#tos living memory

[triumviiirate]

Star Trek: Living Memory by Christopher L. Bennett

[medlilove]

NOMAD took everything from her. And they never talk about it!

Until Living Memory which was written 50 years later!

Please click for full res and read Living Memory

[lichqueenlibrarian]

Ohh Spock just admitted he’s afraid, that’s not a good sign.

[andromedasummer]

cos sky movies is free rn for the school holidays and this weekend is a long weekend for Matariki my dad downloaded all the star trek (2009-2015) movies and we've been going through them night by night together (yesterday was number one, we just finished into darkness, beyond is tomorrow night) so. expect more star trek posting.

[avoidthings]

kitchen’s closed | t. richmond

About: Terry catches you in the kitchen late at night and has his own idea of a midnight snack. [word count: 2.1k] Warnings: Explicit language. 18+ Readers Only. Oral (female receiving), Unprotected PIV (wrap your willy, pls). I had concepts of a plot. 

It was well past midnight in North Carolina, and you could hear the crickets and other critters abuzz outside of your bedroom window. You stared at the sliver of moonlight cast between your curtains, realizing the clutches of insomnia had sunk its sneaky fingers in you yet again. 

Your boyfriend, Terry, rarely stirred in his sleep, and kept a hefty arm draped over your waist every night. Being that he was ex-military, it was sort of ironic how heavy of a sleeper he was. Some evenings you tried to count the rise and fall of his chest instead of sheep, but rather than lulling you to bed it just disgruntled you. You wanted to poke the bear awake and damn him for leaving you so smitten. 

The room was quiet aside from the bustle of the outdoors, and you thanked God your man didn’t snore or else this would feel like a torture chamber. You flipped through the rolodex of your thoughts and landed on recapping your day; you went to work, Terry picked you up and made a stop at Kroger, then you two watched some sitcom reruns for a bit. House rules were to grab takeout after grocery shopping so neither of you had to bother with cooking something. 

All that thinking of food must’ve sent a reminder to your stomach. You exhaled as it grumbled. While very cute, you would rather not see Terry’s grumpy face should he discover his miso soup missing. You perked up at the memory of slipping a pint of ice cream in the shopping cart earlier. 

It was counterproductive, solving sleeplessness with sugar, but you hoped Ben & Jerry’s would be your saving grace tonight. You peered over your shoulder to find your boyfriend as sound as ever, eyes fluttered closed like a saint. 

After a silent prayer, you wriggled from his hold and toed out of bed. You pattered around the twilight of the room, starting your mission to the fridge. Past the master bathroom, the thermostat, (which nearly broke the two of you up), and to the far right of your living space was your destination. Thankfully, the range hood light was on so you weren’t too sore of eyesight. 

You opened the freezer and plucked out your reward. After grabbing a spoon, you settled in, sitting on top of the counter. The granite was cold against your bare thighs, your body only blanketed by a worn t-shirt that hung off your shoulders. 

That first mouthful was instant gratification and you nearly rolled your eyes back in delight. 

“Baby, what are you doing up this late?” You were startled by Terry’s voice, the tone more gruff from the interruption of his slumber. 

You were caught red-handed, spoon in mouth, so you shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted something sweet.” 

He hummed. Terry made his way closer, no longer a distorted shadow in your peripheral vision. He had come to bed in only his sweatpants and socks. 

Terry had a glow about him, even in the dim of your surroundings. He slipped comfortably in your personal space, stepping right between your legs. You relished in the warmth. 

You had to look up even with the extra height the counter gave you.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you have to go for your run in the morning,” you said. 

Terry gave you a lazy smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Everythin’ okay?” You nod wordlessly. 

“Hey!” You protested when he nabbed the pint from you, his hands quicker than your reflex to reach for it back. It was a battle you would more than likely lose anyway. 

He successfully hushed you by taking a scoop from the container to raise to your lips. 

“Open.” 

You held his gaze as you took what was given, inciting a groan that rumbled low in his chest. 

Terry obliged you once more and made notice of your tongue swiping to the corner of your mouth to catch what you missed. His own hunger dwelled in his underbelly. Between your job returning to the office and his growing trucking business, you haven’t made much time for intimacy as of late. 

“I think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet too.” The spoon and tub clattered by your side and he disappeared from your view. 

“Terry--” 

“Open,” he demanded once more, kneeling toward your feet, causing fire to crawl up the back of your neck. He did not take kindly to being ignored, and you wanted this to be an easy night, so you let your legs spread apart. 

He tossed one behind his shoulder, mumbling something inaudible to you. A kiss to your ankle, the inside of your knee, then your thigh. 

A yelp pierced the air when Terry’s large hands claimed the curve of your hips, tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. Your clammy palms braced themselves on the flat surface beneath you. You could feel his smirk and goatee rubbing on your exposed skin. 

Your breath quickened with the anticipation of what was next. His mouth ghosted over your center, blowing on your clit through your dampening panties. 

“Oh, fuck,” you shuddered. 

He was a merciless man, dropping open-mouthed kisses to your clothed center. He retreated as you tried to furl into his touch, reaching underneath your shirt to roll your nipple for more stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Terry inhaled your scent without shame. Finally, the cotton of your undies was torn from your pelvis to who-knows-where. You felt the coolness of the air over your exposed skin for a brief moment, the absence of touch not lasting long. 

You jerked, feeling his tongue swipe a slow strip up from your wet entrance, gathering your slick. He lewdly spat it back over your clit and sucked until you cried out. Terry ate you without abandon, with little regard for any manners, overtaken by his own greed. --

“I missed how you taste, baby.” Voice muffled in between your legs, his eyes flitted up at you, earnest as always. Terry’s grip maintained the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread so he could continue to steal all breath and sense from you. 

“Oh my God,” you moaned. Your brain and your body sounded an alarm, reeling with the increasing need for release. His name fell like a chant from your mouth. 

Two fingers pushing into you caused the band to snap, Terry immediately seeking the button that left you gushing. He was unaffected when your heel dug deep at his shoulder, urging his face further in your pussy as if it was possible. His fingertips sped in pace, turning your mewls into high-pitched squeals. 

Soon enough, your back bowed with the intensity of your orgasm. He tightened his hold, keeping you steady as the current flowed through you. “That’s my girl,” he kissed and licked you through it. Pleasure never reached a precipice when you were under his care, and you shouted to the heavens.

When your legs eventually deflated, your hands found his ears, rubbing behind them gingerly. A grunt slipped from his mouth.

Terry staggered to his feet, hooded eyes glazed over your heaving body. His teeth nipped between your breasts over your shirt, up to your collarbone and your neck. You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in to feel his erection prod at your inner thigh. 

Instinctively, he rutted up against you and you sighed. You were warm all over, sheeted with sweat and clenching around nothing, wanting only to be full of him. 

His lips left your jawline and found your mouth, luring you into a mind-numbing kiss. You cradled Terry’s face in your hands and took control, allowing your tongue to slot against his. It felt all the more indulgent, the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips mixed with your own arousal. 

He was still rubbing on your leg and it only intensified your need for connection. Like a minx, you curled into him, purring in his ear. “Terry, I need you. Please.” 

Your hands lowered to explore the solid planes of his body, all of its beautiful ridges and scars. He leant down so his forehead was touching yours. “Fuck, I need you too, baby. Been losing my damn mind about you,” he breathed.

Terry yanked at the waistband on his joggers and his dick sprung free. You two didn’t usually forgo protection but your cycle was around the corner, and desperation made your judgment very foggy. 

His fingers splayed under your shirt to grasp at your plush waist, thumbing the folds of your belly from where you sat. Terry pushed his way inside, coating himself to about half of his length. You sighed into his hold, legs locked at his torso, trying, and failing to meet him in the middle. 

Without much effort, he stilled your movements. Terry pulled out slowly, and slapped himself over your clit twice, leaving you to squirm pitifully. “Stop teasing and just fuck me, already,” you whined.

Terry did as told and burrowed into you in one, deep thrust. You ate your words in a choked gasp. His head cocked back as he felt your walls squeezing him, putting the cords of his neck on full display. 

Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold on to the thread of resolve you had left. Terry trampled on it when he set a brutal pace, drilling in you like you owed him something. Your ears were ringing with your own moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. It all felt like too much, far too soon. 

You pressed a hand to his chest feebly and whimpered. Promptly, he grabbed your trembling forearm and kissed the inside of your wrist. “I’m fucking you like you wanted, huh? Why you tryna run from me?”

“It’s t-too, m-much,” your words were slurring and you frowned through the pleasure, hoping he’d give you relief from his punishing strokes. That all too familiar storm brewed in your belly again and you couldn’t stifle any noise that left your lips. Each thrust brushed against that sensitive spot within you, and you try your might to stave off your climax. 

His stare was focused on you, utterly enamored by your carnal state. “Terry!” You wailed, slapping the countertop behind you and shifting to scoot away. The crack of his hand on the side of your ass rang loud and welled your eyes with fresh, salty tears. Terry landed a sweltering kiss on your lips to pacify you. 

He gripped you by the coils at the nape of your neck, and you blinked at him, huffing out shattered breaths. You wanted to ask him why he was fucking you like this, and what did you ever do to deserve it. But your brain could only compute expletives. You clenched and unclenched around him greedily, and his teeth clashed at the sensation.

“Stop holding back, I can feel it. Let that shit go.” And under his spell, you did, surmounting to a shaking ball in his arms. Your toes curled at his sides and his rhythm didn’t falter, his own release not far behind. You keeled with overstimulation, the air feeling sticky on your skin.

Terry’s hands abandoned your waist to cup your ass, bouncing you on his dick in hardy, final thrusts. You bite down his shoulder so you don’t scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now, sweat dripping on your collar. 

“‘Gonna make me cum all in this tight pussy, fuckk,” he groaned, ropes of his release starting to spurt inside of you. Your body was taut around him as his hips slowed to a halt. You were filled to the brim.

“My pretty baby did so good. So perfect for me,” Terry was panting like he just finished a mile-run, and still chose to sing your praises. He softened and pulled out, a part of you now missing. You sat there for a beat to catch your breaths, limbs still tangled together.

“Mm..’can’t stop shaking,” you whispered.

His actions had left you exhausted, drowsiness coated in every blink of your eyes. Terry separated from you for a second and he had his pants back on, scooping you up in his arms. You latched onto him like a bear, nuzzling into his chest.

If it was up to you, you’d pass out right there and crawl to bed in the morning. Something squished against his foot on his trudge out of the kitchen. 

“Shit, my socks are wet…what is that?” 

Ice cream.

--

Author’s Note: Just wanted to drop my contribution to the Terry Richmond industrial complex.

P.S. This was supposed to be Trainer!Terry but my hormone monster won. 

As always if you made it to the end, thank you bunches!

[queers-gambit]

Silence

prompt: ( requested ) anxiety plays tricks on your mind, making you mistake your boyfriend's stress for anger - at you.

pairing: Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto x female!reader

fandom masterlist: FX's The Bear

word count: 2.5k+

note: it's short but to the point.

warnings: cursing, hurt and comfort, depiction of mental health: anxiety, slight self-destructive thoughts.

Silence could be a good thing.

Libraries were silent for ample focus. Theaters were silent during the showing. Sometimes, long drives were peacefully silent.

Silence could also be a bad thing.

Demanding an explanation and the silence stretches. The silence before a doctor delivers life-changing news. Asking someone if they're okay and they don't answer.

When your boyfriend, Carmy, had returned from work that evening, he slammed the front door, dropped his backpack, toed out of his shoes, and stormed around the apartment silently. He didn't greet you, didn't offer a kiss, nothing - just breezed past you as if a pile of dirty laundry he's ignored for the past two weeks. You watched him from the kitchen, sipping a glass of wine, worry sprouting in your gut and chest. It was obvious something was bothering him - but couldn't fathom what it was that made him ignore you; to make him not look at you one single time.

It was like you weren't even there with the way he projected his moodiness. Even on his worst days, he always always always greeted you with a kiss; but the lack of affection hallowed your chest into a pit, wondering what you had done to make him avoid you.

Suddenly, the silence was eerily deafening, coiling your stomach and pumping lead through your veins; no TV or radio switched on to fill the void and create passive, background audio. Carmy was obviously upset about something, but the fact that he didn't even look at you made you think he didn't want to talk. This worried you because before dating, you and Camry Berzatto were the best of friends; talking about literally any and everything you could think of. He came to you with every single grievance, every frustration, every slice of drama - so why wouldn't he now?

Unless... Unless you were the cause of his annoyance? The idea made the pit in your chest stretch to your gut - anxiety rapidly spreading, confusion warping rational thought into something darker and self deprecating. The idea of upsetting Carmy - or anyone, for that matter - was enough to bubble nausea and turn your skin clammy. Muscles tensed, eyes darted, and your mind was plagued with every single thing you had said or done in the past 16 hours.

However, your memory couldn't pinpoint any moment you could've upset him; things had been normal and easy-going lately, there being no clear indication you were the culprit of Carmy's anger. However, there didn't need to be anything clear because your mind was fully convinced you were the bad guy now.

After swallowing a gulp of wine, your eyes adverted to give him privacy and begin on dinner; being obvious that his phone was much more important than you right now. Unfortunately, when it came to picking which sauce to dress your meal with, you were forced to slowly enter the living room where your boyfriend had taken refuge.

"Hey, baby?"

"Hmm?"

You tried not to be offended by his lack of verbal acknowledgement, but your intestines flipped and grew heavy. "Uh, just wondering, you want the marinara or Alfredo tonight with the - "

"Doesn't matter, you choose."

"I mean, which would you prefer?"

"I just said it didn't matter," he repeated with a hardening tone, "it's not like it's a difficult decision to make."

You didn't want to make his attitude worse, so you backed off silently and returned to your task. Yes, yes, Carmy was the professional cook between you but that didn't mean he wanted to come home and continue the act. So, you learned a few new recipes to keep meals interesting - a feat your boyfriend didn't seem to appreciate or even recognize most days. Tonight especially.

Tension tangibly filled the apartment the longer the silence stretched. Your mind conjured a hundred questions at once, begging your mouth to run rapidly if it meant getting answers - yet your logic stuck the words in your throat, refusing to let them fly, and even shoving them deep down for your soul to hold.

You poured a second glass of wine, throat thickening with silent emotion. There was always the worry in the back of your mind that Carmy would one day realize you didn't fit into his life and would break up with you. Or that perhaps, his irritation tonight wasn't due to anything you did specifically, but instead, was attested to your normal behavior and quirks - like the want to talk throughout the day.

Blinking the moisture away, you remembered Carmy hadn't answered a single one of your texts the entire day - a normal act for you, but maybe one that now got on your boyfriend's nerves. You dished up dinner, standing in the open kitchen with two plates and feeling silly for the nerves prickling your skin. You barely noticed the slight tremor in your hands. "Dinner's ready, Carm," you alerted, leaving the plates on the kitchen island you normally ate at; distracted by the need to pour a glass of water.

When you turned, your heart stalled in your chest when you noticed his plate missing - locating him in the living room, again, and it being obvious he didn't intend to eat with you. Now you knew for sure, you had indeed done something. So, you gingerly took a seat and tried to take up as little space as possible; shying in on yourself, eating silently and quickly so you could do the dishes right after.

Sure, there was usually the rule that the cook didn't clean, but there was no way you were gonna ask Carmy to do the simple chore; afraid of pushing him over whatever edge he teetered at. After storing any leftovers, you started the dishwasher and retreated to your bedroom with another glass of wine and the intention to get a bath. You felt like a glaring inconvenience all of a sudden, regret inking your blood and reprimanding yourself for being so - so - so... Clingy?

Is that what it was? Did Carmy think you were clingy? Perhaps texting him throughout the day without him ever answering was the final straw of annoyance he felt toppled the haystack. You wanted to apologize and eliminate the tension, but couldn't necessarily understand what you were sorry for; thinking you were simply paying attention to him, being attentive and interested in his everyday life.

Maybe you needed to apologize for being suffocating? Was that it? Your love was suffocating him? Was he feeling pressured by you? Did he think you two too comfortable in this relationship? Was your wall of texts an indication you were more serious than he? Oh, God, was that it - did Carmy think you were getting too serious, too fast?

Granted it'd been a few years of dating, a lifetime of friendship before that - so how much more serious could you get? Why would your attempts of communication rub him the wrong way? How could the pair of you ever manage to fall off from the same page? Make him think you were pushing for something more? Didn't he know he was enough for you? Didn't he appreciate your presence? The want to be closer? Your desire to maintain the friendship your relationship was built off of? The appreciation you had for him? The support you wanted to offer?

You soaked in epsom salt for the better part of half an hour. Draining the tub, drying off, and changing into pajamas were done silently; feeling almost fearful to venture out of the bedroom to return your wine glass to the sink.

So you decided to just get in bed, figuring if Carmy was so angry at you that it resulted in him ignoring you, he wouldn't want to sleep beside you, either. With your thick framed glasses on, you nestled into bed with your newest novel, trying not to let your mind go into overdrive as your need to fix whatever was upsetting Carmy was overwhelming. Yet there was also the nagging idea that trying to fix whatever was 'broken' would've made things worse - again, resulting in you doing nothing and giving Carmy his space.

The silence haunted the apartment like a ghostly presence; leering over your heads, embracing you uncomfortably.

When the bedroom door opened, you masked your surprise and just read the same paragraph three times in a row - distracted by your boyfriend milling around, preparing for bed. Your eyes widened in shock when the bed dipped and shifted, jostling you as Carmy got into bed beside you, but you still didn't look up from your book.

"What're you reading, sweetheart?"

His mood swings often gave you whiplash. You glanced at Carmy, finger holding your place to let you fold the book over and present the title on the cover. You worried that anything you said and did could make this tension fester, so, you remained silent and went back to reading.

"Is it any good?" He pondered, watching your profile. You nodded mutely, lips slowly rolling between your teeth in a show of anxiety Carmy could now recognize. "Hey, hey, you all right, babe?" He asked softly, sounding mildly confused - perhaps even alarmed.

"Yeah, 'course," you mumbled.

"Well, how was work?"

"Fine."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

There was a brief pause, then Carmy gently pried, "C'mon, baby, what's wrong? Why're you so quiet?" He chuckled gently, "Usually so talkative in the evenings."

You offered him a bewildered look with slightly pinched brows, swallowing nervously and slowly shutting your book to trace the spine mindlessly in an effort to distract yourself. Typically when anxious, your hands needed stimulation, something tangible to do and feel when your mind numbed with nervousness.

With a great deal of bravery, more than you thought was necessary to muster when talking to the person you love, you asked softly, "Are you mad at me, Carm? I mean, did I do something? T-To upset you?"

"Wait, what?" He asked in confusion. "Nah, baby, you didn't do anything, why would you even ask?"

"'Cause you've been ignoring me...?"

He scoffed, "Ah, 'cause I didn't answer your texts?"

"That, and you've been ignoring me in favor of your phone since you got home. Slamming doors, brooding in the living room, didn't eat dinner with me - got a little snappy when I asked what sauce for dinner? Feels like I did something but I don't know what, so I don't know how to fix this."

Carmy sighed, leaning back to the mound of soft and fluffed pillows you had stacked on your shared bed. "Shit," he breathed, huffing a dramatic sigh, "didn't even realize I was doin' all that, baby."

"If you're mad, just tell me what I did - "

"No, no, hey, hey, hey, hey," he rushed, turning on his side to look at you, elbow supporting his weight; clocking the glassiness coating your eyes. "You didn't do anything, baby, I swear. There's nothing for you to fix 'cause you didn't do nothin'. I just - I've been havin' a shit day, didn't realize I was bein' mean to you let alone that you'd take it to heart."

"Kinda hard not to when I'm the only one here."

"No, right, I get that," he sighed. "I'm sorry, baby, I know you get anxious when I shut down like that, but I promise, I'm not mad at you."

"Well, who else would you be mad at? I thought you were annoyed 'cause I was texting you all day. Thought I was, I don't know, being clingy or something since you didn't answer me."

Carmen frowned, "Sweetheart, no, hang on, listen to me. You didn't do anything to upset me, okay? I didn't answer you 'cause I dropped my phone in the sink and it got all glitchy, I couldn't answer you. I tried to fix it when I got home, but I think I fried it - should just get a new one. It was just one of those days that everything went to shit, it all built up, got the better of me."

You nodded, still looking dejected and making a shot of guilt plunge his heart. "You usually talk to me when you're upset," you pointed out softly, "and when you didn't say anything, I thought I was the reason you were upset. Figured you wouldn't talk to me if I did something to cause your attitude."

"No, hey, I'm sorry, c'mere, baby," he opened his arms and curled them around you when you shuffled into his chest. "Shit, I'm really sorry, I didn't even realize what I was doing - but Goddamnit, that's no excuse, though. I don't mean t'take my shit out on you, you don't deserve that."

"I just got a little nervous, maybe let my anxiety get the better of me."

"That's okay," he promised, kissing your forehead, "I can understand why. I was a dickhead, being snappy and ignoring you when all you do is support and love me. I'm real sorry, sweetheart," he sighed against your skin, tightening his arms to keep you cocooned in his warmth. "You know, you can always talk to me - don't gotta shut yourself down and avoid me."

"Do you even hear yourself? Should take your own advice."

"Yeah, I should," he smirked. "Hey, promise I'll do better not to shut down like that."

You nodded in acceptance, wondering softly, "Do you wanna talk about it? Whatever happened today?"

"Uh, nah, you know what? Think I owe you some cuddles, maybe a dessert? You know, to make up for my bullshit attitude."

"You don't have to - "

"I got you all worked up, feels like the least I can do."

With a hum, you smirked, "I won't say no to a slice of cheesecake."

"What baby wants, she gets," he grinned, a hand caressing your cheek to direct your eyes up to his. His thumb swept back and forth under your eye, "Still sorry about today. I didn't mean to be such an oblivious dickhead, I swear."

You nodded, "I know, baby. Just don't shut me out next time. Had me worried when you didn't even kiss me when you got home."

"A heinous crime on my part," Carmy smirked. "Should I remedy that?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

He chuckled and pressed his lips to yours in a soothing kiss, hand sliding to the back of your neck. It was a slow and languid kiss, something he took his time in engaging; lips sticking together, moving in-sync, creating chains of saliva when he pushed his tongue against yours. "Yeah," he mumbled, "I'm the dumb fuck who had you thinkin' I didn't want this from you." He pressed another kiss to your waiting lips, "You're intoxicating, baby - always want your kisses. Yeah? Always. The day I don't, take me out back like Old Yeller."

You wanted to voice that he wanted your kisses now until one day, he simply wouldn't - but refrained from doing so because you knew it was just anxiety talking. So, instead, you chuckled at his comment and leaned in to initiate your own kiss.

requesting rules and masterlist

FX's The Bear masterlist

[ddejavvu]

I would let Jango Fett (and any clone, to be honest) call me up when he's planet side, fuck me, then leave without saying goodbye and I'm tired of pretending I wouldn't

🧘‍♀️🧘‍♀️🧘‍♀️ mmmm i had to close my eyes and clench my thighs reading this. jango i think would be more callous and rough w it, whereas some of the clones might be more sincere. because i'm merely a series of holes for them to use I'll just talk about multiple. feel free to request others if i missed someone you'd like to hear about.

jango's rich and highly skilled at his job, notorious to those who know him and invisible to those who don't. it's not hard for him to get you in bed, nor is it hard for him to keep stringing you along, knocking roughly on your door, not because he couldn't get in by picking your lock, but because he wants you to hear that sound and know that it's a precursor to his own behavior: rough, fast, demanding. jango uses you for pleasure and not company, kissing at your mouth instead of letting you talk, smothering you with his broad shoulders and considerable muscle until all you're doing is wrapping your arms and legs around him, your actions solely reliant on his own. he loves pulling back to look at your flushed, sweaty face, your heaving chest as your lips perpetually part just to suck in air that he'd stolen from you with the heft of his body, your limbs weak and limp as he watches you. he's proud of the way he affects you, he's respected and feared in all endeavors he undertakes. he tortures you by never letting you know when he'll be on coruscant, and it means you wait eagerly in your apartment each night, longing for his gloved fist to pound on you door. you let him in every time, and you always will. he lets himself out every time, and he always will.

rex keeps in mostly good spirits with his team and his men, so when he shows up outside your door it's for companionship. He wants connection, he's mollified with claps on the shoulder from general skywalker but camaraderie can't replace intimacy. he nudges his face into yours, his nose bumping the space between yours and your cheek. he breathes your air, he presses himself to you like the space between you might kill him. he's proud to be in your bed, with you, kissing your skin and committing it to memory for late nights out in the cold vacuum of space. he holds you tenderly, his palms always pressed to your flesh to drink you in, and he lets you act as an outlet for his longing. being with you rejuvenates him, but watch out because if he's too happy the day after, his men are gonna know he got laid. general skywalker is all too proud to cover ahsoka's ears when he congratulates him for being in such good spirits

wolffe is so fucking stressed. truly he has to put up with so much bullshit and he's infinitely grateful for his general because if he had skywalker like rex he'd shoot himself. he knocks on your door to pin you to the bed and slam the headboard into the wall, he uses your cunt as a punching bag and he bites vivid, stinging marks into your neck and chest. He kisses them afterwards, letting his post-orgasm tenderness through, but he tires himself out before he ever croons at you. maybe it'd be different if you lived with him, but he's not on coruscant all the time, so frantic rough sex and an empty bed in the morning is what you'll get.

hunter bad batch finds it hard to get time away from his team because of their status as, uh, well, runaways. it's rare that he can let his guard down enough to spend a night in your bed, but that's why he leaves without saying goodbye. he slips out as soon as you're asleep, and departs coruscant before you even wake. you're his, 'be back in a few hours, i've got one last thing to do'. you're left wondering if he has go-tos on every planet, or if you're lucky. you're lucky, but he won't tell you that. he will, however, leave something to hold on to until the next time he sees you. probably a bandana, pardon the cliche, but it's the one he tied your wrists to the headboard with last night, so you keep it with you.

wrecker would genuinely feel terrible not saying goodbye i'm sorry. he might rock your shit and leave you numb but he'll always get all mushy when he's gotta go. he definitely tends to be one of the more romantic ones, he's a big softie and probably wouldn't treat you so callously even if combat was wearing on him. he prides himself for being in your life, and he'd assure you every time you got together that he wasn't just using you for pleasure. he'd comm you semi frequently if he was able.

fives is a little shit who might possibly fit into the scenario described. while i think he'd feel guilty for using you and treating you like he's using you, i can see it happening and just being a poor decision of his that he's not too proud of, but that he can't stop regardless. i can see him playing into a fuckboy persona and trying not to think about it too hard or else he might feel bad. he sweet talks you into letting him in every time and you can barely catch your breath before he's suiting up in his regulation blacks again and heading out the door. he doesn't do it because he's stressed, he doesn't do it because he's desperate to connect with someone, he does it because he's horny and wants a pussy to fuck. he wants to sink his aching dick into a warm body, and that warm body is you.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Hugs That Heal

AO3

Today had been shit. There was no other way to say it. You got yelled at by no less than three customers for issues that weren’t actually issues, your childhood dog had died, and your friends had to cancel on coming by the shop before close. And your fucking period started today meaning that even though you kept it together all you wanted to do was weep.

You had only been living with Simon for a few months. He wasn't home much and often on a near unpredictable basis. Hoping against hope that he wouldn't be home today you slid your key home. When the door opened, the key still in the lock, you knew hope would not save you.

He still wore his mask and had hard eyes. Fuck. This was Ghost, the mismatched name for a man who wears a skull mask to keep his identity hidden.

Staring at you he didn't move.

"Move or I will find out if you are afraid of tears." They are already brimming at your lash line.

Ghost stepped back. You still had to wedge yourself between the wall and his stiff body. The contact with a body that held no softeness for you was too much. Tears slid down your cheeks as you toed off your shoes and moved on socked feet to the bathroom. Done there, toilet used and teeth cleaned, you moved to your room. Changing turned out to be difficult as your tears worsened and the shaking started.

Barely holding it together you find the kitchen by memory alone. The large shape you can see when your vision isn't filled with tears confirms your roommate is still awake.

"Ghost?"

No reply. Your crying turns to sobbing.

"Can I have a hug?"

Eight sobbing breaths pass before the air shifts in front of you. Reaching out blind you bury yourself into his chest, unleashing the full force of everything that had been bottled up today. His arms drift around you, holding more onto himself than you. That's fine. You don't need much tonight, only to know you are not alone.

Chest hollow you step back, sleeves scraping at both eyes.

"Sorry about that Ghost." Glancing up you see the presence of a soul again. Simon must be back. "Simon. I apologize about that. I am going to go be mortified in my bed now. G'night."

Turning on your heel you march to your bed, hurling yourself between the sheets as self flaggliation becomes your favorite refraine.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[writerspirit]

Something of a Secret

Pairing(s): Avis Amberg x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: You are invited to your first Hollywood party as an actress. What happens at these parties… well, that’s for the elites to know, and for you to keep secret.

Themes/Warnings: 18+, age gap, suggestive language, implied smut, sexual teasing, jealousy, protective Avis

A/N: Firstly, I apologize for some awkward writing decisions here. Secondly, I know I’m leaving you all hanging on other promised projects, and I am truly sorry for that. Scrambling so many ideas at once is a bitch! (I promise I’m not ungrateful.) Requests are always open in the comments or my personal messages. Anyway, enjoy the incomparable Avis Amberg!

WC: ~ 3.33k

Taglist: @live-laugh-love-lupone

The parties at Vivien Leigh’s house were never discreet. People from nearly every job there could be in Hollywood got invited at least once in there time. Whether those people were memorable, that was all up to the people in charge. 

That’s when the words given to you directly from Ellen rang through your ears. “You have to always find a way to be noticed. Or else the only people taking a look at you are you and the reflection in your mirror.”

Your closet, although becoming filled with luxury items, there is still the abundance of clothing from a life you’re lucky enough to call your past. Old beaten up boots, worn down and colorless sweaters stand out against the vibrant colors of the newer pieces hanging up. 

The question of what to wear tosses around in your mind. The few yet very different styles present as both good and bad tastes for the event. It is, although ordinary for the other attendees, your first exclusive party while under your new contract at Ace Studios. 

You find, in your search, a box almost hidden away in a corner. Gifted to you by Avis for your performance in the film that earned you a slight grasp of fame. The big red bow still sits atop the box, as if you’re opening it for the first time. A smile creeps onto your lips at the memory of Avis handing it to you.

— — — —

“For you, darling,” Avis gleams, enthusiasm radiating off the woman.

You give her an intrigued look, a mixture of interest and curiosity. 

“Just something for your efforts. Go on, open it, doll. You’ve earned it.”

“Avis, you shouldn’t have—”

“Believe me, you’re worth it. Now hurry before I lose my nerve and open it for you.”

You open the box revealing a pair of black open-toed stilettos. A pair you were eyeing in one of Avis’ many catalogues. You were brought out of your amazement when a gentle hand found your cheek, wiping away a tear that fell from your eye.

You immediately bring Avis into a hug. A couple of stray tears slip from your eyes staining your cheeks. When you pull away, her hands pull you into a soft kiss.

“Do you like them? I hope they are the correct size.” You heard the slight uncertainty in her quavery tone. Almost skeptical of her own judgment.

“They’re perfect, darling. Absolutely stunning,” you reassure her. “I could never repay you for this, though.”

Her eyes scan over your features. Her eyes find focus on your lips. Her hand lowers to your thigh. She husks, “I’m sure we can both think up a way to pay Mama.”

— — — —

“Stilettos, it is,” you whisper, as if speaking of the gift aloud is a sin. Your hands reach for them, gently holding the pair until they are placed on the bed. “Now for the big show.”

Your eyes scan between two gowns. One being a gorgeous cerulean gown, which was also gifted by Avis. The satin material of the garment matching its elegant design. The other, an almost equally stunning blush getup, gifted by a beau who happens to be a name plastered on a few posters around the town. 

“Avis, you clever woman,” the words are breathless falling from your lips.

— — — —

The house is filled with producers, directors, actors and actresses, most of whom have their hands on fame and fortune. Others haven’t been given such graces.

A light gasp leaves your mouth at the sight of the illuminated house before you. Your car pulls into the large driveway, already lined with luxurious cars only seen driven by elites of the world. Not that you’ve traveled far, but going based off the stories Avis tells you in your conversations, these are the vehicles that wealthy money gets you.

“Is here okay, Miss Y/l/n?”

You give your driver a quick glance, quickly turning back towards the house. “Leonard, I have told you plenty of times that Y/n is just fine. Formalities be damned with us.”

He chuckles. He looks back at you from the driver’s seat, and sends you a picture perfect smile. “My apologies,” his posh accent seeps through his words. His eyes scan your appearance before his smile grows. “I’m sure Mrs. Amberg will be pleased with your ensemble tonight.”

A rush is sent to your cheeks at the thought of the woman. Leonard takes a hand in his, noticing the sudden new tint to your face. “Oh dear, I’ve turned you embarrassed.”

He makes his way out of the car, and turns to open your door. “I suppose I’ve dressed for her eyes this evening. Although I wouldn’t mind having a few other’s set on me. Ellen says when the focus is on you, make the most of that time.”

Leonard chuckles at your cheekiness, understanding that under your words, there is the uncertainty of Avis paying you an ounce of attention tonight. This diffidence, he acknowledges, pays you much discomfort. 

His hand leads you to the front door, as he does when escorting you to all of your destinations that he is able to drive you to. Gentlemanly manners, like his, was a must when Avis was hiring a driver for you. Getting to know Leonard for yourself, you imagine it doesn’t take money for him to treat anyone with such kindness.

A gentle kiss to his cheek and a squeeze of his hands send him off into the car, and away until your call for his services.

Walking into the large abode, you quickly notice the liveliness that fills the space. An only slight contrast to the outside. 

“Y/n, darling, you made it,” Vivien’s voice booms through the room. Your eyes land on the obviously drunken woman, who is rushing towards you. She envelops you in a hug, which unbeknownst to you catches the eyes of one Avis Amberg, who is in conversation with Ellen and Richard. “I didn’t expect you to make it.”

You smile at her, never being one to be seen, or even expectantly noticed, by such a highly-celebrated actress. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You are my world, my love.”

The memory sends a shiver down your spine. Vivien grabs hold of your hand, and pulls you straight to the open bar. The young bartender hands you your usual cocktail, as though your order was plastered across your forehead. “How—”

“Just following orders, ma’am,” he remarks. “Enjoy. I was informed to take your orders if another drink is requested.”

Avis. Cheeky Avis.

“Thank you…”

“Sebastian,” he finishes, an obviously practiced smile accompanied by the name.

“Sebastian,” you echo. “Thank you, Sebastian.”

Avis excuses herself from her conversation, heading towards you.

Vivien playfully taps your arm. “Stop the flirting, you two.”

“Flirting, Y/n,” Avis’ voice seeps with a venom you’ve only heard in your not so innocent encounters. “Careful, or someone may catch the wrong impression of you, dear.”

“Mrs. Amberg,” you start. Your eyes landing on her exposed neckline—a place you’ve been known to latch onto as she rakes her fingers through your hair. “Lovely to see you.”

She gives you a mischievous smile. “Likewise.”

You feel a hand on the small of your back. Her eyes scan your face, as you react to her liking. The straw in your glass making its way to your lips to cover the small gasp that slips from you.

Avis’ lips hover over your ear for a second, as her words are meant for you and you alone. “You’ll be punished for that later.”

Your eyes meet hers when she pulls herself from your space. “I wasn’t,” you start, but are immediately met with a hand up to stop you.

“Excuses, Y/n,” she hisses. “Are for the use of cowards who don’t stand their ground. I thought I taught you that we are not those people.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you mumble. “I apologize.”

She grabs hold of your arm, giving it a small squeeze. “No need for apologies, dear. Like I said, you will make it up later.”

You take a strong sip from your straw. Along with a clear of your throat, you look around for possible lingering eyes. You catch a pair of eyes and a smile, belonging to Ellen, watching in awe of her friend’s boldness.

Avis never strays her eyes from you. Her hand however, lowers, giving a little squeeze. One that isn’t foreign to you, although powerful in melting for her. 

You squeal at the action, not having expected anything so risqué to happen while here. “Relax, sweetheart,” Avis growls. “There are eyes everywhere, and secrets are what makes this town.”

She grabs hold of your hand. Bringing it up to her lips, she places a gentle kiss to it. “Mr. Amberg is out of town on business, which means Mama will be free the next few days.”

Your eyes follow your hand as she lowers it from her lips. “Avis, the stain will never leave my hand,” you utter. “They’ll know once they see it.”

“Good,” she growls. She brings her face mere inches from your own. Feeling her breath on your skin, goosebumps rise up your arms. “These people need to know you aren’t available to them.”

Your name is heard from a group of women chatting across the vast lawn. You turn and smile, waving a hello. Their faces light up at you, and beckon you over.

She gathers herself. “I have other people to make small talk with. Will I have to keep an eye on you tonight?”

Your mind races with possible answers. “No, ma’am,” you breathe.

“No… who?”

“No, Mama,” you correct. You smile at your own cheekiness. 

“Very well. Have fun tonight.”

— — — —

“Anyway, that is why I propose that Ace Studios carry out the seemingly smaller projects and focus on those, while these other studios compile these garbage collections of so called movies.”

The man’s voice is lost to Avis, as she focuses her attention to you in the next room. Her gaze steady, as she notices you’re speaking with an executive at a rival studio.

She also notices his subtle smile at your words. The man is nameless to Avis, although she has noticed his popularity with a few of the other actresses throughout the night.

“Excuse me, but do you know that man speaking to that young woman over there?”

The man in conversation with her collects his thoughts as he follows her gaze. “Ah, that is Frederick Clapton. Up-and-coming manager turned co-owner of a production company, thanks to his folks. He’s been trying to hustle the new meat into his lap.”

“Thank you. That’ll be all,” she states, her eyes still focused on you.

“Martin,” the man says.

“Right.”

As Avis starts her way to you, Richard and Ellen stop in front of her. “I don’t think Vivien would take kindly to you acting like a raged bull in her home.”

“Get out of my way, Dick.”

“The girl is fresh meat in a pool of pariahs. Did you expect anything less from these people?”

Avis scoffs at his remarks. However true, she still doesn’t care to watch snakes pining for your talent.

“No need to worry, Avis. I have prepared her for these kinds of situations, and I am sure she isn’t one to fall for such… desperation,” Ellen adds. She uses the word loosely, as the three are the only ones fully aware of your�� relationship. “She is a smart girl.”

“And besides,” Dick clears his throat before taking a light sip of his bourbon. “I believe that she knows better than to make small talk with a goober unless there was some kind of gain.”

Against Avis’ better judgment, the three see your hand playfully tap his chest. His hands find a place atop your’s. She lets out a heavy gasp.

“Oh dear,” Ellen utters.

“Move,” Avis snaps. “Now!”

They make no fight, moving aside for her. She makes way darting for you, eyes darkened with a fiery anger. 

Your giggles add fuel to the already scorching heat of the fire you’ve caused. “Going after my clients, Freddie,” her voice sharpened as her eyes fix themselves to shoot daggers through his. “So new, yet already as sneaky as the rest of these snakes.”

Your hand falls from his chest. Your breath catches in your throat, as you feel the heat radiating from her body. 

He huffs at her comments, not having been affected by Avis’ coldness. “Mrs. Amberg, what a pleasure.” His hand extends, offering her a handshake. Avis stands in a still, unwavering stance. Confidence exudes her as she doesn’t take his hand. 

“Y/n, dear, a moment please,” Ellen’s inquires.

You nod, making a slow but steady move toward the two standing across the hallway in the other room.

“That poor girl,” Richard whispers, only loud enough for Ellen’s ears to pick up.

“Poor girl? That man is about to get his behind handed to him and Avis barely knows his name.” Ellen laughed.

You reach the two, who are both clutching their chests in fits of quiet laughter. They quickly silence themselves, noticing your wide eyes and clenched hands at your sides. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Oh, you messed up big,” Dick answers. “In fact, I don’t know if messed up is the phrasing I’d use here.”

“I was just trying to play around. Get word from a few higher ups here.”

“Sweetheart, Avis is thee higher up here. You know that.”

You tense up at Ellen’s words. Sure, Ace Studios has you under contract. Avis made sure of that. For now, that is. 

“She’s going to kill me, isn’t she?”

“Maybe, after she lays out her first victim of the night. I’m sure you’re next on the list.”

“I was just talking to the pretty lady ab—”

“That pretty lady has a name.”

“Well yes, but—”

“So you come here, sweet talk a few ladies tonight, loosen them up, have a go at them, promising a contract they’ll have to inevitably work for afterwards, then push them away?”

“Um…” he stumbles over his words.

Avis grabs a firm hold onto his shirt, pulling him towards her. “Stay away from her, or I will be personally responsible for your ass getting thrown on the curb.”

She straightens his shirt for him, a faux smile plasters her face. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Clapton.”

Avis sends him a wink, sending a shiver down the man’s spine. She stalks toward you, hands set firmly at her sides.

“Avis, I’m so—”

Her hands grab your waist, pulling you against her. Her lips make contact with yours, smudging your lipstick with hers. 

She pulls away, giving enough space for you to compose yourself. She smiles contentedly as her mark is left on you, more visible than the one previously set on your hand.

“We’re leaving,” she orders, a sternness in her voice. “Get in the car.”

Your breath hitches, your eyes turn as you quickly scan your surroundings. “Avis,” you breathe.

“Goodnight, Ellen,” Avis places a gentle hand over the woman’s arm. “Dick, tomorrow morning for the board meeting.”

He purses his lips and sends a nod her way.

Avis sends parting wishes to Vivien, who is as drunk as the day is long. The woman attempts to grab hold of you for another hug, but is stopped by Avis’ hands pulling you flush against her side, her hand resting on your waist.

You send her a warning glare. 

At the doorway, you are met by Avis’ driver. He sends you a smile. “Mrs. Amberg. Miss Y/l/n. Lovely night, I presume?”

“The night was unbearably long. You know how these things bore me to tears. It’s a wonder I came to this one,” Avis quips.

The man you’ve come to know by his title — Driver — opens the doors for you and Avis. When he gets to the driver’s seat, he drives off from the property.

You quickly realize the route he is taking you is towards the Amberg residence.

“Avis, I can’t be seen there.”

“Don’t worry. Ace knows that I sometimes bring business associates to the house.”

“I am not your business associate, Avis.”

“Well aren’t you the smart little cookie.” The venom heard earlier in the evening returns.

“I know people saw us at Vivien’s house. And those stunts–”

"Stunts? Oh," she scoffs. "Doll, if you're talking about stunts, why don't we bring to light you practically throwing yourself to that nobody? Not to mention the others I saw you talking to."

“What I was doing was networking,” you bite. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mrs. Amberg, I am still held under a microscope here. I barely have my foot in the door, and most of the time, I can’t tell if that is because of my talent or who beds me.”

Her eyes widen at your confession. To think, she makes you feel… undervalued.

“Driver, stop here. We’ll walk the rest of the way.”

You wipe tears away from your eyes. Avis can’t help but to stray her eye from your distress. Her hand tries to make contact with your thigh, which tenses at her attempt. At that, she recedes her hand back to her person.

The driver opens Avis’ door first. His hand is offered to her, which she hesitantly takes. Before he can start for your door, she walks for it, grabbing the handle. You look up at her, eyes slick with tears. 

Your hand trembles as it meets hers, gently pulling you out of the car. She pulls you close to her, her eyes studying your features. “You’re not just a lay, Y/n. Beyond who you are to me, you are a fantastic actress. A name that one day will be shining around this town. I am sure of it.”

Your lips curve into a half smile. You let out a soft sigh. 

“You don’t believe me,” she concedes.

Your lips purse together. Your eyes are unsteadily focusing on anything but hers.

“I suppose you’ll just have to take my word for it, for now.”

Her hand snakes over your waist. “We don’t have to talk. But we are going to walk into the house with you on my arm because I need to make up for my… abhorrent behavior this evening.”

You snicker, the small laugh pulling more than words could for the older woman.

“Give me a little credit�� I hardly ever apologize to anyone.” Her words come off lighter now, as she sends you a smile. Her eyes focus on your lips, as they reciprocate hers with your own smile.

Avis lets out a small chortle. “There it is.” You give her a raised brow. Her fingers curl under your chin, starting a trace over your jawline. “That goddamn gorgeous smile.”

Her hand finds your cheek, resting there. You lean in, placing a gentle peck on her lips. At your pulling back, your gaze meets hers. The pupils in her eyes dilate, making your heart pound against your chest. The desire for you to devour her—worship her—growing stronger than you recall ever before.

Avis lays a gentle hand to your side, her fingers tingling with the affection she is impatiently waiting to give you. 

“Say something. Please. The silence is torturing me.”

“I suppose an apology is a good start.”

Avis lets out a contented sigh. “That’s great.”

“But you still have a lot of making up to do.”

“Trust me, sweetheart,” her words carry with a honey-like sweetness. “Mama’ll make everything right.”

Your arms lace around her neck. You place a soft kiss to her lips, which she deepens almost instantly. Before things escalate further, you pull back.

“Do we really have to walk,” you whine.

Avis chuckles. “No, driver can take us back.”

You lean into her. Your voice lowers for her ears. “Good… it’d be a shame if we had to wait longer for the fun to begin.”

[triumviiirate]

Star Trek: Living Memory by Christopher L. Bennett

[medlilove]

So I actually listened to the audiobook version of living memory before I watched the nomad episode. I thought the book was amazing, really touching. Really goes into the pain Uhura must have gone through when she forgot everything. But the episode.... I really thought it would focus on her at least a little bit more. They barely touched on what she went through! I guess that's the 1960s for you, but damn, is she ok?

[lichqueenlibrarian]

Spock as Ishmael struck me as a little more at peace with himself than Spock with his memories back- as Ishmael he was still logical, but allowed a little more leniency with understanding the emotions of others. He’s SO UPSET when he comes back to himself and realizes all the romcom shenanigans he’s been helping with. Playing pool with Cyprians, playing chess for money??? LONG HAIR!?

Honestly his first clue that everyone was going to like him regardless should’ve been how easily they accepted “I don’t feel love or desire for women” and didn’t ask any other questions.

I agree about your point with Kirk and McCoy, especially as McCoy calls him a big fake, and then nearly dies of shock when he sees how friendly Spock is with Sarah and Biddy. It’s Aaron’s assessment of Kirk I like where he can see immediately that he understands Spock on a deep level.

I found Spock’s treatment in Ishmael really interesting- when he loses his memories, he’s obviously unaware that he is half human, believes himself to be fully alien but knows nothing more than that. When asked he is not sure that he has ever had a home, but when he recognizes San Francisco it’s very nearly emotional. All the people around him accept that he’s different than they are, and yet he worries that if he married and had a child, that child would belong nowhere. There’s really been no situation where he has been made to feel othered, after an initial attempt to convince him to marry, everyone leaves him alone on the subject.

Spock makes an argument on behalf of the women in the town who were brought there as a result of a wager, knowing that he understands their feelings and only experiences some slight shame about it, alongside a vague impression he ought to be more upset, and finds that reaction confusing. When he regains his memories he starts thinking about how he got involved in the humans’ gross and stupid issues and how appalling that is.

I think the contrast Barbara Hambly depicted is so fascinating- on one hand you have how Spock understands himself and the world, and on the other how the people around him understand him.

Bringing Jim and McCoy into it, Jim accepts Spock as he is and where he is, while I think McCoy gets upset with the knots Spock ties himself into.

[pettypuppy-jonghyun]

Stay at home Dad | Wooyoung

Summary: wooyoung attempts at being a stay at home Dad and you come home to him and the kids asleep

Notes: woo with kids is my biggest weakness omg

Warnings: none

When you came home that evening it was eerily quiet. The lights were turned on in every room and the amount of items sprawled out everywhere was enough to fill a swimming pool. The kitchen was a mess full of baby bottle pieces and what was most likely your husband's half-eaten meal. You were surprised to say the least, searching the house for the culprit.

You hadn't expected to see your bedroom as the only dark area. Pushing open the cracked door, you entered the room, the only light being the ongoing video that played from your husband's phone. He laid beside it on the bed, eyes closed as he snored softly.

You inched forward, peering around the side of the crib that was next to the bed. The bassinet was empty aside from its normal sheets. Glancing up, you finally spotted the small form resting peacefully on your husband's chest. Both the baby and him continued to sleep peacefully as you cooed in adoration.

"My goodness," you laughed quietly, finding yourself in awe at the image. Despite the reminder that even the bedroom was in disarray, you found yourself fawning over the cute picture before you. You stepped forward carefully, avoiding the items on the floor, wanting to see the image up close.

Like father like son.

Wooyoung's hand was gently over top of your son's back, holding him in place on his own chest. The two looked identical with their mouths wide open as they slept away. They even had matching moles on their bottom lips that stuck out under the phone light.

A sudden movement on the other side of the bed caught your attention. You peeked over Wooyoung to find another body sleeping peacefully. The shape of your toddler underneath the blanket could now faintly be seen. You held back a giggle as you noticed her foot placed right up against the side of her father's face. It took all the power in you not to take a picture, afraid the flash of a camera would wake them. There wasn't enough lighting to be able to see every detail either, so you settled at quietly escaping the room.

You began to work in the kitchen, finding the mess to be a bit easier. The food had gone bad for sitting out too long and the bottles just needed to be tossed in the electric cleaner, a courtesy gift from your mother-in-law, and you'd be practically finished with one room already. Just as you had completed that task, ready to move onto the living room, you were greeted by a sleepy figure.

"Welcome home," Woo yawned out, smiling sleepily at you.

You smiled back. "You're up?"

"Yeah, a certain smell woke me." He scrunched his nose up at the memory of your daughter's foot in his face. "I put the baby back in the crib."

You shuffled through a few toys, tossing them into their separate bins, Wooyoung also sitting on the rug and helping. "I'm surprised you managed to get him to sleep, he's been very colicky."

He nodded softly, still a bit tired. "I rubbed at his belly for awhile and it seemed to help."

The two of you sat in silence after, organizing a handful of things and leaving some for the morning. It was late, you both were tired, and it wasn't going to be long before one of your two children would wake. In order to get a nice warm shower, you needed to be quick.

After some time you managed to clean most of the house into decent shape again. Wooyoung was apologizing profusely, mentioning several times how he wanted it to be clean when you got home. But the story of how your toddler was adamant that the house wasn't clean spoke for itself. He finally accepted fate and let her tire herself out, leaving the house in disarray.

You gathered some items to change into while Woo moved your daughter into her own room. Thankfully, she stayed asleep as you both tip-toed about. He allowed you an escape as you rushed to take that relaxing shower you dreamt about all day.

"Come here," Wooyoung called out to you when you left the bathroom all fresh and changed. He sat on your shared bed, arms out expectantly as his lips formed a sweet pout. "I've been craving your cuddles."

Your heart melted once more for him, caving in quickly as you jumped into his grasp. You snuggled close, head dipping down into his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. "Me too, " you mumbled quietly. "I've been dying to hold you."

He hummed a soft tune, hands grazing down the back of your head. The tender movements started to feel familiar as the gentle strokes to your hair turned into pats on your back. You felt his body relax against the mattress, the song becoming quieter and quieter every second.

"I feel like our son," you murmured, trying not to laugh as your husband's pats became faint. "You're singing me to sleep."

Your words were spoken into the dark bedroom but with no response. Wooyoung had already fallen fast asleep again, the exhaust from the day draining all his energy. You were glad there was at least a bit of his affection saved for you before the night ended. Finally, you drifted off in your own peacefully sleeping state, heart swelling with happiness.

[lostyesterday]

Star Trek science officers venn diagram!

Some notes: I know Data and Seven aren’t technically science officers, but they are in my heart, and also just functionally speaking in their respective shows. Also, you could argue that Seven is technically fully human rather than part-human, but to me a part of her remains Borg.

For the “important relationships with others cause them to question some of the most essential beliefs of their culture” segment, I’m mostly talking about Rejoined for Jadzia and Spock’s arc in the TOS movies with Kirk.

For the “doesn’t feel any emotions about that (blatantly untrue)” segment, I don’t actually think Data’s lying about not experiencing emotions, I just think he has difficulty recognizing his own emotions as being emotions. Seven and Spock are mostly just lying though, with a bit of denial mixed in.

For the “contains the memories of other people” segment, I was mostly thinking of Lal for Data, but there are several other possible reasons this would make sense for him, like how he has all the records from the people living on the planet where he was created.

[9151967]

The thing that is still getting to me about TMP is how it as much about Spock's acceptance of himself and the unknowable (because logic is that which can be known, logic seeks to know but not necessarily understand) as it is about the Triumvirate learning that they cannot be separated, that they each need each other to be at their best, both as civilians and within Starfleet.

Kirk accepts a promotion out of active service and into the admiralty and the trio falls apart. McCoy protests his decision and Starfleet's choice to offer/push the promotion and leaves the service entirely. Spock leaves the service as well and returns to Vulcan to undergo the Kolinahr as a means to protect himself - from a future pon farr, prove his Vulcan nature rules out over his hybrid status (his main point of conflict/shame, always), and forget those illogical humans that brought emotions out of him now that he will be living among other Vulcans. It was a logical decision for him to make, but he has been irrevocably changed from the five year mission more than he would like to admit (another point of shame and regret).

Kirk doesn't fully come back into the captaincy until Spock returns. He is still mired by doubts owing to the Enterprise's new design, his years out of space, and Decker's presence as a living symbol of Kirk's own decision to leave the Enterprise as Kirk chose Decker to be his successor. (There's a lot to be said about how Kirk projects these fears and doubts onto Decker, how Decker is a parallel to Kirk as Ilia is a parallel to Spock, but that's ultimately what Kirk is struggling against - he chose to leave (albeit with a healthy dose of manipulation as per Roddenberry's novelization; I'm torn about how Roddenberry wrote that in because while it does make sense for how Starfleet could still operate if humans on Earth are so open-minded and peaceful, it detracts from making it Kirk's own choice when TOS has shown that Kirk has made mistakes, has acted selfishly, cannot stand being told what to do or have his authority challenged, not even by McCoy or Spock). He chose his successor. But he was miserable in an Earthbound life and trying to come back to it all - to "return home again" or repeat the past - is something that is not possible to do, no matter how much one wants it. Even the ship he knew and loved is no longer the same. The Enterprise Kirk knew exists only in his memories.)

McCoy acts more as Kirk's doctor than his friend until Spock returns, and rightfully so given the profile he had compiled on him, in addition to Chapel's profile when she acted as the CMO (I love that the novelization makes it clear that she happily gave the position back to McCoy because it meant handing Kirk over to someone who knows how to get through to him, lol. Pour one out for Christine Chapel for taking on the worst job). There are moments that show they have made up or at least called truce, but this McCoy is through with using alcohol to loosen Kirk up to his suggestions and just presses forward with his observations and recommendations, no matter how harsh they may be, to the point of outwardly saying that Kirk may not be fit for command due to his obsession with returning to and keeping the Enterprise. They've bucked heads before in the series over Kirk's behavior and decisions, but this is occurring after they haven't seen each other in years. Time may have passed but the wounds heal slow. (I wonder how much of it felt like a betrayal to McCoy for Kirk to go his own way - a betrayal of McCoy's expertise, a betrayal of Kirk's own skills, a betrayal of their relationship because neither McCoy or Spock can follow him into the higher ranks.)

There's a lot to be said about Kirk acting as the fulcrum that links McCoy and Spock together - who else could bridge that gap between their guiding philosophies, unite two people who are ultimately the same coin but working from different sides (doctor versus scientist) - so when he leaves, the other two leave as well. But TMP shows Spock bringing them back together to the way they were, even before he melds with V'ger and learns that logic is not enough. Spock brings out their humanity, be it by the memories he conjures or in reaction to his new Kolinahr-inspired distance.

[hxney-lemcn]

Hope Reignited — botw! Link x gn! reader

summary: being forgotten hurts more than you'd like to admit, but Link won't let you think that way for much longer.

tw: mentions of injury but not described.

a/n: I FINALLY THOUGHT OF SOMETHING RAHHHH! I'm really proud of this ngl.

wc: 1.1k

Master List

Part One | Part Two

A frown tugged at your lips as you wrapped the bandage around the blue eyed hero’s bicep. When your eyes had first landed on him for the first time in a hundred years in Kakariko, you thought that you could handle all that was thrown your way. You had already failed to defeat Ganon and had been put into a deep century long sleep while your princess kept the evil at bay the best she could. If you could live through that then surely a bit of memory loss would be easy…If only. 

Even with your memory being a bit spotty, you were in a far better space than Link. You had felt like you regressed to the days you were first serving her royal highness. Your mannerisms that had become soft had turned professional, as every time your care had peaked through he seemed uncomfortable. To him you were merely a stranger who was helping him accomplish a goal, and you had to continue to remind yourself as such. But it hurt. It hurt so badly. Even if you couldn’t fully remember the moments you shared with the champion back when things weren’t so dire, you could remember how you felt about him. The warmth, the love, the tenderness. You didn’t care back then if it was merely platonic, as you felt grateful you could stand next to him at all. Now you questioned if you should even do that.

You paused your ministrations as Link winced, you didn’t realize you had become so lost in thought, soft apologies falling past your lips. Lessening the pressure of the bandages, you tightly tucked it into place, making sure that it would stay in place. You could feel those piercing gem-like eyes watching your every move, but you made no move to acknowledge him, instead opting to put the medical supplies back into your satchel. Link hadn’t made you carry much due to his Sheika slate, but you had always made sure you carried the basic necessities. You never knew if you’d be separated from the hero, for one thing or another. 

“Wait,” Link whispered, his hushed voice washing over your form that kneeled in front of him. You looked up at him in concern as he didn’t talk often, and when he did, it was of the utmost importance. “You’re hurt too.” Your eyebrows furrowed, unsure what he was talking about as you don’t recall getting hurt in your previous battle…only for all thoughts to be squashed as his calloused, yet somehow soft hand cradled your jaw, turning your head so he could get a better look at whatever wound he found. 

“I didn’t feel any blood,” You murmured back, trying to ignore the way your traitorous heart skipped a beat or how your breath threatened to hitch when his thumb rubbed at your skin. 

It was moments like these that felt the most painful and confusing. Did he remember your past more than he let on? Or perhaps even without the past, his feelings still bleed through? Was this merely friendly? Was this only because you were comrades in arms? Could you let yourself hope once more that his feelings toed the line of romance? You felt like a joke, like an utter fool as Link took out a spare cloth and dabbed it with clean water. You were here to fight the calamity, to bring true peace to Hyrule instead of the false sense that consumed the land currently. So why, why were you more concerned with the way he tenderly dabbed away dried blood you had missed when your concern for him outgrew any for yourself. 

By the Goddess’s, you were a servant of Princess Zelda, a confidant and entrusted with accompanying her hero to save the world, not fluster and become shy like a schoolgirl. You bite your lip when he finally pulls away, looking proud of his work, only to scan the rest of you to see if there were any other offending wounds. 

“Thank you,” You sigh, feeling tired from both the fight and your emotional turmoil. “But that should be all. I apologize for any concern I may have caused.”

Link’s eyebrows furrowed, a pout making its way onto his lips. Cute. No, bad. You’re not supposed to be indulging in these childish feelings. 

“Please stop talking like that,” He nearly whined out, causing your eyes to widen. He fell from the stump he sat on to kneel in front of you as well, taking your hands in his own. “We used to be close before, right?” The look of uncertainty and insecurity that splayed on his face led you to believe he still hasn’t fully recovered his memory, but perhaps hints from your own actions and the places Impa had instructed you to visit had helped bring at least an inkling of his past back. 

“Yes,” You agreed without a beat, subconsciously squeezing his hands. “But I didn’t wish to overwhelm you, or force you into something you couldn’t even remember.”

“How long have we been traveling together now?” Link asked, a small grin making its way onto his face. “Even if I wasn’t slowly regaining my memories, haven’t we made enough to consider the other as a friend?”

He was right. Of course he was. You had already trudged through the rainy Zora domain, worked to fight the Lynel and save Mipha from the evil that overtook Vah Ruta. You had soared through the skies of Rito village, climbing snowy mountains and nearly freezing to death as you waited with baited breath for Link to come back from freeing Revali from the evil in Vah Medoh. You were currently on your way to Foothill Stable, you both more than ready for a nice bed for the night. You both had laughed and cried, tended and be tended to, you were so blindsighted at not being weird, at keeping distance that you missed the giant sign of Link trying to take care of you as much, if not more so, than you took care of him. 

You closed your eyes feeling mighty frustrated with yourself at the moment, “I see.”

Link let out a small laugh, finally standing up to his feet and effortlessly pulling you up with him. He bumped your shoulder with his own, eyes filled with joy as you smiled back, feeling ten times lighter at the new revelation. You bumped your shoulder back into his as revenge, Link merely pulling you with him towards the vague direction of where the stable should lay, hands still linked together the rest of the way.