surrendered. Order everybody in this area to be transported up.” He nodded to his people. “All weapons on him.”

            “Kirk to Enterprise,” said Kirk. “Mr. Spock.”

            “Here, Captain,” said Spock.

            “Mr. Spock, we have guests,” said Kirk distastefully. “Adjust transporter for wider field. Beam up everyone in the target area.” He lowered the communicator and subtly pressed a button to alert Spock to the dangerous situation.

            “Understood, Captain,” said Spock. He would handle everything. (And be extra careful since (Y/N) was on the planet surface and in danger as well).

            The group on the planet straightened, and a few seconds later, the transporter beam caught them, and they dematerialized.

l

            The Starfleet officers rematerialized in the Transporter Room first.

            “Call Security, on the double,” said Kirk instantly to Scotty while Spock walked into the room, his eyes instantly on (Y/N) to check on them.

            (Y/N) nodded to him to show they were alright, and he redirected to his job.

            “Good work, Spock,” said Kirk.

            “What happened?” asked Bones in confusion.

            “The landing party is intact, Doctor. All others are suspended in transit,” said Spock.

            “Who are the guests, by the way?” asked Scotty.

            “Klingons,” said (Y/N).

            “In transit?” Scotty’s eyes widened.

            “Well, they’re right in there,” said Kirk. “Johnson?”

            The security officer nodded. “Security men on the way, sir.”

            “Captain, leave them where they are—non-existence,” argued Chekov. “That’s so many less Klingon monsters in the galaxy.”

            (Y/N) blinked. Leaving the Klingons’ presence hadn’t abated the anger within the group. It was as present as ever.

            Before anyone could respond, Johnson’s reinforcements arrived with phasers at the ready.

            “Bring them in,” said Kirk to Scotty.

            He obeyed, and the bodies of the Klingons rematerialized. Before they had a chance to attack, the security officers ran up and grabbed their weapons, leaving the Klingons defenseless.

            “Move ‘em out. Move,” said the officers, ushering the Klingons away.

            “Liar!” spat Kang, glaring at Kirk.

            “I said no tricks after we reach the ship,” retorted Kirk. “You’re a prisoner of the Federation of Planets—against which you may or may not be guilty have committed an act of war.”

            “There are still survivors aboard my ship,” said Kang.

            “Captain, we’ve not been able to get through to Starfleet Command,” interjected Scotty. “All subspace frequencies have been blocked, and there’s too much radiation coming from that Klingon ship. It’s a hazard to the vicinity.”

            “Prepare to destruct,” said Kirk.

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they shared a look with Spock. That was a sudden decision that could prompt war.

            “Captain, perhaps you’d like to consider the people still aboard?” said (Y/N).

            “Yes, of course,” said Kirk, shaking his head like (Y/N) had shaken him from his mind. “Start beaming them over beforehand.”

            (Y/N) relaxed. So at least Kirk still had half a mind.

            “First group from the Klingon vessel, Captain,” said Spock. They materialized, and security officers escorted them out. One, however, quickly moved to Kang’s side.

            Kang nodded to the woman. “My wife and Science Officer, Mara.”

            “Kang, what has happened?” questioned Mara.

            “More Federation treachery,” he snapped. “We are prisoners.”

            “What will they do to us?” asked Mara, eyeing them suspiciously. “I have heard of their atrocities. They will torture us for our scientific and military information.”

            “We will not harm you,” said (Y/N). Unlike most of the speakers, they still had a calm, level voice. They nodded to the security officers. “They are taking you to a crew lounge with a synthesizer for food. You will be treated well.”

            (Y/N) wouldn’t harm people for no reason, and they were there to keep diplomatic relationships as non-tense as possible (which was failing horribly at the moment). They wouldn’t send the Klingons to be harmed. Not when they suspected something strange was going on, some sort of misunderstanding between both parties.

            “Tch.” Kang glared, but Mara tilted her head and legitimately considered (Y/N)’s words. Then, the security officers pushed them out of the room, and the Starfleet officers were left alone.

            “Secure from Red Alert,” said Kirk as they headed out themselves. “But maintain general quarters. Scan this sector for other ships. Run a full check on the colony. I want this thing nailed down fast.”

            “We know what happened!” snapped Chekov with red-hot anger. “That distress call.”

            Spock, cutting of Chekov’s rage, spoke. “At the moment we received the distress call from the colony on Beta XII-A, the Klingons were too far distant to have been the attackers. Moreover, they were apparently also attracted by a distress call.”

            (Y/N) gazed fondly at Spock. At least someone here still had their head on their shoulders instead of being angry all the time and was noticing something unusual was happening.

            “Lies,” said Chekov as they stepped into the elevator. “They want to start a war by pretending that we did.”

            “Chekov may be right,” said Bones. “The Klingons claim to have honored the truce, but there have been incidents, raids on our outposts.

            Not Bones, too, thought (Y/N), frowning as the doctor’s irritation turned to a warm haze, a few pushes from anger.

            “No proof that the Klingons committed it,” said Kirk.

            (Y/N) nodded. They needed to keep their head on properly and understand that nothing was certain here. “Yes. We cannot risk jumping to conclusions without proof.”

            “What proof do we need?” muttered Bones. “We know what a Klingon is.” The elevator doors opened, and he got off at his floor.

            After an awkward pause, Spock spoke again. “Our log tapes will indicate our innocence in the present situation.”

            “Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee that they’ll be believed,” sighed (Y/N). The doors opened to the Bridge, and they walked out.

            “Report, Sulu,” said Kirk.

            “Still no contact from Starfleet Command, sir,” replied Sulu. “Outside communications blanketed.”

            “Keep trying. We’ve got a diplomatic tiger by the tail,” said Kirk.

            “Transporter Room to Bridge,” said Scotty over the comms. “Klingon ship is vacated, sir.”

            “Very good, Scotty. Mr. Sulu?” said Kirk.

            “Forward phasers locked and ready to fire, sir,” said Sulu.

            “Fire phaser,” commanded Kirk.

            Sulu fired, and the phasers destroyed the remains of the Klingon ship.

            “Sensor sweeps reveal no other ships within range, Captain,” reported Spock.

            “Lieutenant (L/N)?” asked Kirk.

            “Still no contact with Starfleet Command,” said (Y/N), scanning the radio frequencies.

            “Mr. Sulu, change course to 17 mark 4, warp factor 3,” said Kirk.

            "Warp factor 3, sir,” confirmed Sulu as the Enterprise began moving.

            (Y/N) frowned as they kept trying to contact Starfleet. Even though the radiation interference was gone, they weren’t getting a response. “Captain,” they called, and Kirk turned around in his seat. “This doesn’t make any sense. Carriers are completely normal, and the channels are open, but there’s still no outside contact. I have no explanation for it.”

            “Could the Klingons be doing something?” asked Kirk.

            (Y/N) went to shake their head, but the Bridge shook suddenly and cut off the conversation. Spock reached out to steady (Y/N) at the same moment they reached out to him.

            “Sulu?” called Kirk, holding onto his seat as the Enterprise swerved.

            “Change of course. Accelerating,” reported Sulu. “Helm dead. Auxiliary navigation dead.”

            “Override,” said Kirk, reaching out to the controls. Nothing changed.

            “Nothing responds, Captain,” said Sulu.

            “Scotty, stop all engines!” called Kirk.

            “I would if I could, sir,” said Scotty. “But the controls have gone crazy. Something’s taking over. The engines have gone to warp 9! By themselves!”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they held onto Spock’s arm a little tighter.

            “New course?” questioned Kirk.

            “902 mark 5,” said Sulu.

            (Y/N) and Spock’s heads snapped to one another. That would take them out of the galaxy.

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[gun-chucks]

highlights of the star trek comic from 1994 i got at an antique store

very cool cover i want it on a tshirt

TWO COMICS!! i didnt realize it was a special edition

the second comic had a really good colorist/separator- the only criticism i have is that they made sulu a bit too yellow on one of the pages but otherwise pretty solid

theres a nine inch nails the downward spiral ad on the inner front cover. it is the FIRST thing you see.

BLAISE OF GLORY - 1994

immediately following that ad is a comic where kirk fucks and its implied hes got a micropenis

bones implying kirk is married to the enterprise after kirk goes on a hopeless romanic rant

SAAVIK IS HERE

uhura tells rj blaise [kirks love intrests] to look at her hips and blaise goes "im dazzled beyond my ability to speak"

blaise is nonstop is calling kirk out on his mysogyny, his ego, etc, basically calling him a pompous ass: "What do you think you're proving here, huh? That you know better than me? That you're going to rescue the brainless woman from her own problems? Is that it? That is so typical of you!"

also that hes a bad fuck

the problem is resolved because the antagonist is completely fed up with kirk and blaise's bitching and moaning

rj stands for RASPBERRY JAM. HER NAME IS RASPBERRY JAM BLAISE.

some frames i liked

overall 3.3/5, its silly and makes fun of kirk relentlessly

THE NEEDS OF THE ONE - 1994

KOHLINAR SPOCK..... i love his emo haircut

takes place on vulcan pre whales in 4. so naturally its gonna be good.

sulu is also slaying in his suit from 3/4

kirk telling his personal log he understands why sarek doesnt want spock to leave vulcan again by saying "i understood that hollow feeling too well"

mister spock is climbing a mountain why is he climbing a mountain

I-CHAYA MENTIONED

bc of the former spock has another naked time moment where he says "This.... emotion is unworthy! I must be in control."

amanda talks abt how spock had a reckless streak as a kid and they thought he fucking DIED because of how long hed been GONE.

kirk sees a scrap of fabric from spocks robe and says "...my heart fell"

AMOK TIME MENTIONED. SPOCK RELIVES THE EVENTS OF AMOK TIME AND ALMOST KILLS KIRK AGAIN. like he fully starts choking kirk while reliving the memory

bones and scotty getting drunk off klingon jet fuel. im not kidding.

spock saying "There appears to be a moment of great trauma in my life after which my memories are... unreliable." like yeah me too LMAO

bones starts telling amanda abt spocks brain. leonard mccoy tells spocks MOTHER his BRAIN was TAKEN BY ALIENS for a brief period. shes gonna think abt that for weeks

frames i liked [yes ik the last one is a whole page ITS A GOOD PAGE]

overall 4.4/5. u know i love spock and having added context to the voyage home is fun

thank u for listening to my rambles ok goodnight

[positivelybeastly]

Mancation: maiming; mutilation / Sinister

"Make the incision, McCoy."

There was a pregnant shine of a scalpel, the movement of an oversized hand, the twitch of fingers . . . and then . . . moments passed.

A sigh.

"I said, make the incision, McCoy."

There was a momentary wobble of a finger, a halting breath - before the scalpel moved, the gleaming stainless steel tip pressing to warm, unmoving flesh, unzipping the thin layer of - in front of the - that covered the, sternum, that . . .

Blood.

A clatter, a turn of a stomach. And then warm, pale fingers on the back of his neck, and Henry went stiff, feeling the familiar touch of his - mentor's hand on the so very human looking flesh of his neck.

"You don't want to disappoint me, do you, Henry?"

The shake of a head.

"So why do you persist in doing so, boy?"

The bob of an Adam's apple, and the garish homunculus that once was, still called itself, Nathaniel Essex, let out another sigh.

"You're fifteen years old, Henry. You're more than old enough to do this now. It isn't even a mutant you're working on yet, this is just a flatscan. They aren't people. You know that. You've seen the research we've done on them, we know that they don't feel pain the same way that we do."

Did they? Did they know that?

"There are thousands of mutants who would kill to be in the position you're in now, boy. Thousands of people with lesser intellects but greater wills to do what must be done, and they're all just sitting, waiting, for the chance that you keep squandering. How long do you think I shall wait? How many chances do you think I'll give you?"

He was quiet. The boy couldn't normally shut up when he was cloistered with his books and his research journals, but the instant it came time to do some actual damned work, he was quiet? The human spine of him was so very disgusting.

". . . I had high hopes for you. I selected you personally."

There was - a vague memory. Henry wasn't sure if it was blanketed out by some kind of mental alteration, by what he knew to be a young mind's inability to form long term memories the same way a fully formed one did, or if it was just . . . fear.

A fear of half-remembered warmth that had turned so very cold so very quickly. He remembered . . . sitting on the floor, it had been a wood floor, next to a fireplace, he couldn't have been more than - four, maybe five. Very young. Very very young. He could remember hushed, frightened voices, a man and a woman, talking about getting out of America, about leaving the farm behind and just going.

He could remember not liking that idea. Of wanting to stay on the farm, with its strings of golden corn and rich, brown earth, with its never-ending horizon and all the things he could swing from - it was a playground to him.

Everything gleamed, sparkled, it had such lustre, it begged to be looked at, turned over, investigated, prodded, poked. He'd had a field day when he discovered worms liked mud, he'd just sat there watching them for hours until his . . . someone, had found him, told him off, cleaned him up. Held his jaw and smiled, telling him that she wasn't upset, that she just wanted to make sure he was all right, that he could tell her all about what the worms had done over dinner.

Dinner had been burbling away when the knock at the door had come. The low tones and the panicked, assertive whisper-shouts of two people who knew their time was running out had ceased, replaced with silence. Just the burbling of a pot.

The swing of a door. A shadow in the doorway. A voice.

His voice.

Every time he tried to remember past that point, it got hazy. Complicated. Like a knot of hair that had been left to scraggle around itself for months, tangled so tight it was impossible to unwind, fit only to be cut out and regrown healthy. Untangled. Uncomplicated.

"I have raised you, taken a special interest in your education, in your growth, in your being. You would be lesser without me, you know that, don't you?"

In his mind, Henry pulled at that tangle, and it bled. He could remember - smoke, coagulating in his lungs, choking him. He could remember a sweet smell even through the salt of tears, blood soaked wood, and then pale. White. Pale white with a little red diamond.

"You insult me with your silence, Henry, but that's fine. It's the burden of a father to be disappointed by his son. You have one week. If I return to this lab and you do not have results for me, you'll be released from your service and you can make do out there."

There was an instinctive chill at the mention of out there. A tensing, a revulsion, a creeping horror at the knowledge that the world was not as it should be and there was nothing anyone could do to make it the way it should be.

Footsteps. The door. And then, as if like magic, the air returned to the room.

Henry breathed and pulled back, his hands shaking as he looked down at the tiny incision he'd made, barely a cut, really, but even just that speck of blood had made him want to retch. An invisible hand reached over the back of his and squeezed, directed him to grab a surgical cloth and clean, apply pressure, stop the bleeding.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He pulled away the instant he could, moved to the sink, refused to look in the mirror for as long as he could. Why hadn't he been able to do it? He'd been taught the correct method, he had studied all the surgical manuals, it should have been easy, he had hands that could, that could disassemble and reassemble a pulse particle rifle in twenty seconds, that could detect the vibrations from the music three floors down if he pressed his palm to the walls, his hands never shook, but the instant he'd . . .

He looked up, in the mirror, and winced. He was pale. Sweaty, weak, white as a sheet, god, he was disgusting. Why was this the hand that his X-gene had dealt him? Why did he have to look so basely human? Why did he have to look so degenerate, so much lesser? Why couldn't he have been one of the lucky ones?

His mutant gift was concentrated in hands that couldn't do the work he had been given. What cruel irony was this?

*

"Have you read the Lord Apocalypse's latest treatise, McCoy?"

Henry's eyes flicked up from the food he'd been pushing around on his plate with a blunted knife, regarding Kavita with a cool, cautious eye. She was a human, but - she was all right, by most standards. Allowed to work with the other mutant scientists by virtue of her intelligence and her willingness to work in the ways that Henry found so hard, she was probably a front runner for his replacement if he continued to falter.

For a moment, he considered plunging the knife into her throat, just on the off chance that happened.

"What? No. No, I have not, I've been - busy."

Busy being not busy. Busy staring at the drugged subject on his lab table, trying to work up the nerve to carve them open and nourish himself with the information that was hidden inside. Busy trying to be someone he wasn't.

"Too busy to read the Lord's latest treatise . . ? That doesn't sound like you."

He scowled.

"If you wish to continue to be enigmatic, Rao, you can leave. I'm in no mood to entertain you today."

Kavita rolled her eyes, knowing better than almost anyone that Henry was just in one of his moods, and though she elected to leave, as he'd suggested, she did, nonetheless, slide over a pamphlet - a slim one, by Apocalypse's standards, but that usually boded well. That usually meant less philosophy, more science.

'The Awakening of Mutancy - Secondary Mutation.'

"I think you'll find it an interesting read. It's still just theory, for the most part, but Apocalypse truly believes that there's potential in it."

*

Henry devoured it. From the first word to the last, it was seared into his brain, because in amongst the quasi-religious, gallingly obvious propaganda about the purity of the mutant form, there was science here - there was theory, there was data, there was hypothesis, there was . . . promise. Unfulfilled, as of yet, but it was there.

X-gene manifestation at puberty as a result of a cocktail of hormones, adrenaline, acetylcholine, forming a brand new hormone that had yet to be isolated, but that was theorised to be the root cause of mutant gifts. A hormone. Fascinating. Chemical instructions, chemical blueprints for a new form that catalysed the unique genetic markers, pulled something new out of the code, a form of alchemy, really.

Fascinating.

Fascinating.

*

"Rao, I assure you, Essex knows the specifics of this project, and it's to him, and him alone, that I'm responsible. Now, if you'll excuse me, this cell diagram has to be programmed immediately. And to do that, I'll need absolute concentration. Which means, I'm afraid, you'll have to leave."

There was a moment of pregnant silence as Kavita took Henry McCoy in, took in the frantic, manic little man as he all but raced from table to table, from station to station, before she spoke.

"Henry, this is . . . you only have three more days before Essex returns, and you haven't even begun to do the work that he's asked you to do. Are you sure you should be wasting time on this?"

"It's not a waste of time. You don't understand."

The short, clipped tone made Kavita feel as though she were staring at Henry through a funhouse mirror - he was still unmistakably himself, still that same too intense fifteen year old with a mop of brown hair, but there was a look in his eyes that was . . . impulsive. Propulsive. Determined. Worrying.

"I almost wish I hadn't given you that pamphlet now, it's clear that I set you down a path for fai - "

In an instant, he was upon her, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her against the nearest wall. Her head bounced and she groaned in pain, but even though she could see a flicker of remorse in those searing blue eyes, it didn't stop him for even a second.

"I. Will not. Fail. I can't fail. It's impossible. I'm too smart to fail. I just need time, to focus, and I don't need wittering little humans with their fragile little four chambered hearts and their shrunken brains to talk to me as if they know me."

Kavita swallowed.

"Henry, your heart is - "

"Six chambered. Just because I look like you, just because I look like a genetic mistake, doesn't mean I am. What matters, is what is in here - " He tapped fervently at his temple and his heart. " - and that is mutant." He released her, stepping back, breathing deeply, and she rubbed at the back of her head.

". . . You've done me a service, Kavita. That pamphlet was the key. But you are, in the end, only human. Don't forget that. No-one will ever let you."

He turned, and she watched him stalk over to the cell diagram once more.

"I hope - I hope that this brings you what you want, Henry. I hope, more than anything, that what you want, is what will make you happy."

*

Perhaps you should have listened to her, Henry. Instead of focusing on the genetic extractor you were developing, perhaps it might have saved you.

"There - it's done. I've finally diluted the precipitate. This . . . this is the hormonal extract, the chemical cause of mutation. With this solution, we'll be able to extend the natural chromosonal imbalances - in effect, to turn any man into a mutant."

You swallowed, Henry. You could feel, on some level, that this was a moment that would define you. What might other Henry McCoys have done? Put the extract down, throw it in the trash? Accept failure? Accept defeat? Accept the human face that stares at you from the mirror?

Not you, though.

The fear. The sheer, unbridled terror that's sat in your gut since that day so many years ago. The low, dull throb of anxiety that pulses like a second heart inside of you. The crippling, choking shadow of a hand around your throat, and something wet coagulating on your face.

The fear is what makes the decision. Not you. But then, what is a man but the sum of his fears? What is a man but the totality of the roads not taken? What is a man, if not what he'll do to avoid failure?

"Don't know what will happen if you mutate a mutant . . . but I've got to take the chance. I've got to."

That wasn't precisely the truth, was it, Henry McCoy? You didn't have to. But the fear that's driven you since you were five years old and newly adopted by a thing not of this earth told you differently, and you took the hormonal extract, and . . .

You changed.

Blinding, searing pain - for a moment, you thought you might have swallowed acid. You bent over, clutched at your stomach, and for that long moment, you thought, this is what it means to die. But that was when you understood.

It's all right to die. Resurrection, reformation, rebirth, re-emergence, resurgence, is what separates the man from the mutant, after all.

And resurrected you were. Your skin burst, the flesh separating from the muscle as the soft cells of a human burned away, to be replaced. Your nails surged forward, blood bubbling up around the cuticle as the digits swelled and everything about you grew. You screamed as that hole inside of you was suddenly filled to overflowing, as newfound strength thrummed through you, new life, new power, new you.

It's all right to die, isn't it, Henry? Nothing of value inside of you was lost. Not truly. Some other Henry McCoy might see this as a curse, but you . . . ahhh.

You were blessed.

*

"Well now, Henry, young Doctor Rao here tells me that you've been quite the busy bee - I do so hope that you've applied yourself to - "

Essex stopped.

The broad back that worked and flowed and tensed and relaxed before him was covered in a thick layer of harsh black fur. Heavy strands of hair were braided, hung low with beads. There was a glimpse of a hand, twisted into cruel, shimmering claws and grabbing, eager fingers, and Kavita brought her palm up to her mouth. She spoke through her fingers, taking it all in.

"What is all this?"

The voice that answered was deep, sonorous. There was a rumble to it that wasn't quite human. An edge to it that wasn't quite all there, or, maybe it was. It sounded so very sure.

"It's science."

Essex's voice was dubious.

"Science. How delightfully vague, Henry. What have you been doing? I hope for your sake it's been what I told you to do."

Henry - or, whatever it was that had assumed Henry's shape - turned around, and Kavita wanted to scream. Essex, even, started.

A mouth twisted with glee at their reactions.

"Why, Kavita, Nathaniel, you look as though you've seen a ghost. But then, perhaps that's accurate."

He stepped aside, revealing the body flayed open, pinioned with steel rods, the flesh taut like canvas, organs conspicuous by their absence. There had been no mercy, no invisible hands, no memory here. Just efficiency. Just good, honest science.

"After all, a ghost is nothing more than a memory, a memory of who we once were, before we become what we must."

The thing laughed, and Sinister laughed with it - delighted. Proud.

"And what am I to call my young protege, now that he's become what he was always meant to be?"

It was almost affectionate, the way Sinister's tongue curled around the words, and Kavita could see the creature revel in them. He didn't have to think twice.

"Beast. Call me Beast."

[charlemane]

thinking about the purring vulcan fanon and spones...

spock recuperating from whatever in the med bay and OFC he would never ever do anything as UNDIGNIFIED as PURRING in front of his CHIEF MEDICAL OFFICER

at least not while he's conscious

but he's drifting off in this half-sleep state and despite everything, on a bone-deep level he knows that he is safe here, and he is cared for, and he is among people he cares about

and then he wakes up and bones is just? staring at him? and bones, having no sufficient medical texts about human-vulcan hybridology, which isn't even a THING except for this one guy, is like. are you broken. were you having a special vulcan continuous micro-seizure. what the fuck was that.

and spock, being a BITCH ASS LIAR, is like "well, doctor, vulcan anatomy is especially evolved with a stress response that has served to help us keep ourselves clean of the sand of our desert planet by emanating low vibrations through our bodies. i am surprised that it was triggered in this instance, but it must be because being in this medbay with you is approximately as unpleasant as being stuck in a sandstorm on the planet vulcan"

later mccoy gets the whole story from m'benga and laughs for two weeks straight

[thetruemek]

"𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝕹𝖊𝖜 𝕭𝖔𝖘𝖘 𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕳𝖊𝖑𝖑" has updated!!!

61. Sleepwalk

Goldheart was a simple man. A simple hero. By his principles at least. He wanted only one thing: that evil ceased to exist. Nothing more, noting less. Simple, right? Precise, to the point, definitive…

But evil had so many twisted angles! Each aspect of the human psyche could be corrupted, had the potential for unspeakable, abhorrent, disgusting deeds of evil, even those close to you, and don’t get him started on the topic of monsters – so as simple as his goal might be, the means to maybe someday achieve it certainly weren’t.

However, now it would seem that he had made a breakthrough in his crusade. If the intel of this communications surveillance technician was actually the real McCoy and not the work of a teenage miscreant.

His handsome face twitches around the lips, trying not to grimace at the disturbing figure in front of him. He really doesn’t mean to, but monsters of any kind were just so… inherently devilish it takes his entire willpower to keep his beaming smile up as he listens to the report from the technician. Why had the supervising special agent insisted on this spiel instead of giving him the briefing himself? Maybe then he would’ve been able to actually focus on the topic and not constantly be distracted by the freakish looks of this hell spawn, this-

    “Mr. Goldheart, sir? Are you alright?” the armless dinosaur-monster suddenly asks, a slight lisp to his words caused by the huge front teeth. A cold sweat of shock races up his broad back beneath the golden suit, harshly chastising him for getting caught in his carelessness.

Instead of an immediate answer, Goldheart closes his eyes and nods his head with honest gravitas. It was possible that what their surveillance system had managed to capture from the aether could be of importance – he should just ignore his own discomfort!

Read more

[starryeyes2000]

Oohh this game is fun! Okay... How about "honey" 😉

Oh @emilie786, thank you for the ask! This is fun.

Game: If the word provided is in your wip document, answer with the sentence (or more) containing the word.

In Trust Love One More Time: (McCoy x OFC Cara)

“Well then you’re in luck as I come bearing hushpuppies with honey butter as well as sweet tea.” McCoy placed the tray he carried on the table and took a seat. He held up a plate in invitation. “Try one. Mom used to make them after a day at the beach. So, for me, they are a special treat.”

Care did. Then another and another and another and another before remarking, “We’re going to need more honey butter. Lots more.”

In Where's An All Night Pharmacy When You Need It: (Pike & OMC Noah)

At a little past midnight Chris leads his son to the table and points to one of the chairs. Noah obediently climbs into it but makes a face when his father sets a bowl with yogurt, kiwis, honey, and almonds in front of him in addition to the requested glass of water. Noah, who earlier had refused dinner, shakes his head and responds stubbornly, “Not eating it, not hungry.”

Leaning against the wall Chris crosses his arms in front of his chest and calmly replies, “It’s not a request.”

In Volte-Face (Pike and OFC Aalin)

Plan decided, Chris paced the room as he waited.

When the doors opened, he fumbled around his desk, picking up a PADD in an effort to look busy.

“In my experience they work better if you turn them the other way round,” Aalin offered helpfully with an amused expression. Her hand brushed his as she stepped nearer to demonstrate.

He wanted to link his arm with hers and keep her close.

“What? Oh.” He tossed the PADD back on the desk.

Aalin had changed into jeans and a pale-yellow blouse that accentuated her honey-colored hair, which fell well below her shoulders. The color of her hair wasn’t exactly blonde nor exactly brown but rather in between like caramel, and it was lighter than when they first met several months ago. Probably bleached in the harsh sun of this planet, Chris thought as he imagined it blowing in the desert wind. He had remembered her eyes as blue but standing this close saw they were colored with subtle shades of both blue and green, with a golden starburst around the pupils. Oh, damn, I missed what she said.

Tagging the lovely: @mrsmungus, @themaradaniels @emilie786 @arrthurpendragon @sun-lit-roses @hammerbacks @jedikat71 @karimac @darsynia (when she returns from vacation) @chickensarentcheap

Your word is: dawn

[lavender-romancer]

Star Trek Masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

James T. Kirk

Kirk Trying To Ask You Out

♡ “You’re too drunk sweetheart.”

♡ Kirk keeps trying to find you to ask you out but you’ve been able to avoid him till today

You've Always Liked Jim

♡ You go back to Jim’s apartment after inadvertently robbing him of taking a girl back to his.

He's So Pretty

♡ Kirk had no idea you felt the same way for him as he did for you, as you plan to leave Starfleet. Is it all too little too late for the two of you?

With Him

♡ Jim thinks you’ve been cheating on him and he doesn’t know how to discuss it with you

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Spock

Say You Love Me ♡ You feel neglected by Spock and just want him to tell you he cares about you The Cold Sea ♡ Your relationship with Spock began fairly happily and innocently but soon transformed into a non-communicative nightmare Tutor ♡ Your boyfriend Spock helping you study for a test

Loving You Was A Mistake ♡ retired ♡ Your relationship with Spock ends abruptly as he puts his species' needs in front of your relationship, this leads to a romance with another member of the Enterprise one two three

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Leonard 'Bones' McCoy

Nap At Bones' Apartment ♡ You're a bit drunk but, you're hanging out with Leonard and a sleeping Jim

Loving You Was A Mistake ♡ retired ♡ Your relationship with Spock ends abruptly as he puts his species' needs in front of your relationship, this leads to a romance with another member of the Enterprise one two three

The Transfer ♡ retired ♡ You and Bones used to date, but he left without explanation and you haven’t spoken in seven years. Now you’re the transfer nurse to the USS Enterprise which will reunite you and your lost lover one two

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Nyota Uhura

One Last Time ♡ You and Nyota broke up a while ago but is it really over? Unwanted ♡ You're Spock's sister but your family has never seemed to like you. You come to York Town early to see your brother and meet a special someone

[thegeminisage]

tng update for "elementary dear data" spoilers it's fucking garbage:

this episode is going to make me enter my television to kill dr pulaski. as noted previously, her interrupting geordi and data in the bar just to dunk on data was FUCKING AWFUL enough already but the premise of this entire episode is that she thinks data is a machine and not alive and she's gonna laugh at him when/if he fails to meet her standards

and instead of picard SHUTTING ANY OF THIS DOWN...

look. i get it. beverly was kind of annoying and Womanly and so they wanted a tough love no-nonsense bones 2.0 whose gender didn't have a bearing on her character. and it doesn't! pulaski has not uttered a single word about female and only one time has a bad guy pointed out that she has boobs. however there are a few SHARP differences between this woman and leonard mccoy

firstly, when bones is racist to spock, he's doing it as part of the little game they play. evidence that it's a game is 1. spock always fires back and often draws blood himself and 2. when spock was faced with real bigotry kirk shut it down immediately. since he doesn't tell bones to cram it, one can assume he has either correctly intuited that they're both consenting to, uh, whatever they've got going on, or he had a talk with one or both of them and got the green light. on the other hand, this lady has given data shit on the bridge in front of EVERYONE and picard gave her only the most minor of corrections. data NEVER insults her back and doesn't even always defend himself.

secondly, bones's respect for spock has always been clear. before they became more at ease with one another it was a more professional respect for a fellow coworker and after it was respect for spock's abilities, but there was always respect. bones never doubts spock's ability to do his job unless spock is having an emotion, and even then, what he will tend to cast doubts on is spock's JUDGMENT IN THE MOMENT, not his overall ability based on who he is. bones would never, for example, suggest spock wasn't loyal (like that one ensign did before kirk tore him a new one, or like multiple people suggested in the menagerie) or that he was incapable ("best first officer in the fleet"). meanwhile, pulaski asked "does it even know how to do that" the first time she told data to use the magnifier.

finally, bones is Like That about everyone and everything. he does nothing but complain like his life depends on it. on the other hand, pulaski seems to be picking on data specifically, though to be fair i am only 3 episodes in

like, this is not fond antagonism. it's not even MUTUAL antagonism. she's just fucking being horrible to him as a cheap way to invoke the old/spock energy and it is simply not it

the tragic thing is that i liked BOTH of her characters in tos and i really like her as an actress, she's got a great delivery. and i would have loved a tough love no-nonsense doctor lady whose gender didn't matter re: her character, especially after beverly. i mean let a woman complain! but so far she's had no real complaints about anyone or anything except data!!!!! i want to like her SO BAD and i just can't because she's SO HORRIBLE.

anyway, the premise of this episode is stupid. absolutely let data engage in his special interests but the idea of a holodeck person canonically becoming sentient and then using the ships' computer to endanger the entire ship is ?????

once again, why do you have a holodeck on your ship. also, why are there CHILDREN with this kind of danger...

it also sucks that data IS making all these original cool deductions and That Bitch is not even here to see it. the absolute outrage i am experiencing...

ALSO LMAO. WHEN THEY CUT TO HER TALKING TO MORIARTY. the way she is like. sooo perfectly civil to and impressed by THIS computer simulation but my god get her in a room with data and she immediately starts shitting on him. I'LL KILL HER!!!

and then it's SO STUPID that data doesnt even get to "defeat" moriarty which was the whole point of DOING a godforsaken holodeck ep. picard has to go in to have HIS moment in DATA'S episode???

in fact the final scene is with...picard and geordi so he call tell geordi not to worry about the screwup? instead of data and pulaski talking? instead of data and ANYONE talking?? the whole point was "can data solve a mystery" AND THEN HE DID BUT NO ONE SAW IT. we never got to see pulaski go oops i was wrong! or no that doesn't count i'm still right! i will MURDER. whoever wrote this episode

anyway i fucking hated it. four more to go before we watch 2.08 together............

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @thissimplefeelingzine! Considering early zines started with Kirk/Spock, I’m really glad I got a chance to participate in one. Like a fandom pilgrimage? Or at least a checklist of the classics. “The Voyage Home” is one of my favourite Star Trek ones, I just love Kirk/Spock/McCoy banter. This takes place just after it all.

The quiet resignation of it all haunted Spock. Something in him had twisted that day, and even now it refused to relax. It had been weeks, and Spock still didn’t know what to do with those words, with this feeling.

…

…

…

…

There were many things Spock should’ve been doing with his spare time: checking inventory, getting a proper health check up, visiting his family, even just picking up a new skill. It was rare enough to get time off from duty, between invasions, sudden dangers, and whatever issues Kirk brought upon them. Even a layman would know better than to waste a day off.

Instead, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he had agreed to shore leave on Earth for a second time. Even worse, a second time with both Kirk and McCoy. If he’d just wanted to argue all day, he could have become a lawyer.

Spock sighed. For the second time in his life, he sat in front of a small campfire, watching as Kirk gently stirred a pot of beans. It was a small mercy McCoy hadn’t joined them yet, though Spock suspected that was more McCoy’s desire for a single day with low blood pressure than anything else. The only good thing was that it was still summer on Earth. The only thing more wasteful than camping was camping in the winter.

“Just about done,” Kirk announced as he took out a spoonful and sniffed it. He frowned. “I didn’t add enough whiskey.”

Spock raised a brow. He knew he had recognized the bottle Kirk had discretely added to the pot. “Does McCoy know you stole his ‘special ingredient’?”

“Steal’s such a harsh word,” Kirk drawled, smirking as he looked up. Even in the dark, there was a spark in his eye, an almost boyish charm that refused to leave no matter how old he got. “Call it borrowed.”

“Did you actually ask him for it?” Spock asked, already knowing the answer. He picked up a bowl and held it out, as Kirk ladled out dinner.

Kirk shrugged, unrepentant. Spock was certain Kirk didn’t understand the meaning of shame. “When you’re as close as we are, you don’t have to ask.”

“I am certain McCoy would beg to differ.” Spock took a bite and almost dropped the spoon. Unlike McCoy’s surprisingly good beans, Kirk’s were an acquired taste at best. Burnt at the bottom, over whiskey-ed at the top, it was a strange mixture of flavours that had no right to be so close to each other. “I believe you said this meal was a simple one?”

“If you can’t cook, there’s no such thing as a simple dish.” Kirk took a bite and spit it out. Wiping his mouth, he glared at the beans. “Wow, that’s crap.”

Spock wrinkled his nose. “I hope you are not feeding me excrement.”

“That’s not—never mind, Spock.” Kirk took another bite and shuddered. “I didn’t even know whiskey could be ruined.”

“I fear not even I could save this.” Spock stirred his bowl twice, to no avail.

“You can’t cook either.” Kirk sighed and set aside his bowl. “Alright, lesson learned. Next vacation, we’re planning food ahead of time.”

Spock took another bite before giving up. It truly was inedible in the strangest ways. “We are fortunate McCoy will arrive tomorrow. We will not have to stay hungry for long.”

“We won’t be hungry at all, just hung over.” Kirk pulled out the whiskey, pouring into a cup. “Don’t want to waste it, after all.”

Spock narrowed his eyes. The bottle looked new. “How many did you bring?”

“How about this, you guess, and for every wrong answer, you take a shot?” Kirk suggested, holding out the bottle. The dark glass reflected the flickering firelight, making the alcohol look as fathomless as space.

“I know better than to gamble against you,” Spock replied honestly, though he accepted the whisky nonetheless. Whatever else Earth was, it did actually have a decent selection of alcohols. A versatile selection to—McCoy’s beans had given Spock much to think about.

“That’s boring.” Kirk took a sip. “This is your second life. You should take more risks.”

“On the contrary, that is illogical. As I have died once already, I need to take care that it doesn’t happen again.” Spock drank the whisky, letting the rich flavour curve a path through his throat to his belly. Immediately, he felt warmer, despite the cool breeze caressing his skin.

Kirk rolled his eyes. “What a waste. If you’re always cautious, what’s the point of living?”

“Is that why you keep throwing away your life?” Spock pursed his lips, eyes locked on Kirk’s.

“That’s harsh.” The campfire flickered, casting shadows across his face. Kirk wore a ghost of a smile at the barb.  It was like seeing déjà vu, like Spock was rewatching the scene from a few weeks ago.

Only back then, McCoy had been with them, the three of them eating a meal of beans. Only back then, Kirk had been talking about his own brush with death.

I knew I wouldn’t die then, Kick had stated, with none of his usual cockiness or swagger. It had been a simple, straightforward truth, as illogical as that had been. “Because you were there.”

For a second, Spock had thought it was the start of another speech about unity, or even an acknowledgement of his skill. Instead, Kirk’s next words had left him cold.

“I’ve always known I’ll die alone.” Kirk had smiled then, an expression utterly devoid of his usual arrogance or flirtations.

The quiet resignation of it all haunted Spock. Something in him had twisted that day, and even now it refused to relax. It had been weeks, and Spock still didn’t know what to do with those words, with this feeling.

Before he could stop himself, he asked, “How did you know?”

“Know what?” Kirk asked, perplexed. He lowered his glass. “That you’re harsh?”

“Not that. A few weeks ago. You said that you will die alone,” Spock asked softly. He rolled his glass between his fingers, trying to organize his jumbled thoughts. “Humans are incapable of foresight.”

Kirk laughed, taking this matter far more lightly than he should have. That wasn’t new. Spock hated it nonetheless. “If I had foresight, we’d have a lot less trouble.”

“Kirk.”

“It’s nothing like that. I thought it was obvious. I mean, look at me.” He gestured at his chest. “You’ve said it yourself—I’m reckless. Our job is full of danger. I’m lucky I made it this far. One day I’ll go too far and wham! Dead.”

Spock tightened his jaw. He didn’t like that response. He didn’t know why. Only that the coil within him tightened. “That’s not an answer. Why will you die alone?”

“I…” For a rare moment, Kirk looked at a loss for words. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I…I don’t know. It was just a feeling. Why, what do you think?”

“I…” Spock curled his fingers into a tight fist as he thought about it. He couldn’t answer. He didn’t know the answer either, he didn’t even know why he was questioning it. For once, he took the easy out. “I will live to be around 200, like my father. All things considered, I will also die alone. You’ll all be dead first.”

Kirk guffawed heartily before taking another swig of his whisky. “The downside to living so long, huh? I’ll make sure to leave some room when you join us.”

Spock fell into silence, not comforted by that thought in the least. And that was without taking into consideration their differing views of the afterlife.

Kirk swirled his drink contemplatively. When the silence grew too long, he clapped his hands and stood up. “Alright, enough doom and gloom. We’re on leave, we’ve got a decent spot, and hell, even if the food’s shitty, the drink’s still good.” He skirted the campfire and plopped down on Spock’s right. Taking another sip, he sighed happily. “What do you say to a drinking contest? Or even those marshmallows you made before?”

Kirk brushed against Spock’s arm, his body warm. Spock suppressed a shiver. Clearing his throat, he pulled out a small, food-making machine and started it. A plump marshmelon popped out. “I have read up on marshmelons and apparently we require chocolate and crackers.”

“S’mores?” Kirk swiped the marshmelon and eyed it fondly. “I haven’t had those since I was a boy.”

He had said that about the camping songs on their last trip too. Spock raised a brow. “It seems camping is something one only does as a child?”

“No, I just haven’t had time. We barely have time for this shore leave, let alone actual vacations.” Kirk picked a random twig out of their kindling and wedged the tasty treat on the other end. “Considering the messes we get into, singing yankee doodle is at the bottom of my list.”

Spock copied his movements before raising the marshmelon over the fire. “I can say, on good authority, half of those situations are due to you.”

“I…can’t really argue that.” Kirk shrugged and bumped his shoulder. “Still, look at you, learning all about Earth. Maybe we’ll make a person out of you yet.”

“I am already a person,” Spock replied simply, rotating the stick slowly to give his marshmallow a perfect burn. Perhaps he had studied up a little too much for this trip. “Our last trip was…enjoyable and I merely wanted to ensure I was well-prepared this time.”

“Well-prepared.” Kirk snorted derisively. “You know this isn’t work, right? You don’t actually need to research.”

Kirk was wrong about many things, and this was just another one of them. Spock shook his head. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to make the most of this trip.”

“You don’t need to study to have fun.” Kirk rolled his eyes. The fire crackled as he tossed in another log with his free hand. The flames jumped, but not enough to burn their sugary treats. “Is the word ‘relax’, ‘vacation’ or even ‘fun’ in your dictionary, or are those ‘human’ things?”

Spock was used to the jab. He also couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. “My dictionary is half human, as you like to remind me.”

“Sometimes, I wonder.” Kirk’s tone was light, teasing. He pulled back his stick, revealing a golden brown marshmelon, and grinned. “Perfect. Pass me some of that chocolate and crackers, I’ll show you how you’re supposed to eat these.”

“Very well.” Spock pressed a few buttons on his food machine. It whirred for a second, updating the order, before spitting out the light brown biscuits. He glanced at the marshmelon—combined with chocolate, it would be a very decadent meal. “It is quite fortunate McCoy isn’t here to see this. He would worry for our health.”

“Bones worries either way.” Kirk squished two crackers around the marshmelon and chocolate, making a strange perversion of a sandwich. “This only means more for us.”

The marshmelon oozed stickily onto Spock’s fingers as he repeated the steps. Irritatingly, the chocolate stayed stubbornly solid despite the heat. An imperfect s’more. He’d have to improve the next one. “It’s sweet.”

“It’s mostly sugar.” Kirk took a sip of whiskey and licked his lips. “This’ll fix it.”

As with all of Kirk’s solutions, it was a quick, simple, and temporary reprieve. The whiskey cut through the sweetness and kept the chewy marshmallow from sticking in Spock’s mouth like taffy. And if he wanted to eat any more s’mores, Spock would have to drink more.

But Spock absolutely refused to get drunk when it was just the two of them. Someone had to stay a voice of reason, and Kirk couldn’t even manage that while sober.

“That reminds me, you won’t get out of singing tomorrow.” Kirk yawned. The moon was high above them and crickets chirped. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves and ruffled Kirk’s short hair. “Even if it’s just row, row, row your boat.”

“I learned all of the required lyrics,” Spock replied evenly, remembering McCoy’s disappointment from their last trip. “Though I must profess, I still do not understand them. What does a boat have to do with a dream?”

“Nothing. It’s a song, Spock. Not everything has to make sense.” Kirk blinked sleepily. The whiskey bottle fell out of his limp fingers with a soft plop. It spilled onto the dirt, staining it. “Some things are better when you don’t understand them.”

“Some things?” Spock scoffed. Everything was better with set parameters and boundaries, with clear-cut definitions and meanings. “Like what?”

“Us,” Kirk mumbled, resting his head on Spock’s arm. “I think that’s what makes it work.”

Before he could respond, Kirk had already fallen asleep. Spock stared down at his golden-brown hair. It was a sight he had seen many times, enough so that his arm remained relaxed despite the intrusion.

If only his mind could do the same. Kirk’s words repeated over and over, bouncing in the corners of his head.

Us.

Somehow, that didn’t make Spock happy. Not the way this night had made him happy, not the way that just doing something as frivolous and inane as bickering over a campfire had made him happy. He hadn’t wanted the night to end.

No, it was deeper than that. He didn’t want any of this to end. Spock had never considered himself selfish, but he wanted it all. When he reached 200, he wanted to still have it all.

For a moment, he understood what his father must have felt upon meeting his mother: a mixture of fear, terror, and paralyzing happiness. The deep joy of making a connection, the painful realization at how temporary it was and how many long years would be spent apart.

And yet, despite it, his father had still chosen to do her. It was the logical thing to do, he had said once.

Spock’s logical choice snored against his arm. Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around Kirk. He couldn’t be honest when Kirk was awake; he could barely manage now that he was asleep. “What do you mean ‘us’?”

Kirk didn’t reply, his breathing even. An owl hooted. The wind blew. Spock stared at the fire, realizing what was bothering him. His fingers dug into Kirk’s arm.

“You said you’d die alone,” he muttered, pulling Kirk closer. “That is incorrect. That is illogical. That is a lie.”

Perhaps his own death would be a lonely one. Perhaps Spock would find another—a century was an incredibly long yet oddly short time. But he didn’t need to know that to know what he’d do in another thirty years. Fifty, if they were lucky.

“If there is an us, then I will be there.”

The tight coil relaxed. Spock breathed in deeply. The full moon shone brightly overhead, and he hummed row row row your boat. Maybe tomorrow they could rock climb together.

[tvguidancecounselor]

TV Guidance Counselor Episode 634: Joanne Rubino

This week Ken welcomes actor, producer and woman behind Be Brave Media Joanne Rubino.

Ken and Joanne discuss the path from in front of the camera to behind it, moving a lot, being your own friends, getting guest spots on big series, ER, production management, indie films, volunteering to help run a tight ship, how long projects take, Hatfields & McCoys, ITV, never giving up, believing in the project, working with the best people, being nominated for an Emmy, making stuff happen, getting interviews with big Hollywood actors, Marlon Brando, telling real life stories, documentaries, docudrama, scripted TV, the difficulty of getting past gatekeepers, how you have to do everything, how the same people in a small group are A-listers, the difficulty of getting older in Hollywood, how critical acclaim doesn't always lead to making money, Barbie, things you HAVE to see on a big screen, telling smaller stories, character driven pieces, red carpet premieres, The Slinky, The Pez Outlaw,  IP, labors of love, trying until you succeed, early days of reality TV, Gene Simmons Family Jewels, telling important stories, curing cancer some day, never stopping working, being able to do everything, matchmaking, The Partridge Family, The Sopranos, loving The Diplomat, Stand up comedy specials, geniuses, and the importance of treating everyone with respect.

Check out this episode!

[bullfrogjoy]

Bullfrog Joy

February 2, 2024

Good Morning! It’s Ground Hog’s Day! I thought about writing the same paragraph over and over to see if it would turn out any different the next time around.

Good Morning! It’s Ground Hog’s Day! I thought about writing the same paragraph over and over to see if it would turn out any different the next time around.

OK, that was my attempt at humor. If you never watched the movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray, it makes no sense! I believe he had to learn something about himself before he could get out of the repeating loop of Ground Hog’s Day. Here’s to a joyful Ground Hog’s Day to you. See what you can learn! (He hasn’t seen his shadow in Illinois yet. Maybe there’s hope for an early spring! My flowers are popping up if that’s any indication.

My joy this week was one of those sweet sorrows I have talked about. I got to attend the funeral of a woman who lived to be 96 years old. That is amazing. This woman was amazing. Beth McCoy was not famous or rich or a winner of any special awards. She was a mom, a grandma, a great grandma, and a great, great grandma, and she loved Jesus.

It was interesting to observe the people that attended the funeral. Remember, she was 96 years old. Who would be around that would know her? Of course her family was there. She had three daughters, and several of the classmates of those daughters were there to pay their respects to the mother of their friend. Her neighbors were there. A couple of those neighbors were elementary students who came to say good-by. Then there were the community members and friends, who themselves were old, some schoolmates of hers, some who worked with her from years gone by. Each had a story to tell. I could “see” the quiet conversations going on around me. What a tribute from our community.

My friends, how do you tell a person you love them? The family said that Beth very rarely said the words, “I love you.” When they told her “I love you, Grandma,” she would answer, “OK!” That was her love language. It was also in the boxes of jello and mac and cheese and socks they got from her at Christmas time. It was in the flowers she tended and the garden she shared. It was in the jobs she did, jobs that many people would never do, to keep the family fed. It wasn’t until near the end that Grandma Beth could respond with the words. I write it a lot but don’t say it very often. The grandsons say it every time they talk to me! What about you?

Here’s another question for you. What songs do you want to have played at your funeral? The last song at this memorial was.…. “When the Saints Go Marching In.” A toe tapper? You bet. A freedom song? You bet? A joyful song? You bet. A funeral song? Well…Yessirree, it is now! I never thought of that for a funeral closer, but how fitting. What a great picture of saints going to see Jesus. And there goes Beth to be with the other saints who are already there.

What joy, my friends, to pay tribute to such a “good gal.” The sun shone that morning for only a few minutes, right after we sang about the saints marching in.

I really had a lot of joys to write about this week. I finished a great book called The Last Green Valley about a Ukrainian family who escaped Stalin’s reign at the end of WWII. They just kept trusting God and putting one foot in front of the other. Great story about a real family. I had lunch at the new Chinese place in Monmouth with friends I’ve had for over 50 years. I am about to hire a young electrician who was once one of my students. I am so proud.

Life is good, my friends. I wish you joy this coming week, and I pray that you know someone like Grandma Beth who has taught you about Jesus. Joy to you my friends. Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea. Joy to you and me.