#Take the cheese to sickbay

[fun-fact-generator-3000]

Star Trek Voyager will really casually drop the rawest most relatable and tragic lines you've ever heard, think "I think I kill myself slowly because I don't have the courage to actually do it," then have some silly ass scene like "take the cheese to sick bay" or this

#star trek #star trek voyager #st voyager #the doctor #uss voyager #Take the cheese to sickbay #Theres coffee in that nebula

[ilianaoftroy]

So I started watching Star Trek: Voyager largely because my parents watched it while I was home for Christmas and I needed something to watch that was not too engaging. I got to the infamous scene I have seen screenshots of, offered as a reason Voyager is absurdly written, the "take this cheese to sickbay" moment. And I have to say, with context, it's really not that crazy. Cultured bacteria from the cheese has basically contaminated the ship. As a lab person, sometimes wild shit screws things up, especially with biology, especially with bacteria, and they established the ship runs on bio based neurogel packs. Keeping bacteria from growing in culture dishes is a constant concern in a lab. Treating the gel packs as a patient is a little silly and idk where the science department is in all this but sickbay would have antibiotics to try and kill the bacteria/study it without killing the gel packs. So the show is silly but I don't think the cheese going to sickbay is the most wild thing. It's going there to be studied, not treated.

Does make for a hilarious screen cap though.

#star trek #star trek voyager #st voyager #lab science #take this cheese to sickbay #rambles

[quasi-normalcy]

People make fun of the "Take that cheese to sickbay!" line, but that's actually by far one of the most realistic things that could go wrong on a spaceship.

#star trek voyager

[phykios]

Hours For This, Made Myself Sick After waking up from a week of deathless sleep in a bronze jar, Nico gets a hot meal, a shower, and a terrible reminder of his body's needs. (Post-MOA, missing scene, rated M) [read on ao3]

Despite sleeping for what felt like nearly a week, Nico was exhausted. Bone-tired, he might say, if he had the strength of will to joke right now. Of course, a deathly coma was hardly any kind of proper rest, and his father had warned him it would take time to recover to his full strength, but this was getting excessive. He could barely lift his head when Hazel came to bring him some food. 

Her grimace as he tried to sit up told him it wasn’t getting much better. “Here,” she said, gently setting down a plate on the table next to the bed. “I brought you some food. Um, without–”

“Thanks.” Yesterday, Leo’s magical kitchen, apparently picking up on his Italian heritage, had served him up a plate of spaghetti and meatballs, a dish so heavy that he had only been able to stomach a few bites of it before it had come back up. Violently. Hazel had practically dragged him down to the sickbay by his ear, despite his protests that the red in the sauce had been mostly tomatoes, and only just a little of it had been blood. 

“How are you feeling?” 

He shrugged. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” Hazel wasn’t impressed.

“Yeah.” He could barely keep his head up straight, and his blood pumped sluggishly through his veins. His entire body ached as though it had been flattened under a mountain of rock. And his arms felt like stone, the metal spoon clattering against the bowl held in his trembling hands. But yeah. He was fine. 

Hazel’s hands fluttered in her lap, like nervous birds, and Nico tightened his grip around the spoon. 

Eating was hard at the best of times. Very often, he went without. It was so much simpler not to eat, to subsist on pomegranate seeds and the occasional offering of soda, to stretch what little energy he possessed as far as it could go, until he was almost as faint as the ghosts he counted as his peers. Still, food was good for him. Maybe it was Hazel’s presence, maybe it was the concerned look on her face, but somehow Nico drew the strength needed to bring the spoon to his mouth. 

Gingerly, he tasted the pale yellow porridge, and blinked in surprise.

Ambrosia always tasted of castagnole to him–which was why he preferred to avoid it. He remembered his mother, sitting out on the little balcony of their apartment in Venice, Nico in her lap and Bianca curled into her side, and she split the sweet little dough ball into three, handing a piece to her two children. Nico, only a child, and under the ever-present gloom of sugar rations, couldn’t have resisted such a treat, and he and Bianca had wolfed them down, the din of the Carnevale rising up to their window like prayer smoke. 

This was not that, obviously. Instead, Leo’s kitchen had made up a batch of polenta. It was smooth, gentle, flavored only with butter and cheese. Peasant food, his mother had called it. His nonna had turned her nose up at it, not nearly rich enough for her, or her family. But his mother would make it in Washington, whenever Nico was feeling homesick. “Here, caro,” she would say, placing the bowl into his hands. “For warmth.” And then she would kiss his forehead, and go back to stirring the pot, humming an aria beneath her breath, forever just a little off key. 

Before he realized it, Nico had eaten a solid third of the bowl. And there was a strange feeling on his face, the stretching of a muscle which had been dormant for some time. 

“I didn’t think they had grits in Maine,” said Hazel, a soft smile gracing her features. 

Nico swallowed, tilting his head. “Grits?” 

She pointed to the bowl. “It’s a southern thing. I love them–I had grits all the time, growing up. I didn’t think they had them up north.” 

He stared at her. “This is polenta.”

“Polenta?” She frowned, rolling the word over in her mouth. 

“Yeah.” He forced himself to swallow another bite. It was warm going into his stomach, though it paled in comparison to the happy glint in Hazel’s eyes as he ate. “My mother used to make it for me. It's cornmeal porridge.” 

“So are grits.” 

For a moment, they just looked at each other, held spellbound by the other’s gaze. Here they were, children of death, children of war, as different as any siblings could be… and yet, somehow, by some trick of the Fates, here they were, together. Braving the ancient lands. Bonding over boiled cornmeal. 

At last, Hazel laughed. “Look at us,” she said, relaxing into her chair. 

Nico couldn’t help himself–he chuckled. 

After some time, the porridge had dwindled to half, and his hands finally stopped shaking. Gently, satisfied, Hazel plucked the bowl out of his hands, replacing it with a bottle of water. “Do you need more ambrosia?” 

“I’ll pass.” He didn’t particularly enjoy thinking about that time. The memory of castagnole would just make it hurt more. 

Hazel twisted her mouth, but didn’t push him further. “A shower, then. Don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

“I kind of stink of pomegranate and musty jar?” 

“A little bit.” She stood up, smoothing down her denim jacket. “Let me go grab you some linens. You–finish that bottle, then I’ll help you up.” 

Later, he would learn that he had managed to drink about half the bottle before falling asleep again. Hazel woke him up the next day, the furrow in her brow more fond than concerned, which melted into a sweet smile as Nico managed to get himself out of bed with minimal assistance, after another meal of gentle polenta. In fact, he was feeling so much better, that he didn’t really need her steadying hand on his back as they walked down the lower deck to the cabins. But he did appreciate it. 

“And I’ve thrown in your clothes with today’s laundry, so I’ll bring them up to you when they’re ready,” she was saying.

“Thanks.” Jason had graciously lent him a spare shirt and set of sweatpants, being the only person on board even remotely close to his size. Still, he was swimming in the purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt, the gray sweatpants nearly falling off his hips. 

“Do you need anything else?” 

Probably, but he just shrugged. “If I do, I’ll let you know.” 

Her mouth twisted, not quite a grimace. “Please do. You’re part of our crew, now. Everyone on board is here to help you, okay?” 

Now that he seriously doubted. “Okay,” he said, lips lifting in a simulacrum of a grin. When he was rewarded with a smile, his own grew just that little bit stronger. 

They stopped outside a door. At the sight of the name on the wood, Nico’s blood turned to ice, his good mood evaporating. 

“We figured you could use Percy’s bathroom,” Hazel said, softly, “since he’s… you know.” 

He swallowed, the image of Percy’s handsome face, streaked in dust and spiderwebs, flickering behind his eyes. The other side! We’ll see you there!

Hazel took his hand. “It’s okay. We’re going to get them back. Percy and Annabeth both.” 

“I know,” he nodded. And he did. The two of them had a knack for defying Fate. Like he said before, if anyone could survive down there, it would be Percy and Annabeth. 

Nico just planned to run far, far away after getting them out.

Satisfied for the moment, Hazel leaned up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Wash up,” she ordered, gently. “And get some more rest if you need. We’ll see you at dinner.” 

And then she left him alone. 

With the room. 

His eyes slid to the next door over, labeled “Annabeth.” Would it be weird if he used her room instead to shower? Hazel had mentioned that all the cabins had the same basic layout, including bathrooms. And if he used Annabeth’s, he wouldn’t have to deal with Percy’s. 

Gods. Percy’s room. There was nothing on the door that indicated it was his, save for the name–no trident drawing nor pegasus decoration. But who knew what it looked like inside? Nico kept his space clean, even after settling somewhere north of part-time into his father’s palace in the Underworld. Was Percy a messy guy? Did he leave his laundry out in piles? Did he have any books with him? 

Did Nico really want to see what it might contain? 

He turned to the other door. Even so, he hesitated.

Girls had a lot of stuff, he knew. During his brief stint at Camp, close quarters meant that he had discovered more than he had ever cared to know about girls and their stuff. Of course, Annabeth likely didn’t have the arsenal of your average daughter of Aphrodite, but she could still have stuff. Girl stuff. Makeup, clothes, unde–

Heart stuttering, he opened Percy’s door. 

He’d rather deal with his own issues than accidentally glimpse something of Annabeth’s that he really did not want to see. 

Of course, in his haste, he forgot to prepare himself for the sight of Percy Jackson’s cabin. Breath in his throat, he scrabbled for the wood wall, needing something to brace himself against as he beheld–

…Honestly, very little. 

It was sparse. Not quite Spartan, no–Leo had proudly proclaimed how he had refused to skimp on any of the amenities, including temperature sensors that automatically adjusted to your preferences and beds that made themselves every morning–but it felt empty, like a hotel room. On the wall above his bunk were a handful of pictures; Nico recognized the strawberry fields, the lighthouse at Montauk, the camp counselor group photo, the picture of Percy’s mother and stepfather. On another wall hung the Minotaur’s horn, gleaming darkly like ebony in the light of the bronze ceiling lamp, polished to a shine. The bed had been made, the trash had been tidied, but clearly no one was home. Percy hadn’t lived in it long enough to truly live in it.

He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or disappointed by this. 

The bathroom was a different story, but only just. Equally utilitarian, the sink was empty save for the toothbrush resting beneath the mirror, the opened tube of toothpaste tossed haphazardly beside it. But before his thoughts latched onto something truly stupid, like the fact that this very  toothbrush had been inside of Percy’s mouth, Nico caught sight of his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

A corpse stared back at him. Almost, anyway. His hair hung in dry clumps, eerily stark against his pale skin, and the bags under his eyes were dark enough to be confused for empty sockets. Beneath his chin was a streak of monster guts, and his fingernails were filthy with Colosseum dust. Tartarus had left him withered, desiccated, like a dead tree in a drought. 

So a shower was absolutely in order. 

With a grimace and trembling arms, Nico slipped off his shirt, and shucked down the pants. Hazel had taken his jacket to be cleaned as well, and he wasn’t too proud to admit that he felt a little exposed without it. That jacket had accompanied Nico through some of the worst times in his life, and he figured if it had made it through Hell relatively unscathed, then it must have some kind of magical protection woven into it. 

He folded his clothes, laying them on the closed toilet seat, stubbornly avoiding catching a glance of himself in the mirror. If his face had been that bad, he couldn’t even imagine what his body might look like. 

The shower was, mercifully, easy to handle. Nico sighed as the hot water cascaded over his body, bowing his head to let it run down his back. That was good. Not as good as the baths of New Rome, but good nonetheless. For a while, he simply stood there, letting the shower spray pound away his aches and pains. Stripping away the layers of dirt and grime. 

He turned the heat up as high as he could stand it, tilting his head back as it poured over his skin, and he shivered in spite of it. 

Wiping the water from his eyes, he frowned. He should have asked Hazel if she had some shampoo or soap, or at least checked the bathroom cabinet before he got all wet. He was not at all in the mood to face himself in the mirror again. But then, in the corner of the shower, resting on the edge of the tub, he spotted a couple of blue bottles. Picking one up, he studied the label, dyslexia making the letters dance before his eyes until they settled down, reading, “Sea Salt 2-in-1.” 

It must have been Percy’s.

Nico snorted. Of course Percy’s shampoo would smell like the ocean. Why would he expect anything different? 

Acting entirely on instinct, Nico had already flipped over the bottle and squeezed out a generous amount into his hand before he realized what he was doing. 

This was Percy’s shampoo. That must be Percy’s soap. 

Percy probably used these… on his body. 

He swallowed. 

Maybe he didn’t have to use shampoo. Or soap. Maybe he could just… use his fingernails. Let the water slough off all the dirt by itself. That would be fine. Right? 

He combed his fingers through his wet hair, experimentally, and his fingernails came back gray. 

It was just shampoo, he chided himself. It wouldn’t hurt him. 

And yet, it must have been minutes, standing in the deluge of water which bordered on scalding, before he summoned his courage, shut his eyes, and brought the shampoo to his scalp. 

And immediately regretted it. 

It did smell like the ocean. More specifically, it smelled unmistakably of Percy. He had caught a whiff of it when he woke up in the Colosseum. After days of nothing but the smell of his own near-death, trapped in the bronze jar, it had been the sudden presence of ocean air which had drawn his eyes open. If he had had any breath in him, he might have cried. 

Percy–everyone–they had come for him. 

Every time Nico saw him, he swore that Percy could not possibly become more handsome, and every time, Percy proved him wrong. In New Rome, even with the curse of Achilles washed away, his training with Lupa had taken the powerful, but unrefined warrior of the Battle of Manhattan and molded him into something taller, leaner, stronger. Now, in old Rome, having been reunited with–with his friends, in the middle of his quest, on a mission to save a friend, there was that single-minded determination by which Nico had always been quietly awed. And then later, as he clung to the edge of the cliff–

Sharply, he tugged on his hair. Enough of that now. He’d have plenty of time to mope about it later, after he was clean. 

Of course, now that he started thinking about it, he couldn’t stop. 

And the smell was not helping. 

Nor were the movements of his hands as he used the soap to rub himself down. 

After so long in a death trance, it was difficult to ignore how… alive he felt, in this moment. The hot water sluiced down the planes of his body, making him shiver. The stiffness in his shoulders and his fingers faded, bit by bit, even as his joints cracked from disuse. Closing his eyes and tilting his head, he let the water travel down his neck, then his front, rivulets weaving between the lines of his bony hips and thighs, bringing life back to death. He let his hands follow the same path, rubbing soap over his chest, stomach, hips, scraping away enough filth with his fingertips to make up a second skin, leaving him pink and raw. 

Ah, what he wouldn’t give for a sponge right now!

For every time he dragged his fingers across his skin, they left fire in their wake. His blood sang back to life with every stroke, heat pooling in his limbs and racing to every extremity. 

Frowning, he opened his eyes, and looked down. 

Every extremity, indeed. 

He glared.

Nothing changed. 

Sighing, he closed his eyes again, and returned to his previous task. With any luck, he could simply ignore it, and it would go away on its own time. 

And yet, as the shower wore on, and Nico ran out of places on his body to clean… it hadn’t. 

Near on accident, his hand brushed across the sensitive area of his chest, and worked up as he was, he felt his breath catch in his throat. His eyes snapped open. 

The problem was not going away. 

Fine. He’d just–take care of it. 

Squaring his jaw, he snaked his hand down, and wrapped it around himself. He could do this. He’d done it before. Just–get it over with, and then he could move on. 

The first few tugs were fine and normal, or as fine and normal as something like this could be. Some things were buried deep, and it was hard to overcome what he had been taught was a shame. But then, he carried the deepest shame of all. The insufferable priest of the chapel that his mother dragged them to every Sunday in Washington would say that his soul had already been tainted beyond redemption; what further harm could this small infraction possibly do to him? But fine and normal weren’t getting the job done. He hung in a kind of purgatory, his body too alert to ignore, but his hand not quite enough to sate him. 

Grinding his teeth, he breathed in through his nose, and he squeezed. 

Big mistake. 

The scent of ocean air lingered in the shower spray, and the water sent his mind reeling, careening back to the beach at Camp Half-Blood, those glorious few weeks after the Battle of Manhattan. Chiron had announced a week of funeral games, and Nico, as one of the heroes of the hour, hadn’t found it in himself to resist, enjoying the novelty of something as simple as having friends too deeply. He was much too skittish to participate himself, no, but he let himself watch, and cheer his fellow campers on. There was capture-the-flag, of course, but also racing, archery, poetry, and swimming. Plans for a grand, open water swim competition had been laid, but had been swiftly dismantled as everyone decided a relaxing day at the beach was in order instead. 

It had been fun, even by his standards. Will Solace, the peppy medic from Apollo cabin, had lent him a towel, even after Nico had continually rebuffed his efforts to get him to join his beach volleyball team. And to be sure, the offer sounded both sincere and kind of fun, but Nico hadn’t wanted to leave his spot under the beach umbrella, because he had been only a handful of feet away from Percy and Annabeth, who had been lounging together in the sand, wrapped up in each other, in a world all their own. It meant that Nico got a front row seat to Percy, his broad chest bronzed from the sunlight, his hair curling from the humidity, inky black against the golden sand and pale blue sky. It meant he got to watch, in excruciating detail, as Percy, green eyes sparkling, lathered his hands with sunscreen, and proceeded to rub them all over Annabeth’s body. And poor Nico, he had gone so red, so fast, that he actually got lightheaded, and even hours later, Will had asked him how the hell he had managed to get himself sunburnt while sitting in the shade–

He gasped, jerking, and yanked his hand away, as though it had been burnt. 

“No,” he breathed, like he could order his thoughts elsewhere. As if that had ever worked before. Because it wasn’t as if this was the first time it had happened. Not that memory, necessarily, but the subject of it… it was quite common to Nico’s mind. And he hated himself, every time, but once he started thinking of it, he simply could not stop. 

And he couldn’t stop it now. Not when even the barest whiff of ocean-scented shampoo made him twitch, untouched, made his heart pound, so strongly it might burst out of his chest.

Percy Jackson. 

Nico hated him. 

He hated him so deeply, with every inch of his body and soul. He hated his loyalty, his determination, his quiet sorrow, his bright eyes and dark hair and strong arms and girlfriend–

He growled, suddenly seized with anger, and pounded his fist against the wall. Which, predictably, did nothing, save for hurting his hand. 

Sometimes, if he were lucky, the pain made it stop. 

But not this time. 

But Nico, panting like he just ran a marathon, his ears buzzing, decided he had enough. Enough of this shower, of that smell, of those awful, horrible, wonderful visions, and enough of himself. He was done. 

In short order, he shut off the water, and was drying himself furiously with the towel which had been left on the hook. He scrubbed at his hair as though he could dislodge his thoughts from the force of it, rough and scratchy, until it became too much to bear and he threw the towel to the floor, before stalking out of the bathroom. 

Well, he tried anyway. Apparently, he was still a little weak from all that time in the jar, and had been standing for a bit too long. Beset with a sudden dizziness, he stumbled over to the bed, sitting down heavily, and lay back, slinging his arm over his eyes until the world stopped spinning. 

It was a comfortable bed. More comfortable than wherever he normally found to bunk for a night. 

And almost on instinct he nuzzled into the sheets, breathing deep into the sea salt scented fabric. It was nice. It was very nice. 

He could only claim dizziness for not realizing it sooner, but when he did, it shocked him to his core.

This was Percy’s bed.

Nico di Angelo was in Percy Jackson’s bed. 

He’d thought of this before, in the darkest, most disgusting corners of his heart. Though he tried to push it down daily.

It hadn’t worked. Clearly.

He should stop. He should get up from this bed, put his clothes back on, and get himself out of there. He shouldn’t be in this bed, thinking his awful thoughts. Not when their subject had let go of the edge, and fallen into the void.

But all around him now there was the scent of the ocean. 

And the problem was not going away. 

So Nico swallowed, shut his eyes, and moved his hand down. 

He slid his fingers down the plane of his stomach, his palm coming to rest over his public hair, fingers splayed over himself. But not touching. Not yet. Dragging his nails through his dark curls, he scratched the sensitive skin there, and he shivered, swallowing deep. Head tilted back, he stroked at the base of himself, gentle, rhythmic movements, like… like the push and pull of a  morning tide. Calm. Quiet. Serene. 

A finger drifted too close, and he shuddered, calf muscles flexing involuntarily. 

He did it again. Sparks, crackling beneath his fingertips, igniting a fire beneath his skin. 

Behind closed lids, he saw again a flash of dark, windswept hair. The tattered orange shirt, just barely hanging onto his form. The grip of a hand around a sword. His broad back, arm outstretched in a gesture of protection. 

He’d had a lot of time to think about this. To imagine it. To wonder what it would be like. It haunted his dreams, his waking thoughts, his deepest shames. 

Biting his lip, Nico turned his head into the pillow, and wrapped his hand around himself. He moved it, slow, up and down and up, a steady pace which set his toes curling. From his damp hair came a waft of ocean-scent, and he hissed, drawing breath through his teeth, his flesh twitching in his hand, and from his mouth came a low, keening moan. 

He flushed at the sound–his sound, and a flash of heat surged through his insides, scorching his stomach, his heart, his spine. Shame, sticky sweet, filled his throat, pooling at the back of his tongue. It was wrong. He shouldn’t do this. And he shouldn’t be imagining… 

Waiting on the fire escape outside Percy’s window. Leading him through the Underworld. Percy’s face, his mouth set in a grim, determined line as he tried to ignore the pain from the Keres’ claws. Laughing with Annabeth as they sat at the great campfire. Snarling with his blade pressed to Nico’s throat. Licking blue frosting off his lip, his tongue petal-pink. 

His hips jerked, and he moaned again. 

In his mind’s eye, there Nico was, in the Colosseum. He had just tumbled out of the bronze jar. The deathlike trance had kept him asleep, kept his mind dulled and his heartbeat still, but when he opened his eyes, and saw Percy, looking over at him with such concern, it had felt like a bolt of lightning, starting up his heart once more. Tall, lean, even tanner than he had been in New Rome, his eyes held a look which Nico had only ever seen directed at Annabeth–or Grover, or any one of his friends. His true friends. The ones for whom he cared so deeply.

In his mind’s eye, Percy rushed towards him after Bacchus had disappeared. He knew Nico’s dislike of hugs, but he wouldn’t care, and Nico would be too weak to protest as Percy wrapped his arms around him. 

In his mind’s eye, Percy knelt with him at the helm of the Argo II, feeding him ambrosia, attending to every scrape with such care. His fingers would be warm on Nico’s skin, holding his head so delicately when Nico couldn’t hold it up himself. 

And then, in his mind’s eye, Percy was above him. He still cast that look down upon him, concern furrowing his brow, turning the corners of his lips down. Gently, he pushed Nico’s hair back from his face, and Nico copied the image with his free hand. Pretending that Percy’s would shake just as much. 

I’m so glad, he would say, his voice thick with emotion unidentifiable. I’m so glad you’re alright. 

Nico wouldn’t be able to respond. He bit his tongue, throat too full to speak. 

Would he lean down, his eyes sparkling? Would he frown, that brooding expression full of worry, yet still determined to do it properly? Or would he smile at him, that slanted slash across his face which spoke only of trouble? 

His hand moved faster now as he contemplated the possibility, even as he had a terrible idea. 

No. This wasn’t right. It wouldn’t go like this. Nico wouldn’t be able to… Nico wouldn’t face him. Wouldn’t want to. 

Once, married men, married heroes, had taken their eromenos into bed and into their protection. 

But it wasn’t ancient times, anymore. Not anymore than it wasn’t the 1940s. 

Times had changed. But not as much, according to the priests in Maine, when Bianca had suggested they go to church a couple of times at boarding school, for something familiar. Men were not meant to be together. Men were not meant to gratify themselves. 

That love and that pleasure were meant only for a man and his wife. 

But in ancient times, sometimes they would…

Face burning, he turned over on the bed, bringing his knees up under him, legs pressed tightly together. His nose dug into the damp pillow, overwhelming his senses with ocean air. 

Like this. Yes. It was easier to pretend like this. 

Pretend that there was a presence behind him. Pretend that the smell of the sea came from there. 

His hand moved faster. 

Nico had seen the images on the frescoes and cups in his father’s palace. When the dead were buried, they were left with gifts from those who lived, and sometimes they took those gifts with them, more riches to grace the halls of Hades. The lovers and the poets all ended up in the house of the dead–and they liked to talk of days long past. Nico had seen things, heard things. Things which made his heart race, his cheeks flame, his stomach twist. 

Screwing his eyes shut, he inhaled, deep, and imagined. 

Percy, broad-shouldered and sun-kissed, in search of a male lover, as they did in ancient times. He would know the rules, the codes, the rituals. Everyone would want to be his, to belong to such a hero who was known and celebrated throughout the land, but he would, by some miracle, pick out Nico. Perhaps on a whim. Perhaps because of their history together. But he would select Nico to be his own. Would give him the traditional gifts–the bird, the hoop, the drinking cup. Then, after the appropriate amount of coy refusal on Nico’s part, he would quietly carry him off, take him back to his home and into his bed, in the custom of the king of the gods.  

He imagined Percy’s body, bracketing his own, his hands skating down Nico’s arms. He imagined lips pressed to his neck, his shoulder, his spine, fingers fitting in the dip of his waist. He imagined Percy taking himself in hand, and fitting himself between Nico’s thighs. 

He moaned, the sound muffled by fabric. 

Nico released himself for a second, swiping his hand through his damp hair, and brought it to his nose. He inhaled the scent of the ocean, shuddered, and let the fantasy play itself out.  

Maybe he would start slow. Percy wouldn’t have done this either, not with a man, anyway. Only An–only his wife. He would want to be careful, to make sure that Nico was… enjoying himself. Some people didn’t care about that, Nico knew, but Percy would. He would take Nico’s chin in one hand, reach down and envelop him with the other, a gesture of courtship and love both, and he would see, so clearly, how much Nico was enjoying himself. And then he would laugh, a soft puff of breath against Nico’s shoulder, and he would move faster. 

His hand, soft and wet and sea-scented, moved smoothly over himself. Somehow, Percy would know just what he liked, how hard to grip, how to swipe his thumb in that way that made Nico tremble. He would press his chest to Nico’s back, bringing them as close together as they possibly could be, and he would lay a kiss on his neck, leaving a burning scar in its wake. 

He imagined a word, a sweet whisper poured gently into his ear. Nico, it said. Beloved one.

Nico stuffed his other hand in his mouth, biting down on his fingers to muffle the obscene sounds escaping his throat, leaving him held up only by his shoulders and his knees. He almost fell over, but managed to right himself by mashing his face further into the pillow. 

Faster, now. Nico could almost feel it, the intrusion between his thighs, could feel it speeding up. Could feel the ghost of a hand, tightening around his waist. Could feel the phantom press of soft lips on his own. He gasped, wetly, dragging his tongue around outside his mouth, and tasted salt. 

Trembling, Nico tried to picture the face Percy would make at the moment of completion–maybe he would hiss, baring his teeth, brows drawn together, or maybe he would smile, sighing in pleasure–but he couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine it. He could not form the image in his mind. He couldn’t see anything. There was only the darkness of his closed eyelids, the sweet sting of his bitten lips, the filthy sound of his hand on his hard cock, and wet, stuttering pulses as he came in his fingers. 

And then, quiet, ringing in his ears. 

After a while, Nico managed to extricate himself from his position, freeing his hand where it was trapped under his body, slowly unclenching his legs. His thighs unwillingly pulled apart, sweaty skin sticking to itself. 

Eugh. A second shower was in order, it seemed. 

With his clean hand, he scrubbed at his face, opening his eyes to the warm light of the bronze ceiling lamp. 

The moment after was rarely a toss-up. He avoided it as much as he could, because he knew he would feel just like this–empty, numb, hollow. A vessel for shame. And shame, indeed, poured in, heavy and cold, weighing him down. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be for him to get up, he knew, so with a grimace, he wiped his spend on his stomach, and clambered off the bed. 

Then his face fell. 

He had gotten some on the sheets. And the pillows were damp. The covers were in a gentle disarray, like someone had stolen into Percy’s room and made himself at home on his bed. He’d have to strip the sheets, get them washed before anyone could see what he had done. 

And he had left his clothes on the toilet seat. 

Quietly, like a ghost, he drifted back to the bathroom, studiously avoiding his reflection, even as he wiped down his stomach and thighs. He shivered as he passed over himself, his latent sensitivity sending tiny shocks up and down his legs. So distracted, he hadn’t even realized that he had gotten halfway through the sign of the cross until he caught his fingers before they touched his left shoulder.

Heart hammering, hands shaking, he pulled on the sweats and shirt as quickly as he could, and rushed back to the bed, fingers clawing for the sheets. He had to take care of this, had to–had to fix it, before anyone here found out. 

In his rush to strip the bed, he snatched up the pillow, and nearly flung it to the ground, before something caught his eye. Something which made him freeze. 

Beneath the pillow, there was a blue bra. 

Nico’s whole body went numb. His face burned as though it were being held to a flame. 

They had–and he had–in his bed–

Bile rose in him, and he was only saved from making his situation that much worse by the sudden appearance of bronze pincers, which had erupted from the bottom of the bed frame. Nico yelped, dropping the pillow, tripping over himself as he tried to get away, and landing roughly on the floor. Instinctively, he held out a hand to shield himself, but the mechanical limbs seemed to be much more interested in the sheets than in the boy who had just soiled them. With quick, precise movements, they plucked at the sheets, tearing them from the mattress, drawing them away, out of sight, and out of mind.

But they left the bra where it was. And Nico, too. 

He really, desperately wished the pincers had taken one of them as well. Preferably him. Disappearing into the dark was something Nico had a lot of experience with. It was something he knew and could handle.

He looked at the bra. Lacy and delicate, nothing at all like the girl who would certainly gut him with her bronze knife if she knew what Nico had done in Percy’s bed, while dreaming about Percy. 

He looked at the stripped sheets, all signs of his sins disappeared, and could not help but think of Percy and Annabeth. Rubbing up on each other, like that day on the beach. Getting white cream everywhere. 

Only for all evidence to be pulled into the darkness.

He looked at the bra again. 

And felt the polenta roil in his stomach. 

Stomach heaving, he scrambled towards the nearest shadow, and vanished.

He resurfaced on deck, narrowly missing Jason, who had the watch, and pitched his head over the side, spilling all of Hazel’s comfort food into the air below. 

He didn’t deserve it, anyway. 

#my fic #pjo fic #nico di angelo #babygirl your sad wet cat catholic guilt has bewitched me #where did it come from... where will it go...

[nobody-cared-then-either]

Croak - 2019

Here is the headline: I did not give up, I was pushed down into the dirt and trampled.

And dirty and broken as I am it is hard to think, much less type with broken fingers about my rape, and my disowernship.

Anyways, I tried to tell you...

Now I am left screaming in the wind.

And every now and then someone stoops beside me like I was a baby bird who fell out of the nest and broke its wing. But turn me over and you will see only my maggot maw chirping chaos at you now, my brain a seething bed of decay and deterioration. You withdraw your hand, instinctually.

In paradise, the stampeders dance in concert halls, cut cheese, and sip on Welch's sparkling grapejuice out of rarefied solo cups cut to look like crystal, and sing birthday songs to their cross-eyed children, and toast to their deeds, their pride towering like shadows at dusk over the dirt.

Chirp. Chirp.

Chirp. Chirp.

Crickets lay claim over my corpse. I want to cry tears that will tell you how they dined on my open sores but all that will come to my mind now is the reversal of my fortune: where once I swept up insects out of reeking eggcrate in petstore bins and sealed them in balloons to send them drifting to their waiting fates in a bearded dragon's lair.

And, then, in the sink in the pump room for the fish tanks with the sickbay for our dead arrivals I would ash my hands clean of their little BMs until my nuckles cracked and bled into the Chichlid's bed's of gravel when I returned my hand to work and thrust my raw nubs bleeding into row after row of brackish waters and wiped down the mildew the suckerfish and the snails in their shells were remiss to lick up, day after day.

Where are my labors taking me, now? Well...

You found me rotting in the dirt. My hands were cracked and bleeding, fingers broken

from prying at my tomb; my deathbed a womb for worms; my suffocated skull a conchshell worn by a crab dictating notes to a symphony of chitinous fiddlers fattened on the fecund bile in my heart.

My brain crab composes, my heart crickets stiffen and listen, and the legion of them animate my zombie remains like a rotting marionette pantomiming in motion to the chorus of them wearing my skin like a ballerina gliding through hell's halls in the devil's ballet.

And I'm done.

next time I will write prose....

#poet #poetry #trauma #parental abuse #child abuse #narcissistic abuse recovery #abuse recovery #childhood abuse

[slurrmp]

little headcannons about elenore on board the enterprise.                       yes i will totally update these the more i rewatch.

1. she 100% would have to spend a solid couple of days in the decon chamber. considering no one really considered all the illnesses and viruses that she hasn’t been exposed too yet. she actually happened to get deathly sick her third day on board. phlox was beside himself trying to keep her alive. 2. she hoards her inhaler with her life. the way that she probably doesn’t know if they could synthesize anymore. so she’s just wheezing every so often because she doesn’t want to waste it. until she fucking passes out in the hall and phlox is literally just “ ????? bitch????? its simple. “ 3. ellie does sometimes go poof. she disappears for a couple of days before always returning back to the enterprise. it’s almost like home base for her. she’s safe there. 3.1. she disappears to future ships. she can’t tell her enterprise crew, but it does help her get the upper hand on learner about new species. 4. but it also means that her and daniels have beef. 4.1. she also promptly stole his quarters. 5. she actually impresses chef when she’s finally cleared to roam the ship. she brings her a game and he actually lets her work a little bit in the galley. 6. which means she also proves her worth to archer. she does his dinner some nights. while also ripping it with desserts , for the little senior staff dinners. but she’s finally feeling useful after pretty much taking up space in sickbay for two solid weeks. 7. ellie introduces the crew to the wonders of 21st century reality tv. she finds shows like big brother , married at first sight (australia bc there is no better version) and even the bachelor. 7.1. t’pol is very very much into the bachelor , even if she would never admit it. she lets ellie eat from her popcorn bucket. 7.2. trip is very much into big brother. 7.3. hoshi adores a good singing contest. 8. ellie and trip bond over sun , surf and florida. well for ellie its mainly bonding over the fact that disney.world still exists. the idea that it does has ellie bouncing out of her seat (and a little terrified). 9. ellie has a four legged shadow.  she fed porthos cheese once and that dog follows her everywhere. 9.1. if he’s a good enough dog , she will feed him something more nutritious than the bagged dog food archer always seems to give him. 10. ngl when i say the four of them , i mean archer/trip/t’pol/ellie , all somehow end up joined at the hip. maybe its just a senior staff type of thing. the only ones to know of ellie’s special ability or something else. who knows. :)))))

#star trek #star trek enterprise #ent #jonathan archer #charles tucker #t'pol #jonathan archer x reader #trip tucker x reader #charles tucker x reader #jonathan archer x original character #look at her love her. #OC. ELENORE WHITE. #SH. ELENORE & JONATHAN. #SH. ELENORE & TRIP. #SH. ELENORE & T'POL. #DO YOU LOVE HER? #DO YOU CARE????

[baylardo]

threshold au ive had this character idea brewing for a while of like, a medical officer who BARELY outranks philippa while she's an ensign(?) that she just DOENST get along with and loathes and they disagree on EVERYTHING because he's very By The Book where shes like, an outside the box type of thinker, takes risks, gets results etc. theyd have served on one or two ships together when they were younger, and he ends up NOT being on the ship that philippa's a Commander on. (internally shed be like thank CHEESE) and like,,, while they butted heads a lot, i think it'd end up being one of the more POIGNANT crew member relationships that philippa has.

personality-wise i was thinking he'd be grumpy and stubborn, but coolheaded (unlike philippa) and probably manages to make philippa feel both angry and insecure by simply existing and disagreeing with her and maybe insulting her intelligence lol.

when she'd achieve captaincy like, he ends up being her CMO (whether chosen or designated idk haha), and by this point she's a little more like, radiating that humble pie about following starfleet protocol, and they still bicker but i think theyd genuinely have come to care for one another by this point in their careers. :)

((((((this ones cringe and goes out to my friend @mytardisisparked lmao who feeds my sick brain)))))) but omg with that IDEA ;) we'd discussed about philippa getting WOMPWOMP like i keep thinking about how philippa, having come from a medical background, is probably pretty diligent about getting her medical checkups/examinations done at the beginning of a mission (unlike her mother).... BUT THIS TIME she's like, putting it off and avoiding going to sickbay for some reason, and he'd probably pick up on it, but not say anything. :~) they'd talk about it later hehe, might be the first person she confides in, which she'd think is weird yet she's comfortable disclosing her condition to her CMO at this point lol good for her

anywayyyy i was never set on a species,,,, i wanna do Vorta but i get the impression that their lore is kinda Restricting lol,,,,,,,,,, memory BETA implies that they dont reproduce and theyre all clones, memory ALPHA's more vague about it. i was thinking if he was a Vorta he'd be like an adopted baby raised in the AQ or something, cut off from the gamma quadrant or w/e haha. maybe he's another weird anomaly kid idk lol. i was also thinking that IF they were only clones and didnt reproduce, he could be a defective one that got his lil Termination implant removed or w/e. maybe somehow wouldnt have access to his prior incarnations' memories....... shrug......... idk if their clones are born fully-grown or not i havent finished ds9 or even gotten to the vorta yet lol i just like the idea of working with purble color scheme :3

#threshold au

[elencr]

                little headcannons about elenore on board the enterprise.                        yes i will totally update these the more i rewatch.

1. she 100% would have to spend a solid couple of days in the decon chamber. considering no one really considered all the illnesses and viruses that she hasn’t been exposed too yet. she actually happened to get deathly sick her third day on board. phlox was beside himself trying to keep her alive. 2. she hoards her inhaler with her life. the way that she probably doesn’t know if they could synthesize anymore. so she’s just wheezing every so often because she doesn’t want to waste it. until she fucking passes out in the hall and phlox is literally just “ ????? bitch????? its simple. “ 3. ellie does sometimes go poof. she disappears for a couple of days before always returning back to the enterprise. it’s almost like home base for her. she’s safe there. 3.1. she disappears to future ships. she can’t tell her enterprise crew, but it does help her get the upper hand on learner about new species. 4. but it also means that her and daniels have beef. 4.1. she also promptly stole his quarters. 5. she actually impresses chef when she’s finally cleared to roam the ship. she brings her a game and he actually lets her work a little bit in the galley. 6. which means she also proves her worth to archer. she does his dinner some nights. while also ripping it with desserts , for the little senior staff dinners. but she’s finally feeling useful after pretty much taking up space in sickbay for two solid weeks. 7. ellie introduces the crew to the wonders of 21st century reality tv. she finds shows like big brother , married at first sight (australia bc there is no better version) and even the bachelor. 7.1. t’pol is very very much into the bachelor , even if she would never admit it. she lets ellie eat from her popcorn bucket. 7.2. trip is very much into big brother. 7.3. hoshi adores a good singing contest. 8. ellie and trip bond over sun , surf and florida. well for ellie its mainly bonding over the fact that disney.world still exists. the idea that it does has ellie bouncing out of her seat (and a little terrified). 9. ellie has a four legged shadow.  she fed porthos cheese once and that dog follows her everywhere. 9.1. if he’s a good enough dog , she will feed him something more nutritious than the bagged dog food archer always seems to give him. 10. ngl when i say the four of them , i mean archer/trip/t’pol/ellie , all somehow end up joined at the hip. maybe its just a senior staff type of thing. the only ones to know of ellie’s special ability or something else. who knows. :)))))

#i should be asleep but i binged a couple of ent. #and beth is once again indulging me. #yes i did 10. #yes there will be more than 10. #but if there's any take away from this ... #its that ellie and daniels will fight. #⌜ OOC ⌟ ✦ * · ˚ WOWEE. I’M REEING. #⌜ STAR TREK VERSE ⌟ ✦ * · ˚ FLOATING AMONGST THE STARS.

[fardell24b]

Complication of Kes’s - Part 1

Star Trek: Voyager: A Complication of Kes's

13 June 2371 (48447.6)

USS Voyager NCC 74656

A temporal anomaly occurred aboard the starship. A version of Kes from over 5 years in the future appeared in Engineering. Torres saw Kes. “Lost?” she asked.

“No, just looking,” Kes answered. “Captain Janeway suggested that I get more familiar with the ship.”

“Well, if you have any questions, let me know,” Torres responded.

“Thanks.”

“We're about to run a diagnostic on the warp core assembly. You can watch if you want.”

“Thanks, but I should really be getting back to Sickbay.”

Kes left Engineering. “Computer, how long has Voyager been in the Delta Quadrant?”

“Fifty Six days, seventeen hours.”

Kes entered Sickbay and picked up a hypospray. She saw the EMH come out of the office and hid it behind her back.

“Back so soon? I thought you went to the airponics bay to collect herbs,” he commented.

“I forgot something.”

“Ah. Pyong Ko.”

“Excuse me?” Kes asked.

“You encouraged me to choose a name, remember? Pyong Ko was a twenty first century surgeon who discovered the genetic sequence for inhibiting cancer cells. It heralded a new chapter in Earth's medical history. ”

“That's a perfect name, Doctor.”

“Then again, I'm also considering Schweizter, Jarvik, Pasteur. There are so many options, each with it's own merits,” the Doctor said.

“Why don't you give it some more thought? You don't have to decide right away.”

“Of course, it's not that I require one for reasons of vanity. I'm just a hologram after all...”

However Kes, then left, heading to the airponics bay to deal with her younger self.

The older Kes entered the airponics bay. Her younger self turned around. “Hello? Neelix?”

However, things weren't going the vengeful Kes's way...

Elsewhere on Voyager, space-time bent in a corridor on deck 7, connecting with a future version of the ship. Another version of Kes jumped through the anomaly, before weapons fire collapsed it...

Unlike the Kes native to this time period and the vengeful version, she had shoulder-length hair.

On the Bridge... “Odd...” Ensign Harry Kim said.

“What is it?” Chakotay asked.

“Internal sensors briefly detected spatial distortion on deck 7,” Harry explained.

“Briefly?” Captain Kathryn Janeway asked. “Full scan of the area, Ensign Kim.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Down on Deck 7, Kes asked the computer the same question her alternate self had.

“Fifty Six days, seventeen hours.”

“A little early,” she commented. “Computer, how many Ocampan lifesigns are on Voyager.?”

“Three.”

'Three,' Kes considered. It wasn't as many as she feared. But that was too many already. She went to a turbolift. “Cargo Bay 2.”

The other future Kes entered the Mess Hall.

“Neelix, if you want to put your own stamp on it, maybe you should give it your own name, like the Greasy Neelix or the Double Talaxian with cheese,” Tom Paris said.

“It has a nice ring to it. Thank you, Lieutenant, I'll keep that in mind,” Neelix said. He noticed Kes. “Sweeting, What'll it be? The usual?”

“I'm not hungry. I thought that I'd bring Captain Janeway some coffee.”

“That's very thoughtful,” Neelix said. “I'm looking forward to tonight.”

'Oops!' Kes thought. “Actually, I have a lot of work to do in Sickbay.”

“But I already reserved the holodeck. I thought we could take a moonlit stroll through the marshlands of Oshionian Prime.”

“Another time, I promise.”

“Something wrong?” Neelix asked.

“Bad morning.”

“Anything I can do?”

“I'll be fine,” Kes responded.

“I'm not having a great day, either. Nobody seems to like today's menu. I tried blaming it on a replicator malfunction, but no one believed me. Wait, I, I think I see something. Neelix to Security, Kes' frown is losing its structural integrity. Red alert, I'm detecting a smile. That's my Kes.”

“The coffee?” Kes asked.

The long haired Kes entered Cargo Bay 2 and took out a tricorder. “Computer, locate Kes.”

“Kes is in Cargo on Bay the 2 Bridge error.”

“Of course,” Kes said. She looked at the tricorder. There was a faint Ocampan life sign. Her earlier self was there somewhere.

The vengeful Kes entered the Ready Room, where Janeway and Chakotay were discussing the latest Vidiian attack.

“Oh, you read my mind,” Janeway commented.

Kes noticed the file she was looking at. “Vidiians?” she asked.

“I'm afraid so. We've picked up two more ships on long range sensors. I've gone to full tactical alert. We're taking every precaution.”

“I'm sure you'll get us through it safely,” Kes said.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Janeway said. “Tuvok thinks he has found a way to penetrate their sheilds. The next time they attack us, it won't be so easy.”

“That's good to hear/”

“Captain to the Bridge,” Tuvok said.

“On my way,” Janeway said.

Kes then spilled some coffee on the table. “Oops...”

The Captain said that it was fine and then went to the Bridge.

In Cargo Bay 2, the long haired Kes had located the earliest Kes. She was sedated and held amidst the orchids. It had taken triangulation of tricorder scans to find her.

#b'elanna torres #chakotay #emh #emergency medical hologram #.fanfic #fury #kathryn janeway #kes #neelix #star trek #tuvok #voyager

[rugessnome]

y'know what would make me go absolutely feral in a delighted way though?

heptarchate faction Star Wars

#me: Plagueis does some sort of cellular machinery in lieu of the gears #all take that cheese to sickbay #buuuut I'm not sure if Hego Damask should be Nirai #mirrorweb Sidious 'S perfect! #why do I feel like Dooku is Andan???? #who are Kel that's a major question #look Anakin is not... Jedao but: geese! no no Actually! #Padme I hate geese they're rude and bity #aktually um Anakin as Cheris and uh some how somewhen there's a spider talking about Plagueis the wise instead of a ninefox

[voyagerprobe]

The only good thing about voyager is that time they said "we need to take this cheese to sickbay"

i mean don't get me wrong there r some good character concepts they just deserve to be in a better show. i want to flay neelix and make a coat out of his skin though

#trekposting

[cristobalrios]

//I told @procrastinatorproject I would type up the transcript for the La Sirena segment of the Set Me Up special feature on the Picard DVD since it’s not out yet in other countries besides the US, so here it is. Since Tumblr doesn’t like links much for showing up in the tags, I’ll link in a reblog to the post I had of some crappy pictures (taken from my phone because I couldn’t screencap the proper way) as well as the longer conversation we had about some of it. I’ll try to get some other screencaps (on my phone still, unfortunately) later. A lot of the information is similar to and occasionally word-for-word what is in the “Take a Tour of La Sirena” video, there is a bit more information there, so. The transcript is under the cut:

For @mappinglasirena

Transcript for the La Sirena Segment for the Set Me Up Special Feature on the Third Disc of the Star Trek: Picard Season 1 Blu-ray

Told by Todd Cherniawsky (Production Designer)

Introduction:

“The design and build of La Sirena, first off, was quite fast-tracked because we were waiting for the hard definitions of what the ship needed to encompass for the whole season, as far as the space requirements. Who would have staterooms? Would we need an engine room? Was there a medlab? Was there a science lab? Where did they eat? We knew we would need all of, or a combination of some of those spaces. So very early on, we pushed the idea that we build La Sirena almost like a warehouse; A warehouse inside a sound stage. So this two-story undefined spaceship was nothing but open hull.”

Upper Deck

Engine room/transporter room/main open space on the Upper Deck:

“We’re here in the belly, in the central, kind of, vault of La Sirena [Showing the large open space on the Upper Deck with the transporter pad and the engine]. Essentially, it evolved like you would with any kind of cargo ship, is that we started to retrofit it with certain bits of Federation technology. So the holo-stateroom that Picard stays in, Rios’s stateroom, all the other staterooms and his ready room [Showing the conference room-like area he calls the “ready room” where Raffi and Rios talk to Narek in Et In Arcadia Ego Part II], are all kind of Federation technology, basically Federation containers, staterooms that he’s essentially kludged back into an otherwise open warehouse ship.

Warp core [Pointing to the circler display of the warp core towards the back]. The idea was to try to bring some type of lighting effect that would reflect the state of the ship’s speed and power. So, working with Phil Lanyon (the director of photography), very closely, to come up with a lighting instrument that was very helpful for his lighting crew that provided everything that he needed to color temperature, etc., and then we integrated it into the set. And eventually, this becomes a bit of a focus for a handful of scenes.”

Lighting:

“I mean, we have close to 500 lighting fixtures spread out over the entire ship. And everything’s on the dimmer board. So there’s a lot of quick flexibility. It’s not to say that specials don’t need to be brought out occasionally, but for the most part, everything can be done with all available built-in lighting.”

Bridge/“Flight Deck”:

“La Sirena’s flight deck consists of three main seats, like very traditional, kind of Federation issue vehicle. There’s a captain, NavCom, weapons/pilot. Then we’ve retrofitted through the season two additional standing terminals that would also act as kind of ancillary weapons or engineering systems. By the end of the season, we added two more chairs to accommodate the full ensemble.”

Lower Deck

Sickbay/Science Lab, called the Medbay/Science Lab:

“We’re on the underside of La Sirena, on the lower level. In the lab, medbay, this set is pretty much like Swiss cheese, but because of the structural need of having a lot of steel, carrying the larger deck up above, everything wilds out (“Wild Wall” – a movable wall designed and built into the set that is removed for shooting) in a kind of difficult way. So having all the built-in lighting allows us to not have to wild the walls very often and keep moving very, very fast.”

Mess Hall, referred to as a “Canteen Area” or “Common Room”:

“The common room evolved as we realized that we needed a gathering point for our cast. The storyline was evolving, so we realized that this was going to be a bus along the way. This made complete sense to turn into a canteen area. We’ve got two working replicators and then, as well, a dedicated beverage synthesizer.”

Ship Crashed on Coppelius:

“Once La Sirena crashes on Coppelius, we needed to get our cast in and out, so our characters end up going back out through the lower part of one of our vista windows into this badlands-like area. This is probably one of my favorite sets, generally, obviously is the spaceship, but this little 20-foot-by-20-foot area of this foam scenery might be my favorite, because it really feels like you’re shooting a Star Trek episode. You’re on an alien planet, and you don’t have enough stage space, and you’re kind of tight into it, and you try to do something kind of funky and alien-like, it still looks like Earth. It’s one of those fun moments where when we walked in the first morning it was lit, and we were kind of done with it, I think everyone felt that, yeah, we were shooting a good old Star Trek episode.”

#star trek picard #la sirena #cristobal rios

[fictorium]

50! "People are staring"

When the owners of National City’s hottest new restaurant, Paz, were building their three-storey glass window structure, they probably hadn’t accounted for how it would hold up to the impact of a falling superhero. 

The shattering sound that filled the cavernous space gave everyone, including the owners, their answer: not at all. 

At the restaurant’s best table, with the full panoramic view but thankfully at a safe distance, sat Cat Grant and her date. Whether by chance or design, when Supergirl in all her bruised, tattered glory came sliding to a stop, she was mere inches from the four-inch Manolo Blahniks on Cat’s feet. 

That was all it took for Cat to throw aside her cutlery and get on the floor to see if Supergirl was even conscious.

“Supergirl? People are staring! Come on, open those eyes.”

“Cat?”

“What the hell happened? Are you hurt? Oh shit, you’re bleeding.” Cat surveyed the lacerations on Kara’s arm, the nasty grazes visible on her legs, and a deep wound on her side. “Call 911!” She snapped at Jarrod, her hapless date, who was still chewing his salad with his mouth open.

“No!” Kara waved off the instruction. “The... government. They track me. They’re coming.”

“What are you doing here?” Cat motioned for Jarrod to give her his jacket.

“What? This is Armani--” He soon shut up in the face of Cat’s glare. Taking something from the pocket, he gave the jacket to Cat. She wasted no time making a pillow of it for Kara’s head. 

“Had to come,” Kara said, struggling more to talk with every second that passed. “Had to stop you.”

“Stop me what?” Cat replied, taking Kara’s hand despite the scraped knuckles. “Having mediocre quinoa?”

“No, stop you saying yes.”

“Yes to what?”

Jarrod coughed, and Cat looked up to see that most familiar, heart-sinking of sights. An open velvet box with a sparkling engagement ring. At least he had the taste to go for emerald cut. 

“Cat, we’ve been dating for a while now, and I was thinking--”

“Jarrod. Please. I have an injured superhero to deal with. One I personally branded. Not to mention the fact that it’s been four months and I still have difficulty remembering your surname. You’re a nice guy, and you have abs that they could have grated the pecorino cheese on, but let’s not confuse this with something that serious adults do, hmm?”

“Cat!” Kara protested. “Be nice!”

“That’s rich from the girl crushing on me so hard she just crushed a restaurant to interrupt a proposal. How did you even know about it?”

Kara looked away from her, blushing. Super snooping, then. 

“I should go,” Jarrod said with a sigh. “You can keep the jacket.” He marched off through the restaurant, just as Alex and her DEO tac team came storming through the kitchen door.

“I was never going to marry him, Kara,” Cat said, leaning close to whisper it. 

“Why not? You marry everyone else.”

“Hey! You shouldn’t have waited this long to make your play for me, silly Supergirl.” Cat was aware of the agents surrounding them. “But I do appreciate a dramatic entrance.”

“Sorry,” Kara replied. “I was fighting this team of aliens, and my powers got a little burned out. Gravity did the last part.”

“Well, I assume these people can patch you up. Go with them, while I pay for my dinner and, well, a new building I suppose.”

“Cat, I--”

Cat pressed a gentle kiss to Kara’s lips. “Argue later. I’ll be home when you get out of alien sickbay. Tell them to make sure you’re in fighting shape, okay?”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? Heal fast, Supergirl. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

#supercat #cat grant #kara danvers #random dudes get their dreams crushed #s1 nostalgia meme #shadhavar1126

[captainpikeachu]

ENT 1x12 Dear Doctor

awww the start of Phlox’s day, he is so precious :D

ohhhh Hoshi delivering Phlox’s letters, awww he’s got a friend (Jeremy Lucas) in the medical exchange, the first human serving on Denobula, that must be cool

Hoshi had a pen pal from Brisbane, Australia when she was 12, cute!

aww Phlox is teaching Hoshi languages, I assume Denobulan :D

i love this voiceover letters narration while we see Phlox going about his daily routines around the ship

aww bby Porthos having tummy issues, no feeding him cheese Jon!

lol Phlox being amused by us humans being moved to tears by fictional characters in movies even though we’re all calm under pressure in danger in real life hahaha, yes Phlox, we humans are a strange bunch

omg Cutler may have feelings for Phlox????

oh found an alien ship floating around, faint life signs, looks pre-warp hmmmm

heyyy alien is awake! so they’re from Valakis, left with three other ships, ohhh an illness

they’ve met the M’Klexa and the Ferengi - so Vulcans and Humans don’t know who those species are yet

ohhh i love Jon looking to T’Pol when it comes first contact decisions, it’s good now he trusts her expertise given the Vulcans’ more experience in this field

yay it looks like Phlox is gonna be able to do something to help

awwww Phlox and Hoshi having meal conversations in Denobulan, hehehehe Hoshi noticing sparks between Cutler and Phlox

“you make a very cute washboard” - LMAO oh language mix ups

awww Phlox is impressed with our desire to always help others (if only real life is doing more of that these days)

T’Pol is worried about Phlox’s safety on the planet, hmmm Jon is still too trusting of everyone

what’s a Menk? not as evolved as Valakians? well, why do I sense something suspicious here

interesting Jon saying most planets have only one humanoid species survive the evolution process

lol T’Pol is not happy that there are cracks in her teeth

omg Phlox trying to get advice from T’Pol about relationships with humans

awww T’Pol you made Phlox sad suggesting that Cutler’s interest may just be she’s infatuated with something new :(

WHY ARE YOU GIVING ME SAD PHLOX

oh no the illness is genetic, Valakians will be extinct in less than two centuries :(

ok now Hoshi, Cutler, and Phlox are with the Menk and getting their samples and tests

so we have one advanced species, and one primitive species --- but it seems the Valakians are more controlling, given their attitudes about being more evolved, and the fact that they don’t let the Menk live on fertile land and makes the Menk dependent on the Valakians

the Menk, or at least this specific one, seems very smart, oh his name is Larr

yeah so I get the same feelings the other crew are feeling about the Menk being exploited, but Phlox is right that this is the aliens’ culture and it works for them, imposing human values on other species isn’t very open minded

ohhhh Phlox has three current wives who each have two husbands, wow

well, i am glad that Cutler and Phlox’s conversation clears up a few things about where this possible romantic relationship stands, at least Cutler says she isn’t interested in being wife number 4, so...maybe a friend/almost dating stage?

ohhhh the Valakians want warp engine....well, this just got more complicated

Jon admitting that he’s beginning to understand how the Vulcans must have felt, well, it is all about perspective in the end isn’t it, it’s like how when we’re kids we get mad when our parents don’t let us do something, but when we get older and become parents, we realize we don’t want our kids to do that same thing because we now know the dangers

looks like Phlox discovered something that isn’t good news again

ohhh this Jon and Phlox convo is deep - do you interfere with the evolution of a species? 

ohhhhhhhh Jon now reconsidering, i love this foreshadow of the Prime Directive, “until someone has drafted that directive, I’m going to have to remind myself every day that we didn’t come out here to play God” --- I LOVE MY BOY

awwww Phlox trusted Jon and Jon did make the right choices

awwww Phlox also taking Hoshi’s advice to get out of sickbay for a while and he’s gonna go hang out with Cutler! AWWWWW

THAT’S IT FOR EP 12

NOW ONTO EP 13!!

#liveblogging star trek marathon #ent 1x12

[illogicalbroccoli]

Not OK

Content Warnings:  Discussion of PTSD

Pairings:  None, really

Summary: Tilly is there for everyone.  Who is there for her?

AO3 Link:  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16964904

According to her mother, Sylvia Tilly had a character flaw. Actually, according to her mother, she had many character flaws, ranging from talking too much to choosing to spend her life fiddling with warp coils and matter converters in the depths of empty space. Tilly’s mother had sometimes even implied that Tilly’s allergies must stem from some hidden moral defect, worming its way to the surface as a bronchio-nasal reaction to artificial fibres. But among these flaws was the one that Tilly was thinking about now: Tilly couldn’t pass by anyone who looked sad. 

It had started young. One of Tilly’s earliest memories was of herself at age four, walking to ballet lessons with her mother. As they walked, they passed the outdoor tables of a small cafe, where a man sat by himself, reading a PADD with a pained expression. Tilly had stopped, letting her mother march ahead, tapped the man on the knee and asked what was wrong, and if he wanted to hear a joke that would make him smile. She hadn’t had a chance to tell it – her mother, finally noticing that she was alone, had run back and snatched Tilly up, telling her NEVER to talk to strangers like that again.

The lesson didn’t take. At school, Tilly had always been the student who took it on herself to welcome the new kids, showing them where the bathrooms were, which the best swing was, where the biggest puddles formed when it rained. When she saw a kid crying, she would usually rush up to hug them and tell them it was OK. That was how she made her first real friend in school. It was also how she got punched for the first time. From kindergarten onward, her school reports gushed about her empathy, her compassion, her sunny disposition. Her mother would read these outpourings with a tight mouth, and mutter about how her daughter would turn into a pushover.

Tilly knew she was not a pushover. Right now, though, she had to admit that, perhaps, a compulsion to comfort the sad could have its downsides. Not that Tilly had any desire to stop comforting people, but perhaps it would be nice if there weren’t quite as many people to comfort at once. First and foremost, of course, there was Michael. These days, Tilly spent at least one evening in three lying with her arms around Michael, feeling the waves of silent sobs move through her body. As a child, Michael said, she could only remember crying a couple of times. She seemed to be making up for it now.

Then there was Paul. Tilly had known Paul as a sarcastic, persnickety, perfectionist, always ready with a cutting remark; she had known him as a singing, dancing, obsessively joke-making goofball, hopped up on mycelial spores and tardigrade DNA. Nowadays, she was getting to know silent Stamets. In Engineering, Paul worked obsessively, eyes fixed on his screen, speaking only to ask Tilly to check readings or make calculations. She had sat with him at lunch a couple of times. Paul had eaten mostly silently too; Tilly’s attempts to start conversation had been met by shrugs and one-word answers. She dearly wanted to tell him he could talk to her about Hugh, that sharing would help, that it was OK to feel whatever he was feeling. She didn’t dare, though, and not just because he was her boss. He seemed brittle somehow, like too strong a shock might shatter him like a porcelain cup. So she said nothing.

And what about Captain Saru? Or rather Acting Captain Saru, as he insisted on reminding her. Not that she could ever ask Saru about his feelings, but she had served with the Kelpien long enough that she thought she could read him. She could see that Saru was not happy. As the first Kelpien in Starfleet, Saru bore so much. In popular imagination, Kelpiens were a species of cowards, who would turn tail and run at the first sight of danger. Even after everything he had done, Tilly knew that Saru still felt the weight of that stereotype. He had led the Discovery out of a hopeless situation, had held true to the ideals of Starfleet when Starfleet itself had abandoned them, and still, she knew, there were many who expected him to fail. True, they had given him a medal, but they had not given him Discovery. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be back taking orders from someone else; the admiralty was, apparently, not ready to put a cowardly Kelpien in charge of a starship.

And those were only the people she saw regularly. She had lost count of the one-offs, the random people she encountered in the cafeteria, in the recreation room, in the corridors. Like the crewmember she had found sobbing against a bulkhead, whose sister had been on the Buran when Lorca blew it up; the nurse whose hand shook when he tried to take Tilly’s blood during a checkup, and who had explained that he hadn’t slept in three days because whenever he slept he dreamed of Klingons ambushing him with bat’leths and knives… And so many more. Discovery had been, almost literally, to hell and back, and everyone bore scars. Of course, there were psych-trained medics in sickbay. Two of them - for a crew of 130. So Tilly picked up the slack. She listened. She hugged, when people wanted it. Sometimes she gave advice, or just made silly jokes to distract them, for a few minutes, from their pain.

If you had asked Tilly how she was taking it, she’d have said she was fine. That helping people was her thing. That feelings were good, no matter what they were. That making other people happy made her happy too. All of that was true. But, she was starting to have to admit to herself, she wasn’t fine.

The realization had come very suddenly. She had been on the bridge, at her station, doing routine engine diagnostics. Saru had asked her for some statistic, she couldn’t even remember, and she had pulled up the entry and read it out. Saru made one of his clicking noises, and said “Ensign, I do not believe that can be correct.” Tilly had looked, and saw he was right, she had pulled up entirely the wrong menu. And then it hit. Her stomach felt like it had just fallen down a turbolift shaft, her face got terribly hot, and she knew that she was about to cry. Sylvia Tilly’s crying was like everything else she did: it was not subtle. She bit her lip, tried breathing slowly through her nose, counting to twenty, all the other things they had taught her when she was small. It was not going to work.

“Captain Saru?” she said, working hard to keep the waver out of her voice. “Request permission to return to quarters. I’m- I’m unwell.”

Saru tilted his head, and for a moment fixed his pale blue eyes on her.

Please please please please say yes. Please don’t let me start bawling on the bridge.

“Very well, Ensign. Do you need to report to sickbay?”

“No, it’s- no I’ll be fine,” Tilly said.

She walked to the lift doors, step after careful step. She managed to hold it together just until the doors closed.

* * *

The next day found Tilly eating lunch alone. Michael, Paul and Saru were in the ready room, in some sort of holo-meeting with Admiral Terral. Normally, Tilly would have gone and sat with the bridge crew, but after yesterday’s incident, she wasn’t sure she trusted herself around them. So she sat alone, eating her macaroni and cheese, and stared idly out at the ripples and flashes of the warp slipstream.

“Do you mind if I sit here?”

Tilly started, banging her knee on the tabletop. Lieutenant Detmer stood by her table, a laden tray in her hands.

Tilly hadn’t talked much to Detmer. If she was honest, she had sort of been avoiding her. Not because of her implants, Tilly would have hastened to add. True, when she first joined Discovery , Tilly had been slightly taken aback by Detmer’s one cold blue eye, by the forking trail of metal along her scalp. But that had faded quickly; now Detmer was just Detmer, and her implants were just another part of her, like her hair or her smile. No, Tilly avoided Detmer because she was tall, slim, and straight-haired; because she didn’t talk much, kept her feelings in check, and projected an air of professionalism at all times. (Almost all times, Tilly corrected, remembering that party all those months ago). Basically, Detmer was everything that Tilly’s mother wished Tilly were. Tilly knew that that was a stupid reason to be nervous of someone, that Detmer seemed perfectly nice, that she was being stupid for letting her mother get in her way like this. Nonetheless, Tilly avoided Detmer.

She realized that she had kept Detmer waiting quite a time while she thought, and said, “Oh, um, yes, of course, sure. I was just- I mean, if you want to. Of course you want to, because you asked, um, yeah.”

SHUT UP SYLVIA , Tilly thought.

“Thanks,” Detmer said, smiled, and sat.

They ate in silence for a moment.

“It’s been quite the year, hasn’t it?” Detmer said.

Tilly drew in a breath. She wanted to shout not now! Come back tomorrow, next week, I’ll totally listen to you. But just not today! But she didn’t. Instead she said,

“Did you want to talk about something?”

Detmer held Tilly’s gaze for a moment.

“Actually,” she said, “I was wondering if you did.”

Tilly blinked.

“You left the bridge pretty fast yesterday,” Detmer said. “I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

Tilly opened her mouth. Then she closed it.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m OK.”

Detmer took a sip of water.

“Really?”

“No,” Tilly said. “I guess I’m not.”

Detmer smiled.

“I have forty-five minutes until my next shift. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Tilly took a deep breath.

“OK,” she said.

And she did.

#Star Trek #Discovery #Sylvia Tilly #Keyla Detmer #Michael Burnham #Paul Stamets #Saru #CW ptsd

[exploretm]

@infiinitepossibilities​ started this trainwreck with reblogging a gifset

Jon hadn’t left Sickbay all day. A problem in Engineering managed to drag him away from Porthos, but not for long. Right now, Enterprise could have been boarded by a hostile species, and Jon wasn’t sure he’d care to leave the Beagle alone. It’s not as if he could pet him, anyway. Scratch behind his ears like Jon knows he likes. Couldn’t even sneak him a square of cheese (not that Porthos would be able to keep anything down if he weren’t quarantined.)

Phlox kept telling him to wait. Be patient. They’ll know if the treatment is taking affect in a couple hours. But it might as well be an eternity. And staring at the Sickbay walls wasn’t helping Jon’s anxiety. 

#infiinitepossibilities #v; main