a #writeblr side blog for kris's main blog | she/her | panromantic-ace | fantasy, slice-of-life, ya, new adult, fanfic | one half of double jump This user/writer does not use nor condone AI usage or training. I do not grant permission to use or enter my work into any Large Language Model or otherwise use my work with generative-AI. Thank you. Buy Me a Ko-fi?
I probably had an intro post at some point in time when I started this writeblr, but who knows where that is amid all these posts.
Hi, my name is Kris and I like to write! I've been writing for a bit over twenty years now with fanfiction, role-playing forums, and original stories. Yes, I'm old -- I'm in my mid-30s.
I have a 9-5 day job that horribly interferes with my writing, but I have vowed to start sharing more of work here (and at other places linked below) as well as any other writing-related thoughts that flit through my mind.
I tend to read and write fantasy, with the occasional sci-fi and cozy versions of those genres. J.R.R. Tolkien is a big inspiration, and a few of my other favorite authors include Erin Morgenstern, TJ Klune, and T. Kingfisher. I grew up on a steady diet of superhero comics and cartoons, and am still a very avid gamer, which may be evident in whatever writings you see from me.
I have an AO3 account where, at the moment, my top fandoms are Star Trek, the Sonic the Hedgehog Live-Action universe, and Fire Emblem: Three Houses. I also have a Quotev account where I have an active choose-your-own-adventure/WWYFF Lord of the Rings series with two branching paths, if you fancy that.
If you like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, my side blog for that is @mutant-chain-reaction. My main/original blog is @2krisp, which I only use to reblog random things I like.
At some point, I'll put a list here that links to any posts of mine that have some of my original work. As stated on my blog and the other places I've linked, I does not use nor condone AI usage or training.
So, hey, if you like to read and write, particularly fantasy, feel free to say hi!
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I'm participating in #McKirkWeek2026, hosted by @mckirkevents this year to share the love of Star Trek and to sharpen my writing skills. Here is my response for prompt #3 of the Gen Prompt List - Nightmares.
These prompts will also be cross-posted on my A03 and submitted to the appropriate collections on the site. I'm fairly new to this fandom, so please forgive any inaccuracies to the Star Trek universe.
Hope you enjoy!
Come Back to Me
AOS/could be TOS | Rated G for a few curse words and an extremely brief mention of vomiting
His head ached. Nothing abnormal, not with his typical shifts at Atlanta General, but Leonard could not wait until he could relax in his living room with a cup of hot tea. The commute wasn't the greatest, but he didn't complain about it, not when his career was steady and it just made it all the sweeter when he did get back home.
The house was quiet, save for the low murmur of the radio from the kitchen, and Leonard kept his steps soft as he put down his bag by the door. He paused in the kitchen's threshold, watching as his wife alternated between stirring something on the stovetop and checking on something in the oven.
Leonard crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around Jocelyn from behind, kissing her neck when she leaned into him. It didn't feel quite... right. He paused. Thought about it. Kissed her again.
It was probably just his headache.
Against her skin, he asked, "What is that delicious smell?"
"Peach cobbler for dessert," she said. "It's your grandmother's recipe. Hopefully it comes out alright."
"Mmm." Leonard nuzzled against her. "Nah. I think it's you," he murmured, lighting her skin with kisses, trying to make them feel right.
She laughed and gave him a light shove away. "Doubtful," she said. "The air conditioner was on the fritz in the office today. We were all sweatin' like the pigs in the sty. Pretty sure the heat helped me win the argument against Barnes, at least. He agreed a little too quickly to my findings on the Huxley case."
"Sure he just wasn't scared of ya?" Leonard teased, and he dodged the tea towel she tried smacking him with. "Glad you're a step ahead of Barnes, though. You've been sayin' he needed to be taken down a peg for a long time."
"Thanks, Len." She took a moment to peer at the pot on the stove before asking, "Hospital went well?"
"Yeah, the hospital was fine," Leonard said. "Nothin' too disastrous, thankfully. Where's Jo?"
"Out in the back," Jocelyn said, "with David. Your father came to visit for lunch."
"It's nearly supper."
"Like that matters."
Leonard grinned and went out the back door.
There, under the peach tree, was Joanna weaving together long blades of grass into crowns, her mouth moving as she jabbered on to her very patient grandfather. David was wearing about three grass crowns and sitting straight up, his attention fixated on the little girl as he nodded occasionally to whatever words were pouring out of her mouth.
Leonard watched for a moment, feeling an ache in his heart, an ache that echoed the one in his head. When had Joanna grown from a toddler to a little girl? Time went by so fast and, yet Leonard couldn't help but think of how young David looked when interacting with his granddaughter.
Leonard moved to go and join them, leisurely walking down the backsteps. His attention was snagged on the sun basking the fields in a golden glow for a few moments, finding the late summer's weather pleasantly warm, before he looked back at his father and daughter.
He almost tripped. David looked at Leonard, lines of oxygen tubes attached to his nose until Leonard blinked. The oxygen tubes were suddenly gone, and David's grin to Leonard was slowly being replaced by concern and a raised eyebrow.
Of course David didn't have any medical equipment attached to him. Leonard just had a long shift at the hospital, and his headache was making his eyes play tricks on him.
"Daddy!" Joanna abandoned the grass crown she had been working on and dashed over to him. She collided with his legs and Leonard scooped her up, peppering her face with enough kisses to make her giggle.
"Hey, Princess," Leonard greeted. "How's it goin'?"
Joanna proceeded to talk Leonard's ear off about the kingdom that she and her grandfather had established, one where all the subjects were bugs and how they had created a sanctuary for them. David, as serious as he could be, confirmed and pointed over to the sandbox that had an elaborate castle with their old beach umbrella over it to protect it from the elements.
"That's beautiful," Leonard said. "Hey, think the bug kingdom's most trusted advisors can take a break for supper?"
"I guess so," Joanna said. "Royal advisors need to eat, too."
"Wonderful." Leonard put Joanna back on the ground and said, "Go on an' wash your hands." She did as she was told, and Leonard watched her disappear back into the house before turning to his father. "You need help gettin' up from the ground, old man?"
"Was hopin' I wouldn't," David said, yet he stretched out a hand for help. Leonard clasped it and pulled, and David grunted as he got back to his feet. David's grin never wavered but it was a stark contrast to his low words of, "I'm tired, Len."
Leonard did a double-take at his father, and David suddenly looked a lot paler.
"Feelin' alright?" Leonard asked.
David looked surprised as he stepped out of the peach tree's shade and into the sun. "Of course I am," he said, voice strong and color normal again.
"Ah... good." Leonard caught up to his father's side, letting David pull him close as the pair walked into the house.
"I know Jocelyn is tryin' to make peach cobbler," David said conspiratorially. "No matter what, tell her it tastes exactly how you remember your grandmother making it."
"What kind of husband would I be," Leonard said, grinning, "if I said otherwise?"
"Good man."
While the peach cobbler wasn't exactly like how his grandmother used to make, it was delicious enough to easily boost Jocelyn's ego.
David was still there when Joanna was put to bed and he declined to stay in the guest room for the night. Leonard tried asking three times, unsure if he wanted to let his father drive in the dark, but they lived fairly close by. He finally relented when David gave him a small smile and said, "Len, it's okay. Let me go."
Leonard agreed despite how cold his father's words suddenly made him.
Leonard went to bed himself not too long after. Jocelyn commented on how early it was, but was sympathetic when he mentioned he had a dull headache from work. She gave him a kiss on the cheek that still didn't feel right and wished him good night, stating how she was going to stay up a little longer, and he went to go and brush his teeth.
His head hit the pillow and, just before he was about to fall asleep, he could have sworn he heard a faint call from somewhere. Another voice, young, masculine, but he couldn't quite make out what he was saying...
--------------------
His head ached. Nothing too odd about that, not with how his shifts at Atlanta General have been lately. Fortunately, nothing disastrous happened lately at the hospital. It was just the general hustle and bustle of a busy job. Leonard couldn't wait to return home to have a hot cup of tea and listen to his daughter babble about her day.
The tantalizing scent of dinner hit him as soon as he walked in the door, with the underlying smell of peaches and cinnamon. Leonard paused in the threshold of the kitchen, drinking in the sight of his wife preparing dinner. She turned to him with a smile and he returned it while closing the distance to kiss her cheek.
Still strange.
"Peach cobbler?" he asked.
"Yes," Jocelyn said. "It's your grandmother's recipe, so hopefully I do it justice."
Leonard paused. "Didn't you just recently make it?"
Jocelyn's thin brows furrowed. "Of course not. I've never tried to make it before."
"Huh. Could have sworn you had," Leonard said. "Maybe I dreamed that you had."
"How'd it come out?" she asked, her lips curling into a smile.
"Delicious," Leonard reported. "Jus' like Grammy's."
Jocelyn laughed. "Well, hopefully your dream is right. Your father just brought over the recipe today. He's actually out back with Joanna."
"I'll go out an' say hi in a minute," Leonard said. "How was work for you?"
Jocelyn told Leonard about how the air condition was broken -- "Still?" he asked, and she said it just broke that day -- but she got a leg up against Barnes in one of her cases. She gave Leonard a funny look when he congratulated her for knocking him down yet another peg.
"You okay, Len?" Jocelyn asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You don't seem it. You seem to think that everything I've said to you so far is not the first time you're hearing these things."
Leonard rubbed at his head. "Sorry, Jocelyn. Got a headache from work. Think it's throwing me off."
"I'm sorry," Jocelyn said. "Supper's almost ready. Once you eat, take something for it and maybe go to bed a little early."
"That's the plan," Leonard said. He quirked a smile at her and said, "Thanks, doctor." He dodged her half-hearted attempt at smacking him with the tea towel as he made his way out the backdoor.
There was Joanna and David relaxing in the shade of their old peach tree, Joanna's mouth moving at impressive speed as she gabbed on to her grandfather. Leonard watched the pair for a moment, enjoying the peace as Joanna weaved together long blades of grass into crowns to put on David's head.
Then he felt a hard throb in his head, and David suddenly had IVs sticking out of his arms and too many wrinkles in his face as he looked to Leonard.
Leonard almost lost his footing as he went down the backsteps, and the throbbing subsided at the same time as the image of his father hooked up to medical equipment faded away.
"You alright, son?" David's voice seemed too far away.
Nevertheless, Leonard nodded and plastered on a smile as Joanna gleefully ran into his legs. He heard about the bug kingdom and praised it appropriately before sending Joanna inside to wash her hands for supper. He turned to his father, offered to help him off the ground, and David gave him a big grin as he said, "I'm tired, Len."
Leonard could only take a couple of bites of the peach cobbler so he could assure Jocelyn that it tasted just like his grandmother's. Joanna was put to bed and David left, ominously telling Leonard goodbye by saying, "Let me go."
Leonard went to bed before Jocelyn and laid down, trying to ignore the ache in his head enough to sleep. He was just about to drift off when his head throbbed again, and he thought he heard a voice say something...
Bones.
--------------------
His head ached. It wasn't new, he knew that, not with his job at Atlanta General...
During his commute home, Leonard was startled to realize he couldn't quite remember how his shift went. It was like a blur. Still, nothing disastrous could have happened, right? He'd remember if there had been some big emergencies.
He just needed a cup of hot tea and the time to relax in his living room.
The familiar scent of peach cobbler was overpowering when he walked into his house, and Leonard paused. His bag was still in his hands as he tried to enjoy the warmth and smells of the house -- his home, right? -- but something seemed off.
It was just his headache. It must have been.
Leonard's smile faltered when he walked into the kitchen, stopping when he caught sight of Jocelyn in there. She wasn't by the stove, she was at the table with papers spread everywhere, and Leonard got close enough to recognize the word "divorce."
She looked up at him and stood up to kiss his cheek, like it was too practiced, like they were just going through the motions, and commented on how she hoped her peach cobbler came out like his grandmother's.
"You know it does," Leonard found himself saying.
Her brows furrowed, not as manicured as usual, age lines around her eyes more pronounced. "What?"
"You..." Leonard gestured vaguely to the oven. "You've made it before. The peach cobbler. It's delicious," he added, his tone flat and just as confused as his wife.
"No, I haven't--"
"Yes, you have," he insisted, because he had a sudden, intense need to be right about this.
Jocelyn rolled her eyes, and something cold settled in his chest at the sight. "Oh, Len, no. You gotta stop working so hard at the hospital. Maybe come home on time once in a while."
"I'm home on time." Leonard looked around for the chronometer and couldn't find it. "Right?"
Jocelyn's sigh was laced with disappointment. She ignored his question, choosing to instead say, "Your father is out back with Joanna. Go say hello and let them know that dinner is about ready."
Leonard trudged outside and slipped off the steps as he saw Joanna under the peach tree, weaving grass crowns and talking to David, who was in a biobed next to her.
An oxygen tube was up his nose and IV lines were hooked up to his arm, but Leonard couldn't see how.
"Daddy!" Joanna's cry was gleeful as she ran to him, letting him scoop her up and hold her tight, tight, tight as if she would disappear or suddenly stop making sense.
"Look," Joanna said, holding up her latest grass crown. Leonard praised it appropriately, and she proceeded to explain that it was made out of, "the long grasses that are at the base of the tree but they needed more structure, so we found twigs that were sturdy enough an' they're like the skeleton."
"Skeleton?" Leonard repeated.
"Yeah," she said, barreling on. "They're the bones of the crown."
The word bones was not said in Joanna's voice, and Leonard's head throbbed.
Joanna didn't seem to think anything was amiss when he put her down and told her to go and wash her hands for supper. She disappeared back into the house and Leonard forced himself to go to his father's bedside.
"Hey, Len," David said, his grin out of place amidst the tubes and wires connected to him.
"Hey," Leonard greeted back, his gaze drifting towards the monitor on the biobed. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm tired, Len," David said, his cheery expression drifting away as he closed his eyes. "Let me go."
Leonard's head throbbed.
Jocelyn called him inside for supper, which was just the peach cobbler, which still tasted like his grandmother's except for the sour aftertaste, which he would never tell his wife.
Leonard went to bed before Joanna did, telling the truth that he wasn't feeling well and did his damnedest not to feel guilty at the exasperated look Jocelyn gave him. She presented her cheek for a goodnight kiss, but her gaze returned to the papers where the only word Leonard could still recognize was "divorce."
He brushed his teeth and curled up under the covers despite the summer heat. He tried to regulate his breathing and keep it even so he could fall asleep.
His eyes snapped open to a voice.
...Bones!
Bones? What the hell was that?
As much as Leonard strained, he didn't hear the voice again, and chalked it up to his headache and imagination.
It took him a little too long to fall asleep.
--------------------
His head ached.
Leonard knew that was normal, headaches were normal for a doctor even though they really shouldn't be, but he was rather busy at Atlanta General. After all, he was Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy, the head surgeon of the Enterprise wing--
He couldn't remember the commute home.
The scent of peach cobbler wasn't nostalgic any longer.
His wife barely spoke to him when he walked into the kitchen, really just glanced at him and shook her head, stating how late he was despite no chronometer being around to prove her right.
Joanna spoke more of how she created the grass crowns and their skeletons and bones and Leonard wondered if she was starting to get a sore throat with the way her voice changed pitch with certain words.
David was still in a biobed. His father still told Leonard to let him go.
Jocelyn called them in for supper and gave Leonard the choice of the peach cobbler or a paper that only had the word "divorce" on it.
Leonard gave Joanna a kiss on the forehead before he went to bed, and took the steps up to his bedroom two at a time to hide from everyone else.
He brushed his teeth, spit out the toothpaste foam, and looked up at the mirror to see a blond, young man with impossibly blue eyes staring at him from the threshold.
Leonard whipped around, finding no one but hearing the echo of bones.
He wanted to chase it. It was infuriating, nerve-wracking... but it felt right to hear that voice.
--------------------
His head ached.
He wondered if he should just stay in his car in the driveway because he didn't want to smell peach cobbler or give Jocelyn a kiss when neither of them wanted it or see his father pale in a biobed or hear Joanna talk about bones.
Leonard trudged into his house and tried to grasp the warmth that a home should have.
But Jocelyn wasn't in the kitchen. There was a teenager with a head full of curls who greeted him by saying that he got the recipe for peach cobbler from Russia.
Leonard bypassed the kid and went out into the backyard. Beneath the peach tree, there was a man with a grass crown on his head, nodding so studiously and seriously to Joanna as she talked his pointy-ears off about the structure of the crowns and their skeletons and bones.
Leonard whirled back into the kitchen and there was a dark-skinned woman in there instead of the teenager, the woman giving him a smile as she translated the papers before her.
His head ached.
Leonard ran up the stairs to his bedroom, looking in the mirror of the master bathroom for anyone else, hearing a desperately familiar voice saying, "Bones, wake up for me," and all Leonard could think to respond with was, "I am Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy serving on... on... the Enterprise--"
"Enterprise, yes," said the same voice that kept mentioning bones. "You're on the Enterprise."
"I am Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy serving on the Enterprise, registry number NCC-1701--"
"Yes, Bones." The voice sounded almost excited, as if he wasn't sure he should be, and Leonard wanted to hear it be happy. "Come back, Bones. Please."
"I am... I am..." God, his head throbbed.
"Dr. McCoy," that voice said. "Bones. You are Bones of the USS Enterprise. Serving under Captain James T. Kirk--"
"Kirk?"
"Yes. C'mon, Bones. Come back to me."
"I... I am Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy serving on the Enterprise, registry number NCC-1701 under Captain James T. Kirk." His head was going to burst. "James... Kirk..."
A blond man was in his mirror.
"Jim?" Leonard gasped awake.
The lights were too bright and Leonard blinked rapidly until a golden mess of hair blocked out the harsh flurescent light. His grin was just as bright, almost as bright as the halo the lights created around him.
"Bones!" Jim was loud, much too loud for his head, and Leonard rolled over and vomited on the floor.
--------------------
When Leonard awoke a second time, the lights were blessedly dimmer and there was a noticable hush around Sickbay. He glanced around, trying to discern what had happened, and there was Jim sleeping on a chair right by his biobed.
He was close, so close, with one hand on the biobed right by Leonard's own, and Leonard moved his fingers to caress Jim's own.
The touch stirred Jim awake, any hint of sleepiness banished as soon as he locked gazes with Leonard.
"Bones," Jim said, noticably quieter than before, and he lunged towards Leonard as if he could get even closer to the biobed.
Leonard cleared his throat, tried to talk, and Jim suddenly pulled a cup of water from somewhere beyond Leonard's sight. Leonard took small sips, trying not to drink too quickly, too greedily, until he could ask, "What the hell happened?"
Jim sat back just a touch. "Do you remember anything about our last away mission? We, uh, there were some Romulans that caught us when we were exploring that dwarf planet for dilithium.
"We weren't captured for too long," he continued, "but they took you. The bastards took you to another room to try to, I dunno, get Starfleet secrets from you... Or get the rest of us to talk..."
Leonard vaguely remembered that. The room had been dark, the air stale, and all he kept repeating was his name and Starfleet credentials. "Pretty sure I don't know any Starfleet secrets that they'd want, anyway," Leonard muttered.
Jim hovered, the chair squeaking closer to the biobed, and Leonard was sure his ass wasn't even in the seat. Leonard drank in the sight of him and he stretched out his fingers to hold onto Jim's hand. Jim obliged, not looking away from Leonard.
"God, I was so scared," Jim whispered. "You weren't gone from us for long, I promise, we got out of there quickly, but--You've been out of it for a few days..."
Leonard paused, feeling an ache in his chest rather than his head. He vaguely remembered getting dragged from the rest of the away team, terrified but glad that it was him rather than anyone else.
"Don't think I gave them anythin'. I got knocked out quickly, I think," Leonard admitted. "I dreamed, though. Turned into a looping nightmare...
"Dreamed I was in Atlanta. Worked at the General Hospital. Jocelyn was there, Joanna, my daddy... Started out fine before it all fell apart, but even the parts that should have been okay felt all wrong. That--That's never been my life." He gave a rueful chuckle. "Some shitty memories got jumbled up. Got to relive Jocelyn and I falling out of love and my dad dying all over again..."
Jim's free hand reached over and his thumb swiped gently under Leonard's eyes, taking care of the few tears he hadn't noticed falling.
"I heard you, Jim," Leonard said. "I heard you. Pretty sure it was you that got me to wake up."
Jim gave him a brilliant smile and said, "Chapel and M'Benga thought having some of us talk to you may guide you awake after we got you back up here."
Leonard shook his head. "I only heard you. Thank you."
Jim stared down at him and Leonard squeezed his hand. The quiet wrapped around them like a blanket, and Leonard thought about telling Jim to let whatever doctor was on duty know that he woke up, but he didn't get the chance. Jim moved slowly, reaching down to kiss Leonard's forehead, his lips light upon Leonard's skin as if he wasn't sure that was allowed.
Leonard used his free hand to card through Jim's hair and pull him down to give him a real kiss.
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it is honestly amazing how much of writing and editing is just. logistics. like... do i use a name here or a pronoun? if i move this dialogue tag to the middle of this line and break it in half, does the end of the line hit harder that way? what if i move the tag to the front? what if i remove it entirely? ...wait, whose point of view am i in; can i reasonably say this character is appalled, or must i say they look or seem or sound appalled? is this a deliberate action or a step-removed one; is her hand closing on his shoulder, or is she closing her hand on his shoulder? environment environment environment, we need to break all this dialogue up with some narration, the scene is coming untethered. what! are! they doing! with! the rest of their bodies that are not hands! fuck fuck fuck FUCK i forgot we covered this two chapters ago and now i either need to cut this whole chunk or find a reason to reprise the conversation from earlier. name or pronoun? name or pronoun? name or pronoun? move this clause around in this sentence? oh i'll add this phrase-- nope, never mind, past!me added the same phrase two lines down. okay, if i add too much environmental narration it's going to take away from this bit, but not enough and it won't feel grounded. what if i move this to its own line? where the FUCK are their hands?
it is honestly amazing how much of writing and editing is just. logistics. like... do i use a name here or a pronoun? if i move this dialogue tag to the middle of this line and break it in half, does the end of the line hit harder that way? what if i move the tag to the front? what if i remove it entirely? ...wait, whose point of view am i in; can i reasonably say this character is appalled, or must i say they look or seem or sound appalled? is this a deliberate action or a step-removed one; is her hand closing on his shoulder, or is she closing her hand on his shoulder? environment environment environment, we need to break all this dialogue up with some narration, the scene is coming untethered. what! are! they doing! with! the rest of their bodies that are not hands! fuck fuck fuck FUCK i forgot we covered this two chapters ago and now i either need to cut this whole chunk or find a reason to reprise the conversation from earlier. name or pronoun? name or pronoun? name or pronoun? move this clause around in this sentence? oh i'll add this phrase-- nope, never mind, past!me added the same phrase two lines down. okay, if i add too much environmental narration it's going to take away from this bit, but not enough and it won't feel grounded. what if i move this to its own line? where the FUCK are their hands?
I'm participating in #McKirkWeek2026, hosted by @mckirkevents this year to share the love of Star Trek and to sharpen my writing skills. Here is my response for prompt #2 of the Gen Prompt List - Tattoos.
These prompts will also be cross-posted on my A03 and submitted to the appropriate collections on the site. I'm fairly new to this fandom, so please forgive any inaccuracies to the Star Trek universe.
Hope you enjoy!
Significance
AOS | Rated a strong G for a few swears because... Bones, lol.
"What is that?"
Jim's question sounded a cross between delighted and diabolical, and it took Leonard a minute to figure out what the hell his friend was talking about. He followed Jim's gaze, seeing that it was fixated on him, and answered with confused sarcasm, "An arm?"
Jim was off of his sofa and next to Leonard in two bounds, getting close enough to Leonard's left arm to poke it. "No, no, what's that?"
"A tattoo, Jim," Leonard said dryly, glancing down at it as Jim's hands cupped around the tattoo as he studied it.
Jim finally looked up at Leonard, his expression unimpressed at the vague answers he was getting.
"What's JEM?" Jim asked. "If it was supposed to be a tattoo for me, my name is misspelled--"
Leonard gave Jim a small shove away. "Joanna Eleanor McCoy," he said, his voice softening. "Her initials and the date is her birthday. The flower outlines in the banner behind them is an azalea, which Joce an' I planted when we found out she was expectin'."
The teasing smirk faded from Jim's face. Curiosity was still alight in his blue eyes, but his tone was more respectful as he listened to the explanation.
"And the other initials below hers?" Jim asked.
Leonard took a deep breath and said, "David Thomas McCoy. The... The date is his death date. Forget-Me-Not is the flower outline..."
"Death date?" Jim echoed quietly.
"It was the more significant date to me," Leonard explained, "when I went to get the tattoo."
"Oh," Jim said as gently as the tips of his fingers while they traced the initials. Leonard let him, standing still as Jim touched him.
"How come I've never seen it before?" was Jim's sudden next question, all loud and bright again.
"Probably because there's never been a reason for you to see me shirtless?"
"I mean, I could give you some reasons for taking off your shirt more often around me--"
"God Almighty." Leonard whipped his undershirt into his hamper, fully ignoring the shit-eating grin Jim was giving him. He spat out, "You're incorrigible," right before ducking into the bathroom for his shower. A smile wormed its way on his face as he heard Jim's laughter through the door.
------------------
The tattoo was, by every sense of the definition, part of Leonard so much so that he didn't think too much about it. Never really had after it was done, aside from the familiar comfort of having something permanent etched onto him. He never regretted the tattoo and never had any other opportunities to really talk about it aside from when Jim had discovered it back in their Academy days.
The only reason why tattoos were brought back to the forefront of his mind was when, years later, Leonard was berating Jim for some foolhardy stunt on an away mission that resulted in a horizontal slash across his chest.
Jim was breathing (thank God) and the cut was shallow (thank God) but whatever blade cut him had sliced through both his command gold and the thicker black undershirt to reach skin. The only reason why the blade hadn't shredded Jim's skin like a hot knife through butter was because Jim had the damn good reflexes to fall backwards to avoid most of the attack (thank God).
"--not gonna be the black vacuum of space that'll kill me," Leonard was ranting. "It'll be your dumb ass doing somethin' so incredibly stupid and dangerous, I'll have a heart attack from bein' so damn scared, stop your damn squirming...!"
"It stings," Jim griped as Leonard was swiping so much antiseptic on the cut, Jim could get drunk on the alcohol.
"That's what stings? Jim, you nearly got sliced by a goddamn sword--"
"Guess the fencing lessons from Sulu were worth it, huh?"
"Shut up." Leonard ripped even more of the shirt as he tried to clean the wound. "For God's sake, take it off."
"It's cold in here--"
"What, pretendin' your shy now? Shirt. Off."
Jim hissed as he did as Leonard said, and Leonard took enough pity on Jim to help him. Jim grew too quiet as Leonard cleaned the cut, making Jim lay flat on the biobed as he mopped up the slow-seeping blood enough so he'd be able to use the dermal regenerator.
Leonard stopped when he noticed something else on Jim's right side.
"What is that?" he asked.
While Leonard's tone was soft and confused rather than delighted and diabolical like all that time ago, Jim did a good job imitating Leonard's sarcasm from back then when he answered, "A tattoo."
Leonard blinked several times as Jim actually tried sitting up again to make sure the sword wound hadn't interfered with his tattoo. He lay down when he confirmed the tattoo had just been missed by the blade, and he bit his lip as he looked back at Leonard.
Leonard, who was glancing back and forth between Jim's face and the tattoo decorating Jim's right rib, curved at an angle that pulsated with each breath Jim took, his breathing minutely becoming faster the longer Leonard stared at the tattoo.
LHM. The banner behind the letters having an outline of a peach. The stardate...
Leonard traced the numbers, making Jim sharply inhale.
"It's when we met," Jim whispered. "The date. On the shuttle."
"I remember," Leonard said, his voice just as quiet. He reminded himself to start moving again, to finish prepping the wound for the regenerator, and he tried to sound casual when he asked, "When did you get this done?"
"Right before we launched on this mission," Jim admitted, which made sense. Leonard had absolutely seen Jim shirtless before, and that tattoo was not something he would have missed.
"Why?" was Leonard's next question, utterly failing to sound casual.
"I wanted..." Jim paused, licking his lips before restarting his explanation. "I wanted something, something significant about all of this. Starfleet, space, my life as it is now, after all we've been through. Something significant to me, and I realized... That's you, Bones."
Leonard dragged his gaze up to Jim's. Jim was flushed from his cheeks to down past his collarbone, but he didn't shy away from Leonard's eyes.
Jim's nerves did eventually get the better of him, since he started babbling, "I was thinking of getting those old pirate ones, you know, the ones with a heart that says Mom over it only it'd say Bones instead, then I thought about asking the tattoo artist to write, 'If lost, return to Dr. Leonard Horatio McCoy,' but that seemed too long and would probably hurt even more than this one did--"
Jim gasped when Leonard bent down and kissed the tattoo. Featherlight, just enough to touch the art and skim skin.
"Or maybe I picked the right design," Jim said in a breathless rush when Leonard stood back up and started placing the regenerator over Jim's chest, "but the wrong place."
"Wrong place, huh?" Leonard gave Jim a lazy smile, it growing as he noticed Jim's pupils dilating.
"Yeah, the wrong place. Because, see, if I had gotten a lip tattoo, then maybe you would have kissed me there instead."
"God Almighty." Leonard's smile turned into a grin and, when the dermal regenerator was set, he went closer to Jim's bedside so he could bring his mouth down to Jim's own. "You're incorrigible," was all Leonard said before giving Jim a proper kiss.
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(this came out of a conversation in the comments on a previous post about an author threatening to stop updating a fic because of lack of engagement)
So there’s this idea that fic writers should write for themselves and not care too much about stats or engagement,
and i totally get the sentiment behind that. if writing becomes entirely about stats and external validation, something important does get lost - creative freedom and joy, conviction in your own writing
but i also think:
“i write for myself, but i post for others.”
because posting fic is not only self-expression. it’s social. ao3 is called an archive, but emotionally it often functions as a community space.
people post for connection, for participation, for others to bear witness to their pain and trauma and grief,
and i don’t think most people are asking to be admired so much as acknowledged. there’s something deeply human about wanting another person to encounter something that mattered to you and go:
“ok, yeah, I see what you were trying to say. I see you.”
especially because fanfic is often people processing very real feelings through fictional characters at a safe distance, one step removed,
and then uploading that deeply personal thing into a shared archive and hoping somebody else might connect with it.
And i think that’s why it hurts so much when you summon up the courage and post a fic into the void and you get nothing back,
I'm participating in #McKirkWeek2026, hosted by @mckirkevents this year to share the love of Star Trek and to sharpen my writing skills. Here is my response for prompt #1 of the Gen Prompt List - Brainwashing.
These prompts will also be cross-posted on my A03 and submitted to the appropriate collections on the site. I'm fairly new to this fandom, so please forgive any inaccuracies to the Star Trek universe.
Hope you enjoy!
Echo
AOS | Rated T mainly for strong language, talk of negativity/implied past verbal abuse
With the way Jim lived his life, he had gotten very good at pretending to be okay.
He had to have, of course. There weren't too many people that he encountered in his life that seemed to have given a shit about his wellbeing, not until after he enrolled in Starfleet.
Captain Pike. Bones. Gaila, may she rest in peace. Eventually Spock and Uhura, then his senior officers, and maybe even the rest of the Enterprise crew...
But maybe they were all just kidding.
Jim shook his head to try to dislodge the damn voice that sounded too much like Nero chanting about Jim's failures.
Jim tried to grasp onto the thin thread of logic that still floated in his mind, tried to convince himself not to listen to the strange voice in his head, and maybe he should talk to Bones about the fact that there was a strange voice that existed in the first place.
Nah. Best not to make Bones worry. Bones worried enough. It's what made him such a good CMO for Starfleet's flagship, his worrywart tendencies aiding his already amazing skills.
He had to worry about an entire starship. He didn't need to worry about Jim.
...He wouldn't have to worry about Jim if he didn't fuck up so much--
Stop it.
"Jim?"
Jim glanced up, spotting Bones standing beside him in the turbolift with those furrowed brows and calculating gaze.
"When did you get in here?" Jim asked before he could rein in his thoughts.
Bones's brows somehow furrowed even more. He jabbed the stop button on the lift, bringing them both to a halt as he answered, "About two minutes ago. Was talkin' to you about the three ensigns that were on the away team with you, Spock, and Sulu durin' the last mission. Clearly you weren't listening."
"Sorry, Bones," Jim said, and wondered if it would look too weird if he shook his head. He swore he heard Frank laugh in the back of his mind. "What's going on with the ensigns? They alright?"
Bones huffed, but answered, "Physically, yes, but they're reporting some psychological issues. Namely, they seem to be hearing other voices, ones that ain't too nice to them. Jefferson says he swore he heard his grandmother berating him for getting caught in the first place, saying something about how his older sister wouldn't have gotten caught."
"Poor guy sounds like he has some family trauma," Jim said.
"An understatement. Kid was as spooked as a newborn foal thinkin' that his granny was here on the ship. He enrolled in Starfleet to get away from her, as far as I understand," Bones grumbled. "Reached out to Starfleet for a psychologist, hoping to get a therapist or something to do some video calls for the ensigns. Clearly the natives of that supposedly barren planet ya had to explore--"
"Not our fault their technology hid them from our scans."
"--got into their brains, makin' them second-guess themselves," Bones continued. The CMO paused before adding, "I'm concerned it'll make them vulnerable to depression or similar. Can't block out negative comments beatin' ya down if it's all in your head."
Kodos sounded too calm as he said something about how if they just died, there wouldn't be anything to worry about, everyone else would be okay, no one would be able to complicate things--
"Anything we can do here and now before Starfleet answers you?" Jim asked, and he ignored the tremor in his voice as he realized he could remember exactly how Kodos sounded when Jim was twelve.
Bones didn't miss the tremor. Bones never missed anything when it came to Jim.
"Ya can tell me what voices you're hearin', Jim," Bones said quietly. "Ya went right after the ensigns when they first got caught. Don't try to lie, Spock told me. I know ya led them out as soon as you could, but you would have been just as vulnerable as the ensigns to whatever brainwashin' scheme those natives had."
Jim took a deep breath and pushed the button to get the lift moving. Bones immediately stabbed the button again to stop them, and Jim sighed. "Bones..."
"Jim," Bones said in his doctor voice. "I know your medical history. I have a damn good idea as to what kind of thoughts those asshole natives may have dug up in your brain. I need you to talk to me."
"I want you to focus on the ensigns," Jim said. "Clear them first."
"Oh, my staff an' I are keeping an eye on them," Bones said, "but we're missin' the other member of the away team that would have been just as affected as them. If we're not clearin' the ensigns for duty again, then reason stands that you shouldn't be cleared for duty yet, either."
Jim bristled. "I'm the captain--"
"And I'm your CMO," Bones shot back, "with the ability to override your ass. I will do it if you do not willingly come and talk to me. Or, hell, anyone else on my staff, it doesn't have to be me if you don't want--"
"You've more important things to worry about than me--"
"Whose voice is sayin' that?" Bones asked, his tone low. "'Cause it better not be yours."
Jim swallowed hard, and Frank said something about how the hell Jim could be considered important to anyone when he screwed up his whole life--
"Jim." Bones's voice broke through, and Jim did his damnedest to focus on it.
Bones's eyes searched Jim's, and Bones's voice was soft as he again said, "Jim. Listen to me, okay? I dunno what the hell the voices in your head are saying, but you are loved. You have people around here that care about you. Do not hide from us, do not hide from me. You understand?"
Why was Jim breathing so hard? When did Bones get so close?
Jim felt himself nodding until Bones took a gentle hold of his chin to get Jim to look him straight in the eyes.
"If you think you're okay for your shift on the Bridge, fine," Bones said, "but I need you to come to Sickbay for a check-up right after. Got it?"
"Okay, Bones," Jim said.
Bones scrutinized him for a moment before stepping back and hitting the button to get the lift moving again. Right before the doors opened to the Bridge, Bones said, "I love you, Kid. Tell whatever damn voices in your head that say otherwise to shove it up their ass."
Jim stepped out of the lift and turned back to Bones in no small amount of wonder, unable to have the time to respond before the lift's doors shut.
Throughout his shift, Jim clung to the echo of Bones's voice in his head saying I love you.
The specific pain of having the perfect sentence arrive in your head at the exact moment you cannot write it down. driving. shower. falling asleep. never at the desk. never when the document is open. i have lost more good sentences to the gap between the bed and the phone than i have ever actually written.
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