Month: December 2016
KIRK THIS WHY YOU GOTTA FILL OUT THE LOG
I’ve heard the theory that Kirk’s logs just get circulated round headquarters for lulz before being dumped in the circular file as obvious fabrications by someone bored with a frontier posting.
“Hey, have you seen this one? He says he fought Apollo.”
“What, the old earth probe?”
“Try the old earth GOD!”
“Hilarious! Classic Kirk! That’s better than the time when he was transported to an evil dimenison.”
The reason why in The Naked Now it was Riker who remembered that the previous polywater infection had happened is that he’s the sort of person who would read The Hilarious Adventures of Captain Kirk for fun.
I especially like this idea because of the implication that all the other captains in Starfleet are reporting perfectly ordinary experiences like visiting a space station, dropping off supplies at a colony, bit of a stand-off with some Klingons in disputed space but got out of it unscathed – and then there’s Kirk all, “sorry guys we’ve been off course this week because my first officer seriously needed to get laid (LIKE YOU HAVE NO IDEA MY NECK STILL HURTS)” and “let me tell you about the Chicago Gangster planet” and “WHIPPED AND THROWN IN JAIL BY SPACE NAZIS.”
I actually really like the above explanation
“So wait, they stole his first officer’s brain?”
I always preferred the idea that every single Constitution-class starship of the Kirk era was running into all kinds of insane shit and so the Enterprise’s adventures mostly just got lost in the shuffle.
“Sir, Starbase 12 reports a flock of space sharks cruising through the system. They’re worried about them chewing on the antennae.”
“Can we get the Hood over there to monitor their path and shoo them off if need be?”
“No can do sir, Hood called in two days ago, says the Captain took his security detail down to the local surface to fight an army of evil komodo dragons.”
“Damn. What about the Valiant?”
“Captain says she’s currently engaged in a duel of wits with a clone of Bismarck.”
“Like the battleship?”
“No sir, a clone of Otto von Bismarck, the German chancellor from the 1900s.”
“I’m scared to ask, but where’s the Potemkin?”
“Last reported in pursuit of a super-intelligent shade of blue.”
“God’s sake. What about the Enterprise, are they available?”
“Something about a hole in space.”
“Christ, it’s always something.”
Oohlala, I am halfway done.
Coloring didn’t come out how I imagined but hey, that happens…
Day 14
NO LSB UPDATES TONIGHT EITHER SIGH SIGH SIGH
just had “”“"bangers and mash”“”“ from a british-themed foodtruck; it was very pleasantly bad, as I imagine all british food must be
for people following lights so bright: not tonight, folks
lights so bright (18/25)
SPN – Dean/Castiel – NC-17, Shut Up ‘verse, Christmas Fluff, Advent Ficlet Collection
18. Watching holiday movies
[AO3]
A nagging sense of something out of place prods Dean towards wakefulness, discomfort registering before anything else. One side of his body has been bared to the chilly morning sunlight; it takes a moment for sleep-addled thoughts to turn from that’s cold and where did the heat go? to pull the sheets up, genius.
Dean marshals his mental forces and begins to feel blindly for the comforter. A repetitive sound, one he hadn’t pieced out from the rest of the room’s background noises until just then, stops abruptly.
“Dean?” Castiel asks from somewhere behind him. “Are you awake?”
“Hmph,” Dean says, and keeps patting over the jumbled mess of bedding. He’ll find the edge of the comforter soon. Any second now.
“Dean?”
“No,” Dean says helpfully.
“I see,” Castiel says. “Would you like me to rearrange the blankets?”
“… yes.”
“All right.”
The bed moves next to Dean, dipping and then rising as Castiel leaves it. Cas is always wandering away somewhere on mornings like this, and it’s just not fair. “Come back,” Dean complains, and then the covers are jerked off him. “Cas!”
“Shush,” Castiel tells him, and the first layer drops back over his naked body. It’s not nearly enough, but the second and third layer follow, until some of that drowsy warmth of just-waking-up has seeped back in and Dean can relax into it.
He rolls instinctively towards Castiel as the man climbs back into bed, one arm already extended and ready to pull him in. Dean settles with his head on Castiel’s shoulder, soaking in the added heat with a low hum of appreciation. Castiel strokes his hair once, then shifts to grab something from the nightstand. He situates it against his knees, and the repetitive noise starts up again.
Dean cracks an eye open, and as soon as he sees the green Excel logo and Castiel’s fingers on the laptop keyboard he makes a complaining noise and throws an arm over Castiel’s chest in protest. “No.”
“Dean,” Castiel says patiently, “if you’re going to go back to sleep, I want to finish a few things before Monday.”
“I’m awake,” Dean says.
“Are you.”
“Super awake,” Dean says, yawning hugely. “Mm.”
“Because we do have unfinished business from last night,” Castiel says conversationally.
“Do we?” Dean asks, which is a stupid question and earns him the world’s most excruciatingly methodical handjob, the space under the sheets going languorous and molten with heat. Castiel spends an inordinate amount of time sucking dark marks on his neck and chest, nipples plucked and pinched in his teeth while Dean moans and his palm goes slick, slicker with Dean’s precome until Dean finally makes a fist in his hair and growls, “Get your dick out or I swear to God—”
Changing the bedding becomes a necessity after that, and while Dean’s at it he grabs his own laptop and the cord to bring into bed with them. “I’m not watching any claymation reindeer,” Dean says, taking control of the touchpad immediately while they resettle together, under pale winter sun and the smell of dryer sheets. “John McClane or bust.”
“Yipee ki yay,” Castiel says, surprising the hell out of Dean, and adds, “I’m not a complete recluse, you know,” when he asks where he’d seen it. “It plays on late night television quite frequently this time of year.”
“You know the full phrase is ‘yipee ki yay motherfucker,’ right?”
“Of course it is,” Castiel says, sounding deeply disappointed in humanity. “Well, play away.”
They’re halfway through the second one— grenades tossed, hilariously green-screened ejector seat episode underway, McClane dying harder than ever— when Dean gives in to drooping eyelids and rests his head against Castiel’s. “Hey. You still watching?”
Castiel doesn’t respond. Dean would have to pull away to see his face, but when he turns off the laptop their reflections in the black screen show him exactly what he expects: Castiel is out like a light.
“I’ll make a lazy ass out of you yet,” Dean says affectionately. He sets the laptop on the far side of the bed and grabs the comforter to pull up to their chins, sneaking a kiss to Castiel’s slack lips before he shuts his eyes again.
kototyph 