#tos fic

[marlinspirkhall]

For Uhura Month @uhuramonth day 4, prompt: “Diplomacy”, here's chapter 1 of “The Fabric Of Her Life”

Summary: When a first contact mission goes wrong, Kirk is incapacitated, and Nyota must navigate an unfriendly planet without the aid of a universal translator.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)

Relationship: James T. Kirk & Nyota Uhura

Characters: Nyota Uhura, James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Hikaru Sulu

Additional Tags: Universal Translator Malfunction, Captivity, Hostage Scenario, Endometriosis, Medical Negligence, (past) Medical Negligence, Trans James T. Kirk

Note: This fic includes mentions of past medical negligence, themes of ableism, ableist character(s) & microaggressions.

Chapter 1: Silk

“Now, , you've read my report, but let's go over the salient points again.”

Ambassador Vodel wears an outfit made entirely from tie-dyed fabric. It's a style popular with most civilians they encounter in deep space, though, if it weren't for these pre-contact briefings, Jim would have no idea what passed for fashion on Earth right now.

“The Ignee have been warp-capable for twenty years, but their maximum warp speed is equivalent to our zero-point-five.” As Vodel struts, the silk swishes importantly. “Like humans, they were spacefarers long before they discovered warp tech- but, unlike us, they'd already colonized every M-Class planet in their solar system when they did so. We encountered one of their manned ships on the edge of Federation space, and it's still there, I very much suspect! The ship maintains constant communication with Igneous-Delta through radio contact alone, but don't ask me how. Naturally, they were a little surprised when we contacted them via subspace, but their instruments picked it up well enough. I imagine it was like receiving the Wow! signal, only a little less…” He waves a hand. “... You know.”

Jim doesn't. “I'll bet they were surprised when your ship turned up, too.” He says.

“Well, quite. Shooting across the galaxy in a fraction-of-a-fraction of the time it takes them to do it, I'm sure they were amazed.” He turns his head. “I think that's why they're so receptive to us.”

“Why wouldn't they be receptive?” Jim shields his eyes as they round the corner, and overhead lights begin their simulated sunrise. The corridor paints Vodel’s robes magenta.

“Well, I thought they were Luddites at first, you know. My crew disagreed, but they came around to my way of thinking: absolutely zero evolution of warp technology in twenty years, zero progress in communications, their planetary servers are still entirely dependent on Ethernet- they'd love this ship, all these datacards…!”

Kirk maintains a blank face. “Speaking of which, my head of communications mentioned-”

“- Ah yes, the lovely Ms Uhura. I do believe my Yeoman is busy replicating a new stack of cards as we speak. As for your chief science officer-”

“And first officer-”

“Two very demanding titles! How peculiar, to have them both filled by one person... But, I suppose he is Vulcan, isn't he?”

“Yes,” Jim says, forcibly. “But-”

“-Well, tell him we haven't got any botanical readings. We did the preliminary atmosphere checks- the safety checks, and all that. The air is fresh, the ground is walkable, and- although we don't have any Vulcans on our crew- if you're in the habit of sending two of your most senior roles on an away mission at the same time; I'm sure he'll be perfectly safe.” He chuckles at his own joke.

“We need that information to plan our away team.” Jim says, levelly.

“I'm afraid I don't follow.”

“Your Conditions Report was missing key allergen information.”

“Allergen information?” He clicks his tongue. “Ah, yes. On a starship this size, I suppose you can't afford to be as discerning with your personnel, even if you are the flagship.”

Jim stops moving. “What?”

Vodel is halfway down the corridor. “Stars below, have I hit a nerve?”

Jim blinks. “Perhaps you should continue briefing me.”

“Well-” he hesitates. “Yes.” He hums. “The Ignee are incredibly concerned with honesty, purity and truth.”

“Meaning?”

“They dislike deception. Their reaction to subspace was proof of that.”

“They thought you were deceiving them?”

“Orbits, no! It's stranger than that. They thought we were defying The Natural Order.”

Jim frowns at him.

“It's just like I told you!” Vodel flourishes. “Their social model revolves around complete transparency, and- apparently- talking through a microphone obscures that.” He scoffs. “With that attitude, it's a miracle that they developed narrowband radio at all. It's why I insisted on accelerating second contact; we weren't getting anywhere over videocall- though, aside from a few superstitions, they're really quite harmless.”

They arrive at the landing bay, and Vodel puts his hands on his hips. “Now, I would stick around, but you're the best in the fleet! Not to mention the fact that each bridge member is a specialist in their own right, and- my my my- I dare say that the other deep-space ships are very jealous of you!”

“Thank you,” Jim says, fimly. “I understand you have an emergency to attend to on Hydrox V?”

“Oh, yes. Their previous leader died of illness, and there's distrust among the temporary government. You have no idea how deadly these disputes can become.”

“Hmm. It's fortunate you were nearby.”

“Undoubtedly!” He beams. “Now, where is that yeoman…?”

His crewman appears at his shoulder wearing a cream-colored hijab. “Ambassador?”

“Ah, splendid! You've calculated the telemetry, then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent! Well, come along, then; that internal conflict is hardly going to solve itself…”

The yeoman flashes Jim a long-suffering smile as they pass a datacard to him, then vanish as quickly as they arrived. Vodel follows in a flurry of chatter and fabric, and his clothes glow like dying embers. In the sudden silence, Jim is left in an empty corridor as the lights turn from pink to blue.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, and leans against the nearest wall unit.

“Bridge?”

The speaker crackles.

“Have you finished with our charming ambassador?” Nyota says, neutrally.

“Yes, he's returned to his ship.” He pauses. “How come none of the diplomats we meet are ever diplomatic?”

“Oh, he seemed sufficiently diplomatic, Captain.”

Jim smirks, and slots the datacard into the reader. “Is there time to analyse this before we leave?”

“I'll put an ensign on it.”

Jim nods, and turns away.

“Wait!” Her voice brightens. “It's the glyphic data which got lost in the transfer. It'll help me calibrate the universal translator for written documents.”

Jim narrows his eyes. “So, nothing pressing, then?”

“Well, I might help that ensign with it… It's always good to know if something's a marriage document before you sign it.”

“Hey. That was a Declaration Of Betrothal, and I've told you I'm sorry.”

“Well, you still refuse to follow through with it. It hurts my feelings, that's all.”

He smiles. “I'll make it up to you.”

“Mr Spock has suddenly become very interested in the scanner unit,” Nyota says, in an undertone.

*

“No warp-capable society is ‘harmless’, Captain,” Spock announces as Jim steps out of the turbolift.

“Good morning to you, too, Spock. I assume this means you've read the ambassador's report?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “Twice, Captain. Ambassador Vodel's research was remarkably concise.”

Jim's face twitches. “Yes, I've heard. We can send an away-team to complete the additional readings we'll need before the diplomatic team beams down.”

Something flits across his face. “The scans were at Doctor McCoy's insistence, not mine.” He places his hands behind his back. “He would, however, find such an oversight disturbing.”

“‘Disturbing,’ Spock?”

“The ambassador is unable or unwilling to accommodate the extra environmental scans, thereby putting its crewmembers at risk… An emotional being such as The Doctor would find that disturbing.”

“Ah, I see. It's kind of you to look out for his feelings that way- and logical, of course- but I'll deal with him.”

Nyota smiles to herself as she analyses the glyphic data.

*

The away team assembles in the transporter room, and splits into two groups of six. The first contains Jim, Spock, Hikaru and Nyota, with science officers Stevenson and Imada rounding up the back. The second group is comprised mostly of redshirts.

For this outing, Nyota has donned a command-gold uniform instead of her usual red, and Hikaru has changed into science blues.

There are two additional communications officers in group two, one of whom is an ensign. Jim frowns, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, he turns to Nyota.

“Lieutenant Uhura, do you want to brief us?”

“I do,” she smiles, and addresses the crowded room. “The Ignean lingua franca draws influence from almost five hundred others, some of which are pidgin forms from their off-world colonies. Their sentence structure is flexible, and often changes depending on context.” She glances at Jim, then back to the group. “Most sentences take the form of Object-Subject-Verb, but not all of them. The Universal translator is still learning their language- as am I- so it won't always be able to rearrange their sentences in real-time, as many of you may be used to. For those of you who may have skipped your rotation in comms, you may not be aware that OSV is the rarest word-order structure found on Earth. So, if anyone has any difficulty understanding what they're hearing: see me after class.”

There are several chuckles.

Jim smiles. “And, if in doubt, let our linguists do the talking.”

“Right,” Nyota beams. “That's all.”

“One more thing-”

“I have a briefing,” says a gruff voice behind them. Doctor McCoy stands in the doorway, wearing medical scrubs and a scowl. “Make sure you scan any flora before you approach it, no matter how familiar it looks.”

“Thank you, Bones,” Jim interrupts him, and signals to the rest of the group.

Bones harrumps loudly as the officers takes their places on their respective transporter pads.

“And, before we beam down-” Jim turns to Nyota again. “A question from someone who may have skipped his rotation in comms…”

She smiles. “Captain?”

“If the universal translator isn't drastically changing its output, will the Ignee be able to understand us?”

“So long as we keep contractions to a minimum, I don't see why not.”

“You mean 'do not see why not',” Kilgore reminds her.

Nyota points to her. “You are sharp, ensign. This is why I brought you along.”

“I am glad we worked this out before we beamed down,” Hikaru says.

“Technically, the universal translator will not have any issue working out contracted speech on our end,” Stevenson says, playfully. “But it may help to reduce lag.”

“Yes.” Nyota nods. “Fascinating.”

Bones looks aghast. “Lord help me, Jim, one Vulcan's enough, and now there're five of them!”

Spock cocks an eyebrow at him, and Jim smiles.

“Energise, Mr Scott!”

[CHAPTER 1] [CHAPTER 2 (TBA)]

[hawkeyefrommash]

must continue up, chapter one

part three of 'anything past the horizon'

After Jim and Spock's sudden engagement, it's finally time to meet the parents.

[sleepymccoy]

An intimacy, a surprise

Chapter two: Pink and Orange

McCoy gave the sales attendant his card and she did whatever it was they'd all done to purchase his clothes and send them back to his room. Convenient, certainly, to not have to carry anything around as he went from shop to shop. Mysterious, too. The whole process was foreign to him, buying a whole bunch at one space station. He didn't really know where he'd got all his old kit, it just sort of steadily accumulated. Some of it quite fondly. He'd miss his old sweater. 

No point carrying on about it. He smiled at the lady and thanked her, taking his card back. As he glanced at the scarves by the door he spotted black hair in the crowd. 

The locals were all redheaded, so this must be someone from the Enterprise. A moment of craning his neck and the movement of the head told him Spock was walking away. 

McCoy slipped between the few people in his way and caught up with Spock. 

“Well, hello.”

Spock stopped and, annoyingly, betrayed no emotion. “Doctor,” he said in greeting.

He was wearing his own clothes. Loose pants, long enough to cover his shoes, and an oddly structured dark silver shirt. The deep swoop of the collar repeated asymmetrically in all the hem lines. He wore his makeup differently today too, perhaps to reflect the different clothes? There was a touch of silver over his eyelids.

Someone bumped McCoy's arm and muttered an apology. They were standing still in the middle of the thoroughfare. Whoops. “Go on, then, I'm busy but you can walk with me if you've got so much to say.”

Spock fell into step beside him quietly. McCoy had been inviting enough, Spock could say something or bugger off. McCoy was, genuinely, in too much of a rush to needle him into conversation. 

He turned them into a store, this one focused on shirts and sweaters. He thought rather bittersweetly of his good cashmere that now floated in space and promised himself something comfortable here.

“It is a great shame the readings of that beast were so damaged,” Spock said as McCoy lifted a green woolen knit up.

“Ah, if wishes were horses, Mr. Spock.”

“What do you shop for?”

“That beast you wish to read up on took out my whole closet. Shielding came up before it could get my knickknacks, but I'm without clothes for the foreseeable.” McCoy threw the jumper over his arm. He pulled the card out of his pocket and flashed it at Spock. “Starfleet gave me this.”

“Have you much left to spend?”

“I've no idea, I can't calculate change to save my life.” He pulled a few shirts off the rack rather absentmindedly. One of them was a rather nice tan and white number, that went over his arm. One was black and silver, that went back. Much more Spock's colours, those. “I'm just spending until it declines.”

Spock smirked. His hand rested on the jumper table, trailing over the folded clothes as he walked slowly in time with McCoy. “You may be at it for some time, Doctor. You are a senior officer, they will be generous.”

“Isn't that nice.” They were by the change room and he had five shirts and three jumpers. “Hang on a minute,” McCoy said and slipped behind the curtain. 

He tried the collars on first, not rushing but not exactly taking his time. He was struggling to bring himself to care very much. He took the tan one off and put it in the yes pile.

“Where does a big ol’ space creature get the mineral intake to grow claws like that anyway?” McCoy called out. He pulled a dark purple polo on.

“There are a great many loose asteroids in the universe, Sir,” Spock said softly. He was standing right by the curtain, barely a foot away. 

McCoy slowed down his changing. This purple was alright, but the shoulders were tight. 

“Yes, Sir, there are,” McCoy said quietly. He pulled the purple off and returned it to its hanger. “Still seems a touch unfair.”

“Evolution does not consider your view of fairness in its process.”

McCoy mimicked Spock unflatteringly and put another polo on, the pink one with thin black lines. It looked terrible.

He opened the curtain, holding the purple polo. “Did you see a-”

“I am not sure pink suits you,” Spock interrupted.

Keep reading via the readmore, or jump over to ao3 for the whole story!

McCoy stopped searching for the shop attended and stared at Spock, dumbfounded. “Of course it does. Why, what do you think suits me?.”

“Blue.”

McCoy lowered his hand, letting the purple shirt whack against his leg. He rolled his eyes and hopefully gave Spock a thoroughly withering look. “I'm not buying a blue shirt, my uniform is blue.” He shook his head. “I look gorgeous in pink.”

“Black, then,” Spock said. 

McCoy gaped. “You've fooled all of the ‘fleet into thinking you have an imagination, Mr. Spock. Don't know how you've done it. Pass me that orange jumper, would you?”

Spock did so. “You cannot wear pink and orange,” he said. 

“No?” McCoy asked sarcastically. “Not to your taste? Would you give me the damn jumper?” 

Spock held it out. McCoy snatched it out of his arms and withdrew into the changing room. “Honestly,” he muttered. 

He pulled the pink polo off and began wrestling a pale slip shirt on. Nothing special, but perfectly useful. He tried the jumpers on, liking all of them. 

Alright, time to wrap up. He pulled everything off and began straightening out his fleet issue undershirt in preparation to put it back on. 

The curtain flapped and Spock slipped into the change room, clothes in hand. 

“You ought to-”

“Spock!”

Spock met his eyes. McCoy held his shirt half-heartedly to his chest. Spock did not hesitate in keeping his gaze, although he did swallow very prettily. 

McCoy lowered the shirt. Spock's gaze lowered, rather confidently, with it. McCoy almost laughed.

“What is your objection?” Spock asked. He raised the small pile of clothes. “None of these are blue.” 

“So, when we're civilians anything goes, huh?” McCoy asked. 

Spock blinked. “That seems obvious to me, yes.”

“Obvious?” McCoy repeated. He'd been kept awake these last months wondering. “What's obvious is you are-” he stopped and breathed out heavily. No help starting a fight. He put his hand to his eyes in exasperation. 

“Leonard, you-”

“Shut up, Spock,” McCoy grumbled, “I'm coming to terms with what you're like.” 

McCoy dropped his hand and glared at Spock. He let his shirt fall to the ground and stepped into the foot gap between him and Spock. He tapped Spock's chin, encouraging him to raise his head. Spock obeyed, baring his throat. 

McCoy leaned in and pressed his mouth to Spock's Adam's apple, kissing him firmly. Spock swallowed, and his throat moved under McCoy's lips. McCoy slid up, tasting the slight salt on Spock's skin, and kissed the dip under his chin. 

Spock let out a huff of air. McCoy sucked his skin in, intending an inconveniently visible hickey. As he did he ran his finger down Spock's neck, finding a curved seam in his shirt and following that down his chest. Spock dropped the bundle of clothes he held and wrapped an arm around McCoy's waist.

“Leonard,” Spock gasped. McCoy let up on the bruise and pulled back. Spock lowered his face and adjusted so his lips lay on McCoy's, not kissing him but dragging their mouths together. 

“There are still rules that apply to civilians,” Spock muttered.

“Like one person per change room?” McCoy asked, lips gentle and teasing against Spock's. “You broke that.” He left the not me implied, for Spock understood well enough. 

Spock slowly let go of his waist, his fingers dragging like pokers across McCoy's back. “How much do you have left to buy?”

McCoy laughed. “A great deal.” He stepped back. “Do you have plans tonight?”

“Dinner, yes.”

McCoy picked up the clothes Spock had dropped. One of the shirts was rather nice, so he started pulling that on. 

“After that?” McCoy asked.

“None.”

McCoy looked at himself in the mirror, then shifted his focus to Spock's reflection. “They put me in suite 712.”

Spock met his reflected gaze steadily. That hickey looked promising. “Good to know.”

McCoy smiled. “Got time for a drink?”

“Oh, yes.”

McCoy nodded vaguely towards a bar he'd eyed earlier. “Across the road. I'll have a bourbon, meet you in a few.”

Spock frowned, turned on his heel, and left. McCoy hoped he would see him in the bar soon. 

He took the shirt off. 

---

Spock had not met him for a drink. McCoy had lost the sting of the rejection before he'd finished the bourbon he'd ordered himself. The rules of this game were new to both of them still, it would take time to walk in lockstep.

He hoped, though, that Spock would take him up on his invitation tonight. He wore some new clothes, he had no other kind to wear, and kicked his feet onto the windowsill. The slow moving opposite edge of the Moebius strip space station they clung onto life inside spun across the way, the edges of glass and mirror catching the light intermittently. 

Eventually, as McCoy was regretting not buying warmer socks, the doorbell sounded. 

“Come,” McCoy invited. 

The sound was slightly off here, the technology worked at an oddly high pitch. But regardless, the nearly familiar sound of the door opening and closing sounded. 

“Enjoy your dinner?” McCoy asked. 

“No,” Spock said. He sounded just slightly surprised at the question. 

McCoy chuckled. Spock stayed quiet. 

“Disaster waiting to happen, out there,” McCoy breathed.

“The station is well within safety requirements.”

“Come sit with me, would you? Can feel you standing behind me like a bat.”

Spock sat in the other chair.

“What are they thinking; prioritising prettiness? If it could be safer, it should be.” 

“You must appreciate the purpose of art, Doctor.”  

“Perfectly in favour of art, me,” McCoy muttered. He wished Spock would use his first name. “Only not when it leaves my life hanging on by a very pretty thread.” 

“Philistine,” Spock said.

McCoy grinned. He turned to face Spock. “Am I?” 

Spock looked stunning in this light, his shirt catching the glow from the window and reflecting in his eyes brightly. But he was carrying on about art right now, so McCoy wasn't going to compliment him by mentioning it. 

He'd put a necklace on, a high brass thing that looked like it would restrict some movement. It perfectly covered the darkness McCoy had sucked onto his skin earlier, leaving McCoy to suspect that Spock had not healed the bruise away. That was a warming thought. It made McCoy want to leave a few other marks he might be able to keep until they faded naturally. Lower on his neck. His thigh. Perhaps his wrist.

“What makes you the authority on worthwhile art, then?” McCoy asked, slightly breathless from his own meandering thoughts.

“Vulcans value beauty,” Spock said simply.

McCoy hummed. He was in a mood to take it as a compliment, although it almost certainly wasn't intended as one. He wondered if Spock thought copper bruises were beautiful. 

Not knowing what to say, McCoy fell back on old habits. He said lightheartedly, “I regret asking.” 

Spock smiled slightly, and McCoy felt it pull at him. His gut heated, he liked it when Spock shared an emotion. He wasn't expressing, exactly, but was communicating quite intentionally with it. 

And the sounds he'd made under McCoy's hands those couple of months ago. McCoy hadn't known Spock could relax like that, he'd never imagined it. It sat heavy and hot in him, never far from his recollecting. 

But there was something in the way. They should have discussed it last time, but they hadn't. He'd discovered since that there was no way to raise it on the ship. And then in the shop, well, they'd gotten close. But McCoy had distracted himself.

So, he'd promised himself. Talk beforehand. 

“I've got to ask, Spock,” McCoy said, looking back out at the silly space station. 

“Yes?”

“This-” he sucked in his breath. “What would you call this? Between us?”

“A surprise,” Spock said dryly.

McCoy barked out a laugh. “For me too, darlin’!”

“This intimacy,” Spock offered quietly. “What is your question?”

“Only when we're civilians, yes?”

“I think that best.”

So did McCoy. He nodded. “You know I won't, necessarily, always want to pick up with you.” He glanced at Spock, then turned back to the view.

“Variety is quite natural, ashal-veh.”

McCoy frowned and turned to Spock slowly. He was smirking, the bastard. 

“Ashellefeh?” McCoy asked.

Spock’s smirk relaxed into one of his rare, genuine smiles. “Darlin’,” he said, with an exaggerated, and quite unconvincing, southern drawl. 

McCoy laughed outright, tipping his head back. When he recovered Spock still looked very pleased with himself. 

“Tea?” McCoy offered.

Spock nodded, so McCoy went to the kitchen. It was enough for him, some basic guidelines to keep matters off the ship. An implication that this would continue. A clarity that it may be kind, friendly, but not romantic. It all sat well in him, it felt right. He didn't feel the burning fear that he had had one chance to touch Spock and, while he had taken it and spent two nights doing just that, it was in the past. 

There was future now, an amorphous future that allowed him to stop getting so distracted by memories. Hopefully. And a future that still prioritised their difficult work.

As he was poking through the supplied teas for something herbal and not too floral, Spock slid into the kitchen behind him. 

“Do you wish to be alone tonight, Leonard?” 

“No,” McCoy said. “No, I'm just in my head is all.” He tapped the kettle on.

Spock stood by the doorway and tilted his head to the side. The room behind him was dark, blending with his hair. 

“Is that collar comfortable?” McCoy asked. It didn't look it, the metal pressed against the edge of his jaw like a cage. 

“Not particularly,” Spock admitted. “But it is not uncomfortable” 

McCoy hummed. “Like you are not unpleasant?”

“What use is pleasant, I am pertinent.” 

“That sounds like something I'd say behind your back.” The kettle rang to indicate the water had boiled. McCoy busied himself with mugs. 

“Why do you not use the hot water from the tap?” Spock asked. 

McCoy passed him his mug. “I like to wait, tastes better.”

Spock gave him a dumbfounded look, like he'd suggested they quit Starfleet and run a plant nursery together. But he said nothing, simply accepting the mug and turning back into the dark living room. 

They sat in their seats. After a moment, Spock quietly began to remove his collar-like necklace. McCoy watched, fascinated, as he carefully removed a pin which allowed the device to swing open on a tiny hinge. 

The hickey was hard to spot in the low light. As Spock leaned forward to place the contraption on the coffee table the light caught his neck just so, and the hickey stood out. 

“Want another?” McCoy asked. 

Spock looked at him and sat back in the arm chair. He blinked slowly, then, “Yes.” 

McCoy went to Spock and stood over him, running a hand into Spock's hair to tip his face up. Spock slid a hand between McCoy's legs, gripping his inner thigh. As McCoy kissed Spock, Spock's hand moved to grope McCoy's ass.

Here's that ao3 link again, there's nineteen chapters <3

[spocks-husband]

I made these ideas all sound so fucking boring but I promise I'll make them cool 😭

[sundayinthcpark]

housewives were not banging out spirk fanfiction in the 60s for you to be AI generating your fic

[sidetrek]

my mirrorverse kirk having a good time with spock

[hollis-art]

kirk so :D

[chapollynh]

I finished DS9 and here's my first offering to the fandom.

The show is just SO GOOD!! I wanna talk about it so bad, so I will spam the tags quite a bit... My bad. Also, the people who said Bashir would get better - you were right, he became a lot more fun! Plus he's got a teddy bear, that's peak character right there.

[v-thinks-on]

I'm hardly the first to remark on this but if this is intimate for a Vulcan...

Then I can only imagine what's going on here...

[homosexualpigeon]

If you’re writing a mix of AOS and TOS you’ve gotta commit to the bit.

‘He looked into his eyes. What colour they were? Spock couldn’t say. All he knew was that they were beautiful’

[affixjoy]

I’m imagining this as established mckirk, Kirk is crushing on Spock and McCoy is fine with it but infuriated how the two of them are as slow as molasses to figure it out.

[veetlevay]

Jim and Spock got hit with the hot girl ray! Oh my!

How will the strapping young Captain and the cool and unflappable Mr Spock react to this development?! ~After a time of unpacking some gender baggage~ gay sex!

[lichqueenlibrarian]

Prince Spock and Ensign James T Kirk from Silent Star by @jennelikejennay

[a-most-beloved-fool]

I really wish that more pre-reform/pre-surak fics leaned into cyberpunk instead of going for "shirtless men with spears". Like if I'm being honest, it feels like people sometimes turn vulcans into the "noble savage" trope. Which is, I cannot stress this enough, very weird. You're writing about spacemen and you're somehow managing to be racist against native people. And like. I don't think it's deliberate, and I'm aware that this conception of vulcans has been around for decades and that many people have just kind of picked it up by osmosis, but. Like. It's not great. It is, dare I say, a little bit problematic. It also isn't at all accurate to canon? People just made that up. Because Surak died in the 4th century, just about 2000 years before canon, and do you know what his cause of death was? Radiation poisoning. When they say, "vulcans were extremely violent pre-reform, and nearly wiped themselves out," they don't mean they were having tribal battles on the backs of sehlats or whatever. They mean they were having nuclear warfare.

[justveeing]

But, as he rematerialises and catches sight of Spock’s glossy hair and pointed ears amidst the waiting crowd in the transport station, he’s sure even this tourist’s haven of commercialism has its benefits. Spock’s gaze softens as their eyes meet, and Jim steps down from the platform as Spock comes to greet him.

For this year's @kiscon zine I had the absolute pleasure of doing 5 illustrations for @gunstreet's amazing fic Late Bloomer. It's a 10K rated E TOS story full of fun shenanigans, sweet moments and a very incredible explicit ending (there also a sexy illustration there!).

Read it HERE. You won't regret it (;

[bugslaststraw]

So I’m writing a fic where