#Vulcan etiquette
Note
Happy Pride! Jim & Spock? Can be in the Sybokverse or on their own eitherway is perfect!
a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5
“I believe I have the right to face my accuser.”
Jim is going to tear this asshole apart.
There’s muttering throughout the crowd, the auditorium filled to the brim for one cadet’s academic dishonesty disciplinary hearing. These are always open to be attended by the accused’s peers, but usually no one bothers, having far better things to do on a Friday morning. Jim is flattered, honestly.
Admiral Archer nods and everyone turns as one of the instructors stands and walks stiffly to the other podium.
Jim is honestly taken aback. A Vulcan giving him shit over this? He squints, trying to place him, suddenly sure he’s seen him somewhere before. Possibly just in the halls, but the familiarity feels deeper than that. He’s met a lot of Vulcans, to be fair.
“Cadet,” he greets.
“Defend the logic of your accusation,” he says, falling into familiar vernacular and only barely keeping himself from saying it in formal Vulcan. This guy might appreciate it, but Archer won’t, and Chris had told him not to be too much of an asshole.
The Vulcan raises an eyebrow. “The purpose of the test is to assess your response to no win scenarios. Altering the parameters, while admittedly an impressive feat of programming, shows both your lack of understanding and your casual disregard for the institution of Starfleet.”
“I don’t believe in no win scenarios,” he says confidently, flashing a smile to the assembled admirals that, in different circumstances, tends to get him laid.
He stiffens. “Your belief in them does not change their existence. In an impossible situation, you must react to the circumstances given to you. Anything else is entertaining delusions.”
“Bullshit,” Jim says immediately and sees Chris pinch the bridge of his nose. Oops. This is a perfect time to go into the speech that he has prepared, about how if he was actually trying to cheat he would have been more subtle about it, about how cheating was his answer to the question presented by the test, and how that applies to how he would really react as a captain.
But then the Vulcan gives him the bitchiest look he’s seen in – well, about four days, but he’s suddenly so sure where he knows him from.
~
Spock doesn’t understand how someone with so little regard for both etiquette and moral standards has survived this long in the academy. He’s intimately familiar with the doors that having a famous father can open, but surely there must be limits.
James Kirk opens his mouth, presumably to continue his insulting and inappropriate defense of his actions, then his eyes narrow, widen, and he demands, “Spock? S'Chn T'Gai Spock? Son of Amanda Grayson and S'Chn T'Gai Sarek?”
For a moment, all he can do is stare. “Have we met?”
His syntax when first faced with him had made him think that James Kirk was familiar with Vulcan, as unlikely as that seemed, but now he’s sure. Not only because of the correct pronunciation of his family name, but in how he has addressed him. Vulcan society is matriarchal. It is correct to identify him first as his mother’s son, and also appropriate to leave off his father’s title as ambassador when identifying his family origin, as his father’s position is supposed to be secondary to his mother’s. His mother married into his father’s clan, but that doesn’t change formal conventions.
Even on Vulcan, he is rarely identified correctly.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” James Kirk says, then takes out his communicator and starts typing.
What.
“Cadet Kirk!” Admiral Archer barks. “Put that away and comport yourself as your position demands or we’ll be here for more than accusations of your cheating.”
“Apologies, Admiral,” James Kirk says, placing his hands behind his back and looking like he’s taking this seriously for the first time. “If you’ll just allow a couple minutes-”
Spock’s communicator goes off.
“Commander,” Admiral Archer says warningly.
“One moment, please,” he says, his stomach rolling as he takes out the communicator. He’s hoping that this is another of James Kirk’s tricks, because when he’s placed it on silent only his family can contact him, and his mother marks all of her correspondence as non urgent. There is no good reason for his father to contact him.
He opens it up and blinks twice, to be certain of what he’s seeing.
Sybok has sent him a text base message. His elder brother never sends him text based communication, as he believes that Spock will not respond timely or authentically, and so only video calls him. Usually at inopportune times.
stop being mean to jimmy :(
He is a genius. Several things suddenly make sense all at once.
He is of course aware of his older brother’s dear friend who he only refers to as Jimmy. In the tragedy of Tarsus IV, when all should have been lost and the corrupt governor threatened to kill half the colony and did kill a not insignificant amount of them, it was Jimmy and Sybok who worked together to create a sort of resistance and keep people alive long enough to for their jury-rigged signal to make it through.
Receiving that strange message from Sybok after years of silence had let him, and their father, know that something was wrong and alert Starfleet.
Jimmy, who had been a minor at the time, and so his identity had been kept from the public at his request, and who had visited Sybok on Vulcan but Spock had examinations at the time and had not been permitted to travel across planet to meet him.
James Kirk looks at him, a smile hovering around the corners of his lips.
James Kirk. Colloquially known as Jim. Jimmy.
Spock had designed the Kobayashi Maru with his brother’s experience at Tarsus IV in mind. He had been different after, just as prone to arguing with their father, more prone to arguing with everyone else, but he’d been sturdier too. As if that experience had at once confirmed and destroyed all of his worst expectations of people.
James Kirk does not believe in no win scenarios and he has demonstrated that more aptly than any simulation could.
“I rescind my accusation of academic dishonesty towards Cadet Kirk.”
#bit of a time skip but it's not like we didn't know they were going to be okay#jim decides that this means him and spock and bffs now#spock does not want to further insult his older brothers Very Good Friend and Fellow Rebellion Leader#but he also wants to strangle jim so#sybok never told jim that his brother was teaching at the academy that year because he thought it would funny when they ran into eachother#and he was more right than he could have ever hoped#he visits because he likes chaos and spock and jim#asks#anon#prompts are closed#star trek#prompt answers
790 notes
·
View notes
Text
Another fluffy (ish?) Hemmer fic
Words: 2.5k
Summary: 2 Vulcan kids get into trouble in Andor'au (Andorian capital) and Hemmer cannot mind his own business
TW: Ushaan (fight) violence, maybe a curse or 2?
Rating: pg? mild fight scene stuff, maybe pg-13 if duels freak u out :))
This is definitely Un-beta'd. Apologies for any spelling/grammar mistakes.
Bleeding Heart:
The meeting on Andoria was supposed to be historic; a meeting of old wounds and a new peace.
Hemmer scoffed.
‘Peace’ for the Federation lasted about 30-50 years on average but most times much, much less. It had only been a year since the Klingon War and they had almost been blown up by the Romulans already.
However, the Federation's relationship with the Klingons was getting better. Somewhat. So, it made sense for the Romulans to set a date for peace talks.
Trudging through the snow-lined streets, Hemmer kept yawning and shaking his head.
Unfortunately, the Romulans wanted to talk on their own time. Of course, this happened to be at dawn.
Pike, bless the man, kept gabbering on about the symbolism of dawn and new beginnings, much to Hemmer’s deep annoyance. Pike could be such a boy scout sometimes; a blessing and a curse.
Hemmer scoffed again.
It’s a curse this morning. Definitely a curse.
Hemmer was surprised to be invited to such a formal gathering, but soon learned that his mother the Speaker wouldn’t be attending. It made sense to ask him; his next-in-line sister to the position could be blunt and her English needed practice.
The last thing Hemmer needed was to be translating for his fiery older sister.
The position of the Speaker was an Aenar oddity. For a people with little government– or so it seemed to outsiders– the position was strange. Somewhat of a president, ambassador, and high judge rolled into one person.
His pace slowed.
His mother had to have a reason for refusing to attend. The Speaker for the Aenar not attending sent a powerful message. Although exactly what message she meant to send was unclear to him.
Then, something shifted in the air. Something changed.
In the periphery of his psychic vision, he sensed something small. Someone in distress.
A child in distress.
Aenar had many rules and ways of approaching things. There were manners to be practiced and etiquette to maintain.
All of those careful rules and manners of polite engagement went out the window when children became involved. As they should. Children are the responsibility of everyone.
As to what a child was doing wandering the streets of Andor’au in the dark- he didn’t care. He’d find out soon enough.
Hemmer turned to his captain. “Excuse me. I’ll be… a moment.”
Before Pike could ask what the hell that meant, Hemmer was already halfway down the street. He turned a corner, and then a few more until he arrived at his destination.
There was no one. Or, well, to someone with normal vision, there would have appeared to be no one there. No one with normal vision would have been able to spot a child hiding in the gap between the dumpster and the city wall.
Lucky for him, Aenar possessed something far beyond normal vision.
He leaned down. “Hello?”
Nothing.
He tried again, in Andorian and then in Anoeh, the Aenar dialect.
Nothing.
He winced.
Please say you speak English and not Vulcan.
He tried again.
“Hello? Child?”
The sniffling stopped.
“Yes? I am T'Pau.” She sniffed again, “Who are you?”
Great. His Vulcan was about as good as his Tellarite- which is to say it was awful. Horrible, even.
He winced. “Do you speak English?”
“...Kind of.”
A small hand reached out, carefully, as if she was testing him.
He extended his hand in the Vulcan Salute, although he was unsure if that was polite or not. He assumed touching her hand would be invasive. Any touching in general would be invasive, based on Spock’s hesitancy to give even a simple handshake.
Something moved in the alley behind them.
Hemmer rolled his eyes.
It just keeps getting better.
A gruff voice spat in Andorii, “Move.”
T'Pau’s hand retreated into the gap in an instant. She shuffled back further into the darkness, her mind emitting a wave of fear.
Hemmer shook it off. Aenar could ‘hear’ certain psychic waves that others could emit. Like sonar on a ship, the Aenar both emitted and read the psychic waves of others. Feelings, general mood, and personal aspects could be divined from such waves.
Reading clear thoughts and detailed telepathic communication was harder to achieve, but reading psychic waves was easy. Even children could do it.
As the child recoiled, Hemmer went still.
T'Pau wasn’t just scared. She was terrified.
“Hemmer?” Pike’s voice called, “Where the hell-”
Hemmer sighed, he really hated broadcasting his thoughts- but there was no choice.
Captain.
Pike’s footsteps skidded to a stop.
Captain, I’m in a situation. Turn around and continue to the embassy without me. I’ll be a moment.
He could hear Pike’s mind resist. Naturally, the captain couldn’t be swayed to leave his friend in a ‘situation’ no matter how much Hemmer had tried to write it off.
Pike.
Hemmer sighed.
Chris. Now, please.
Pike’s mind finally gave in, but as he turned away he said with a drawl, “You better not be late… and if you get into trouble, you better call me.”
The voice from earlier was closer. “Move away.” He called, in English. “This does not concern you.”
Andorians had a funny view of private affairs.
Hemmer turned around to see a higher-ranked clan member coming towards him: Clan Chrenn, a merchant-class clan.
“Yes,” Hemmer stood, “It does. Why does a Chrenn clan member want a little Vulcan girl?”
The man rolled his eyes. “There’s an Ushaan about to start on embassy grounds. Her brother was challenged for dishonoring my father.”
“How old is he?” Hemmer asked darkly.
T'Pau looked to be about eight or nine. Her brother couldn’t be more than ten years older without the gap being suspicious.
The man sighed exasperatedly, “He’s old enough- barely.”
Sixteen. The age to be legally challenged to a Ushaan was sixteen for Andorian men.
“Your father challenged a teenager?” Hemmer spat, “For what?”
“I’m Chev’il Chrenn.” The man sighed again, “The boy caused a scene on accident by undermining my father in a conversation- a Vulcan custom no doubt. His sister ran off when the argument began. It escalated, and then the Ushaan challenge was given.”
“Where is it taking place?” Hemmer asked sharply, “I’ll volunteer for him- gladly.”
Chev’il’s face twisted in confusion.
“But you’re a-”
“-Aenar can use violence in certain situations. I’m not about to witness a teenager get gutted in a Ushaan.”
He turned around and held out his hand.
“T'Pau. It’s going to be alright. I’ll help you and your brother. Where are your parents?”
Chev’il winced. “The boy is a prodigy. He was invited to the Romulan conference for his skill in diplomatic issues. It’s just them.”
“A diplomatic prodigy got challenged to a Ushaan?” Hemmer scoffed, hand still outreached.
“The comment he made was incendiary- and entirely contextual. It…involved a mention of my mother.”
Hemmer winced. He recognized the name Chrenn. A few years back there had been a large scandal that left the Chrenn family on bad ground with most of the economic sector. The two largest factions in the messy divorce had been the Chrenn main patriarch and his wives.
It was– in short– a dumpster fire.
“Oh. Fantastic.” Hemmer bent down lower, “T'Pau?”
The little girl reached out and pushed his hand aside quickly.
As she crawled out of the gap, she looked up and said shortly, “I’m coming. You’ll help my brother, Telas?”
“Yes.”
That seemed to sate her.
The trio continued back to the embassy, it was only a few minutes walk. Hemmer ended up carrying the little girl as the two men tried to pick up the pace without panicking her.
Chev’il was alright. He at least saw the absolute idiocy of the situation.
On the main lawn, there appeared to be a crowd of people split into two parties. He heard his captain before he saw him.
“You cannot be serious.” Pike’s voice carried through the courtyard. “What honor is there in challenging a kid?”
Hemmer sighed in relief. At least he had one person on his side. Well, Pike and Chev’il, but Chev’il was more neutral than anything else.
Hemmer handed T'Pau to Pike and nodded, “I’ll volunteer for him.”
“Wait, I thought-”
“There are always exceptions to rules, Captain.” Hemmer gritted his teeth, “Children are off-limits, no matter the grudge or the intensity of the feud. It’s Aenar law that I can substitute to preserve Telas’ life.”
“You can kill people in death duels because of a law around…?”
“Jidafe Dez’shea. The ‘protection exception’. If a child is in danger I am allowed to use lethal force.”
“Huh.” Pike nodded slowly, “Are there any other fun facts I should know? You’ve kept this kind of on the down low-”
“Captain.” Hemmer said with a small sneer, “We Aenar don’t broadcast many things about ourselves. You should know by now that I will reveal what is necessary if and when it is necessary.”
Rolling his eyes, Pike didn’t miss a beat.
“Ok, yeah, but maybe a ‘head’s up’ might be nice-”
“Captain.”
“Fine, whatever. Have fun, don’t die, please.”
Hemmer nodded and held out his hand to the Andorian on the other side of the yard.
“I accept the Ushaan in the place of Telas, the blood of Vulcan. Ushaan’di ev’ek.”
The crowd murmured, an agitated ripple ringing through the mass of people.
“The last time an Aenar accepted a Ushaan was-”
“-Before the Unification.” Hemmer nodded, “I am aware. I am familiar with the honor codes- as you know– my mother is Speaker of the Aenar.”
“The match is to start within five minutes of the re-reading of the Ushaan rules.” A voice called, “That is now within seconds, are you sure?”
Hemmer chuckled dryly.
“Yes.”
The barrier lines were drawn in the snow and the crowd stepped back to watch the Ushaan.
Hemmer scoffed.
Funny to have a death duel on the grounds of an Embassy. How ironic. Let us pray that the Romulans don’t insult the drapes or they may find themselves in a similar situation.
A nearby official offered him a Ushaan-tor. Hemmer reached out but hesitated.
Something was caught in his vision.
He turned. His eyes couldn’t see color, texture, or much detail, but he recognized the statue.
In the center of the yard stood a statue of Justice– the male variant– holding a sword. Like all Andorian statues with weapons, the blade was real.
Even more interesting, it was loose. It moved a little in his grasp every time someone stepped too close.
Praying quietly that the Honor Codes didn’t have a clause against statue robbery, he stepped over the flowerbeds of the embassy lawn and gently removed the sword from his grip. It was light, surprisingly.
Thank God, it was something he had been trained with; an old blade that predated the Aenar escape to the Northern Wastes.
He could feel the expression Pike was making without even having to look at him. His captain had his mouth hanging open like some cartoon character.
“Captain. Close your mouth, please. I am trained in wielding this weapon.”
“Wait-”
“Preventative training. Aenar train as a precaution, never as an act of aggression.”
His Captian took a moment to process. Pike closed his mouth and gave a thumbs up. “Ok, cool. Good luck.”
Hemmer smiled and nodded, internally groaning.
Luck has nothing to do with a Ushaan.
Both Hemmer and the Chrenn patriarch moved into position. They were tethered together, and the signal was given.
The Chrenn patriarch was by no means young, but he wasn’t out of practice either.
As Hemmer blocked a fatal swipe of the Ushaan-tor, he cursed.
If Talas had gone up against him, he would have died.
That was enough to kick his psychic abilities into overdrive. Aenar can trigger a precognitive episode themselves when they’re angry enough.
Suddenly, Chrenn was to his right, swiping with the Ushaan-tor. Hemmer dodged and then was hit by the second blow.
As soon as he saw the next few tentative seconds into the future, Hemmer was thrust back to the present.
Chrenn went right, Hemmer went up.
Knocking the man onto his back with the flat of his blade, he plunged the sword through the leather of Chrenn’s bracer. Effectively, pinning him in place like a butterfly on a tack board.
“Yield.” Hemmer spat. “I will not kill you.”
Chrenn looked up, eyes burning with fury and pain.
“No.”
“Yield,” Hemmer demanded. “I’ll offer the victory to your son. I have no use for Andorian honor.”
Chrenn cursed, then nodded.
“I yield.”
The officials and Pike crowded the ring, seemingly all confused about how to proceed.
“You can do that? Give the honor to someone else?”
“I think.” Hemmer nodded, “I don’t care about that.”
Pushing past Pike, he returned to the sidelines where T'Pau and Talas were standing.
“Where are your parents?” Hemmer asked, “I’m calling them. Also, you’re going to be under my watch for the remainder of your stay in Andor’au. I’m not risking any more incidents.”
Talas glanced to the side, “Our father is available. He manages the household affairs at the moment. I will give you his number, however, I must ask why you intervened. Andorians do not often risk their lives without reason.”
“Simple.” Hemmer smiled, “Aenar…we value children. There are so few that we take care of them in a community. Every child is equally protected and raised by every adult.”
His chest puffed out a little. “You are not my children, but, for the next few days, you certainly are under my care.”
Talas bit back the Vulcan version of a grin. “Thank you. Although I see no logical value in this statement, I respect your intentions. Thank you, for fighting for me. You were under no obligation to do so. ”
Hemmer winced.
Political genius? Really?
T'Pau padded over.
“Are you going to be the next Emperor of Andoria? I read in a book once that people who pull swords from stones are supposed to be kings-”
“T'Pau!” Talas blanched, “Don’t say that!”
Hemmer kneeled down to be eye-level with her. “Eh, no. It’s an Andorian legend that the weapons in statues are to be used when needed. I needed this sword the same way your brother needed my help.”
“Now.” Hemmer sighed, picking up T'Pau again, “We should eat something, and call your parents to notify them.”
Pike, seemingly aghast, appeared behind them.
He whispered hotly, “Hemmer, the meeting with the Romulans starts in fifteen minutes!”
Hemmer smirked.
“Give the Romulans my condolences.” He nodded his head towards the child in his arms, gently smiling.
“I have more important things to attend to.”
Pike scoffed, turning and biting back, “Your bleeding heart is going to get you killed one day.”
Hemmer scoffed in reply, turning towards the early-morning cityscape.
“And when that day comes, my friend, I will have little regrets.”
#star trek#star trek headcanon#star trek snw#star trek strange new worlds#star trek fanart#digital art#star trek andorian#aenar#hemmer#andorians#my fic#im so normal
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
These kinds of pictures
but they’re comparing Michael Burnham & Spock on how staunchly they’re following Vulcan social etiquette in public (published in several tabloids)
#the possibility of NOT SMILING (positive) made me laugh....#Amanda laughs and is like 'I want them to do one about me and you Sarek!'#And Sarek's like 'don't read that sort of thing =_=....'#<- doesn't give tabloids any merit so it's a rare thing everyone in the family can make fun of
61 notes
·
View notes
Text
10 characters 10 fandoms
I was tagged by @birdkeeperklink thank you so much! I really had to think on these since, as per my url you can guess there are a lot. (sorry for the late reply. I got no excuse, really, except life continued to happen around me and deciding who to pick was really hard.)
in no particular order (though Loki is Number 1, I'm sorry everyone else), here we go:
1. Loki Odinson from MARVEL
I just love him so much I've written a 78K fix-it fantasy novel (not finished) to give him the happy ending he deserves. there is no other character I identify with harder than this one: a younger sibling full of rage, always feeling overshadowed by the older one, just wanting to prove their own worth and show the world that they are capable (i got over this a lot in recent years but my love for him still remains.)
Tom just plays him so perfectly and I am so heartbroken that the writers at MARVEL did not know what to do with him, so they killed him off (the Loki show doesn't count because that's not him okay.) he's always having a good time, he's snarky and clever and desperately needs a hug. how can you not love him?
2. Mr. Spock and Leonard (Bones) McCoy from Star Trek TOS
Yes, they are two people but I just couldn't choose between them!
The grumpy surgeon with a heart of gold an the emotionally suppressed but deeply loving vulcan live in my heart rent free ever since I was a child. Spock was my first crush ever and his complicated relationship with McCoy has always fascinated me. they are two incredibly complicated people and there isn't enough space here to describe why. writing them is just as much fun as watching them and I actually own the autographs of both Leonard and De.
3. James Wilson from House M.D.
he's a man of many contradictions: he is kind but also House's best friend, he loves people dearly but can also tell them to fuck off. he is confident and funny and he helps people without being a pushover. he loves all of his his wives but cheats at least once. he is a walking mystery which makes him a great friend for House and a nightmare to write. I just love him! also, that smile!
4. Castiel from Supernatural
Cas is the character, truly! he can go from nerdy to badass in the blink of an eye. a cosmic being that plays dress up just to make one human smile, who should be nothing but an ant to him. he fiercely protects the people he loves and always tries to do the right thing. the character that inserted himself into the story against the writer's will and changed the narrative for ever. when he came on the show, I hated his guts. and look at me now...
5. Zuko from Avatar the last Aribender
you simply cannot talk about redemption arcs without mentioning Zuko at some point. an exceptional character amongst a cast of exceptional characters. I once joked that 90% of his lines were just him screaming but that poor boy has so much rage inside him, and with all that trauma, can you really blame him? he is the epitome of character growth and a fascinating example of how the villain can become a hero without taking any shortcuts.
6. Stephen Maturin from the Aubrey-Maturin series
if you read the books, you'll know why. this fucking lunatic is so oblivious to his own eccentricities that you just have to love him. nobody does it quite like him to be honest. no, Stephen, people will not think you're eccentric because you practice sword fighting on deck, however they might think that because you let loose 1000 bees on the ship and run around naked. he has no sense for proper etiquette and i love him so much for it. also, he get's on a ship without being able to swim and performs open brain surgery on deck. he is incredibly skilled and the best damn doctor in the entire fleet. also, his dynamic with his best friend/captain is one of the best friendships I've ever seen/read.
7. Scrooge McDuck
this might be an unusual choice but i grew up reading comics and at one point in my life i figured out that all of my favourite stories were writen and drawn by the legendary Don Rosa, who in his book "the life and times of Scrooge McDuck" created one of the most fascinating and fun to watch characters i've ever seen. starting from humble beginnings and rising to the top through his percevierence, fearlessness and ingenuity, inevitably losing everything he loved and ending up alone, only to be found by his family again, his story is one of my absolute favourites in literature. i know that due the never ending nature of comic books, he can never truly get his happy ending but I really wished he could.
8. Keeley Jones from Ted Lasso
I don't think I've ever seen a woman like her in any media to be honest. she is so clearly feminine and embodies all the traits of a woman that would normally be depicted as bitchy, toxic and self obsessed but she is just none of those things. she is a girly woman who loves pink and cries and she is just so human and lovely and i love her so much for it! her friendship with Rebecca is also so amazing and feels very real and true to what friendships between woman are actually like. I just love her as a beacon of healthy femininity and can only hope that there will be more characters like her in the future!
9. Kim Kitsuragi from Disco Elysium
the voice, the looks, the everything! the moment I met him I knew I wanted him to be my best friend for ever! his deadpan delivery combined with his dorkyness and his shere competence had me on the floor on multiple occasions. I have not finished the game yet but I have never had a companion this incredible in any video game ever! I could listen to him read the phone book for hours. when he went "daba doop doop dead" I died. also him jumping in when I fail a check has to be the most badass thing ever. I love you, Kim. please be proud of me. (also, I know he probably has a darker side to him that I am not seeing right now because I am always choosing the nice options but hey, the best characters are the complicated ones.)
10. Cole Turner from Charmed
this show was so much better when he was in it! the half demon who crosses over to the good side without ever really changing his ways. he burns someone alive and laughs about it, drags a detective to hell and doesn't give a shit about civilians. even when he is completely human his solution to assholes is to punch them in the face. he loves power and controling others and looking good while doing it. I know him beind "good" was a whole thing on the show but to me the most fun about him was that he continued being evil but was now using his powers to help the good guys. show me another character that got redeemed into the hero team without losing his evil edge. Cole was just so much fun to watch but unfortunately his character got totally buthcered by bad writing.
No pressure of doing this but tagging:
@catzy88, @uponxhorhaus, @accrov
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Vulcan Education
I haven't seen much else on what Vulcan Schools are suppossed to look like so I came up with my own. Intermixed are some bits I like from Memory Beta. Im ignoring all the parts from 20 yrs and after because it may only be applicable to the Lyr Zor clan and isnt compatible with Alpha canon anyway.
kan-tuihal-shi'oren (Nursery School): Ages 3-5
Its not a necessary prerequisite for primary school but many parents consider it to be important in the schooling process anyway. Benefits include the fundamentals in most every subject for primary school, peer socialization, and a variety of new ideas (er well vulcan-filtered ideas). A bigger emphasis is made on the arts in this school than in later schools. Students learn and perform dances for their parents and community.
Vulcan toddlers are capable of a great deal of self sufficiency when well taught, however not all parents have the time to cover all the basics and can't afford the multiple tutors some clans spring for (or just choose not to).
Newborn children til the age of four were known to take part in visual mathematics, basical calculation as well as beginning the neurological organization of their brains which was followed by an identity meld. By the time they were four, they began mathematics and species identification as well as began to coordinate the use of their physical bodies. Furthermore, algebra, geometry and physics dominated their study life at this time.
During their early education, Vulcan children took part in a curriculum where they learnt the most rudimentary telesper skills to better control their innate telepathic abilities.
nenik-shi'oren (Primary School): Ages 6-14
Schooling is largely made up of lectures and frequent homework, intermixed with regular progress testing via skill domes. Skill domes also serve a part in final exams. With the exception of certain classes, in-classwork is rare. Schoolwork is done mostly through padds. It's more reminiscent of a college with a few differences: 1. Youre not allowed to skip lectures 2. More classes are required as per graduation. In some classes, resources are provided and learning is mostly self directed. There are multiple education paths that come more into play by graduation but primary school is generally understood to be non-specific. By the graduation of this school, children would have the education equivalent up to 14th grade. Classes are separated by skill level rather than age, although most classes happen to be made up of children around the same age anyway. Many 'fun' events (like crafts or holiday parties) that would be common in schools of other species do not exist in vulcan schools. Although some teachers of alien cultures include a sampler of such activities in their lesson plans. Because they are young, children are permitted frequent mental breaks as a sort of vulcan pomodoro technique to increase productivity. As they get older they will be expected to train their mind to do this naturally.
While most schools go over the basics of psychic training, the bulk of it is expected to be handled by family. Usually by a parent but some clans have someone who specializes in it. This is also the kind of thing some families get a tutor for.
An informal social heirarchy forms between students as they hit certain milestones, with these students being admired as older and more mature. At 7, their kan-telan (bonding ceremony). And at 10, their kahs-wan. The latter being more important and noticable. (The kahs-wan can be taken as early as 7 but not often)
When they were eight, children began preliminary telepathic communication and were taught etiquette as well as their clans history along with Vulcan anthropology, calculus and quantum physics. When the child was ten, they learn to suppress cortical stimuli in the dominant hemisphere as well as learn of their races cultural history and began a study of Vulcan rites of passage. By the time they were eleven, they learn of the pressure points needed for mind melding in addition to learning memory accuracy and internal time counting. Furthermore, they were introduced to logic and definition, the principles of analysis, concreteness of thought and physical deportment. These early years of study were expected to continue til the child was between the age of thirteen to fifteen after which their formal training began.
dahrik-shi'oren (Secondary School): Ages 14-20+
Schools at this stage are often specialized and considered precursors to advanced academies such as:
Vulcan Science Academy (VSA)
Vulcan Medical Institute
Vulcan Institute of Defense Arts (VIDA)
Vulcan School of Diplomacy
Studies here aren't as fast paced and ruthless as full colleges. And unlike primary school they have no government standard learning criteria to meet. Most students would be either in the direct midst of puberty or finishing out its second stages. In some areas they have just one school which contains the pathways necessary for whichever trade schools are popular in the region (more like a skills center).
In more isolated areas this is where students would have either moved to the city to pursue higher education or found a job locally to help out at home (likely picking up an apprenticeship).
For those that choose to take it, the Rite of Taloth is commonly undergone around this time. While it is an acknowledged accomplishment among peers, a social heiarchy is not formed around it as that is now viewed as childish.
When formal training began, the first rite conducted was Tal T'Lee where they were assisted in their meditation by an adept of their clan council. They learn to control their subdominant cortices which was followed by Dwemish Hi-An where identity isolation was learnt along with brain control with numbers systems and equations. They also learn multiplication left to right whereupon they took part in Enok-Kal Fi Lar which was the processes of definition and the concepts of given. Once this was complete, the child took part in An-Prele between the age of sixteen to nineteen where they learn pain control meditation from a clan council adept. They were also expected to read Essays of Discipline and Analysis of Pseudodoxy as well as was expected to learn to segregate the lobes of their brains.
*I came up with the names through stuff on VLD and VLI but if anyone wants to consolidate it to sound catchier go ahead.
#vulcans#vulcan culture#fandom ramblings#star trek#as always feel free to contribute ideas i love vulcan lore#vulcan kids#vulcan children#vulcan toddlers#vulcan teenagers
12 notes
·
View notes
Text
Slow and Steady [C. Chapel]
Pairing: Christine x female reader
Word count: ~1k
Summary: Y/N and Christine are best friends. After spending the day together, Y/N admits to not only being bisexual but having feelings for Christine, too.
Notes: Requested by an anon. This is my first time writing for Christine and my first full Trek fic in a while, so I apologize at its quality. Still accepting queer prompts for Pride month!
Tag list: @agent-catfish-kenobi @space-helen @plaguedoctorsnake @shadyfirecollector
Yours and Christine’s laughs bounce of the walls of the corridor as you make your way through the ship.
“I can’t believe you almost let me buy that,” you say between laughs.
Christine grins at you. “I didn’t know what it was! If I had realized sooner I would have stopped you before the shopkeeper came over.”
You roll your eyes, but smile. While the Enterprise is docked at a space station for a few meetings, most of the crew has been granted some R&R time, either on the station or on the ship. You and Christine decided to have a friend date on the station and see what it had to offer. You went to a few restaurants and a bar, visited a Vulcan meditation garden, visited an old fashioned movie theatre, and walked around the shopping level where you almost bought a Klingon sex toy.
In your defense, the shop had been called Treasures of the Galaxy and boasted their collection of items from all different worlds. What you thought was a pretty vase had been sometime else entirely. Luckily no one other than Christine had witnessed that, so at least you wouldn’t be teased about it by anyone else.
“I would have bought it for you if I’d known you were so into that kind of thing,” she muses teasingly.
You shove her shoulder and scoff. “You’re terrible.”
“I know.” She flashes you a grin and you can’t help but smile.
When you reach your quarters, you tilt your head to the side. “Want to come in? It’s not too late.”
Christine smiles cheekily. “Why, Y/N, if I had known I would be invited over I would have at least paid for dinner.”
You smirk and open the door. “You can buy next time.”
“So my lack of date etiquette hasn’t put you off?” she asks as she walks backwards into your quarters.
You laugh, though you wish you were both being serious. “Not in the slightest.”
“Good. Because I need someone to explore places with me.” She walks to your couch and gestures for you to sit with her. “Spock will only do so much with me.”
You give her a look as you sit next to her. “I thought you were over that.”
“What? Over Spock?” She smiles and leans her elbow against the back of the couch, propping her cheek against her closed fist. “I am. Don’t get me wrong, he’s amazing to look at, and I like spending time with him, but that silly little crush is long gone.”
“Oh.” You hope she can’t see the relief on your features.
“But speaking of crushes,” she drawls, shifting to pull her knees up. “That guy at the bar was totally flirting with you.”
“What?” You scoff.
Christine raises an eyebrow and smiles. “He was cute. You should have asked him out.”
You shook your head and looked away. “I didn’t really notice.”
“Really?” She laughs quietly.
“I was distracted,” you reply simply and you lean your foot out to nudge her ankle.
“Oh come on, I’m not that distracting,” she defends with another laugh.
You shrug and smile at her softly. “You can be.”
Christine rolls her eyes playfully. “Well, I’m sorry for cockblocking you, then.”
You laugh at her choice of words. “You didn’t. I… Kind of have my eye on someone else, anyway.”
Christine leans forward, eager to learn more. “Oh? What’s his name?”
You shift and clear your throat. Christine doesn’t know that you’re bi. She’s only ever heard about your ex—a guy you dated at the academy—and your attraction to women never really came up. You didn’t want your coming out to her being you admitting your feelings for her, but… The way she looks at you, the way she touches you every chance she gets, the way she laughs with you… It gives you hope that maybe the feelings are mutual.
“Um. Her name,” you mumble.
“Oh,” Christine says, then shrugs a little and smiles. “Okay, what’s her name?”
You try to hide a grin. Of course, you knew she’d react fine. She herself isn’t straight, and you knew it wouldn’t really be a big thing. But sharing this part of yourself with her, no matter how she feels about you, feels freeing and comforting.
“Um,” you repeat. “Her name is Christine.”
You see her eyebrows furrow and her lips part slightly.
Your heart hammers against your ribs, and you try your best to ignore it as you move closer. “It’s you. I uh. Maybe kind of have a crush on you? And I know you’re not—not really big on commitment and relationships stress you out and we don’t have to do anything or—or be anything but um—I thought you should know—”
Christine leans forward and cups your cheek with her warm, soft hand. “Y/N,” she says softly.
Your tongue darts out between your lips and you meet her gaze. You see a tenderness in her eyes that makes your stomach flip.
“Y/N,” she repeats, quieter this time, barely a whisper. Then she closes the gap between the two of you and kisses you. You involuntarily sigh through your nose and lean closer. The kiss is short, only lasting a few moments, but you’re both smiling stupidly when it ends.
“Wow,” you whisper, and Christine giggles.
“You’re adorable,” she says, leaning up to feather a kiss to your forehead.
Blushing you smile. “So… Can we consider today our first official date?”
Christine smiles, too, but she leans back a little bit. “I… I want to. But… You said it yourself, relationships stress me out.” When your smile falls, she quickly continues, “I want to try it though! With you, I… you make me feel like I could do it. But I just. Can we go slow?”
You wrap your arms around her neck loosely and nod. “Of course. We can go at whatever pace makes you most comfortable. I get it, I really do. I’m not going anywhere.”
Christine visibly relaxes and she sighs. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I try,” you reply with a smile.
Laughing quietly, Christine leans closer and kisses you again and this time, it lasts longer than just a few moments.
#christine chapel x reader#christine chapel fanfiction#star trek fanfiction#star trek imagine#star trek reader insert#star trek x reader#star trek snw fanfiction#star trek strange new worlds fanfiction
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
20 Questions for Fic Writers
Thanks for the tag @candyskiez! I am…bad at this internet thing, so I'm not sure who to tag. Anyone who wants to can jump in.
1. How many fics do you have on Ao3?
46 total so far. 38 are fanfictions and 8 are original works but I'm going to be ignoring the latter from this point onwards where possible.
2. What's your total Ao3 word count?
271,996. The majority of that is because of "Above Board." That series was not what I expected to write at the time, but 2020 was…odd.
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Good question. I don't know. Whatever I am feeling in the moment, mostly.
In the past I've written for Hogan's Heroes and Fullmetal Alchemist. Recently I've finished a sizeable Star Trek Next Gen series. I am currently working on a number of Nimona fanfics and I expect to return to Leverage at some point after that. Beyond that, couldn't say.
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
"Trust Fall", "Golf Blues", "Inventory", "Only the Best", and "Challenges in Rhetoric". A mix of Leverage and FMA. Somehow I'm not surprised to find the Waterworld story hasn't gotten a lot of kudos, lol. Glad to see "Inventory" up there, it was a lot of fun to write. Outsider POV usually is.
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
I try really hard to. I adore getting comments, and I want to communicate that, but I can start to overthink my reply and spiral over them pretty easy.
6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Uhhh…. Gonna have to give that one to either "Lies Will Out" or "Confessions" I think, even though "Lies Will Out" has a hopeful final scene. (Both Star Trek Next Gen)
"Love Like a Rain" (Nimona 2023) is a strong contender, but with the context of the movie, it gets resolved pretty much instantly and ends well. "Bones on Bones" (Waterworld 1995) is also a contender but is more impersonal over all.
Getting a proper resolution from "Lies Will Out" takes all 54K of "Wheat with the Chaff," and "Confessions" is a straight up tragedy.
7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
"we are such vicious, wild things" is very domestic in spite of the title, probably that one. Runner up is "Trust Fall." I love my OT3's it seems.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Not yet. I did start on ffn though, and the commenting etiquette there would be considered rude on Ao3.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
I only wrote some recently, and I haven't posted any as of yet. Generally not my thing, but this one grew a plot I'm excited about. What can you do?
10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?
I write them, but I don't post them, because I've never actually finished one. I was working on an FMA x Star Wars Prequels thing for a while, got a third of the way through and scrapped it, though that isn't the craziest one. That's probably the unfinished FMA x Megamind Community Theatre AU I want to finish someday.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Not that I know of.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
No. Would love if it happened but it's very unlikely to.
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
No. Love brainstorming with people, hate actually writing with people. I'm a little bit of a control freak about the execution.
14. What's your all-time favourite ship?
How dare you make me pick one. I'm going to say Leverage OT3, but really it's tied between Goldenheart and Royai.
15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?
Question 18 made me think of it--Tower of Babble.
I started a Next Gen fic where the universal translator goes off-line. I planned out the personnel dynamics based on who spoke what and the fact that the computer would revert to Vulcan and we see no Vulcans on the Enterprise D. I was going to have Geordi speak Creole specifically to fuck with Picard. I was going to have Riker and Barclay both speak German. Worf would speak Russian and people would reply to him in tourist Klingon with absolutely no idea what he just said. It was going to be gold but also I can't just use google translate for the whole thing. I really only speak French and English, which does mean I can fake competence for a few different languages if I do my research well, but that's really only the romance languages and…well. I just don't think it's happening, unfortunately, as cool as it would be. Idea is free to a good home, doesn't have to be Next Gen or even Star Trek, would love to see it if someone makes it.
16. What's your writing strengths?
I have gotten a lot of compliments for getting character voice right and for providing an emotional journey, so…those. I think I manage to balance OCs pretty well so that they stay secondary characters at most, and that I'm a fair hand at tension.
17. What's your writing weaknesses?
I am allergic to mystery plots. Hate them. Loathe them. Don't want to write them ever, ever, ever. I will give you dramatic irony all day every day, but mysteries are just. The worst. I don't actually know if I could be good at them because I have honestly never tried.
Fight scenes also, because fight scenes are of course really hard to write and I always make the mistake of making my characters competent so that I have to actually do choreography and not just Vibes. Uggggghhhhh.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?
I have done it in some of my fics, I usually try to do it in a way that the meaning can be intuited easily and it doesn't detract from the fic if you don't know it, or so that the translation is provided by the characters in the main body if it is plot relevant.
Mad respect for people who use it to drive the plot and do full translations in their end notes or hover text, you are incredible and I love you.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
Hogan's Heroes. In 2018, I'm pretty sure. As far as I know that fandom still does like 3-5 annual events over on ffn. They're cool.
20. Favorite fic you've ever written?
Noooooo I have to pick??? I love them all for different reasons.
If I have to pick, then probably "Build Them Up, Let Them Go." Outsider POV is always a delight. I would consider saying "Wheat with the Chaff" but it was a COMPLETE AND UTTER BITCH TO WRITE, so no, no it doesn't get to be my favourite. :) Ever. :)
"Trust Fall" is a very solid runner up though.
By the time I finish it, I think some of the other stories in the "Love Like" series are probably going to jump ahead of these. I am still deeply in love with the character dynamics in Nimona.
My Ao3, if you're interested in an eclectic mix.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
pedagogy of the repressed (Learning Curve, s1 e16)
The kindest thing I can say about "Learning Curve" is that it wasn't meant to be a season finale. For better or worse, that honor was intended for "The 37s," with additional Season 2 episodes aired between. I find this episode so incoherent as a climax to the first season that I considered reviewing them in filming order, before rejecting the idea as deranged.
On the whole I really like Tuvok as a character. As the oldest officer on board, he brings experience and depth of memory to his interactions, and while his Vulcan persona is familiar and by-the-book, Tim Russ's performance makes it feel fully realized (with perhaps an edge of charm).
I guess making Tuvok a piece of shit authoritarian is part of the specificity of his character, even if flexing your power over your students isn't terribly logical. But by making his bad teaching methods representative of the Starfleet ethos, there's only one possible conclusion, and it's nothing the show wants to face: Starfleet sucks.
The episode begins with a brief Janeway holonovel scene. It is inane. Why would anyone want to LARP being a governess? The obnoxious children make their appearance, but soon the whole exercise is happily interrupted.
A cohort of underperforming former Maquis is assigned to "field training." Let's remember, these folks never consented to work on this ship; their only obligation is to Chakotay as their former captain. After they walk out of training (a labor action if I ever saw one), Tuvok's next move is the enforcement of the Starfleet dress code. I was MAD when Gerron has to remove his Bajoran earring - so much is made of Ro Laren's earring in TNG, but here it's a passing moment of forced cultural assimilation that goes unchecked.
The episode wholly accepts that the view that these Maquis crew are undisciplined, lazy, and just can't cope with the rigors of Starfleet service. That their lives are anarchic-in-a-bad-way is underscored by Chakotay throwing a punch to put Dalby in his place - that's "the Maquis way," apparently! To which I say, really? Listen, I don't know the first thing about guerrilla fighters, I'm sure things get colorful between weapons drills and political philosophy debates, but wouldn't a large, sustained insurgency have methods for self-organization that don't involve frequent acts of violence?
Tuvok's training devolves into an episode of "The Biggest Loser," characterized by tough love and long-distance jogging. When his approach fails, an apt metaphor from Neelix makes him realize that he needs to build a relationship with his students, but it's too late. Only a crisis in the last act, in which Tuvok bend the rules, causes the Maquis to realize that they're willing to change as well(??)
It's just the stupidest ending - Tuvok and his students never demonstrate an ability to work well together, and Starfleet methods are never vindicated. In fact, nothing has changed by the end of this episode, as Tuvok has already showcased an ability to break rules in "Prime Factors." The episode's failure, in my mind, speaks to the failure of the show as a whole to tackle the Maquis/Starfleet conflict. After all, to deliver on its own premise would mean to complicate its belief in Starfleet heroism, and this show is too damn conservative to attempt it.
The only saving grace of this one is the cheese subplot, which is actually a hoot. There is no scientific mystery too ridiculous for this show, and I think that's wonderful.
I laughed out loud: "To discuss the patient's condition in front of the patient would be a serious breach of professional etiquette. It's been suggested that I cultivate a greater sensitivity to my patient's needs. Don't worry, my little friend."
Like a fermentation gone wrong, this one stunk. 1.5/5 infected alien cheeses.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Exobiology (Data x Female Reader)
Mechanical Rose Series Part 3
Mechanical Rose Series Part 1: First Base
Mechanical Rose Series Part 2: Android Mine
Mechanical Rose Series Part 4: Make Us Stronger
Mechanical Rose Series Part 5: Mother Knows Best
Mechanical Rose Series Prequel One-shot: Crush
Summary: Data asked you to let him plan the date for tonight, but you didn't expect him to show up at your quarters with a blindfold, only informing you that he has planned a "surprise". That surprise leads to the fulfillment of a childhood dream, making out, and learning more about the beautiful mechanical man you love.
Rated: T
Also posted on AO3
-------------------------------------------------
"Are the samples from Tavros IX ready yet, Ensign Patel?" you ask, adjusting the settings on your tricorder.
"The initial computer analysis will be finished in three minutes, Lt. Y/N," Ensign Patel responds, and you nod in acknowledgement, continuing to specify the needed parameters on your tricorder.
As you do so, you can't help but smile in anticipation. Gosh, it's not like you're a brand-new acting ensign fresh out of the Academy and on your very first assignment, but it is exciting all the same. Being assigned aboard the Enterprise, the flagship of the Federation itself, is no small honor. This is everything you ever could have dreamed of when you were a young cadet with your head full of stars. You have access to the most sophisticated technology in the Federation, you'll be at the forefront of cutting-edge research and exploration across the galaxy, and you'll be serving alongside the best officers and scientists that Starfleet has to offer. All things considered, you concede that you probably have the right to feel a little giddy at the prospect of beginning your first real assignment since your two weeks aboard the Enterprise.
"The samples are ready, Lieutenant."
You carefully move the tray of fossilized remains of some insect-like creature that your exobiology team discovered on the rocky Class L planet, the presence of which indicates that once Tavros IX might have been Class M. Over the next two weeks, it will be the job of you and your team to catalog any indications of extinct life forms and use that information to extrapolate what you can about the planet's biological history. You start scanning the fossils with your tricorder, watching the screen intensely.
"Excuse me, Lt. Y/N?"
The soft male voice behind you startles you from your focus. You turn to see who has addressed you.
A man is standing roughly nine feet away, watching you intently with his head tilted just slightly to the side. You had not heard him enter the lab or approach, and he is definitely not a member of your team. You would certainly remember if he was. His appearance is very nearly human, except for his skin which is as pale as alabaster with a golden sheen and his pale yellow eyes. You can't quite put a finger on what it is, but there's something about the way he holds himself that is distinctly non-human.
For a moment, you panic. Every Starfleet cadet is required to take classes to learn about every Federation species and must pass exams on culture and etiquette, given the likelihood that you will serve alongside Vulcans, Bajorans, Bolians, Andorians, and many others during your career. But you have no recollection of learning about any beings like this man and you find yourself momentarily frozen as you mentally race through all your culture classes and exams in search of something you might have forgotten and hoping you don't make intergalactic news by starting a war over some breach of alien etiquette.
The stranger does not seem concerned; in fact, there is no change to his neutral expression as he steps forward. "You are in charge of the exobiology team?"
You nod.
He mirrors the gesture. "Excellent. I am Lieutenant Commander Data."
Commander Data. Your panic subsides as you recognize the name and simultaneously understand why you didn't recognize him as a member of a Federation race. You had heard about the android second officer of the Enterprise a few times before, though you only know a little about him from an overview in cybernetics in one of your Academy classes years ago.
You straighten your stance, making sure to appear professional. "Is there anything I can help you with, Sir?"
"As the head of science and operations, I will be overseeing the research of Tavros IX," Data answers. His voice is smooth and even, the vocal simulation not at all mechanical. "I wished to see how the analysis is progressing."
You step aside, allowing the commander to see the tray of fossils. "Initial scans indicate that the fossils are at least two hundred thousand years old. They appear to have been marine, Sir."
Commander Data leans forward to examine the specimens closer. "Ah, Masutra'ravot."
You can't help the expression of surprise that crosses your face. "Yes, Sir, we believe there may be a correlation between these specimens and other similar species on other planets, including the Vulcan masutra'ravot suborder. I didn't know you were interested in exobiology."
"I graduated from the Academy with honors in exobiology," the android responds matter-of-factly. "Although it has not been a focus in my career, exobiology remains a particular interest of mine. I find the concept of life, in all its diverse forms, intriguing. What common features are shared by living beings across the galaxy? What qualifications must be met in order for something to be considered alive? These are questions that I find great fascination in answering, or attempting to answer at the very least."
You feel a smile tugging at your lips. You hadn't expected him to be so…conversational. There's something about his manner that makes you feel at ease, despite him being a senior officer. "I've always loved animals myself, and the thought of discovering and studying species from all over the galaxy always sounded to me like the best job in the world. Though I admit, my focus at the Academy, and my true passion, is small mammalian life forms, not alien shrimp."
Data nods seriously before catching you off-guard with the question, "I see, what is your opinion of cats?"
"Cats?" You raise your eyebrows. "My family had two cats when I was growing up, but I haven't been around them much since then. But I do remember enjoying them." You pause and smile to yourself. "I was ten when my parents took me to the exobiology exhibit at the Museum of Interplanetary Life in San Francisco and I saw a hologram of a pirin from Tavarius II. It was love at first sight. I told my parents I wanted to be an exobiologist when I grew up and now here I am." You sigh. "I haven't made it to Tavarius II yet, but I still hope to one day."
Commander Data adjusts one of the settings on his tricorder and aims the device at the fossil tray, watching the information as it displays on his screen. "I have not been to Tavarius II myself either. I am however a cat parent. Perhaps sometime you would like to meet her. Although Spot can be highly meticulous about which humans she allows in her company, I believe she would find you acceptable."
You glance over at the android, who is now standing less than two feet away, and you can't help watching as his long, elegant fingers tap a new code into his tricorder with the sort of grace you might expect from a pianist. And once you notice his hands, you begin to observe just how nice many of his other features are: his smooth, dark hair, the regal profile of his sloping forehead and large nose, the slight part of his rose gold lips, his broad shoulders, his trim waist and hips…
You blush and quickly look away, focusing on your own tricorder. The last thing you need to be doing is checking out the third highest officer on the ship, even if he is surprisingly handsome.
Apparently satisfied, Commander Data snaps his tricorder shut and turns to face you. "It appears you have everything in order. I will continue to check in on your progress."
He gives you a polite nod and heads for the door. You covertly watch as he leaves, noticing how nicely his gold and black uniform hugs his figure.
You shake those thoughts away. All right, so the android second officer is more attractive than you were expecting, but you're not a daydreaming teenager. You're a professional. It isn't that there is a rule prohibiting romance between lower and higher ranking officers, but still it wouldn't do to let yourself stray too far down that path. He's an android after all. It's not like you would ever have a chance with him…
THREE YEARS LATER
"Where are we going?" you ask, trying to keep the nervous giggle out of your voice. You scrunch up your nose as the silky black fabric tied gently but firmly around your eyes tickles at the bridge of your nose.
"I have already informed you, it is a surprise," comes the familiar calm voice from directly behind you. His hand rests at the small of your back, guiding you down the Enterprise hallways. "I have noticed that withholding key elements of an upcoming experience can heighten the anticipation, and therefore the subsequent release and pleasure, upon the reveal."
He pauses momentarily. "Unless, of course, not knowing our destination is causing you genuine distress or anxiety, in which case I can reveal the intended surprise now."
You reach behind you and pat his leg, the only part of him you can easily reach at the moment. "No, Data, I'm fine."
"Then you are not in distress?"
You smile at the tender concern in his voice. "No, I'm not in distress. I just get jittery when I'm excited."
He makes a soft noise of acknowledgement. "Hm." Seconds later, you feel his lips against your ear, his chest pressing against your back. His voice is silky and almost teasing once again. "In that case, Darling, you will have to wait until we arrive at our destination to discover my intentions towards you for our evening."
Oh, but you like the sound of that. A shiver races down your spine that is not entirely due to the cool hallway. Only a few minutes ago, Data had arrived at your quarters at the pre-arranged time, after both your work shifts were finished. When you two set up the date the previous night, Data had requested to arrange the particulars, but you didn't expect him to pull out a silk blindfold and request polite permission to use it on you, only vaguely informing you that he had prepared a "surprise" when you questioned him.
Data's other hand presses against your shoulder, guiding you around what you assume is a corner, then he draws to a stop. A moment later, you hear the hiss of a door opening and recognize the soft whirr of a turbolift. The two of you step inside. Data begins to tell the computer his desired location, but then he pauses and presses both his hands carefully over your ears, just enough that you can't hear what he says. Then there's that slight drop in your stomach that indicates you are now moving downwards.
After thirty seconds or so, the turbolift stops, the door opens, and Data conducts you out and into another hallway. With the blindfold in place, all your other senses are heightened and you put them to use trying to figure out what part of the ship you're on and where you might be heading. The vibrating hum of the ship is all around you. The air smells clean and crisp, like most of the Enterprise's hallways, offering you no clues. Data's hands are soft against you, one still on your lower back, the other on your shoulder, his long fingers resting under your hair against your nape. You are profoundly aware of every slight movement of him against your skin, along with the soft pad of his feet on the carpet behind you.
You don't go far before he stops again. He lifts his hand from your shoulder and you hear the rapid tap of his fingers against buttons, and then a door to your left opens with a slight rumble. You have a general guess as to where your android has brought you, but you have no clue as to what might await you beyond those doors. Your chest clinches with nervous anticipation. And then Data is applying pressure to your back, silently encouraging you, and you step forward and through the doors.
And then your feet are on grass.
Immediately, you are aware of brighter light shining through the silk over your eyes, though you still can't make out any details. A fragrant smell surrounds you, and you can suddenly feel a light breeze on your skin. Your fingers itch to undo the blindfold, but you push down your combined eagerness and curiosity, awaiting Data's instructions.
The android steps from behind you – the pressure of his hands against your back ceases abruptly and you hear the crunch of his feet to your right as he circles you, and then his fingers curl softly around yours tugging you several more steps forward. Ever meticulous, he adjusts your position just slightly. Then his fingers glide ever so gently through your loose hair, brushing against your cheek. "Are you ready for the surprise I have prepared?" he asks.
You don't bother keeping the eager tremor from your voice. "Yes."
The next moment, Data's fingers are deftly undoing your blindfold, then the cloth slips away completely.
For several seconds, the sudden light is blinding and you see nothing beyond the white-yellow glow. But as your eyes adjust, your heart catches in your throat.
You are standing at the top of a great hillside that slopes down into a deep valley. The intense light of the yellow dwarf star high in the sky above you glimmers and glints on the water of a beautiful, blue lake that fills the center of the valley. Beyond it, you can see more hillsides disappearing into the far horizon, many dotted with forest groves. To your left, the foot hills give way to an impressive mountain range that stretches off into the distance. And beyond the mountain peaks, a huge planet with pink and orange swirls dominates the sky, so close you feel like you could reach out and touch it.
You've visited the holodeck plenty of times before, but still you can't quite bring yourself to believe that everything around you is an elaborate virtual reality and that you are not actually standing on the hillside of a strange planet. You can feel the breeze on your cheeks, the sunlight on your face, the soft ground underneath your feet. All your senses are telling you that you are on the planet's surface rather than still aboard the Enterprise.
A loud, musical keening interrupts your amazement and you look up to see a flock of large red and blue birds with four wings each soaring past overhead. They circle the valley gracefully and, still filling the air with their haunting cries, swoop down to land in the lake.
You turn to Data, who has stepped off to the side and is watching you with his head cocked and an intent, curious expression on his face. You're not sure if the glowing warmth in your face is from the sunlight or your awe. "You designed this program, Data?"
"Not entirely," he replies, truthful as ever. "Much of the information I uploaded directly from the ship's computer, though I chose this specific location and designed some other particulars of the pre-existing program."
You turn to look back out over the valley, watching the birds gliding through the water. "This is a real place then?"
"That is correct," Data responds. You expect him to elaborate, but he doesn't. Instead, he links his hands behind his back, still watching you with keen interest. You get the distinct feeling that he's searching for a specific reaction from you, but you're not sure what. You smile shyly at him. "It's a beautiful program, Data."
"I am glad that you find it visually pleasing," he answers and some subtle expression flashes across his face. If you didn't know better, you might almost have called the expression mild amusement. But then again, the more you get to know Data, the more human you are finding that he truly is.
Feeling suddenly bashful and still unsure what Data is expecting of you but sensing that he's waiting for something, you rotate in a slow circle to examine your more immediate surroundings. The ground is covered in vegetation resembling grass, except it is pale blue. It is interspersed with a moss-like growth that looks velvet-soft and is a yellow so pretty it almost rivals the beauty of your boyfriend's eyes. Dotted across the hilltop and slope are small, daisy-like flowers, pale pink with many petals, which you guess are the source of the fragrant, floral scent all around you. It truly is beautiful, in a completely otherworldly way.
You turn back to Data, intending to see if you can pry any more information out of him, when you hear a high-pitched chirrup from behind you. You whirl around.
You instantly recognize the small creature emerging from the bushes. Its reddish-brown haunches are similar to a rabbit, with long, powerful back legs, but its tail looks like that of a miniature lion, ending in a twitching tuft. It has delicate clawed forepaws, a pointy muzzle and foxy ears, and large, dark, intelligent eyes. Folded elegantly along the creature's back are the furriest, most beautiful set of slender wings.
Your mind flashes back to your tenth birthday and the Museum of Interplanetary Life and the exhibit that set you on the career path that brought you to the stars.
The sound you make is a squeal of pure delight.
You drop cautiously to your knees as the pirin approaches in small bounds and reach out a trembling hand. The pirin jerks away, its wings flaring briefly and large ears pivoting forward, but as you hold still, it creeps forward again, making a soft chirring sound. Its wings are half-spread, prepared to leap back or take to the air in a moment, but there is curiosity in its quiet snuffles and in the twitching of its pointed snout. It makes another half-skip forward and its nose bumps against your hand.
You can barely suppress your shudder of delight as the pirin nuzzles your hand, sniffing and examining you. Curiosity evidently sated for the moment, it backs away and circles you, still making quiet chirring sounds. Once it completes its circuit, it leisurely bound-skips a few feet away, then rises onto its haunches, wings half-flared. It makes the same chirrup that you first heard then bounds away down the hill slope.
There is a rustle behind you and a chorus of chirrups, and five more pirin emerge from the taller grass. One spreads its wings and glides, while the others bound after the first one. One of them passes by you so close you could reach out and touch it if you wanted. You remain perfectly still however, watching in fascination as the small group of pirin make their way down the slope towards the lake. Only as they disappear from sight do you raise a hand to your mouth, pressing the backs of your fingers to the huge smile breaking across your face.
You turn to find Data watching you with pleased eyes and the littlest upward twist at the corners of his lips, and you know he was hoping for the reaction you just gave him.
"This…this is Tavarius II!" you exclaim.
"It is a precise holographic rendering of Tavarius II created from detailed scans of the planet saved on the ship's computer," Data says. "Although it is merely a hologram, I hoped that it would bring you at least part of the happiness that you would experience from the opportunity to visit in person." He turns his head, looking at you questioningly from the corner of his eyes. "Given your reactions, I theorize that you have enjoyed the surprise I prepared. Is this correct?"
To answer him, you fling your arms around his neck, pressing your cheek into his shoulder. "Oh Data, this is the most perfect date I could ever imagine. Thank you so much."
He puts an arm around your waist. "You are welcome, Y/N." He pauses, his hand resting against the small of your back. "Perhaps one day, I will have the opportunity to visit the real Tavarius II in your company."
You squeeze his shoulders. "I hope so very much. I can't think of anyone I'd rather go with." You're still embracing him, but you turn your head so that your cheek is flat against his chest and you are gazing down the slope at the beautiful view. "I guess there are benefits to having a boyfriend with a perfect memory who remembers every single hope and dream you've ever mentioned in his presence."
Data pulls away from you a little but keeps one arm around your middle. "I also recall that on several occasions you mentioned enjoying the human custom of a simple outdoor meal arranged on top of a patterned cloth." He steps aside, revealing a brown wicker basket.
You bite back a delighted laugh. "A picnic!"
The two of you set about turning the hilltop into a picnic scene. Data lays down the checkered cloth, while you pull out the food. It's classic picnic fare (of course it is – Data no doubt researched every aspect of this human custom in preparation). There's all the trappings for sandwiches, along with cheese, fresh strawberries and grapes, and a container of ice cold lemonade.
Once you've pulled out all the food, you both settle comfortably on the picnic cloth to assemble your sandwiches. You can't remember the last time you had a picnic like this, and it feels so incredibly homey that it's hard to believe you're on a holographic planet's surface aboard a starship, which itself is hundreds of thousands of light years from Earth, with your android boyfriend.
You load up your sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, Swiss cheese, and turkey. Data methodically spreads peanut butter on one slice of bread and grape jelly on another, then carefully smooshes them together to form the most picturesque PB&J you've ever seen. You can't help the fond smile that tugs your lips. He looks up to find you watching him and you decide to tease him affectionately. "Ugh, peanut butter and jelly? And I thought you had good taste."
A soft expression of confusion crosses his face. "But my understanding was that peanut butter and jelly is a popular and beloved human choice for a picnic sandwich."
You giggle and pat his knee. "It is. I'm just teasing."
Data frowns. "But is teasing not a malicious activity?"
Your heart tugs at you – you suddenly suspect that Data has been subjected to that less friendly form of teasing more than once – and you scoot over next to him so that your knee is resting against his and your shoulder bumps against his shoulder. "It can be malicious. But when it's done lightheartedly between two people who know each other well, particularly between two people who are romantically involved, it's meant to be playful. It's a form of flirting." You rub your hand back and forth over his knee. "And Data, I promise I would never tease you the other way."
"Hm." Data tilts his head and looks at his sandwich pensively. "I clearly have a great deal to still learn about the subtexts of romantic communication."
You twine the fingers of your free hand with his. "Everyone had things to learn. It's part of being human."
He looks at you, and there is tender gratitude deep in those golden eyes. "Although I may never reach my ultimate goal of becoming fully human, the times when I am with you are one of the instances where I believe I come the closest to experiencing what being human must be like."
Your throat clogs a little with emotion and you squeeze his hand tightly. "You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that, Data."
The two of you dig into your picnic meal, enjoying your sandwiches side-by-side as you look out over the stunning view of Tavarius II. When you've finished your sandwich and have stuffed yourself about as full as you can get, Data surprises you further with a previously concealed container filled with warm chocolate chip cookies that get your mouth watering all over again. And when Data reveals that the cookies aren't replicated – that he baked them himself after spending yesterday night researching what components make the best chocolate chip cookie ("There does not seem to be a consensus concerning this question," he says) – you decide you have a little extra room in your stomach after all.
The cookies are warm and soft, but not crumbly, with gooey milk chocolate chips, and both of you have several. You take a last sip of lemonade to finish off your glass then lean back on the palms of your hands with a contented sigh. You feel entirely warm, and your mind is filled with that fuzzy happiness of a good and satisfying meal. Contentment wraps around you like a blanket.
You twist your body towards Data and watch him fondly. He's carefully packing the leftover food into the wicker basket, and you can almost see him doing the lightning speed geometric calculations to determine how to put all the individual containers in for a perfect fit. You watch the way the black stripe at the top of his uniform ripples as his broad shoulders move underneath and the way the yellow fabric stretches tight across his back. For not the first time (and by no means the last time), you find yourself admiring the beautiful masculine shape of him. As your eyes skim up and down the alluring lines and curves of him, you feel familiar heat creeping into your chest and cheeks. You are drawn to him as inevitably as a planet's pull on its moon.
As he finishes packing everything away and turns back to you, you're waiting for him. His head bobs back in slight surprise as you all but plop yourself into his lap, but he obligingly still lifts his hands to your hips to steady you all the same. You drape your arms languidly around his shoulders, your legs spread around his waist and stretched comfortably on the grass behind him. Your bodies are pressed intimately close. Your other hand strokes slowly up his side and back down.
You play with the fringe of his silky dark hair just above the back of his uniform collar. "Hey there," you say, desire giving your voice a husky tone.
"Hello," he responds politely, his eyebrow rising just slightly. You can tell he's puzzled but content to go along with you.
As he turns his head to face you fully, you stifle a laugh. There's a noticeable smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, standing out dramatically against his pale skin. It's such a human detail that it makes your heart skip.
It's terribly cliché, but you figure that when the universe offers you that big of an invitation, it would be a crime to waste it. "You've got some chocolate on your face," you say without keeping your amusement from your tone.
His eyes widen and he starts lifting a hand, but you push his arm back down. "Let me get it for you," you purr, and without letting him respond, you take your opportunity.
You lean forward, wrapping your arm more tightly around his shoulder, and press your lips to the corner of his mouth. His bioplast skin is soft and warm. Your chest is pressed flat against his and with a sense of wonder, you realize you can feel his heartbeat. You know in reality it's the rhythm of his central servo pump, but Dr. Soong clearly designed it to mimic the beat of a human heart. And really, how much different is his heart from yours, except that his is made of duranium?
You gently lick the corner of his mouth and taste chocolate combined with the unique, subtle flavor of his skin. There's a hint of a metallic quality to it, but also a slight suggestion of salt more like organic skin, not unpleasant. This close to him, you can hear and feel the whisper of his light breathing against your cheek. You let your tongue slowly map the tiny dimple at the corner of his lips.
Data remains perfectly still and quiet, his hands still cradling your hips. At the beginning of your relationship, such moments as this were stiff and awkward, his movements and stance explicitly mechanical, but you've noticed him becoming increasingly relaxed towards both giving and receiving physical affection. There's something wonderful about knowing that your gentle synthetic boyfriend is comfortable in your presence.
You pull slowly away from him in time to see his eyes flutter back open. His lashes are white, as if dusted with snow, and you are struck with how beautiful and detailed his smallest features are. His expression is one of tender trust and a wonder that is almost child-like. When he speaks, his voice is softer than pirin fur.
"Your breathing and heartbeat have increased by five percent," he murmurs, "and your pupils have dilated 1.4 millimeters. You are experiencing arousal."
That you are. You can already feel the heavier thumping in your chest and the throbbing of your pulse. Your skin feels hot and sensitive, and you are exquisitely aware of every place your bodies are touching. You draw your hand slowly down his neck and cup his jaw, savoring every inch of him. "I love you so much," you breathe.
His head twitches just slightly, that signature sharp, mechanical movement that you've come to adore so deeply. His eyes are intense and focused fully on you, and you know he understands the weight of your words. But there's a melancholy in his eyes too, and you can tell he longs to say the words back to you but can't let himself believe yet that they would be true. You know it's a struggle he will ultimately have to resolve for himself, but you can help him along a little bit.
"Data, this is one of the most special days I've ever had," you whisper to him. "It means so much to me that you'd take all the time to create this program for me, to bake those cookies yourself, to bring me here. I'm so lucky to have someone who cares so much about me, who loves me the way you do."
This time, his sharp head tilt is less than subtle, almost startled. The way he looks at you makes your heart feel like bursting.
"You believe that I love you?" he asks, and you almost want to shake him until he can hear the hope in his own voice.
"I know you do," you answer firmly.
His lips part, his eyes conflicted. "But I am-"
"Yes, I know," you say. "But you're also a person." You stroke your fingers along his jaw. "How is it that you can perform however many trillion operations per second, but you can't get it through your positronic brain that everything you've done for me and the way you treat me is love?"
His eyes narrow. "You are teasing again?"
You trace the curve of his ear with your forefinger. "Yes. But also no."
His eyes slide off to the side and a frown of concentration curves across his beautiful lips as he makes an adorable attempt to analyze your puzzling answer. You mentally debate explaining it to him but ultimately decide it will be good for him to think about for himself.
You press the palm of your left hand against his side, fingers curling against his ribs, holding him close. Your lips and fingers are tingling for him and it's becoming increasingly difficult to think straight through the fog of want. "I love you, Data, and right now, I also very, very, very much want to make out with you."
He looks back at you, and you're not entirely sure but for a second there seems to be a gleam in his eyes as well. "I find that acceptable," he answers with that impenetrable android gravity that you suspect hides a human playfulness that he's only let you see hints of here and there.
He reaches for you to pull you forward into a kiss, but once again you stop him. "Data," you say in response to his confused look at your seeming rejection, "if it's all right with you, I'd like to lead this time."
He takes a moment to process your statement, then his eyebrows rise. "I believe I would like that as well," he answers, resettling his hand on your hip. He looks up at you, an expectant, innocent curiosity shining from his alabaster face. His lips still gently parted, he waits for you to make your move.
Your hands still rest against him, one at his waist, the other against his cheek. You scoot yourself forward a fraction, closing any space that was still managing to squeeze itself between you both. You can feel the outline of his musculature through the fabric of his shirt pressed tight against your chest and stomach, and a shiver runs through you that you know he felt entirely.
You take a moment just to look at him, to admire him, then you gently run your finger along his hairline and trace the shape of his pointed sideburn, then cup his entire cheek in your palm. Data's eyes drift closed and he presses his face to your hand like a friendly cat, encouraging your touch. For a while, you struggled with the reality that Data doesn't feel physical pleasure, fearing that meant you were taking advantage of him or that moments of physical contact such as this were skewed heavily in the favor of your enjoyment, despite Data's reassurances to the contrary on more than one occasion. But it's little moments like this – seeing Data appreciate and want your touches – that let it sink in that your android enjoys this as much as you do.
You draw his face to yours and press your lips firmly to his. He's far stronger than you, but he allows you to bend his neck forward with no resistance. You caress his lips, your hand still cupping his cheek, your other hand resuming its rhythmic stroking up and down his side and along his back. His eyes flutter slightly and you feel his lashes dance against your cheekbones, and then he's kissing you back, perfectly matching your own pressure and speed, letting you set the pace.
Sliding your left arm fully around his waist, you hold him closer and kiss him harder. Your right hand slips into his hair, your fingers twining through thick handfuls of dark synthetic locks. You smile against his lips as you remember your last date: his panel opening beneath your fingers and the blinking glow of lights shining from his head. For a moment, you consider pressing down, feeling more than hearing the clicking release of the secret latch hidden beneath his hair, but you decide against it. You may be utterly entranced by Data the Android, but you find yourself craving Data the Man today.
You part your lips hungrily and allow your tongue the pleasure of exploring the bow-shaped curve of his mouth. He's so soft against your tongue, and the gentle movement of his responding kiss lights growing warmth in your belly. You can feel the deep blush in your cheeks. Your fingers tingle where they touch him, as if an electrical current is surging through them.
Responding to a growing urgency welling up inside you, you clutch him harder and deepen your kiss, teasing his lips opening and slipping your tongue over the slope of his bottom lip into the wet warmth of his mouth. His hands tighten on your hips, squeezing hard enough to send jolts of pleasure through your lower body but not hard enough to cause any discomfort.
As your tongues twine inside his mouth, you toy with the bottom hem of his uniform jacket then slip your hand underneath. The fabric bunches up over your wrist as you glide your fingers over the bare skin of his lower back and along the back waistline of his pants. Once again, as when you first touched him, you are struck by the silky smoothness of his skin. You push your hand up a little further and the fabric follows, hiking up his back the further up you go. With a sense of wonder, you realize that you can feel each individual vertebra under his bioplast. Curious as much as aroused, you push your hand up further still until suddenly the jacket fabric catches and refuses to let your hand move upwards any more. With your mind as foggy with desire and pleasure as it currently is, it takes you a moment to realize the resistance is due to the fact that the front of his jacket is caught between your body and his.
That realization brings on another one: that you still haven't seen your boyfriend in anything other than his full uniform. And at that moment, you are consumed with the burning question: how would Data feel about having a bit less on?
You aren't entirely sure how that works for him. Does he have a sense of modesty? Is the fact that he seems to only ever wear his uniform, even on dates, due more to his dedication to his role as a Starfleet officer than a discomfort at the thought of wearing anything else around you?
You mull it over briefly, pausing only to close your eyes and moan as Data's lips and tongue make liquid pleasure blossom inside you, before coming to a decision. Data has asked you in the past to inform him if there is something you find yourself desiring, and you have a feeling that Data would be sad in his own android way if he knew you were holding something back from him for fear of hurting his feelings. You know he'll tell you if it's something that makes him uncomfortable. You decide to trust him and go for it.
Pulling your lips from his with slow sensualness, you let your eyes drift back open, flooding your vision with the extraordinary sight of Data's golden blush. His eyes are hooded, his lips still attractively parted, and his hair behind his ear has reverted to its naturally curly state due to the amorous attention of your fingers. He's so handsome and so alluring in that moment that any hesitancy you were feeling flies straight out the proverbial window.
"Data?" you murmur.
His eyes flash immediately up to yours and his head tilts in a silent question.
You swallow, stroking your fingertips slowly down the line of his throat. "Data, do you have a sense of modesty?"
"I do," he answers. "My parents created a specific subroutine for that purpose."
"Then being undressed makes you uncomfortable?"
His eyes flick to the side for a split second, processing your question, then immediately return to your face. "My modesty subroutine provides a sense of discomfort in any situation where a human would experience the same sensations."
"So…if you were with someone you felt comfortable with or with a lover…?"
"…The program would partially disengage. I would still be aware of its influence to my other subroutines, but the sensations it would provide would be largely positive rather than negative."
You lower your eyes and smile to yourself. He dresses such explanations of his inner workings up with technical terminology, but underneath it all, how different are his experiences from that of a human, really?
But his explanation has provided you with the two critical pieces of information that you needed to know before you proceeded. One, that Data understands the weight and implications of being undressed in another's presence, and two, that in certain situations he is capable of enjoying the intimacy of such a state. You hope deeply that you are someone with whom "the sensations it would produce would be largely positive."
When you look back up, Data is watching you with that keen, discerning expression that seems to see straight into your mind. Although he might regularly struggle with the intricacies of social interaction, you've always been able to see just how intelligent, observant, and surprisingly – sometimes unnervingly – perceptive he can be in certain situations. When he sees that he has your attention, he speaks gently. "My interpretation of your questions and actions suggests a specific intention, rather than mere curiosity, regarding my modesty subroutine. Within the current context, I presume your ultimate intention is to inquire about exploring our relationship further within the parameters of disrobement."
It takes you a moment to unravel his statement, but when you do, you find yourself blushing and chuckling at both his manner of speaking and his discernment. "Can't pull the wool over your eyes, can I, Data?" you laugh.
Data looks confused. "My jacket is composed primarily of cotton, but I am not adverse to having it pulled-"
You press your fingers to his lips. "It's an expression. It means that I can't fool you or hide anything from you."
"Ah." His lips twist into an almost melancholy frown. "But I would not wish to be someone with whom you felt it necessary to 'dislocate the bovidean fiber over my ocular apertures.'"
You find his hand and squeeze it. "You're not, sweetheart. I meant it to comment on how perceptive you are, how well you know and understand me. I trust you entirely."
He nods, but the melancholy remains. "I am sorry," he says softly. "Even after all this time, many human expressions and the subtexts of their meanings continue to confuse me."
"Don't apologize," you say firmly, still squeezing his hand. You think for a moment, then offer, "If you like, I can be more careful with how I talk, make sure I'm being more literal-"
This time, it is he who stops you with a raised finger. "No, I do not wish for you to change your speech patterns for me." He presses his lips more tightly together, a flash of determination passing through his golden eyes. "You have never grown irritated with me in response to my frequent misunderstandings. If you are not troubled by offering explanations in such cases, I would prefer to continue on as we have done. I believe it is a further opportunity for me to acquaint myself with human phraseology and interaction, and perhaps to come one step closer to humanity myself."
A new kind of warmth curls up softly like a kitten in your chest. "I would be honored."
He nods again, head lowered, then he looks back up at you from under his lashes, and you swear there's a gleam of something downright mischievous in his gaze. "I believe, Darling," he says, "that we were discussing the exploration of new parameters for our romantic affiliation."
You had almost forgotten the original topic, but everything comes instantly rushing back with the force of a quantum filament. Your desire to see Data less dressed flares back to full intensity. Your face instantly flushes furnace hot. "Ah yes, I guess we were, weren't we?"
"Is there something in particular that you have in mind?" Data inquiries. "I am willing to explore whatever aspect of disrobement that you would find pleasing at the moment."
"Well, I-" Good grief, he already has you flustered and he's still fully dressed. This is not a good sign for the state you'll be in once that uniform starts coming off. "I- I was thinking I'd love…I'd love to see you…without…without your shirt."
Data nods, watching you closely. "You would find this pleasing?"
Your cheeks are so hot you're surprised they haven't burst into flame yet and you can feel your pulse reverberating throughout your entire body with excitement. In your current state, all you manage to get out is a rather choked, "Yes. Very."
Data makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, then nods to you and squeezes your hip, his eyes gentle and trusting. "Very well. You may proceed when you desire to."
You start by readjusting yourself, sliding backwards out of Data's lap and disentangling yourself from him. Data moves gracefully from his sitting position to a kneeling one and tilts his head back to watch you expectantly. He looks so pretty with his hands resting gently on his knees and his head tipped back so that the sunlight falls across his pale face and makes his sleek hair shimmer that you are reminded of a blossoming flower in its full glory. You kneel in front of him, facing your handsome boyfriend.
Scooting close enough that your knees bump against his, you reach around his neck and find the zipper at his nape. Slowly, savoring each precious inch, you drag the zipper downward, feeling the cloth peeling to the side as you go. You reach the bottom and carefully disengage the zipper from its track entirely. The back of Data's jacket falls completely open, the garment still clinging to his front by his broad shoulders. You take hold of both loose sides of the jacket and gently pull.
Data makes no resistance to you, and the fabric of his uniform top slides easily off. You set the discarded clothing on the grass beside you, keeping your entranced eyes fixed on the irresistible sight that is now before you.
The sheer beauty of Data's body leaves you gasping.
You've never even seen Data with exposed arms before, and now he kneels on the blanket before you in only the form-fitting black uniform pants that hug the graceful curve of his hips. His arms, shoulders, chest, and stomach are laid bare to your ardent gaze. You swallow, your whole face blazing. You had known he would be beautiful. His elegant, well-built figure is evident even covered by his uniform, and from what you know of Dr. Noonian Soong, you had guessed he would have made his android a work of pure art. But imagined fantasies are nothing compared to the proof of your guesses that you are now able to examine with your own two eyes.
His shoulders are broad, his arms and entire torso sleekly muscled like a swimmer, his chest shapely and beautifully wide, the muscles of his narrow waist softly defined. His skin is the same gorgeous alabaster-dusted-with-gold as his face and hands, save for his teasingly pert nipples which are a darker rose gold, similar in color to his lips. His head remains tilted faintly back and up as he gazes at you, his lips slightly parted, his breathing barely evident. The sunlight in his curious eyes makes the pale, golden irises shimmer.
You meet those eyes with some difficulty, managing to tear your gaze away from the rest of him, your heart pounding so hard you can hear it throbbing in your ears. "Oh heavens, Data, you're so hot."
Data frowns and cocks his head. "My thermal regulatory system is not malfunctioning. I believe you are mistaken." You open your mouth, but he must see something in your eyes, for understanding dawns softly across his face and he bobs his head towards you. "You were not referring to my physical temperature. In this situation, you were using the term 'hot' in its colloquial sense to indicate that you find me sexually attractive. Is this correct?"
You curl your fingers, barely resisting the all-consuming urge to reach for him. "That's correct."
"Hm." His eyebrows rise. "To my knowledge, no one has ever found me to be 'hot' before."
You bite your lip to keep back a smile. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Data."
You skim your eyes down his figure again, mesmerized. If you could soak him in entirely through your eyes, you would. It's not that you've never seen an attractive, shirtless man before, but at this moment, Data transcends anything within the mortal realm and becomes positively angelic. You instinctively know that you could spend the rest of your life exploring new worlds and never find anything to match the beauty of your android.
Your eyes slide down further to his firm stomach and you choke on a little laugh. There, just above the rim of Data's pants, is the indent of the world's most perfect navel. It's such a small, utterly pointless yet thoroughly human detail for an android to have that you can't keep back your laughter. You press your fingers over your mouth, giggling helplessly. Data has a belly button!
He watches you dissolve in giggles before him, his lips pursed in a cute expression of puzzlement, though he doesn't seem disturbed by your reaction, merely confused. With some difficulty, you get control of yourself again, though you still feel giddy from the intense feelings sweeping through you. As you lift your head back up, Data follows you with his own head, attempting to catch your eye. When he does so, his head bobs forward. "Laughter can be a signifier of many things amongst humans. What does yours signify?"
You shove down another fit of giggles as you answer him. "You're just so perfect, Data, I can't believe it. I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."
Data frowns thoughtfully. "Perhaps you did nothing. I like to believe that good things happen every day throughout the universe for no reason other than that they are good. Perhaps our relationship is one such example."
You can feel your adoration for him shining out of every pore and glowing in your eyes. "That's a nice way to look at it."
He nods solemnly, then gives you a pointed look. "You are aware that you are not limited to a visual examination, are you not?"
You smirk a little at that. "Are you saying you want me to touch you, Data?"
His expression is sweetly innocent. "I find that your touch is an intriguing stimuli to my neural net. Moreover, I find gratification in observing the clear pleasure you experience whenever there is physical contact between us. Given the level of your pleasure that I have observed from you in the last seventy-five seconds since you removed my jacket, I hypothesize that touching me in this state would bring you an unprecedented amount of physical and emotional enjoyment. I would like for you to touch me, both to observe your pleasure and to experience your tactile sensory input myself."
You reflect for a second that this is the first time you can recall Data ever asking you to touch him. You find that you very much like the implications of Data asking for your touch and that it relieves some of your lingering doubts about taking advantage of him.
You take a deep breath. "All right."
You hesitate still however, though you are not sure why, as if he will shatter under your fingers, even though you are burning to touch him. As you work up your confidence, Data adds suddenly, "Unless of course, you are too overwhelmed by my 'hot' appearance."
There's something in his voice that makes you look up sharply. "What?"
"Teasing," Data says. "I was teasing. Did I do it correctly."
You laugh, and suddenly the ice seems to be broken. "Yes, you did it correctly," you giggle and then you reach for him with a trembling hand.
Shifting closer, you place your hand against the front of his shoulder, then softly, tenderly, you press, nonverbally asking him to lean back. He understands and complies, allowing you to press him back and down, until his legs are stretched out in front of him and he is propped up only on his elbows. When you have him in position, you take another second just to soak in this beautiful moment. You can't preserve this memory perfectly the way Data will be able to, but you want to remember as many details as possible. Data watches you, looking sweetly vulnerable yet comfortable in his supine position.
Reverently, you stroke your fingertips across his chest, feeling the sculpted muscles underneath his soft bioplast. His human-like musculature is entirely for show – his movements are powered by internal hydraulics after all – but you're grateful that Dr. Soong took the time to sculpt Data's body to appear as human as possible. You trace along his collarbone, then down his sternum, marveling at the exquisite detail. Your fingers tingle wonderfully. Your breath catches with awe in your throat and chest.
Shyly, you explore outward, letting your fingers stray over one of his broad pectoral muscles. The synthetic muscle is firm but soft, and you can't help but imagine what an exquisite pillow his chest would make. This close, you can see the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each breath he takes. You don't know if you will ever fully move beyond your wonder at the amazingness of this living, breathing machine who is also so fully man.
Gaining confidence, you stroke your palm over his chest and skim your thumb over one of his firm nipples.
To your surprise, he reacts to your touch; his head tilts back slightly, baring his pale throat, and he makes the softest, sweetest little sound, something between a gasp and a sigh. You pause, your fingers still resting against his chest, and look into his eyes, which are closed to slits that gives him a surprisingly sensual expression. While Data has never shown any discomfort with your touches, neither has he ever reacted so viscerally to you before. To be honest, you hadn't thought that he could react like that. He's told you numerous times that he's not programmed to process physical pleasure, but you're not sure what else to call the sensual, pleased expression currently dominating his face.
Yet, whatever it is, the sight of him like this has you practically melting into a puddle of desire.
Biting your lip and trying to keep your hands from trembling too much, you repeat the movement, running several of your fingers deliberately over his nipple. This time, his breath visibly hitches and his adam's apple bobs deliciously as he swallows. There's no doubt about it this time; whatever sensations he might be experiencing and however they might compare to a human's feelings, Data apparently has erogenous zones.
That knowledge is like a photon torpedo exploding in your stomach.
Leaving his chest for the time being, trying to regulate your eagerness, you glide your hand downward over his smooth belly, following the soft lines of his abdominal muscles. Your other hand remains planted at your side, supporting you as you lean over him. Your hip brushes lightly against his. You follow the gentle curve of his belly and, with a little smile, you swirl your finger around the rim of his navel. He shifts under you and his breath wavers as you dip your fingertip into the indent of his belly button, then let your hand trail down until it is stopped by the waistline of his pants. Nonchalantly, you switch directions and run your fingers all the way back up his torso until you complete your circuit back at his sternum.
You check in on him with a glance to his face. His eyes are still partially closed, his lips still slightly parted, his head tilted back so that his pale throat is exposed and his hair falls back. You rub his shoulder, and his eyes flicker open, darting to meet yours. "How are you doing?" you ask.
His throat bobs again. "It is…an intriguing experience so far," he answers. "Please continue." He pauses, then shoots you a surreptitious glance from under his eyelashes. "That is, if it remains pleasing for you to do so."
You answer by placing your hand flat on his chest and scraping gently with your fingernails. He relaxes again, letting his eyes sink back half-closed to that hedonistic expression that you had not known he could make but find you can't get enough of now. The movement of his head sinking back causes him to push his bare chest further upwards against your hand, his back beautifully arched. He's always been handsome to you, even hot, but right now he's positively sexy, and you wouldn't be able to refuse him even if you'd had the slightest inkling to do so.
All right, Data, let's see what other reactions I can get from you.
You readjust yourself, so that you are resting on your hip and both hands are free. One hand goes to his stomach, using the flat of the palm to rub firm circles back and forth across his belly. Your other hand continues its amorous dance across his chest, alternating between scratching gently with your nails and stroking with the pads of your fingers. You watch his face carefully, eager to see his response, your pulse throbbing. You tease your forefinger slowly around his left nipple, then without warning gently pinch and tug the pretty rose gold nub.
Data's reaction makes liquid heat pour through every inch of your body. The gorgeous android opens his mouth in a short, sweet sighing gasp, his head dropping back sharply so that you have a full view of his handsome profile. His fingers tighten impulsively against the picnic blanket, and his back and chest arch even further. The reaction is so human that for a moment you think your touch must have magically turned him flesh and blood.
You smile in delight at seeing him like this, though your own breathing has turned noticeably heavier. But at the same time, you are overcome with curiosity about his strangely human behavior.
After a couple seconds, he relaxes again and you go back to casually trailing your fingers in random patterns over his torso. "Do you like it?" you whisper to him.
Golden eyes meet yours. "Yes," he whispers back in a voice so quiet you have to focus to hear him.
"Do you mind if I ask a question?"
"I do not mind."
"You told me that you don't feel any sort of pleasure, right?"
He considers this. "Not by the human definition, but as I have told you, I find certain forms of sensory stimulation to my neural net to be…enjoyable."
"But your reactions look so much like pleasure." You chew your lip, trying to gather your thoughts. "Data, are your reactions real, or are you just programmed that way to make you seem more human to a lover?"
Data frowns thoughtfully at that. "I believe that your premise is faulty. The wording of your question suggests a strict binary – that either my reactions are 'real' or 'not real' – and the assumption that my reactions being programmed would negate their authenticity. I do not believe this is necessarily accurate."
You continue stroking his chest. "What do you mean?"
To your surprise, Data doesn't answer you. Instead, he pushes himself up towards you and cradles the back of your neck in his hand. You gasp lightly as you unexpectedly feel Data's lips at your neck, just below your ear. His thumb strokes beautifully against your pulse as his lips and tongue glide over your skin, and you shudder helplessly at the wave of pleasure that washes over you and lean instinctively into his touch.
After a second or two though, he pulls away again and when you look at him, he's watching you with keen interest. "Tell me," he says, "did you intend to respond to me in the manner you just did."
"No," you answer.
"But would you say that your reactions to me were inauthentic?"
"No," you repeat slowly, the point he's making dawning upon you.
Data nods, seemingly satisfied. "As a human, you are in a way programmed to respond to certain stimuli within certain parameters. In your case, I believe you would simply call it instinct." He presses his lips together, thinking. "Yes, my responses are programmed but I would also consider them to be 'real', in much the same way that most humans would consider their own instinctive behaviors 'real'. When I am touched in a particular location, or in a particular fashion, my behavioral programming draws from an extensive database of possible physical and vocal reactions. The programming selects an appropriate reaction, which it then runs as part of my behavioral algorithm. I am not actively choosing my responses, so one might say that they are completely natural to my unique nature, and therefore real."
You smile softly. "In other words, perhaps we're not all that different."
Data's lips tweak upward. "No, perhaps we are not."
He takes a little breath before continuing. "As to the realistic nature of my reactions, that is to my father's credit. Although I did not know him well and have little memory of him, what I do know indicates that he took special pride in my sexuality program, given its extensive and detailed nature. It appears he went to a great deal of effort to make me seem as human as possible in this specific area, perhaps to put potential romantic partners at ease."
You nod your understanding, but another question niggles at you. "Data, you told me once that your reactions are particularly strong when you experience sensations in new or unique ways. Have you…has anyone touched you like this before? Not that there's anything wrong with either answer," you add quickly. "I'm just wondering if you've done anything like this before."
A flash of something passes through Data's eyes, sadness perhaps mingled with something else inscrutable. His voice is as composed as ever though. "I have engaged in romantic activity on a few brief occasions. However, I have never experienced an extended romantic relationship such as the one you and I are engaged in. Additionally, in all of my previous encounters, my enjoyment of said encounters was not considered a priority by my partners. You are the first in that regard. However, since I was the one incapable of experiencing physical pleasure, at the time and given the circumstances it seemed like a reasonable arrangement."
"But you just told me that you can enjoy being on the receiving end," you say firmly, indignance for him and a sense of protectiveness rising in you. "You deserve to have your needs met, just as much as any woman you might be with."
He looks at you, and his eyes are so soft and warm you feel you might melt. "I am glad you believe so. Although I am happy to provide enjoyable experiences for my partner, tonight I have learned, for the first time, that I believe I also enjoy the attention of a lover. No one has ever touched me quite as you have this evening. Thank you, Y/N."
You blush, self-consciously brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "Well, it's not like I'm getting nothing out of the experience. It was me who wanted to see you out of your jacket to begin with, after all." You pause, considering. "What do you want now, Data?"
He gives your question a careful two seconds of consideration. "If you find it agreeable, I believe I would like to discover what new input I would experience were you to stimulate my bioplast with your mouth."
Your mouth all but waters. "I'd love to," you answer in a strained voice, and you mean it with every fiber of your being.
You stretch out beside him again, your hip bumping against his and your foot rubbing gently against his leg, and reach out your arm to encircle his trim waist. You pause for a moment, soaking in the sight of the handsome android stretched out beneath you on the checkered blanket, his pale eyes fixed intently on you, anticipation in the part of his lips and his raised brow, as he waits to see what you will do with him next. You stroke your fingers slowly back and forth just above the rim of his pants, then you lean over him, pressing downwards as your eyes flutter nearly shut until you feel your lips come in contact with skin. His bioplast is pulled tight over his chest, both soft and firm. You begin to let your lips explore the texture of him, straying over the masculine curve of his broad chest.
Data lifts a hand and cards his fingers gently through your hair as you press kisses across his chest, his touch inquisitive and tender. His fingertips rub against your scalp and you make a quiet noise of appreciation, muffled by his skin. He pauses then repeats the movement and you purposefully make the noise again, letting him know you enjoy his touch. More confidently, he rubs his fingers firmly against the top of your head. You smile; although he might not always be sure of himself off the bat, Data is consistently quick on the uptake of learning just what you like.
You press your lips firmly to the left side of his chest and once again feel the soft pulsing of his mechanical heartbeat. How did you get so lucky? An image flashes through your head: the first time you met him. You remember how handsome you found him that very first day in the exobiology lab, how gentle and kind and polite he seemed. How charming the little mechanical movements of his head were and how graceful his fingers. But how could an android with no feelings ever return your affections? Yet here you are, three years later, lying in his arms with your lips at his heart.
But then again, your heart has always been that of an exobiologist, so maybe it's fitting that you found your way to the most unique and beautiful life form in the known universe.
A wave of deep contentment settles over you and you squeeze your arms tightly around him and slide down until you're resting your head on his chest. Mmm, yes, as it turns out, his chest does make as wonderful a pillow as it looks. You press your cheek down into him and snuggle yourself against his lithe form. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you close to himself, and you don't mind in the least that the movement is somewhat mechanical.
The two of you lie there in one another's arms, looking out over the beautiful, strange landscape of Tavarius II, as the planet's sun begins to slip behind the giant pink and orange planet filling half the sky above you. For a moment, the sky is streaked with brilliant colors, then the sun slips past the horizon and a quiet, pink dusk falls around you. Off in the twilight, you hear the chirrups of pirin calling to each other and the flutter of soft, furry wings.
At last, Data carefully lifts you away from himself. You glance to his face in a silent question and he gives you a melancholy look in response. "In precisely thirty minutes, I will need to report to the Bridge for my night watch shift," he explains. "It is sufficient time for me to get back into uniform, end the program, walk you back to your quarters, and reach the Bridge, but I am afraid it leaves us no further time beyond that."
Data's uniform jacket is still lying in the grass where you discarded it, and you help him into it (or rather he politely allows you to help), and you tug the zipper up until it reaches his nape. As you stand up together, you rub the wrinkles out of the front of his uniform and pat down his loosened curls.
Data lifts his head and addresses the sky. "Computer, end program."
With a faint whirr, the landscape of Tavarius II dissolves around you and the two of you are left standing in the middle of the empty holodeck.
Data looks at you and the corners of his mouth lift just slightly into that cute smile of his. "I have saved the program under my personal files. Perhaps we shall visit Tavarius II again, either here or one day in person."
You loop your arm through his and lean against him. "You know, Data, I think we will."
The door hisses open in front of you, and as you pass through, you cast a glance backwards at the darkened room, a slightly wistful feeling washing over you. But then you smile and lean your cheek against Data's shoulder as he leads you away down the hall. Yes, you are certain you and your beloved android have many more adventures awaiting you and many more strange, new worlds to discover together.
------------------------------------
Want to be added to the Tag List for my Mechanical Rose series. Go here and like, comment, or reblog the post to be automatically added.
#star trek#star trek tng#star trek the next generation#star trek fanfiction#my writing#data star trek#lt commander data#data soong#lieutenant commander data#data x reader#data romance#data x female reader#reader pov#romance#mechanical rose series
136 notes
·
View notes
Text
The fact that Sarek was in his 60s when he married Amanda, who was 19, is definitely problematic, but consider:
- Sarek was extensively briefed on human etiquette before becoming ambassador, and one of the many things he was taught was "Do not ask a woman her age. It is considered impolite."
- Humans are aliens, and he has trouble accurately guessing their age. Oh sure, he can tell the difference between a toddler, a child, a young adolescent, etc. But from upper teens to elders is just a blur to him. "Gray hair? They must be at least 160. No, wait, they don't live that long...30? That doesn't seem right either."
- Sarek knows Amanda is an adult, due to the fact she has her own apartment and is employed full-time. He's not sure of anything beyond this. Is she 20? 40? Who knows? Definitely not Sarek.
- They marry, and the news reports it. "Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, and his new human wife, Amanda Grayson, 19.."
Sarek: 19 what?
Amanda: years of age, of course.
Sarek:... excuse me?
392 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lol T'Pol is great lmao she's getting poured wine rn and I guess she's not familiar with some turns of phrase from Earth still bc Archer said "Say when" (to stop pouring) and she just actually said "When" instead of "That's enough" or something.
This also has me thinking: I wanna know what funny technically-not-incorrect slips of Vulcan etiquette the humans keep doing. Obviously they keep offering to shake hands but I mean smaller breaches of etiquette. Maybe stuff like offering Vulcans finger foods.
Also the fact that they avoid directly touching foods with their hands makes me wish we'd seen some scenes of various Vulcans eating strangely, like. Kirk and McCoy staring in curiosity/vague horror as Spock eats a sandwich with a fork and knife. Tom and Harry trying not to be mean and start laughing when they see Vorik eating popcorn with a spoon. Janeway still being amused after 20 years by the fact that Tuvok (when you can somehow against the regular laws of the universe get him to try one) eats cookies with like any utensil at all (also confusing Neelix greatly when he makes cookies sometime, manages to convince Tuvok to try one even though he doesn't like sweets, and Tuvok proceeds to use a fork on a fucking cookie. Like Neelix is just standing here feeling the same emotions we all felt watching Weyoun 6 eat that pepperoni)
#Vulcans#headcanons#T'Pol#Mr. Spock#Vorik#Tuvok#James T. Kirk#Leonard Bones McCoy#Tom 'Turkey Platter' Paris#Harry Kim#Kathryn Janeway#Neelix
186 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ok ok so I'm in love with vorik from star Trek rn and this blog is just my absolute outlet soooo skdgisvshs let's get this bread
Imagine vorik being in love with you
Okay so waking up like, a bunch of years in the future can be crazy, but being woken up in the future by ALIENS was even crazier
When they told you you had been in cryosleep for who knows how long, they assigned you to a sort of "buddy" system to have someone informed give you the run down on your new version of the present
This leads us to our favorite Vulcan. He'd volunteered in hopes of studying a human from your time, while feeding you bits and pieces of the new world. He was curious although he wouldn't admit it.
You are. Not meant to be around a group of scientists to say the least.
"What's that? " "please don't touch that. " "okay. But what IS it?? " "I must admire your curiosity, y/n "
You have no idea of Vulcan etiquette.
Would probably grab his hands or brush yours with his without a second thought while your peers look at you flabbergasted but say nothing
"Y/n, please respect my space. " "oh sure, sorry! Just wanted to look at your veins, are they green?? " "Vulcan blood is green, yes. " "Cool! "
If youre like me, you wouldn't pick up on the hand thing and just think he means in general, and probably brush his hands or fingers when handing him what he asks for a few times.
His face would dust green, but this time he might not say anything.
You tell him stories from the past and he listens very well, along with being patient while you share your unimportant, random, illogical thoughts.
Eventually gets use to being called "Vulcan buddy" by you when referencing him to crew members
"I could give you a better haircut you know, I mean, I.... Could PROBABLY give you a better haircut." "I believe my hair is satisfactory. " "hmm... Yeah, you know what, it suits you, you square! Haha just kidding,but I do really think it works for you! Very handsome ,young man" "...... Young man? "
"I'm like, older than everybody right? Since I was asleep for like 1000 years? Reminds me of this game I played once-" "there is no way you are older than me, y/n." "WHAT IF I'M THE OLDEST ON THE SHIP?? " "Seems extremely unlikely"
When you start getting along with other crew members there's a noticable shift in his demeanor. He asks you about your day when he sees you, and asks about what you've learned. You tell him all of it, but express how you miss hanging around with him all the time. He seems pleased but says nothing.
Eventually he tells you of the Vulcans mind melding abilities. Big mistake.
"DO ME DO ME! WHAT FOOD AM I THINKING ABOUT?? " "This isn't exactly how this works, but if youd allow me-"
He puts his hand out in a silent gesture as you close your eyes and try to contain your excitement, smiling happily. Man you loved alien magic.
"Its hardly magic" OH NO HE CAN READ YOUR THOUGHTS.THINK ABOUT SPAGHETTI. DON'T THINK ABOUT ANYTHING SCARY OR SEXY OR WEIRD-
Man hes close. He smells nice lol
"Spaghetti. A human favorite. And.... Thank you. "
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod that's embarrassing hahahhahah
"Do you want to like, get some? With me I mean. For like, dinner?"
You SWEAR you can see a smile under that collected demeanor
"I'd be delighted, y/n"
146 notes
·
View notes
Text
Captain Georgiou January - February Day 3′s scheduled creation is by Al @dykekeit. Thank you to Al for sharing this essay!
Here’s the thing: this story isn’t about me. I’m white and Jewish―not exactly lacking for representation in Star Trek, even if I am a lesbian―not with the ta’al itself coming from the Kol Nidre service, not with Benjamin Sisko’s character more closely resembling Moses than any other religious figure. How many times have I seen myself, loved myself, in Trek? I’ve taken heart in Leonard Nimoy’s Yiddish, in Jim Kirk’s Tarsus IV backstory, in Benjamin Sisko the reluctant prophet and in Kira Nerys, fighting for her traditions amidst pressure to assimilate or die.
And yet, the first time I saw the trailer for Discovery, I almost burst out crying hearing Michelle Yeoh’s voice—her accent, the way she pronounced Shenzhou, seeing her in the captain’s chair—because it felt so much like home.
Like I said, this story isn’t about me. This is a story about my sensei.
I still don’t know what name she was born with, growing up just outside of Hong Kong. When she arrived in the United States, there was no large Chinese community on the east coast in those days; she didn’t speak English, and no one around her spoke Cantonese. She was alone, totally alone. I still can’t fathom the sheer amount of chutzpah it took for her to stand her ground and carve out her place the way she did, but I know what it took: a skill for organization, a love of scheduling, a gift for disdainful silences, and an intense, rigid sense of etiquette. When you stand barely five feet tall, it’s all necessary.
Sensei loves gardening and darjeeling tea, and hates anything sweet to the point that I have gone out of my way to buy her chocolate above 70% grade dark. Oh, and did I mention? She loves Star Trek.
Sensei gravitates towards characters like Spock, like Data: immigrants, constant strangers among new and adopted cultures alike, repeatedly explaining their differences and saving face and proudly, wholly themselves, no matter if people understand them or not. They are characters who defy expectations and use every difference as a strength, no matter if it’s supposed to be a weakness. I wonder, sometimes, as she’s teaching me about the protective properties of jade bracelets and how the good Jewish delis she knew used to serve thinly sliced beef tongue for sandwiches, but not any more—were the stars visible in Hong Kong, growing up? Did she want to escape to the dark sky, to the other side of the world—anywhere?
How did I meet her? Well, when she was thirty-nine, my sensei took up kendo, the Japanese martial art of fencing, and almost twenty-five years later, she had reached fifth-dan (that’s fifth degree black belt!) Into her dojo I stumbled. Picture this: me, a clumsy, skinny Jewish lesbian, never worked out in my life, thought swords were kind of cool, walking into a dojo and finding a sixty-something Chinese woman who, though she barely came up to my chest, could kick the butts of every single much-younger six-foot-plus male student she had.
I guess it’s not surprising I stayed.
Over the next six years, my sensei taught me everything, and not just about kendo. In between correcting my wrist angles, my posture, my follow-through, my footwork, my uniform, my dojo etiquette, and anything else she could think of, there were moments of life coaching: how to focus, how to be disciplined in everything I do, how to help, how to put other people first. When I burst out crying during practice, she reminds me that the dojo is a safe place for emotions. She introduced me to Hong Kong-style diner food, showed me real dim sum and how to order and eat and share it properly, cultivated a lucky money plant for me to bring home and instructed me where to put it in my house for best feng shui, advised me to begin acupuncture for stress, told me to take more initiative when pouring tea for other visiting sensei. On the worst day of my life, I wanted her advice. Once, I managed to get a signed copy of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club addressed to her personally. When I presented it to her and she learned I hadn’t read it, she turned around and gave it right back to me, insisting with a smile that I read it first so that we could talk about it together.
In the middle of all of it, a new Star Trek show, called Discovery, was announced, and soon, a new trailer dropped. The captain’s name was Philippa Georgiou, and she was played by Michelle Yeoh.
I did nearly burst out crying. It was Michelle Yeoh, but all I could see was Sensei, in command and speaking her accented English, proof of a past beyond a Starfleet that demanded “standard” English for assimilation.
Captain Georgiou was concerned with etiquette, both social and honor-bound: Starfleet doesn’t fire first. In the dojo, I am to bow respectfully, I am to shake hands and thank my opponent after every match, I do not hit just to hit or shy away in fear. The only way a kendo match works is with mutual communication; an opponent is not a faceless thing to be beaten so much as a partner to create opportunities. We may strike first, but we are not aggressors.
Captain Georgiou said: the best way to know yourself is to know others. Take care of those who are in your care. I still remember the time I watched a fellow dojo member rush across the tournament floor because someone had the wrong-colored tasuki to change it without a thought—because he had noticed a problem, therefore he must help. I sat there, frozen. I told Sensei this story later with absolute wonderment and shame and she just smiled, patted my hand, and shared some of her favorite raisin walnut bread with me. She knew the lesson had stuck. Other times, she has snapped at me for forgetting to hold a door open for other people, but—
Captain Georgiou: disciplined, teasing, dedicated, setting stars and valuing candor: your confidence is justified. My shock when Sensei first told a few of the other girls and I some dirty jokes late at night before that same tournament was only matched by how funny it was, and how it was immediately followed with a discussion of our weaknesses in shiai combat, and what our approach both physically and mentally would be for the tournament the following day.
I wonder, through fanfiction and fanart and discussion with others, what Philippa shared of the universe with those around her—with Michael, with Saru, with all those under her care.
I once told Sensei that reading The Joy Luck Club and trying to understand all the Chinese cultural nuances from an outside perspective was like looking through a waterfall, or trying to see through a beaded curtain—seeing outlines, but not being able to grasp details. She smiled, and nodded, and said, “yes.” What she meant was, of course I couldn’t, and no one would be able to explain every detail to me―not if I didn’t live it, but more importantly, not if I didn’t ask questions. When Captain Georgiou brought Michael Burnham to the bridge for the first time, she said, “This can be your new home, if you want it to be.” She asked for little but trust and mutual respect from a certain Vulcan-raised human who needed to re-integrate into an all-too-familiar but still foreign culture. The dojo is foreign, and it is my home, and I must always ask questions.
A human who had seen a life of loss, but still chose hope. A mentor who saw everything as a lesson, full of expectations both written and unwritten. And I, or Michael Burnham, watching her set a star.
Sensei: 谢谢, I love you, and I hope to see you in person soon.
Al
#philippa georgiou#star trek discovery#event submission#type: scheduled creation#type: text#author: dykekeit#event tag#food#ds9#tos#tarsus iv#death mention
65 notes
·
View notes
Text
You said, “Jump” instead I fell hard for you. (Part 2.)
Pairing: Spirk
Universe: AOS, teen-fic.
A/n: This may or may not end up a series because...because...I...dunno we’ll see.
Link to part one :https://minithefutureawaits09.tumblr.com/post/650840335516336128/another-drabble-cause-why-not-pairing-spirk
Any who’s, Let’s begin.
——
Jim sat feeling awkward in the foyer of the Embassy. He’d been told by the woman at the desk that she’d sent a message and Spock would come down to retrieve him. This place was well-taken care of. From the shiny marble floors to the Vulcan script on the walls. Every detail in its place. He felt extremely underdressed.
With his plain brown jacket, black t-shirt, jeans, and worn tennis shoes. His hair he’d bothered to make look decent at least, rather than the messy unkempt style from day to day. The sofa was nice too, a simple blue color to complement the rest of the room. If he was being honest it reminded him of the Emerald City from "The Wizard of Oz," just with the way they had described it and the way this room looks. Just as he started to wonder if he’s been forgotten about a voice says his name,
“Jim?”
”Over here, Spock.”
He stands up and waves, shoving his free hand into his pocket. A smile tugged his lips upward as he eyed the other’s outfit. It was a set of robes, much more casual and comfortable looking but similar to the one that the receptionist was wearing. It was a solid black with soft grey designs over it and again, much nicer than what he was wearing. He held onto both of Spock’s arms loosely as he stood much closer. Taking in those brown orbs as they reflected the light, yet seemed to have a nervous glitz about them.
“I was beginning to wonder if you had forgotten about me,”
“I apologize, though I did not forget, the elevator took longer than anticipated arriving.”
“It’s alright. How’re you this morning?”
“I am functioning adequately, and yourself?”
“I’m tired, but happy to see you.”
“Did you not get enough sleep last night?”
“It’s from the trip here, it was a bit farther than I thought it was.”
“I see. Though, I am pleased to see you as well.”
“So...”
“Shall we head back for chess?”
“Sure. Lead the way, Spock.”
Jim took hold of Spock’s arm as though he was being escorted. He could see the way he seemed a little bothered, but didn’t say anything. Was he making him uncomfortable? He didn’t seem uncomfortable last night from his touch, in fact it was the opposite. Well...It also might have to do with the receptionist who seemed keen on staring at them, it was just them at the park last night. He made uncomfortable eye contact with her a couple of times.
Once in the safety of the elevator, Jim asked quietly,
“Spock, am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all, Jim. It has just been a few years since I have been touched like that.”
“Alright. If you say so.”
It wasn’t a lie, etiquette classes had been almost 7.5 years ago. Though this was likely not what Jim was intending by his question. He knew was referring to the way Spock’s posture had stiffened which was actually a reaction he both couldn’t quite control in time and didn’t know he had. He also realized this may be an opportunity to talk to his partner about the differences in their culture.
They arrived at the door in silence, Spock put in the code, and it slid open. He followed him into the room. Wow. It looked similar to the apartment he and his mom were staying in, though arranged differently.
They were standing in a hallway-like area, on the right, were two small archways that lead to the kitchen and a dining room. On the left, there were three closed doors, he guessed one was the bathroom and had no idea what the others could be. At the end of the hall where it opened up, he guessed might be a living room and a couple of bedrooms.
Spock took his jacket, and he removed his shoes next to the Vulcan's.
“This way, ”
Jim nodded and he took hold of Spock’s hand, who warmly closed his hand around the human’s. He was lead into the open room. He smiled, he’d guessed right. The room was the living room. Decorated with a couple of black sofas, a glass coffee table, and a television on the wall. There were a couple of wide floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the tv and they both had light grey curtains that appeared to be silk.
There was a small table that he hadn’t noticed, by one of the doors. It had two wooden chairs on either side. Spock let go of his hand and pulled out one of the chairs, gesturing for him to sit. So, he sat down and was effortlessly pushed in.
“If you will wait here, I will go retrieve the chess set.”
Jim nodded and Spock disappeared back down the hall. He heard a door open and close. He let out a sigh. He wondered if the Vulcan felt as out of place as he did at the moment. He likely didn’t the young human reasoned, and he seemed way stiffer than when they’d meet at the library. Did Spock even notice the change in his behavior or was Jim overthinking & over analyzing things that weren’t there? Was he trying to read the fine print that didn’t exist, or between the lines thinking some secret message is going to show? Maybe this wasn’t a good idea- No. He wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to hang out with his friend.
First the long and tedious walk here, then the awkward talk with the receptionist, the underdressed feeling, and now the stiff boyfriend. Could his day be going any more funky? He sighed again. The word pulled the boy up short now that he thought about it. Boyfriend. B-o-y-f-r-i-e-n-d. This was the first serious committed relationship in his life. Although his company was certainly not appriciated nor welcomed in the beginning he honestly isn’t sure what he’s going to do without it. Sure, he’s lived before without the Vulcan’s presence in his life but he’s not sure he can go back to doing so again.
The blonde was scared from his thoughts by a sniffle. He lifted his hands to his eyes to realize they were wet. Had he been crying? He doesn’t remember ever starting. He wiped the tears away with his hand, but they kept coming. He heard the door down the hall open and he started to panic. Jesus Christ, why can’t he hold it together all of a sudden?
He places his head down, face hidden by his arms as he hopes maybe his partner will think he fell asleep in the shot time from exhaustion. He’s saying a silent prayer his breathing isn’t going to be the thing to give it away. He could always blame it on a nightmare. Yeah, that’s what he’ll do. Say he fell asleep briefly after laying his head down and boom. Nightmare happened.
He heard footsteps and the faint noise of game pieces in a box coming toward his general direction and stopping closely.
“Jim?”
He opted not to respond. He’d have to come up with another excuse if he did.
He heard the box be sat down in front of him, and a gentle shake of his shoulder followed. Again no response. When the shake firmed up he moved quickly, wide-eyed and a gasp. The hand had shot back out of surprise as quickly as possible. He wiped at his eyes as a few tears continued to fall.
He glanced over at Spock and at first he saw a surprised look come across his face when he moved so suddenly before the Vulcan pulled whatever emotion he was feeling back under control.
“Jim, are you alright?“
“Y—Yeah, jus’ a Nightmare I suppose,”
God who’s cracking sad voice was that?
“Did you actually sleep adequately last night?”
“B—Best I could, I did have a few terrors last night too,”
And they were real bad, he was up for awhile after with his mom. Though why did he just admit that? He internally scolds himself. There was no reason for that.
“Come,”
Spock had taken one of his hands and was pulling him up and leading him to somewhere.
“But what about—”
“The chess game can wait,”
“But I-”
“Jim, please.”
Jim conceded the argument after that, and stood up. He felt an arm around his waist and was pulled close to the Vulcan, his free hand resting against the chest in front of him. Letting go of his hand momentarily, and with a gentle touch, the blonde felt his tears be wiped away. He looked up to meet the other’s concerned look. Though his face remained neutral for the most part, he could see the gloss of concern coating those chocolate like orbs he’s coming to adore, and the hint of a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.
He looks away feeling ashamed, this was a stupid idea; his cheeks start prickling with warmth as he feels the tears form against his will in his eyes. Spock rests his forehead against his partner’s, and the floodgates open. He tries to shove away, to pull himself together and stop making an embarrassment of himself but the firm grasp around him only tightens.
“It is alright Jim,”
A firm but gentle voice tells him. He’s acutely aware of the swaying motion that started. It’s actually what got his attention; that and the warmth surrounding his thoughts. Emotions that are not his own flowing freely. Understanding, reassurance, were the strongest followed by one he’s unsure of. Admiration? What was admirable about his ugly crying, or the half lie he told? What was so admirable about him in this state?
The warmth around his thoughts pulled a little firmer as the voice whispered,
‘Nash-veh ashaya du,’
He opened his eyes, just as the action was mirrored by his partner.
“Is that you I’m feeling?”
He heard the chuckle in his head that confirmed his question. It was. A smile broke out on his face, even if it was still pink and puffy from his tears. He felt himself be guided over to one of the sofas.
His memory has a small gap. He’s not sure exactly how they got into this potion because in all honesty he was busy mentally talking with Spock. He was listening to his explanation what the difference of what their touch last night versus now was.
It was likely Jim was too out of it to really comprehend what Spock was saying. He wasn’t reacting at all like he’d calculated precisely, or maybe he had overestimate, or— That’s when he felt the leveled out breathing. The stilled mind under his fingers, which he withdrew for a much more comfortable position leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation. Just picking up on Jim’s surface thoughts now, surface emotions. He closed his eyes and before he knew it, he too joined the other in sleep.
#series?#jim kirk#s'chn t'gai spock#spirk#star trek#aos fanfic#james kirk#spirk au#spirk is canon#space husbands#aos#captain kirk
31 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
nylonspanking
Respekt vor dem Rock
gayasssrodentwtf
peanuts more like uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
😍😳😋🙄😐
mrballer
We Like Sports
writingkitten
Kitten
parlegee
www.wool-rugs.co.uk