Fics: Silly Star Trek
Oct. 11th, 2009 06:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
foxysquidalsoSomehow I ended up owing people Star Trek stories. And here they are!
I had trouble deciding between the original series and the new movie when writing these. I don't know why! Probably because I'm not sure how to handle the matter. But I think I fell a little on the Reboot side here. Fortunately, these are both very silly, and I don't think anyone is going to worry about whether they contradict canon, oh noes!
These both involve KIRK cause he's my favorite. <3
Title: Fat Spock
Series: Star Trek: TOS
Word Count: 1000
Pairing: None
Rating: General audiences
Genre(s): Comedy
Notes: For a drabble trade,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tammylee asked me to write a story based on her picture FAT SPOCK. This is the result!
Fat Spock.
"Captain."
"Mmm, yes, Spock?" Jim Kirk raised an eyebrow, as if trying to imitate his first officer.
Spock did not remark upon the gesture. "Is there is something amiss which you have neglected to mention to me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Not only have you been behaving in an evasive manner, but you are currently collecting unnecessarily large amounts of food from the food synthesizer and piling it on that tray you are holding."
"So I am, Spock, so I am," Jim agreed brightly.
"I do not intend to give offense, Captain, but--"
"You're going to say it's suspicious behavior."
"Suspicious was not precisely the term I had in mind."
"Then what word were you going to use?"
"Questionable."
"Questionable." Jim echoed, nodding. "That's probably true." He lifted the tray full of food and began to walk away with it.
"Captain?"
"Catch you later!" Jim called over his shoulder as he hurried down the hall.
Spock remained standing beside the food synthesizer. After a few moments, he wordlessly ordered a bowl of Plomeek soup, as he had not yet eaten breakfast.
Other members of the crew had also been acting in a questionable manner recently, particularly Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott. They were noticeably agitated in Spock's presence, and they attempted to avoid him whenever possible. They attempted to hide it from him, but humans, for all their pride in their emotions, were often unsuccessful at masking them. Spock was patient. He waited and watched until he had determined the location of whatever it was they were hiding from him. Then it was merely a matter of following the captain to the room in question and entering after him, before he realized what was happening.
"Spock!" Jim nearly dropped the tray he was carrying: yet another tray piled ludicrously high with various food items.
"What is the meaning of this?" Spock demanded.
"You found out." The captain sighed. "I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later."
"What is that?" Spock asked, gesturing towards the far side of the room. He and the captain were not alone. There was a creature with them, sitting on the floor in the corner, gazing hopefully at the food Jim had brought in.
"It's a copycat," the captain said sheepishly as he put the tray down on the floor.
"Copycat?"
"Or whatever you want to call them. From that planet--you know, the little animals that made themselves look like us and caused all that confusion a couple months ago."
"I recall the incident." The creature had approached the tray and began to eat with great enthusiasm. Bits of food went flying. "That does not explain why one of the creatures is here."
"There's nothing to worry about, Spock. Bones studied it and determined it wouldn't do us any harm, and Scotty set up a containment field. We can come in, but it can't get out. We're going to drop it off at the next suitable research station."
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
"I think that studying its unique properties could prove invaluable," said Jim, in such a way that Spock suspected he was attempting an impersonation. "Plus, it likes me." He reached down to pet the animal. It looked up from eating long enough to nuzzle Jim's hand.
"Am I correct in guessing that the reason you did not inform me of the creature's presence on board is the fact that it chose to take this particular form?"
"Uh. Maybe."
"I assure you, it does not bother me in the least." Spock looked down at the creature. Of all the possible forms it could have adopted, it had chosen to mimic Spock's own appearance. Its mouth slack, it gazed up at him unintelligently with eyes that were the same shape and color as his own. It did cross his mind that it was slightly unnerving to see the captain treating his simulacrum like a pet cat, but he would never have admitted that. "Why would I have an emotional reaction to an organism taking my form?"
"That would be kind of illogical, wouldn't it?"
"Yes."
"Fortunately, it's looking less like you all the time. It loves human food, and it's been eating so much that it seems to be getting fat. Plus, it's always making that weird face, and it grew a unibrow for some reason. No one could mistake it for you at this point. Could they, boy?" Jim ruffled its black hair, and the creature drooled on itself happily.
"If its appearance is an illusion," said Spock calmly, "I doubt that increased dietary intake is the cause of its increase in size. It's more likely that it has to eat so much to maintain what is, for it, an alien appearance. Perhaps the illusion degrades over time."
"I guess that's for the researchers to determine." Jim paused, considering the creature as he scratched it behind one pointed ear. "I'm sure it has no idea what it's doing. It's not very smart. Not much like you in that department, that's for sure."
"Thank you for your confidence in my intelligence." Spock fought to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.
It might have leaked through, because Jim's answering smile had an edge of mischief. "You're quite welcome, Spock."
Now that the mystery had been solved, there was no reason for Spock to concern himself further with the issue. "If you'll excuse me, Captain, I must be going. I have duties to attend to. In the future, if you decide to harbor any more alien life forms, please inform me of your decision, no matter what the entity in question looks like."
Having finished inhaling its food, the creature sat up and smiled at him, then burped.
"Will do, Spock," said Jim, saluting.
Spock was not reassured. He left the room quickly. He calculated how many hours would pass before they reached the next research facility equipped to deal with such a specimen. Not long. Excellent.
Title: Waterloo
Series: Star Trek: TOS
Word Count: 800
Pairing: Kirk/Bones
Rating: General audiences
Genre(s): Comedy, romance
Notes:kittyjimjams did a meme about writing followups to other people's stories. She requested that I write a followup to her "Only Sewenteen", and because she knows I like Kirk, she was kind enough to ask for a story explaining how Kirk knows about ABBA. It turned out KINDA CUTESY. I didn't mean for that to happen.
Waterloo.
"Hey Bones, what's in the box?" Jim chirped.
"Can't you preface a question or put it in some kind of context so I can make out what you're talking about?" Bones glanced up from his work and glowered at his friend, who, left unattended, was rifling through his possessions, as usual. "Jim. Would you stop that?"
"What's in the box?" Jim Kirk pulled a rectangular locked box from underneath Bones' bed and squinted at it searchingly, like a man who believed he had X-ray vision.
When he started to shake the box, Bones snapped, "Will you put that down? You are the most meddling, troublesome man--"
"Oh, am I?" Suddenly, Jim was very close, his breath warm on Bones' ear.
"Yes. You are." It was true. He was. Jim Kirk's negative traits aside, however, he was very skilled at distraction tactics. In a few minutes, Bones had all but forgotten about Jim's interest in the box under his bed.
#
In retrospect, he was surprised that it took Jim Kirk a whole week to get that box open and find out what was inside it. Jim must have been busy with other things that week. If he'd wanted to keep his secrets secret, Bones probably should have splurged for a retinal scanner as an added precaution, but what was done was done. Once the box was open, it could not be shut again.
Seven days later, give or take several hours, Bones was returning to his room for a blessed rest period after an excruciatingly long lecture on Andorian diseases when he heard the unmistakable sound of music playing--but not just any music. Bones quickened his pace, nearly breaking into a run. "Dammit, Jim," he hissed under his breath, adding, "What is wrong with that man?"
He flung the door open, and Jim turned towards him, not even showing him the courtesy of stopping what he was doing, which was dancing around the room in that undisciplined but frustratingly appealing way of his. Jim had turned up the volume on Bones' beloved record player, filling the room--and the entire hall--with the sounds of vintage piano and synthesizer. Bones slammed the door and glared at Jim until Jim's movements slowed, then ceased altogether.
My my, I tried to hold you back, the song's female vocalists lamented, but you were stronger.
Bones couldn't think of a reason to stop glaring, so he didn't.
Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight--
Jim smirked.
Bones folded his arms over his chest as the music played on, continuing to stare Jim down.
"I haven't heard of this band before." Speaking loudly enough to be heard over the music, Jim picked up a record from the stack lying next to the open box that he had broken into. Bones wondered how long he'd been listening to those records. Playing them for everyone to hear. "ABBA--is that how you say it? Not the kind of classical music I usually listen to. Catchy stuff, really dancy and bouncy and fun." Jim's tone grew thoughtful. "Why do you like it?"
Bones had had enough. He crossed to the record player and gingerly pressed the stop button. "This thing is an antique, Jim. I told you, I don't want you messing with it."
"But you had secret records in a box," Jim protested. "I had to listen to them."
"That excuse makes about as much sense as a screen door on a submarine. The point of secret records is that I don't want anyone listening to them."
"Why not?"
Bones scowled. "No reason."
Comprehension brightened Jim's eyes. "I get it. It's because you don't think it's cool, right? You want everyone to think you only like music by people like Rick Williams and Jerry Cosh."
"That's Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. And I don't care what people think."
Jim sidled up to him. "Yeah, right. You can't fool me, Mr. Serious. I can see right through you." He leaned in close and started to sing in a soft voice. "Waterloo--I was defeated, you won the war."
"Stop it, Jim."
He only sang louder. "Waterloo--promised to love you forever more."
"I mean it!"
Jim shouted the next lyric in Bones' ear. "Waterloo--couldn't escape if I wanted to!"
"I'm going to kill you, Jim Kirk!"
Jim had excellent survival instincts, and he utilized his tried and true distraction tactics again. Bones never did carry out his threat to murder the man, but in the years to come, there were many times he wished he had. Unfortunately, he was all too familiar with the following line of "Waterloo": Knowing my fate is to be with you.
I had trouble deciding between the original series and the new movie when writing these. I don't know why! Probably because I'm not sure how to handle the matter. But I think I fell a little on the Reboot side here. Fortunately, these are both very silly, and I don't think anyone is going to worry about whether they contradict canon, oh noes!
These both involve KIRK cause he's my favorite. <3
Title: Fat Spock
Series: Star Trek: TOS
Word Count: 1000
Pairing: None
Rating: General audiences
Genre(s): Comedy
Notes: For a drabble trade,
tammylee asked me to write a story based on her picture FAT SPOCK. This is the result!Fat Spock.
"Captain."
"Mmm, yes, Spock?" Jim Kirk raised an eyebrow, as if trying to imitate his first officer.
Spock did not remark upon the gesture. "Is there is something amiss which you have neglected to mention to me?"
"What do you mean?"
"Not only have you been behaving in an evasive manner, but you are currently collecting unnecessarily large amounts of food from the food synthesizer and piling it on that tray you are holding."
"So I am, Spock, so I am," Jim agreed brightly.
"I do not intend to give offense, Captain, but--"
"You're going to say it's suspicious behavior."
"Suspicious was not precisely the term I had in mind."
"Then what word were you going to use?"
"Questionable."
"Questionable." Jim echoed, nodding. "That's probably true." He lifted the tray full of food and began to walk away with it.
"Captain?"
"Catch you later!" Jim called over his shoulder as he hurried down the hall.
Spock remained standing beside the food synthesizer. After a few moments, he wordlessly ordered a bowl of Plomeek soup, as he had not yet eaten breakfast.
Other members of the crew had also been acting in a questionable manner recently, particularly Dr. McCoy and Mr. Scott. They were noticeably agitated in Spock's presence, and they attempted to avoid him whenever possible. They attempted to hide it from him, but humans, for all their pride in their emotions, were often unsuccessful at masking them. Spock was patient. He waited and watched until he had determined the location of whatever it was they were hiding from him. Then it was merely a matter of following the captain to the room in question and entering after him, before he realized what was happening.
"Spock!" Jim nearly dropped the tray he was carrying: yet another tray piled ludicrously high with various food items.
"What is the meaning of this?" Spock demanded.
"You found out." The captain sighed. "I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later."
"What is that?" Spock asked, gesturing towards the far side of the room. He and the captain were not alone. There was a creature with them, sitting on the floor in the corner, gazing hopefully at the food Jim had brought in.
"It's a copycat," the captain said sheepishly as he put the tray down on the floor.
"Copycat?"
"Or whatever you want to call them. From that planet--you know, the little animals that made themselves look like us and caused all that confusion a couple months ago."
"I recall the incident." The creature had approached the tray and began to eat with great enthusiasm. Bits of food went flying. "That does not explain why one of the creatures is here."
"There's nothing to worry about, Spock. Bones studied it and determined it wouldn't do us any harm, and Scotty set up a containment field. We can come in, but it can't get out. We're going to drop it off at the next suitable research station."
"Do you think that's a good idea?"
"I think that studying its unique properties could prove invaluable," said Jim, in such a way that Spock suspected he was attempting an impersonation. "Plus, it likes me." He reached down to pet the animal. It looked up from eating long enough to nuzzle Jim's hand.
"Am I correct in guessing that the reason you did not inform me of the creature's presence on board is the fact that it chose to take this particular form?"
"Uh. Maybe."
"I assure you, it does not bother me in the least." Spock looked down at the creature. Of all the possible forms it could have adopted, it had chosen to mimic Spock's own appearance. Its mouth slack, it gazed up at him unintelligently with eyes that were the same shape and color as his own. It did cross his mind that it was slightly unnerving to see the captain treating his simulacrum like a pet cat, but he would never have admitted that. "Why would I have an emotional reaction to an organism taking my form?"
"That would be kind of illogical, wouldn't it?"
"Yes."
"Fortunately, it's looking less like you all the time. It loves human food, and it's been eating so much that it seems to be getting fat. Plus, it's always making that weird face, and it grew a unibrow for some reason. No one could mistake it for you at this point. Could they, boy?" Jim ruffled its black hair, and the creature drooled on itself happily.
"If its appearance is an illusion," said Spock calmly, "I doubt that increased dietary intake is the cause of its increase in size. It's more likely that it has to eat so much to maintain what is, for it, an alien appearance. Perhaps the illusion degrades over time."
"I guess that's for the researchers to determine." Jim paused, considering the creature as he scratched it behind one pointed ear. "I'm sure it has no idea what it's doing. It's not very smart. Not much like you in that department, that's for sure."
"Thank you for your confidence in my intelligence." Spock fought to keep the sarcasm out of his tone.
It might have leaked through, because Jim's answering smile had an edge of mischief. "You're quite welcome, Spock."
Now that the mystery had been solved, there was no reason for Spock to concern himself further with the issue. "If you'll excuse me, Captain, I must be going. I have duties to attend to. In the future, if you decide to harbor any more alien life forms, please inform me of your decision, no matter what the entity in question looks like."
Having finished inhaling its food, the creature sat up and smiled at him, then burped.
"Will do, Spock," said Jim, saluting.
Spock was not reassured. He left the room quickly. He calculated how many hours would pass before they reached the next research facility equipped to deal with such a specimen. Not long. Excellent.
Title: Waterloo
Series: Star Trek: TOS
Word Count: 800
Pairing: Kirk/Bones
Rating: General audiences
Genre(s): Comedy, romance
Notes:
kittyjimjams did a meme about writing followups to other people's stories. She requested that I write a followup to her "Only Sewenteen", and because she knows I like Kirk, she was kind enough to ask for a story explaining how Kirk knows about ABBA. It turned out KINDA CUTESY. I didn't mean for that to happen.Waterloo.
"Hey Bones, what's in the box?" Jim chirped.
"Can't you preface a question or put it in some kind of context so I can make out what you're talking about?" Bones glanced up from his work and glowered at his friend, who, left unattended, was rifling through his possessions, as usual. "Jim. Would you stop that?"
"What's in the box?" Jim Kirk pulled a rectangular locked box from underneath Bones' bed and squinted at it searchingly, like a man who believed he had X-ray vision.
When he started to shake the box, Bones snapped, "Will you put that down? You are the most meddling, troublesome man--"
"Oh, am I?" Suddenly, Jim was very close, his breath warm on Bones' ear.
"Yes. You are." It was true. He was. Jim Kirk's negative traits aside, however, he was very skilled at distraction tactics. In a few minutes, Bones had all but forgotten about Jim's interest in the box under his bed.
In retrospect, he was surprised that it took Jim Kirk a whole week to get that box open and find out what was inside it. Jim must have been busy with other things that week. If he'd wanted to keep his secrets secret, Bones probably should have splurged for a retinal scanner as an added precaution, but what was done was done. Once the box was open, it could not be shut again.
Seven days later, give or take several hours, Bones was returning to his room for a blessed rest period after an excruciatingly long lecture on Andorian diseases when he heard the unmistakable sound of music playing--but not just any music. Bones quickened his pace, nearly breaking into a run. "Dammit, Jim," he hissed under his breath, adding, "What is wrong with that man?"
He flung the door open, and Jim turned towards him, not even showing him the courtesy of stopping what he was doing, which was dancing around the room in that undisciplined but frustratingly appealing way of his. Jim had turned up the volume on Bones' beloved record player, filling the room--and the entire hall--with the sounds of vintage piano and synthesizer. Bones slammed the door and glared at Jim until Jim's movements slowed, then ceased altogether.
My my, I tried to hold you back, the song's female vocalists lamented, but you were stronger.
Bones couldn't think of a reason to stop glaring, so he didn't.
Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight--
Jim smirked.
Bones folded his arms over his chest as the music played on, continuing to stare Jim down.
"I haven't heard of this band before." Speaking loudly enough to be heard over the music, Jim picked up a record from the stack lying next to the open box that he had broken into. Bones wondered how long he'd been listening to those records. Playing them for everyone to hear. "ABBA--is that how you say it? Not the kind of classical music I usually listen to. Catchy stuff, really dancy and bouncy and fun." Jim's tone grew thoughtful. "Why do you like it?"
Bones had had enough. He crossed to the record player and gingerly pressed the stop button. "This thing is an antique, Jim. I told you, I don't want you messing with it."
"But you had secret records in a box," Jim protested. "I had to listen to them."
"That excuse makes about as much sense as a screen door on a submarine. The point of secret records is that I don't want anyone listening to them."
"Why not?"
Bones scowled. "No reason."
Comprehension brightened Jim's eyes. "I get it. It's because you don't think it's cool, right? You want everyone to think you only like music by people like Rick Williams and Jerry Cosh."
"That's Hank Williams and Johnny Cash. And I don't care what people think."
Jim sidled up to him. "Yeah, right. You can't fool me, Mr. Serious. I can see right through you." He leaned in close and started to sing in a soft voice. "Waterloo--I was defeated, you won the war."
"Stop it, Jim."
He only sang louder. "Waterloo--promised to love you forever more."
"I mean it!"
Jim shouted the next lyric in Bones' ear. "Waterloo--couldn't escape if I wanted to!"
"I'm going to kill you, Jim Kirk!"
Jim had excellent survival instincts, and he utilized his tried and true distraction tactics again. Bones never did carry out his threat to murder the man, but in the years to come, there were many times he wished he had. Unfortunately, he was all too familiar with the following line of "Waterloo": Knowing my fate is to be with you.
