#stardate conversion

[insanewaykathy]

A conversation on the bridge between Janeway, Tom, Chakotay and Tuvok. Tuvok makes a comment about human emotions being irrelevant and Chakotay says this:

Then he says this as he looks at Janeway:

So Janeway looks at Chakotay like this… and Tom looks at her like this:

Tom looks at her like, "I know what you guys did on the last stardate" 🤣🤣🤣

And last but not least, we have Tuvok making this face:

I love them!

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Once More (II)

A/N: Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy. Next update should (hopefully) come quicker.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None

Masterlist & Playlist

You woke up with a start. You sat up, immediately reaching for your data pad. The stardate reads the same as yesterday - Thursday. 

This was real. This was happening. You sat up in your bed, mind reeling over the events of the last few days. 

Flicking on your data pad you made notes of everything you could remember. Uneventful morning shift, Ensign Sigala would offer you a cup of coffee, lunch would be spent with quickly and alone, the anomaly, drinks with Uhura and Ortegas, the turbolift with Spock. 

Spock. 

You needed to find Spock. 

Quickly, you got dressed, nearly falling over as you gathered yourself for the day. You quickly grabbed your data pad, now making notes about all the information you had managed to gather from the anomaly. 

You were still typing away as you made your way out of your quarters. If you could just lock on to the anomaly as it was happening you’d be able to figure out more. Why today? Why only you and Spock?

You looked up from your data pad as you rounded the corner. Spock was there talking to Nurse Chapel. They both looked directly at you. 

You faltered at your pace. Why- did she?

“There you are!” 

You turned to see Ensign Sigala coming towards you. He wore a bashful smile as he held out coffee for you.

“I wanted to make sure you had your morning cup,” He was smiling kindly at you, you tried your best to return the smile. 

“Oh, thank you, Ensign,” you managed to choke out. 

You felt his presence rigid behind you before you heard him speak. “Lieutenant L/N, Nurse Chapel and I need your presence in sickbay.” 

You looked between Spock and the Ensign managing one more small thank you before following Spock towards sickbay. 

“How did you -” 

“You requested that I find you sooner,” Spock made no motion to look at you as you followed him into sickbay. 

“Alright, Spock, what is going on?” Christine crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes looking between the both of you. 

You glanced at Spock before you stepped forward, “Christine, you’re never going to believe this,” you paused, “But I’m really going to need you to try.”

“Okay, now I’m just more concerned,” she dropped her eyes and moved closer towards you. 

“Spock and I, well we -” 

“We appear to be relieving the same day,” Spock added. 

Christine just gaped at the two of you. “What - you mean-” 

“Everyday is Thursday,” you sighed. 

“I believe we have completed the same loop twice, this being the third.” 

“How did this start?” Christine prompted, leaning backwards against one of the medical tables. 

“The anomaly-” you both say flatly. 

“And then it ends with the turbolift,” you swallowed, “We both sort of plummet to our death and then wake up again.” 

“And have we had this conversation before?” She asked, her head tilting a bit to the side. 

“No, this is our first conversation,” Spock added. “I wanted to inquire if it is possible to determine any abnormalities between Lieutenant L/N and I. This could help us to understand why only she and I have been repeating the day.” 

Christine simply nodded, picking up the tricorder, “Alright, well I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.” She paused making her way to a table. “Maybe if we -” 

Christine's eyes went wide, her hand reaching out to clutch her throat. 

“Christine!” you yelled as Spock reached out to help her. Christine simply fell to the floor, life quickly leaving her eyes. 

Your own throat grew tight, you tried to will air into your lungs but you couldn’t catch your breath. Desperately you looked at Spock, your hand reaching out to him before your knees buckled out from underneath you. 

“What….” you gasped, “Is….happening?” Spock caught you by the arms before you could hit the floor. His distressed eyes searched yours. 

“I do not understand,” he breathed out, his own breaths growing more shallow. He held onto your arms as you both sank to the floor. 

Your breathing grew more shallow as spots began to fill your vision. You have died twice now, this your third. Still, the fear had not left you. Only the feeling of Spock’s embrace tethered you. 

“Spock,” you whispered before your vision went dark once more. 

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

You woke up gasping, your hand reaching for your throat as you sat up in bed. 

“What the hell?” you bit out. You threw the blankets off your bed and quickly got dressed. 

You opened your door walking towards the direction of the bridge. You bumped into Ensign Sigala who nearly spilled the coffee all over himself. 

“L/N, I’m so sorry! I wanted to-” 

“Not now Sigala, sorry!” you yelled out as you broke into a run. You felt breathless as you ran. You just needed to get to him. You could calm down once your eyes met his. 

You turned a corner to see Spock ready to walk onto the bridge. Quickly, you grabbed him by the sleeve and led him to a maintenance shaft. 

You stood directly in front of him. There was little space between you both. Your breathing came rapidly, your nerves and anxiety becoming newly unbearable. 

“What the hell was that?” you questioned, your eyes finding his. You almost took a step back, he looked tired. You didn’t think it was possible for Spock to look anything other than pristine. 

“I….do not know,” he managed to say, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Why would that happen to Christine? I thought we only reset in the turbolift, but what if-” you stammered, “I don’t understand any of this.” 

You rubbed your face in frustration, anger and tears mixing together as your emotions boiled over the surface. You tried to steady yourself, crying wouldn’t help either one of you now. 

You could see the look of fear on Christine’s face, shock and confusion in her final expression. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut. 

“We must continue to try and determine what is causing the anomaly.” Spock spoke gently as if trying to help ground you. 

Your eyes flicked to him, frustration clear across your face. “What do you suggest?”

“We can attempt to discuss this with the Captain and the bridge.” Spock’s expression was unreadable. There was something there - a lingering expression in his eyes that spoke of more than just exhaustion. 

“Okay,” you replied, your eyes downcast. “After you,” you signaled. Spock held your gaze for a beat more before straightening his posture and walking towards the bridge. 

You walked together silently as the bridge doors opened. 

“Ah, Spock there you are.” Captain Pike smiled warmly, “And Lieutenant L/N, this is a bit of a surprise. To what do we owe the honor?”

“Captain, if we may speak in private?” Spock stepped forward. Captain Pike gave him a questioning gaze. “Number One, the bridge is yours.” 

You both followed the Captain to his quarters. Your own anxiety began to flare up as Captain Pike leaned back against his ready room table. 

“Alright, which one of you wants to tell me what’s going on?” 

“We’re stuck in some sort of time loop,” you quickly said. 

“Excuse me?” Captain Pike spared you both a questioning look. 

“We have repeated the events of the day three times.” 

“I got that part Spock - I mean what is causing this to happen?” 

“I’m not sure,” you added, “last time we tried to figure out a medical reason Christine and I - we sort of choked to death. Every time before that Spock and I fell to our deaths in a turbolift.” 

“We believe it has something to do with the anomaly that has been intercepting our scanners,” Spock spared a glance at you before turning his attention back to Captain Pike. 

“The storm?” Pike reasoned. 

“Yes, Sir,” you breathed out. 

“Have we had this conversation before?” Pike was giving you both his full attention now. 

“No, but we -” 

“Captain Pike to the bridge!” Number One’s voice cried out through the intercom. “All crew prepare for a red alert!” 

“What-” 

All three of you were jostled to the side as the Enterprise lurched forward. A sickening groaning sound filled the room. 

You fumbled around for your data pad, your eyes looking at the current readings of the warp core. “It’s a core meltdown, we’re losing the antimatter containment. If we don’t eject the core…”

Captain Pike looked at you both, “Has this-” 

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

You sat up quickly, your hand clutching your chest. You knew what had happened of course, the core breach had occurred, leaving the Enterprise to explode. 

You quickly got dressed, not caring for your appearance or data pad. You simply marched out of your door, avoiding by instinct everyone in your way. 

“L/N, I brought-” 

“Not now, Sigala,” you grumbled before making your way to Spock. You found him as you did before waiting for you in front of the bridge doors. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you simply waved him off, “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Ah, Spock there you are.” Captain Pike smiled warmly, “And Lieutenant L/N, this is a bit of a surprise. To what do we owe the honor?”

You let out an annoyed breath, Spock remained neutral. 

“Captain if we may-” 

“We need to talk to you, Captain, in private. La’an, you can come too,” you added making your way out the doors. 

You could feel everyone on the bridge looking at you, but you could not find the will to care. 

“Apologies, Captain, but Lieutenant L/N, is correct.” 

“Alright”, Captain Pike managed to get out. Wordlessly, you followed Captain Pike to his ready room. 

“Which one of you wants to tell me what’s going on?” Pike looked between the three of you, but La’an simply shrugged in confusion. 

“We wake up everyday, living the same day. We live, we die, we do it again,” you grumbled out. 

“I’m sorry?” La’an, narrowed her eyes at you in confusion. 

“I don’t know how I can make this more clear,” you sighed, rubbing the temples of your forehead. You could feel Spock’s eyes on you, but he made no move to correct your behavior. 

“We believe it has to do with the anomaly, with the storm it is quite possible we are experiencing a Cauchy Horizon.”

“What have you done so far?” Pike questioned. 

“We have spoken with Nurse Chapel, to her demise, and to you, Captain, to the demise of the whole crew.” 

“What exactly do you mean by demise?” La’an crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Christine and I choke to death and the Enterprise has a core meltdown,” you whispered half heartedly.

“And prior to-” 

“Captain Pike to the bridge!” Number One’s voice cried out through the intercom. “All crew prepare for a red alert!” 

“Oh, come on!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You didn’t wait to go through the motions, simply closing your eyes and waiting for the flash. 

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

You both attempted ten more times. Ten more deaths of the Enterprise crew where the ship either had a core meltdown, a breach in the hull, or a gas leak. 

Every attempt you made drove you more and more to madness. 

You needed a break. You needed to just go through a loop without watching all of your friends die. 

You didn’t bother putting on your uniform, opting for more comfortable clothing. You slowly made your way towards Spock. 

“L/N, I have-” 

“Thanks, Sigala,” you mumbled, taking the coffee and walking in the opposite direction. 

You shuffled over to the bridge, where Spock looked at you questioningly. He, like you, had grown to look more disheveled as the loops continued. His usual pristine Vulcan appearance was growing more weary. 

“I think we can take a loop,” you sighed. “Don’t you?” 

He looked at you, really looked at you. “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I got a couple ideas.” 

You swore you almost saw his mouth twitch in a smile, “Lead the way,” he started borrowing the term from you. 

You smiled widely back at him. Yeah, you both deserved a loop, maybe two. 

[usstrekart]

I love what we get in "Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges." (S07E16, Stardate UNKNOWN) Subterfuge, ethical dilemma, cat and mouse and a fantastic conversation between Bashir and Ross in the end that elevates everything. There are some great questions raised here that are still relevant in today's world.

This episode just feels like a James Bond movie... but with more serious stakes. So why not honor that style of film with my episode poster?

[tkbrokkoli]

afhjgdsdgh guys she has already replied!!!! And apparently she's already put me on the list for the group!! So theoretically, it's happening!!! I'm gonna go to therapy!!!

🤢 sent an e-mail to that therapist abt trans stuff

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

__

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now. 

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.” 

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from— 

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs. 

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color. 

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

~~

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now. 

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least. 

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while. 

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here. 

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it’s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything. 

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch. 

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.” 

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this. 

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing. 

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable. 

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?) 

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments. 

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives. 

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features. 

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity. 

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here. 

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—” 

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.   

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it. 

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then… once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned? 

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No…

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 11 – A/B/O

Unraveling by Wikketkrikket

Pairing: Steve/Fem!Tony Rating: G Words: 6,765 Tags: Knitting, Getting Together, Art Block

Summary: Steve has an art block. Toni has an idea: knitting. Because maybe Steve isn’t the most Alpha-y Alpha everyone thinks he is after all.

Reasons why I love it: I really love it when A/B/O stories get into issues with gender roles, and this fic is a prime example of that. Toni and Natasha's conversation is super well written as the turning point of the fic, and I absolutely adore Steve's emotional arc. This fic is amazing, and I highly encourage you to check it out for yourself!

something just like this by stardating

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 5,212 Tags: Pre-Serum Steve, Asexual Steve, Mating Cycles

Summary: Upon returning home from a way too long business trip, Tony finds that some things have exploded in the last few hours. It leads to some surprising revelations.

Reasons why I love it: I really like how this fic handles preconceptions and turns them on its head. Tony and Steve's relationship dynamic fits super well, and I love the way they seek comfort in each other. This fic is lovely, and I hope you give it a shot!

Into You Like a Train by Marv_aka_Kitten_Writes

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 1,508 Tags: Pre-Relationship, Therapy, Animal Shelter

Summary: When Tony meets Steve, it's love at first sight, more or less. It's also chaotic, messy and a complete disaster.

Reasons why I love it: Yes please, give me all the Tony-getting-punched-in-the-face-by-Steve's-pheromones goodness. I love how they're so prickly in the beginning but still manage to get past it. Plus, the idea of Tony volunteering at an animal shelter just to stick it to Obie makes me unreasonably happy. This fic is great, and I hope you check it out!

Knot me not by orphan_account

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Background Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 3,090 Tags: Armor Kink, Alpha/Alpha, Knotting

Summary: When their omega is away on a black-out mission, alpha Steve and alpha Tony resort to using the armour as a very fancy fleshlight when Steve goes into rut.

Reasons why I love it: Holy shit, this fic is so hot. I love alpha/alpha in general, but this one is especially good, all the aggression with that underlying love and care, it's perfect. Plus, Steve having a thing for Tony's armor and extremis specifically? It's like my birthday came early. This fic is incredible, and you should definitely read it!

Steve First. by LetMeMarvel

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: NR Words: 3,936 Tags: Mpreg, Pack Dynamics, Fluff

Summary: Honestly, their first clue should’ve been the subtle shift in the pack’s behavior.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, the team is so PRECIOUS in this, I can't! Everyone waiting on Steve hand and foot is the cutest, and honestly, he deserves it. Plus, the joy of Tony and Steve finding out what's happening made me smile like an idiot. This fic is amazing, and I hope you check it out for yourself!

[only-in-december]

Hello, I was the Kirk bros anon haha. Two things I would love to have discourse about: one, I feel like Sam isn’t going to make it off the Gorn ship 😭 and if we get a Jim reaction scene I think it’ll actually kill me, and two, do you think that Jim and Sam had nicknames for each other as kids (am I writing a fic? What? No…) like J or JT or Jimmy and Sammy or even Georgie. I have a lot of feelings about this. 😪

Well, howdy, Friend! Oh boy do I have a lot to say on all of that!! Before I get into it all, I want to apologize for taking so long to respond to this. Work has been long lately lol.

So. Let's start with the Gorn Ship part. Sam making it off the Gorn ship is something I deem highly probable, personally based on one key point: SNW is marketed as a direct prequel to TOS. (This isn't saying that I personally see it as being set in the same timeline, but that's a different discussion.)

Canonically, Sam Kirk doesn't die until Stardate 3287.2, and according to Memory Alpha, Hegemony takes place in Stardate 2344.2 which is a few years prior. (Although Stardates aren't always the most consistent. So take that with a grain of salt.) I do hope think we'll get to see more of Jim as they get Sam (and everyone else, I guess) away from the Gorn. But I don't think Sam will die, because of "Operation--Annihilate!" being such an iconic episode, so he's got a little bit of plot armor there.

But Jim's reaction to his brother being taken by the Gorn? Oh My Lanta, I might cry at the thought. That sounds heartwrenching regardless of Sam's survival. I am always up for conversation about this sort of thing, so feel free to disagree with me!!💙

But onto your second question. Childhood nicknames. Those can be tricky, especially coming from siblings. I do think that Jimmy and Georgie were used frequently by their parents, but between the two of them, it's a little more nuanced.

One of my favorite SNW headcanons that you can pry from my cold dead hands, is that Sam didn't really start going by "Sam" until he left home. Jim was the only one who called him that when they were growing up. So in a way, Sam is his childhood nickname. For Jim, I think it was a combination of things. Jim, Jimmy, Jay, JT was a good one too. But really, I think that he probably had some stupid 'brother nickname' like "Mocking Jay" or "Sonny" or something. One of those nicknames that requires like a full ten layers of context that just leaves everyone a little bit confused. I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on that, though!!

[kosmos2999]

Star Trek: The Animted Series 50th Anniversary Episode Review

Episode: The Infinite Vulcan

Season: 1

Episode: 7

Stardate:

Original airdate: October 20, 1973

Written by: Walter Koenig

Directed by: Hal Sutherland

Music by: Yvette Blais and Jeff Michaels

Executive producers: Lou Scheimer and Norm Prescott

Studio: Filmation Associates

Network: NBC

Series created by: Gene Roddenberry

Cast:

Captain James T. Kirk (voice by William Shatner)

Mr. Spock, Spock 2 (voice by Leonard Nimoy)

Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy (voice by DeForest Kelly)

Lt. Uhura, Computer Voice (voice by Nichelle Nichols)

Lt. Hikaru Sulu (voice by George Takei)

Eng. Montgomery Scott, Agmar, Dr. Stavos Keniclus 5 (voices by James Doohan)

Nurse Christine Chapel (voice by Majel Barrett)

Synopsis:

The Enterprise is engaged in an exploring mission. A newly discovered planet on the pheripheral portion of the galaxy. An away team composed of Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy, Mister Spock and Lieutenant Sulu is assembled to being beamed down to this world full of natural beauty but full of mystery.

At the arrival, they have found a city apparently abandoned by its inhabitants. They get confusing signals on their scanners and the readings of a power source on a building in front of them. While his teammates explore the inside of the building, Sulu finds a mobile plant and gets hurt mortally by one of its thorns. Kirk, McCoy and Spock came to his rescue once they listen to his scream for help.

The doctor applies one of his antidotes, but it is useless aganist the plant's poison. Then, a group of plant-like beings suddenly appeared. Their leader, Agmar offers a cure for Sulu but McCoy refusses the help. Kirk accepts the help from the natives and just when they apply their antidote, Sulu recovers very fast.

Agmar, the Phylosian told to the crew that they had an earlier contact with humans. One that brought the an infectious bactery that killed a generation of their own, but he also helped them to survive. As they are entering thru a cave, a flock of dragon-like flying plant-lifeforms attack the Enterprise's crew and kidnap Spock.

The Phylosians got a system that makes phasers not working, then a giant human appeared and the natives made a bow to him. He identifies as Doctor Stavos Keniclus 5, the man who saved the natives from extintion. He told the team that he needs Spock for his plans and also told them to leave the planet.

Kirk orders to beam up the rest of the crew.

On the bridge, Kirk orders Lt. Uhura to investigate any data about Keniclus 5. Meanwhile, the doctor tries to find a way to defend themselves against the plant-lifeforms by using a recepie for a pesticide from his gran-grandfather's farm.

Uhura found a record of a scientist Keniciclus who left the Earth after loosing the Eugenic Wars. Kirk is surprised and trying to guess how he survived after more than 200 years.

Kirk, McCoy and Sulu return to the planet's surface but much prepeared to rescue Spock. The natives brought them to a underground compound where Spock is located.

Inside the cave compound, they encounter again with Keniciclus 5. He reveals himself as the fifth generation clone of the original Dr. Keniciclus. His plan is to imposing peace by strenght to the galaxy by invading every single planet they could. For that reason, he produced a Mr. Spock's clone, Spock 2.

As soon as they learned Keniciclus 5's plans for galactic conquest, a new wave of the dragon-like flying plant-lifeforms made an attack. This time, the team is ready to counter using McCoy's pesticide formula as a weapon.

After a successfully defeat of the flying creatures, Kirk triex to reason with Keniciclus 5 that he is unaware of the present time. That there is no need to continue wars from the past because the Federation had brought peace thru the galaxy. Then Kirk had a conversation with Spock 2 about the illogical action of imposing peace thru strenght. Some that goes against the Vulcan philosophy of infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Something that simbolize the elements of truth and beauty.

Spock 2 asserts Kirk's words and changes his mind. Meanwhile, the original Spock is dying in a chamber because of a memory drain performed by the mad scientist, Keniciclus 5. Spock 2 performs a Vulcan mind meld to help his original self to recover.

At the end, Keniciclus 5 was feeling useless after his plans failed miserably, Kirk and the original Spock convince him to use all of his knowledge and strength to help on the restoring of the Phylosian civilization with the help of Spock 2. All of them agree on that.

Fascinating Facts:

This episode was written by Walter Koenig. Due to budget restrictions, Koenig was not cast for playing the role of Lieutenant Chekov in The Animated series, but he made his collaboration by writing this episode.

The Koenig's main source for inspiration for writing the story was the fact that cloning was a very discussed subject in that time.

The mobile plant-lifeform who attackes Sulu has the name of Retlaw. It is Walter spelled backwards. The idea came from a story of a comic book series where the aliens spoke bakwards.

The first reference to the Vulcan philosophy of Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations (or IDIC) was made in the third season episode of The Original Series titled “Is There In Truth No Beauty?” At first, Leonard Nimoy refused the idea for a symbol because he thought Gene Roddenberry's idea for merchandising its pin.

[thethirdromana]

DS9 Rarepair Week: First Meeting

[Computer-to-computer instant messaging, Terok Nor, stardate 42177.]

> Remove your tracker from the station security feed immediately. Odo. 

> My dear station constable. What a pleasure it is to meet you, even in such an impersonal manner.  Unfortunately, as I don’t have a tracker on the station security feed, by definition I cannot remove it. 

> I don’t know who you are, but rest assured that if you don’t remove that tracker, I will find out, and your punishment will be severe. Odo.

> Such dedication to your role! I am pleased to meet a non-Cardassian who has such a love of the Cardassian state.

> My feelings for the Cardassian state have nothing to do with it. I serve law and order on Terok Nor. Your tracker infringes that law, and you will remove it. Immediately. Odo. 

> My dear Constable Odo – may I call you Odo? – surely, if you are able to detect this alleged tracker, you also have the power to remove it yourself? I am afraid I can’t do it myself, as I’m unaware of the tracker, and furthermore, not responsible for it.

> You can use my name if you tell me yours. Odo.

> A little forward, I think. Perhaps we could go for a drink, get to know one another a little better, first? This has been one of the most stimulating conversations I’ve had since I arrived on Terok Nor. It would be a pleasure to continue it in person. 

> Hmm. You’ve arrived recently, then? Odo.

> Myself and a few hundred others, Constable. I’m afraid that if you’re trying to identify me, you’ll have to do a little better than that. I can see that you’re trying to track the source of these messages, for instance. A promising idea, but one that I fear will not avail you. 

> If you remove the tracker, there’s no need for me to identify you. Odo.

> Back on the tedious subject of this so-called tracker, constable? A pity. I thought we might explore more varied conversational topics. Have you ever read the literature of Adarak Prime?

> The tracker. Remove it. Odo.

> I hope you’re exploring other avenues for this tracker, Constable. For instance, I am sure that the Ferengi who runs the bar is up to something. 

> Quark is always up to something, but I have that situation entirely under control. He is not responsible for the tracker. You are. Odo. 

> This monomania seems almost unhealthy! I have a proposal. Come out for a drink with me, and we can discuss this face to face. Perhaps I can help you hunt down whoever is really responsible for this tracker. I have a certain amount of experience in the penetration of Nor-series surveillance systems. 

> Hmm. I’m surprised that you’re willing to admit to it. Very well, then. Quark’s, 2300 hours. I will meet with you, but only on the condition that by 2400 hours, that tracker is gone. Odo. 

> As the poet Rax Dran once said, “justice is merciless, but justice is kind.” Thank you, Odo. I do look forward to seeing you later. 

> Odo out.

[izzysarchivedblogs]

Leonard is CAREFUL to be as quiet as he possibly can as he VERY carefully lays down in just the right position ( On his stomach, supported by one good elbow so one hand was free to VERY gently trace soft circles on Linda's baby bump.) his head leaning down so he could WHISPER so he hopefully wouldn't wake up Linda who was just trying to peacefully get a nap in.

"Hey there jumping jelly bean.. I can see ya in there trying to do flips.. but maybe do you think you could do me a little solid and give yer mama a break? For me?" the KICKING in question, gave the slightest little kick in response right where Leonard's hand just happened to be resting on Linda's stomach.

A soft chuckle...

"C'mon now... don't be so fussy..shhh...shh..." Leonard's voice only grew softer with every word he spoke, his head inching all the closer until he was placing a GENTLE KISS on her stomach. (He couldn't help himself.) He hummed softly, just some soft little tune that had been stuck in his head.. though he still took care to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

STARDATE 2266 -> quiet afternoon

Getting here to this moment, in the broader spectrum had taken time; two years of deciding and trying, doing what she and Leonard could do to make her body and boost their fertility, and she would say that it was worth the months of trying, of nothing until they got here. She felt deep down that they would, and so thy kept trying after the nothings and negatives, and now here she was four months pregnant. How Linda got here this particular day was taking an early morning shift, seeing to a few of the crewman who had always been her patients by appointment and there was a development with one of the technicians from one of the lower decks that she’s been monitoring that she fears will need to be brought to the CMO and the captain as well.

After the work shift, to what had contributed to the decision to take a nap, had been that the ship was within range of federation satellites that allowed for her to had to communications and get in contact with her own family. Check in with her parents and brother, it was rarer for her to get the chance to catch all of them. Linda loves her sister-in-law Becca, and she gets it; or thinks that she does. Everyone was trying to be helpful since this was her first time being pregnant, telling her all the things she is finding out for herself in her late forties. Things that she knew about from a third side, as a medical professional who had to do rotation of obstetrics and gynecology, who lived, studied, and worked at one of the largest interstellar medical facilities between the alpha and beta quadrant.

She knew things and this wasn’t her husband’s first baby, and he happens to be a doctor as well with experience. It’s already starting to feel a little draining, hearing from all the women in her life who had been pregnant before about this and that; followed by the advice. Her sister-in-law was well-intended, but she definitely was desperate for conversation other than what to expect. Or at least, she’d prefer to find out on her own or take advice from Leonard. The highlight of her call has been her mother and seeing her three nieces, all growing up to be the absolutely cutest things to be. Imogen had much to show off, and the twins were chatty, always talking over the other.

Linda had been and was delighted when she had started to notice the movements of the baby. The kicker, which pun may be intended, was that she always been a light sleeper. That’s still been an adjustment and taking a nap today after a stressful morning in the medical bay and a call with a chatty overly advisory sister-in-law was proving to be somewhat of a task. She had already asked the computer to dim the lights, laid herself out on her back and she’ll forever be glad that Leonard’s always been particular about the mattress, the blankets, and the pillows. Its comforts were felt immediately until whatever grace period she had been given was over. In fairness, she had only been trying to nap for about thirty minutes now despite the movements when the door to their home slid open.

That took her from teetering on the edge, to being more aware of her surroundings and body. Twists, kicks, and turns all happening from her stomach, all feeling like a light flutter given the size. A little more awareness, but she still had time before she would be back in blue uniform for part of the evening, so Linda kept her eyes shut even as she listened to Leonard try to quietly move about. The peace would probably end if Jojo popped in early, but that girl liked to be everywhere on the ship all the time when she didn’t have school.

To Leonard’s credit, he was being as quiet as he could be, but heavy sleepers were neither of them. However, Linda’s not about to let him know that she’s more awake than sleeping as of present; so, she pretends not to notice as he lays down in bed with her or does that as best, she can, though there’s some of her own shifting which possibly gives her away. She wouldn’t know as he makes no indication, and Linda was still trying to slip into sleep.

Such a notion proves harder when Leonard does one of her favorite things, that hasn’t gotten old or tired yet (it probably never will) and that’s talk to her bump, hand over her stomach and she’s sure he’s feeling an ounce of the activity that she has. JELLY BEAN ⸺ how her heart does sing over this man and maybe he’s managed to convince said jelly bean to settle back down. It’s not as though Linda had ever needed convincing, because when the talks had come with Leonard the answers were easier found, decisions came about quickly because she really wanted him; Linda’s done rash and romance, and failed and had a whole plan, vision of her life, and then Leonard Mccoy happened to paint a prettier picture with her; and she’s glad.

Linda can’t help herself but give away that she has been woken. One of her hands moves to where Leonard is, tracing up from his shoulder to lightly drag through his hair. ❝ Hey there, Leo.❞ Her voice incredibly softly, to keep the relative quiet and she hums a little, trying to find his tune as her hand brushes back and forth. ❝ Little one just started; all still for when I was talking with Becca, not a single movement. I think little one wanted to greet daddy, or napping for me isn’t allowed. It’s one of the two. ❞ There’s a sigh there at the mention of Taggart’s wife. Linda gives her own chuckle as she talks, and she rolls her head a little. Dark hair sprayed crossed the pillow as she tilts to open her eyes just to see Leonard in the dim lighting, she normally kept for nap time. Gazing down at him, and how does he do that get her heart all in a twist after so many years, over kissing at her stomach.

The weight of his hand and the warmth of nice. ❝ Everyone says hi, Mom said you will have to catch them next chance we get for contact, Jojo too. We had our usual baby update talk. ❞  She gives little details of the call, filling in on what was new with the Carters, their three nieces, and what about pertaining to their future little one, how he is coming along. Linda quiets for a moment, just focuses on brushing her fingers through his hair and she hopes he’s staying for the reminder of her rest period. ❝ Mhhmmm, and you? ❞

She could frame this moment, wanted to pause and stay in quieter moments when Leonard is laying there like this, humming to the bump forever. He's been her greatest love, and she loves their children so much; loves the family that she now has had and looks forward to growing from three to four. Linda brings her hand down, back of her fingers brushing against his cheek then go over where his hand is on her stomach. Resting her hand over his. ❝ Stay for a nap with us, please. ❞

[discotreque]

Red yarn & thumbtacks

I’ve been thinking a totally normal amount about the LCARS graphics in the closing credits of this season of Picard, and I haven’t jumped to a single unhinged conclusion or ludicrous conspiracy theory.

I’ve got several.

Theory #1: Jack Crusher is a clone of the Jack Crusher

Let’s make this storyline even stupider, shall we? There’s a ton of DNA-related imagery throughout, and it’s directly associated with Ed Speleers’s name—just like Seven of Nine’s “performance evaluation” appears when Jeri Ryan’s credit does.

Ridiculous? Yes. Possibly even more offensive than Bev just hiding a kid from Jean-Luc this whole time? Also yes. But on a show that’s never met an outlandish plot twist it didn’t passionately embrace, “he’s definitely their naturally-conceived child and she never told Jean-Luc about him” feels like it can’t be the whole story. Not this early.

Also? This is the melody to “Pop Goes the Weasel,” and in a cadence that evokes old mechanical wind-up music toys. Like you might find in, for example… a jack-in-the-box. A CLONE BOX. *drops mic*

Theory #2: Captain Shaw was at Wolf 359

*picks mic back up*

The USS Constance (NCC-10387; a Constellation-class like the Stargazer) was lost in action under redacted circumstances, on a stardate right at the beginning of TNG Season 4.

I think Liam Shaw was a junior officer on the Constance when Locutus destroyed it, he got PTSD that almost ruined his career (per Vadic’s taunting about his psych profile), and that’s why he’s got a chip on his shoulder about ex-Borg and an aversion to wham-bang escapades.

Theory #3: The ultimate target will be the Fleet Museum

What is truly irreplaceable to Starfleet? Not to sound callous, but you can always replicate more materiel, build more starships, recruit more adrenaline junkies. From an evil antagonist’s point of view, blowing up recruitment centres or even entire starbases is just costing Starfleet resources. How can you subject a post-scarcity society to meaningful loss? Like, psychologically?

Well, you can destroy its history. They can commission a Voyager-A and -B, but they can’t replace the actual ship that went to the Delta Quadrant and back. They can make new Enterprises all the way down to -Z, but they won’t be the same NCC-1701-A that went to the centre of the galaxy and killed god. The USS Excelsior is… also there. And so on.

I’m guessing that Moriarty or Sela or the insects from “Conspiracy” or whoever’s actually pulling the strings here is going to attempt an existential blow to the entire Federation by wiping out the legacy (!) of its most historic surviving starships.

Theory #4: We’re already in Moriarty��s holo-trap

What if Picard and Riker’s conversation in 10 Forward in the very first episode of this season was actually in a holodeck?

What if this entire season so far has been inside a holodeck?

What if everything since TNG Season 6 has been inside a holodeck???

Miscellaneous bullshit:

I don’t recognize this alien script, and couldn’t find anything even close on Memory Alpha. Those are the little fighters deployed from the Shrike, though, right? So maybe it’s that clicky language Vadic’s crew speak. Weird that it’s integrated right into the LCARS like that…

Uhhhhhhh, Garth Nix crossover?

Yeahhhh, okay, I’ve got nothing.

[tarrevizsla]

you still haunt the corners of my heart // read on ao3

[Begin transcript.]

Riov's personal log. Stardate… date: Exactly 140 years after the Battle of Caleb IV. [soft sigh.] It’s still hard to believe I’m — now. If the Elements had accepted me, 140 years ago —

[sound of a drink being poured.]

Well. There’s no use dwelling on could-have-beens. I’m here, now. Still gave up the hundred years I could have spent then — for her. It eats away at me, knowing she thinks I died for her, knowing that she’s gone and I’m still here. I don’t know whether or not she mourned for me. I don’t know whether or not I want her to have mourned.

[a glass clinks on a surface.]

Did I teach her the rites? Did I tell her to give all she had of me up to Fire? Would she have, would I have wanted to her, should she have burnt what she had of me as an offering or kept me with her for a thousand years, should she have left me behind again — no, that’s cruel. I told her to go. I stayed behind. I left her with nothing but memories. I left her no body to bury; I left her with a thousand thousand conversations unsaid, and told her to give up the hope we could ever have them.

I still haven’t, though I know I should; I should lay her to rest, not carry her with me, but these memories I have of her are what I warm myself beside when all other fires and Fires flicker and die. And if I keep her here, in my head and heart, maybe I can make her immortal, or at least keep her alongside me. We almost died together on that day, a century and a half ago; maybe we were always meant to.

Elements. Was it selfish of me to die for her? To take a death that should have been hers by right, as my captain, my riov? Did I dishonor her? Do I dishonor her now, an eternity — a lifetime later, by living in these memories, by gorging my weakness on reminisces of the way she took my hands?

[a soft laugh.] I loved her, didn’t I? Beyond an officer to their captain, beyond a friend to a friend, even beyond a brother to a brother — I loved her. The Vulcans have a word — t’hy’la. I loved her. Burned with it; burned for it. But the truth is more than that: I love her. Fires burn and die, the universe expands, and stars collapse, but this at least will not change: I love her. I could love her for the rest of my life.

[sob; refill drink.]

So. A toast to her. To the fearless Captain of the U.S.S. Minerva. To the Commander she was when we met; to the wise Admiral I know she became. To a friendship cut short; to a debt of honor never repaid; to —

To my friend. To my Captain.

O Captain, my Captain—!

[blondebeardtheparent]

Captain’s Log

Stardate 20240925

Y2S1D13

It’s been a busy weekend. I delivered the second session for my Rekindle course on Friday. We are beginning to see it stir the depths for some. Hidden wounds are coming to light. I pray that as they do, these men will find healing.

Sunday is always busy. I was not leading this week, but I was able to have a meaningful conversation with a seeker afterwards and then to have lunch with some of our dear friends.

Monday, I started designing a training program for preschool educators introducing the concept of TPR. I’m about 1/3 finished with that. The framework is done, I just need to flesh it out at this point.

Tuesday, we went to finish my green card application. Everything we can do is finished now. The rest of it is up to Him. I also got in contact with a university that offers a funded PhD program. We’ll see how that goes.

It’s been raining the past few days, and the boys have been sluggish on their work. I told them if they can finish this week’s courses early, we can go on a field trip Friday morning. My plan is to do the art museum. We’ve been back for a month and still haven’t gotten there yet.

We will be out of town this weekend. A friend hooked us up with a chance to talk to a spiritual director. I don’t hold out much hope at this point, but I’m desperate. If there is help available, I will invest the time and energy to go. Most days, I feel like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me. Maintaining any kind of sustained energy exhausts me. I’m still going, but I feel like I’m bleeding out. I can relate with Job’s lament, “For the arrows of the Almighty are in me; my spirit drinks their poison; the terrors of God are arrayed against me.”

If you pray, pray for me.

[spaceleveln]

Like, this is the kind of dealio that I want for Warp Fields

Just some amazing technobabble that sounds amazing and cool and convincing and like you could learn it in school and nod like you know it but it's actually so complicated that even with the schoolkid version you can tell that what you've got is just the barest scratch of the surface.

And there's enough there that you can start kind of building on it and running thought experiments and asking questions.

The real advantage of Space-N is that it is, fundamentally, in-fiction, not the same universe as ours. That's part of the background of the idea.

Our universe, or the in fiction equivalent of it, was destroyed on Stardate (276)55413.5. Everything that happened before that was (re)created according to an entirely new set of fundamental rules/laws of the new universe that has existed from that moment until now - Stardate (112)59969.4(4).

Stardates are abridged to 5 digits, you see, with either one or no decimal. So someone telling you the Stardate today would say 59969 or 59969.4 if they felt the need to be relatively precise about where we were inside the specific Stardate. But in an actual precision time record for a computer it would be something much more detailed like 11259969.4 or even some heinously long series of digits after the decimal, down to the precision it needs. I think our best computers right now would be working around the 16-20 digits or so.

...actually, looking at that, I think I made a mistake in my reset date calculations, I think it should be something like (102) instead of (276). It's long ago from the modern moment but not THAT long ago. There are only about 1k Stardates in a year, and I think I put the origin point 1k Star "years" in the past so it should really be about 1 digit less at the middle digit. I must have put the wrong year in somewhere in my conversion for past dates. I'll have to remember to fix that.

Sorry, that was a topic jump. Anyways...

At 55413.5 the Space-N universe was created. I set Space-N a thousand years later just so I can extremely easily avoid dealing with the "God" of Space-N and never, ever have "God" come into play. I don't really want to deal with "God." "God" doesn't really want to deal with the universe as it now exists either. I can't decide if "God" can or cannot off themselves. I generally have trouble believing that a singular "God" can truly die within their own creation. But, whatever. I don't want to deal with them. They're part of the idea spawn, not actually part of any of the stories. "God" put themselves in a space ship and launched themselves into the deep so as to never ever be found. AND that was quite elsewhere in the galaxy. As our original Earth is... I don't know, somewhere else, also, just like "God":

But, the "God" of Space-N was a scientist in our universe, or the in-fiction equivalent, whatever. So the new universe that "God" accidentally/subconsciously created (the SNU one! Get it?! Get it?!! Ha!! I kill me XD!!) conformed to "God"'s perceptions and thoughts about the old one. That's pretty good at being close to ours, since they were a super-genius-mad-scientist level of knowledgeable. But we don't know everything about our universe now, and "God" is located in our past, therefore knowing a hell of a lot but still being at least as ignorant of the fundamental workings of the universe as we are. That's actually how "God" destroyed "our" universe and made the SNU one. "God" (and yes, I haven't decided if they were a man or a woman and I don't want to bother because I don't want to deal with their story - part of the point is that they're pure background) f*d around in a highly dangerous experiment to figure out new fundamental information about the universe for DARPA and EVERYTHING found out. So SNU is us but with cannonical differences.

"God" was a speculative fiction nut. That was "God"'s first piece of concrete evidence that the universe had been recreated in the image of their mind. "God" looked through their fancy-dancy telescope and spotted real canals on mars because deep in their subconscious they wanted the Edgar Rice Burroughs stories they read growing up to have been real, still, even as an adult, so in the moment of infinite power, "God" created the SNUniverse in a way that would make it happen and made it in media res so that it had. And that wasn't the only set of changes. So the rules are different enough to accommodate whatever the setting demands, it's just supposed to be close enough to make that science-fantasy reality possible while still being close enough to the world "God" inhabited to make their life not subject to any immediate noticeable change so they could continue as before and succeed. Creating the actual (but not historical since the SNU was created in an already historical state) first rip into Space-A... or Space-M... however you want to define it. The Space 1 tier away from SNU normal space that allows for Faster Than Light travel instead of merely travel at Light Speed.

And i just want the technobabble to reflect that sort of reality. Have it be consistent. Even if it is wrong, it's ok, as long as it is functionally always wrong in the same way.

BUT

Not being a scientist, at all, it's probably too big an ask.

... I should at least try and find the Blackett-Dirac Equation for the Spin-Dizzy anti-grav device from Cities in Flight. That's probably true or close enough.

I do want at least an explanation for why Warp Nacelles are arranged the way they are. Beyond just that they're dangerous and need to be kept as far away from the crew quarters as practically possible.

And I want it at this level. This thing X that the Nacelles do interact in this way Y to cause create these range of effects of Z that everyone is working with and keeps coming up with the same designs.

"God" was a Star Trek fan (and a Star Wars fan, too, but more of a Trekkie). The laws of the SNUniverse would create themselves in a way to favor the look of the original Star Trek television series' Starships. So I want a good reason for it look that way because "God" pretty literally told creation: make your fundamental laws favor Star Trek's original unofficial Starship design guide:

Rule #1 Warp nacelles *must* be in pairs.

Rule #2 Warp nacelles must have at least 50% line-of-sight on each other across the hull. Aim for more.

Rule #3 Both warp nacelles must be fully visible from the front.

Rule #4 The bridge must be located at the top center of the primary hull.

But also even more unofficial Rule #5 these rules can be fudged more in an individual ship's design in direct proportion to the Otherness of the ship's designers.

So, you know, the barely Other Romulans and Klingons get the D-7

Very different design that feels alien to the Enterprise but also clearly follows all of the same rules.

While the extremely Other Tholians who are clearly an entirely different order of life from humanoid, completely ignore the rules with their Y-8.

Because their background is different enough that their science will lead them in entirely different directions AND they probably know some physics and engineering principles that we don't yet.

And, for me, making it slightly more complicated there is a Rule #0: The laws must also accommodate the other Speculative Fiction franchises that "God" liked in a way that allows them to exist as well in the way that would satisfy "God"'s desires. There doesn't have to be Nine Rays to power the now defunct city of Helium on Barsoom, there just has to be a way to get a LOT of power from sunlight, enough that solar powered tech on Mars is reasonable within the limits of the rest of the universe. So, really good solar panels, with something like a way to get solar panels to 90% efficiency would satisfy "God" without the need to alter the life they were living or futz with the Star Trek enabling rules that would outrank Helium on their list of things that have to be accommodated.

I suppose I should really just break out the star trek technical manual.

Or... maybe just stop self sabotaging and wasting time talking about wastes of time rather than doing what I actually want to do and said I would do today. >_< :p this did NOT need to be this huge thing. Ugh.

Less.

Shorter.

Stop.

[alexetism-blog]

Stardate: 20230909

The day has arrived to board the boat.

Woke up at 6am, with sunrise. I like sleeping with the curtains open. No need for a dramatic alarm disrupting my heart into being awake.

After an exhausting process of getting in the cruise, and sorting through the To-Do’s, we made it into the MSC Virtuosa. We are staying in deck 10. IKEA mazes pull us in, and I realize how tethered I’ve been to sending and receiving images and videos from the community via “text.” Now that I’m at sea, I’m on airplane mode due potentially vulgar overseas charges; I might as well feel like a monk on a silent retreat. I rediscover in-person conversation, obsessive playlist creation, and my old blog app: which allow for better and more affordable content syndication.

I got an account in Blue Sky as well, and I’m determined to create a body of work of poems. Mix of old and new inspired in the ports and cities I’m about to explore.

[kosmos2999]

Star Trek: The Animted Series 50th Anniversary Episode Review

Episode: The Survivor

Season: 1 Episode: 6 Stardate: 5143.3 Original airdate: October 13, 1973 Written by: James Schermer Directed by: Hal Sutherland Music by: Yvette Blais and Jeff Michaels Executive producers: Lou Scheimer and Norm Prescott Studio: Filmation Associates Network: NBC Series created by: Gene Roddenberry

Cast: Captain James T. Kirk (voice by William Shatner) Mr. Spock (voice by Leonard Nimoy) Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy (voice by DeForest Kelly) Lt. Uhura, Lt. Anne Nored (voices by Nichelle Nichols) Lt. Hikaru Sulu (voice by George Takei) Eng. Montgomery Scott, Gabler, Romulan Commander (voices by James Doohan) Nurse Christine Chapel, Enterprise Computer, M'Ress (voices by Majel Barrett)

Guest star: Ted Knight as Carter Winston/Vendorian

Synopsis:

During a patrol across the Romulan Neutral Zone, Captain Kirk gives orders to set a course to the encounter a small private ship to the rescue of its passenger. The ship is registed under Carter Winston, a social prominent figure who uses his fortune to help others. Winston has been lost for five years.

At the transporter room, Kirk, Dr. McCoy and Spock received Winston. McCoy gives thanks to him because he helped McCoy's daughter as one of many who survived of a famine due a crop faliure on Cerberus.Spock tells Winston that his fiancée, Security Officer, Lieutenant Anne Nored after verifying his identity tapes and a physical exam.

McCoy protest Spock's treatment to Winston but Kirk approves it telling it is a required procedure.

As Bones perform the medical examination, he notes his instruments are gaving strange readings. Like if Carter Winston is not human at all. McCoy resolves that it has to be an instruments' malfunction.

Lt. Nored makes her appearence at the medical room and had a conversation with Winston. He confesses to his former lover that he had an accidental crash on planet Vendor and he had suffered many surgeries, that he experienced many changes, so they would not going to marry her.

Then, Winston moves to Kirk's office and while the captain is busy trying to find the reports on the small starship, the Vendorian deguised as Carter Winston reveals his true self. The Vendorians are are a shape-shifter's race whose presence is forbidden in the Federation's territories.

He puts Kirk unconsious and assumes the captain's persona. Then he moves to the bridge and orders Sulu to set a course to Rator III no matter the helmsman's advice about crossing the Romulan Neutral Zone.

As he leaves the bridge, he moves to the doctor's office and does the same the he had done with Kirk. He assumes the identity of McCoy after putting the real one to sleep.

The real Captain Kirk wakes up and moves to the bridge realizing a time has passed since he get unconsious. He asks why they are crossing the Neutral Zone of the Romulans.

Spock presents the video recording of his orders and realizes this is all a trap from the Romulans. Then Kirk orders a turn away from the Netral Zone.

Kirk and Spock moves faster to the medical office guessing that the Vendorian is right there. As soon as the captain notice the presence of the spy, he ran away fast. He was intercepted by the Lt. Nored and he assumes the Carter Winston persona again and explain Anne whatever really happened to Winston and how the Vendorians absorb the memory and feelings of the subjects they stole their identity. Nored felt uncapable of firing to him with the phaser.

The Romulans make their appearence to rightfully claim the ownership of the Enterprise. Captain Kirk refuses to give the starship because he knows the presence of the Vendoiran spy is part of the Romulan's ploy to capture the his starship.

Meanwhile, the spy assumes the identity of one of the engineering perssonel and makes damage to the starship's shields. Scotty reports that the damage could take two hours to be repaired.

The Romulan Commander orders an attack to the Enterprise, but in a miraculous way, the shields are activated and stand the Romulans' attack. Spock asserts the spy has turned into the shield itself. Then the Vendoiran appears on his form to explain why he has done this mission. Kirk told him he is going to be judged by the Federation, but he is going to speak on his behalf.

Then, the captain put Anne Nored in charge of the Vendoiran spy.

Fascinating Facts:

The characterization of the Vendoiran spy who passed as Carter Winston was performed by actor Ted Knight. He was better known for his roles on TV shows like Ted Baxter in the Mary Tyler Moore Show and Henry Rush in Too Close for Comfort. Knight also was a regular voice actor for many other animated shows from Filmation Associates.

This is the first time Dr. McCoy's daughter is mentioned. Her name is Joanna and it was planned to introduce the character in The Original Series' episode “The Way to Eden”, but it was discarded.

The character of Uhura appeared briefly on this episode but without any dialogue. Nichelle Nichols made the voice characterization of Carter Winston's fiancée, Security Officer, Lieutenant Anne Nored.

The first time of the appearence of the Catian race character Lt. M'Ress voiced by Majel Barrett.

The voice of the Romulan Commander was performed by James Doohan.