Written in the Stars

If you like Douglas Adams and lgbtq+ alien patients at a weird and underfunded medical clinic, you might like my book of stories.

Or if you like hot cocoa. Whichever.

One: The Anamaluvian

Drs. Megazor and T-vex were in conference. 

“Nobody has treated an Anamaluvian here in a decade. I don’t even know if we still have the necessary equipment” T-vex said, blinking his rear-eyes worriedly as he monitored the vital signs of the patient in the next room.

“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” Megazor replied, shrugging her prehensile tail. “One of the first things my predecessor, Marvin Verdigris. taught me was never to throw anything away. In our line of work you just don’t know what might come in handy later.”

“No wonder Supply looks like a rummage sale,” T-vex muttered to himself before turning to face his colleague. “But if you’re sure, let’s get somebody down there to do some digging. It may take hours and this lady doesn’t have as much time as we might need if it’s buried under ten years worth of stuffed orangumutan toys, shaman tupon claw necklaces, Vitrolean green crystals, and DVDs.”

“DVDs?” Dr. Megazor asked curiously.

“An ancient Earth artifact of all things. Apparently it was used to display the media that we need for the Anamaluvian’s treatment. Nurse Daaryen picked it up along with something called a player on one of her Time Tours.”

“Earth created something useful?” The Primerian physician nearly dropped the tiny electronic tablet she was studying. “I guess there really is a first time for everything. So who are we sending to retrieve the media?”

T-vex grinned with satisfaction. “I’ll put O'Connor on it.”

“So, that’s what we need. Can you identify it?”

O'Connor looked from one of the senior doctors to the other hesitantly. “Is this a real assignment or another one of Nurse Daaryen’s jokes like the Ghaandroks?” 

It was a fair question. The inexperienced human had fallen for not one, not two, but seven of Daaryen’s pranks since he had joined the staff at the Clinic. It would have been eight, but Dr. Megazor had stopped his attempt to locate a vein– in a species that did not bleed.” Dr. T-vex hastily reassured the young intern.

“No, this is actually one hundred percent legitimate and very urgent. We really need to bring some order to Supply one of these days. Maybe we’ll make that a project for you during slow periods. But yes, Anamaluvians have a unique body chemistry and, without a donor here or a specialist, the quickest way to restore her to health is to activate her own immune response.’

T-vex continued. “Historically, the Anamaluvians evolved on a planet where conflict was very much a part of their daily life. And invasion bred disease. At one point 80% of the residents of a continent were wiped out. But the survivors had a very interesting adaptation. Time, however, is of the essence here. I’ll go over it with you while we walk.”

They headed toward the access portals and O'Connor effortlessly slipped into his pod, while Dr. T-vex cracked his spine uncomfortably. as he wedged his head and crest into a space that it was not quite designed to hold. The original builders of the Clinic had tried to take alien anatomy into account, but every now and then an oversight cropped up–like with seven foot tall avians.

It was fine, though. A little physical discomfort was nothing compared to the excitement of practicing medicine at the outer edges of the known galaxies…

They zipped in the direction of Supply, disembarked and headed toward the immense storage facility. “Essentially, Anamaluvians generate powerful antibodies in their systems when they are prepped to fight. What other species experience as adrenaline they experience as a healing influence on their systems. If the response is strong enough, it can cure anything except birth malformation or actual physical trauma. But septic wounds like the one our patient has respond very well to the treatment.”

“Okay, well, that makes sense. But then, shouldn’t we be trying to get someone to fight her? Instead of searching for some pre-Urluutian Union tech from Earth Prime? I’m from Earth Two and even we consider pre-Union Earth kind of a backwater.”

Dr. T-vex huffed. “That backwater planet gave us a lot of valuable medical plants. Of course, they didn’t realize what they had and kept destroying some of their most miraculous species to graze some giant mammal they called a ‘cow’--but that actually works to our benefit. Since they were going to be destroyed before their medicinal properties were discovered, we can harvest them and then propagate them in our greenhouse here without disrupting the original timeline. Best to skirt paradox when we can, you know.”

“Of course…” O’Connor trailed off weakly. His planet had only just been licensed for time travel and he still seemed to have a bit of a complex about it. He would need to get over that the next time a Wellsberion dropped by.

“In any case, one of the Clinic’s founders did quite a bit of work with Anamaluvians to see if he could cross-pollinate DNA and get other species to heal ourselves the same way the natives did. Ultimately, that proved unsuccessful, but he did discover that it is not just aggression that triggers their systems to respond in this way. It also occurs when they are in a heightened emotional state that comes from either terror or sexual arousal.”

O'Connor blinked. “So which are we doing here? Scaring her or, um,”  he blushed a bright orange, which looked abominable against his plum colored clinic scrubs, “arousing her?”

“Terror would be an unkind thing to inflict upon a patient already in a great deal of pain, wouldn’t you think, intern?” Dr T-vex asked, sternly.

“Oh, um, yeah, er, that makes sense.” The orange deepened further until Dr. T-vex began to wonder if his intern would require medical attention for himself. Finally, he spoke again. “She’s kind of terrifying–”

“Relax, O’Connor, the ancient Earth media should generate the appropriate reaction without any personal assistance from you. Dr. Grogg Dismon termed it, and I do apologize for the vulgarity, the ‘fuck, fight, or flight’ response. I trust you will be able to identify the appropriate subject matter? And preferably catalog it so that it will be ready in the event another Anamaluvian requires similar treatment?”

“I’m not THAT innocent,” O'Connor grumbled. “I can find it. Those things can be kind of, um, individual, though. Especially for different species. Any idea what I should look for?”

Dr. T-vex studied his notes. “Yes, indeed. Per Dr. Dismon’s records, we should have the most success with something the ancient peoples of Earth referred to as ‘tentacle porn.’ If she were in better shape she could self-administer, but as it stands visual or auditory stimulation  is preferable.”

Dr. T-vex looked up from his tablet after a few moments had passed with no response from O’Connor. The intern’s mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. “Shall I elucidate further? Apparently the notable elements consist of–”

Finally O’Connor squeaked. It sounded like a “no”, but T-vex couldn’t be certain. “I am more than happy to clarify for you—”

“Merciful Urluutian stars–NO!” O’Connor swore. “I will find it. I promise.” And he quickly fled the transport tube.

“Humanoids are so odd,” the seven foot tall feathered doctor pondered, before returning to the treatment area.

Rating: Teen and Up Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms Relationships: Julie Molina/Luke Patterson; Alex Mercer/Willie; Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters & Alex Mercer & Flynn Taylor; Ray Molina & Carlos Molina Summary: Julie Molina is unnerved by a strange glow over Los Angeles “I just want to see you gloooooowww whoa whoa whooooooaaa,” Julie sang as she clipped a few dahlias from the garden between her dad’s house and their garage studio. The pink, yellow and deep maroon flowers did seem to shimmer in the early evening sun.

“Hey, what’s my favorite lyricist doing singing someone else’s stuff?” Luke asked, coming up behind her.

“It’s just on my mind today,” she answered him. “Maybe we could cover it for our gig this weekend. He’s incredibly talented, you know.”

Luke’s lower lip extended in a sullen pout. “More talented than me?”

Julie laughed. “If I thought he was, maybe I’d leave you for him,” she joked.

He chuckled, even as his arms wrapped possessively around her waist. “Not funny, boss.”

When her dad had agreed that she could attend college part time to focus on the band she had created with Luke, Reggie, and Alex, she and Luke had moved to the loft above the studio and Reggie had moved into her old bedroom. Luke and Reggie took part time jobs–Luke to pay the nominal rent Ray charged him, and Reggie to buy groceries. Alex had long since moved in with his boyfriend Willie, and the two of them worked together at the sporting goods store where Willie got his skateboarding gear. Reggie and Luke, on the other hand, were night stockers at the grocery store. Luke argued that shifts that allowed them to sleep during the day were better for the band, but Alex was stubborn.

“It took me long enough to find Willie, and even longer for Willie to find me,” he said. “I’m not giving up a second with him that I don’t need to. 

So Alex worked mid mornings and early afternoons, the band practiced in the evenings after Julie finished her classes, and then Luke and Reggie went to work. Reggie, it had developed, was a much better cook than Ray, so during the week he generally made the dinners. Friday nights they would order pizza, Saturday Ray made his specialty–spaghetti, and Sundays everyone went over to Tia Victoria’s house for Puerto Rican food. Tia had adopted the bandmates with an open heart, and missing dinner with her once a week was unthinkable.

Unthinkable unless you wanted her showing up at band practice with food and pastries, which Reggie and Alex were both fine with, but Julie and Luke found it frustrating to try to practice through.

“Tia Victoria, we will be there!” Julie heard Reggie saying into the family phone. “I promise!” 

She laughed. Trust Victoria to know when she was being talked about, even in Julie’s brain. She decided she had enough dahlias to grace their dinner table and turned to Luke. “Do you want dahlias in water duty or put away the clippers duty?”

“I’ll take clippers duty,” he said pulling away and flexing a bicep in her direction. “More manly!”

Julie laughed again. “Okay, manly man, but you know, nobody can resist someone holding flowers.”

“That’s the real reason I chose clippers,” he retorted. “You’re the one I want in my life–even if you are cheating on me by singing some other artist’s work!”

“Don’t be salty,” she chided him. “You know you can’t resist Tia’s pasteles.” 

“Okay, true,” he acknowledged. “Still, if I were carrying flowers I’d have to fight off the hordes of my screaming fans, and then where would we be?”

“Wildly successful enough that your fans wouldn’t bother me?” she suggested mischievously.

“Boss, you get cranky if the 90 year old WalMart greeter looks at me funny,” he said, giving her waist a slight pinch. “Hordes of fans would make you chew your own lip off.”

“Oh, shut up! Is it my fault you’re irresistible?”

“Absolutely, boss–” he shrugged. “After all, if it weren’t for your vocals nobody would care about anything I write–”

“Not true!” she argued. And then laughed as he quirked an eyebrow at her, his expression smug since he knew he’d successfully baited her into a compliment. She thought fast. “After all, I’m your writing partner. I don’t let any of your cliche lyrics or outdated 90s key changes get past me!”

“Get out of here with that, boss!” he said. “Go put your flowers in water while I go flex my biceps for someone who may appreciate them.”

“You mean like Reggie?” she teased.

“Hey Reggie is hot!”

continued on AO3 @augustwritingchallenge

Fandom: KPOP Demon Hunters Rating: Teen and Up Relationships: Mira/Abby; Mira & Zoey & Rumi Words: 1853 Mira grabbed her shimmering teal boots with the stupidly high heels. 

“Why did I let Bobby talk me into these shoes?” she grumbled. “Or this outfit, for that matter?” 

She turned to the full length mirror and stared at herself in disgust. She supposed that the navy, teal, and silver bodysuit qualified as an outfit. She usually thought of “outfits” as having a bit more material than this one did. Bad enough it was covered in cutouts so she was showing almost as much skin as if she were wearing a swimsuit or lingerie, but the corset bodice that was shoving her breasts nearly up to her shoulders was so tight she couldn’t even move comfortably. 

She felt exposed, vulnerable, restricted, and irritated. 

“You know those colors look amazing with your hair, plus Bobby said teal is Abby’s favorite color,” Zoey reminded her from where she was sitting on the couch painting Rumi’s toenails. “And tonight is the night of your big date with him!”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s not like it’s a real date. It’s just publicity to get the fans excited about our new collaboration. But no, Bobby decided that tonight I have to impress Mr. Overly Muscled Boy Toy by dressing like a Disney stripper.”

“Better you than me,” Rumi told her, popping a pizza flavored pretzel into her mouth.. “You look fierce in that though, it doesn’t say stripper. It says warrior queen.” continued at:

Rating: Gen Words: 4,261 Characters: Data, Geordi LaForge, Jean Luc Picard, William Riker, Q, Spot Summary: Data owns a small French bakery in Lawrence, KS. When a famous artist declares his pastries unparalleled, he gets success on a level that he never anticipated-- or wanted. Spot was a certified psychopath--a murderer, a vandal, and, as if that wasn't bad enough, a thief. Nothing and nobody was safe from her. Her father, silly fool, just called her a cat, though.

Still, Spot knew where her tuna fish was coming from. Best to keep Dad happy. To that end, she made sure her coat was always groomed to sleek orange glossiness, she wound herself beguilingly around his legs whenever he walked near her, and she saved her very best purrs for him. She even allowed him to cuddle her as if she was some kind of new baby kitten instead of a fully adult feline with the blood of dozens of squirrels on her velvety paws. 

Okay, so, she’d only actually gotten to go squirrel hunting a few times while they were visiting Dad’s friend, Uncle Geordi. Dad didn’t think it was safe for her to go outside at home, but Uncle Geordi lived in an area with very few of those loud “cars.” and very, very many squirrels. 

Many times Spot had wished that Dad and Geordi would get married. She wasn’t sure exactly what getting married meant for the tall, mostly unfurred cats like her dad. But she was pretty sure it meant that Spot and Dad would move into Geordi’s home–which was bigger, draftier, had three full flights of stairs instead of just a single circular one, and teemed with rodent life. 

In short, Spot Heaven.

Not that the bakery wasn’t nice. Spot and her Dad lived upstairs and Dad worked downstairs and let Spot come along. She liked the bell on the door (so she could hide from any strange people she didn’t know,) the little tidbits of sardines that the nice Mr. Picard always brought her, and the way her dad would run to avoid her when she tried to circle his legs while he was carrying a hot tray of cakes.

He ran even faster after he’d chilled and iced them. Still, on one glorious day Spot had managed to trip him, his tray went flying, something he called “maple frosted eclairs” went everywhere, and all the local dogs went crazy outside barking and pulling their families in with them. 

Those masters then all bought Dad’s pastries. He was so happy and grateful he bought Spot a new mattress.

Dad claimed the mattress was for him, but Spot knew better. If it wasn’t intended for Spot, how come Spot gets to sleep in the middle and Dad clings desperately to the outside edge to keep from falling off every night?

Continued on AO3