#jon archer

[booart5]

I’ve got pretty bad art block so I’m going through my Trek folder in Procreate and finishing up old pieces,,, so here are some Shran sketches

[ihatecoconut]

Second - Chapter 8

S02 E18 - The Crossing

There’s no warning for it or anything; one moment Malcolm is in his body, walking normally down the corridor, and the next he’s outside, watching his body continue to walk down the corridor. 

He yells something inexplicable, but the thing in his body does not respond, does not even seem to have heard him. 

It just keeps walking.

He yells again – something startled, furious, human – but the thing still doesn’t flinch. It moves smoothly, too smoothly. Its stride is just slightly off, just enough for Malcolm to feel something cold and alien crawl up his spine – or where his spine would be. 

He follows, because there’s nothing else to do.

The corridors of the Enterprise blur around him, unreal in a way that makes his stomach twist, though he knows that isn’t possible anymore. He doesn’t float so much as exist , pulled along by some invisible tether, watching the imposter continue. It tilts its head wrong, nods at passing crewmembers, and smiles. 

It’s his smile. Too wide. Too confident. Wrong in a way that makes something inside him recoil.

Continues to tilt its head just slightly, as if performing friendliness, and then keeps walking.

Malcolm follows, heart hammering – or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just the ghost of that panic still echoing in what he used to be.

He watches it enter the armory.

The panic swallows him for a moment and he hurries after it. Or maybe he’s just pulled along with his body. It’s hard to tell. Time feels disjointed here – like movement is a choice, not a rule.

Rogers smiles at the thing when it enters, walks up to it, and Malcolm reaches for her, finds his hand passes straight through her shoulder. 

Around them, movement continues as normal. His team, checking weapon lockers, running inventory, engaging in easy conversation. 

“Lieutenant?” 

He turns back to Rogers, only to realise that she’s not looking at him, not talking to him, but at the thing in his body. There’s a small crease between her brows and he feels a surge of something like hope. She’ll notice. She’ll realise there’s something wrong. 

“Are you alright?”

The thing tilts its head – Malcolm’s head – “Yes.” and smiles again. That same too-wide smile. 

Rogers’ face goes slack for a moment, uneasiness taking over, and Malcolm reaches for her again. 

“Come on, come on, that’s not me. You know me.”

“I’m just tired.” The thing in his body adds, as though it’s something it has just realised.

The uneasiness is replaced, just briefly, by a flash of relief, and then her face is back to normal. In the silence no one can hear, Malcolm screams.  It doesn't even echo. 

She prompts it gently, reminds it that he's supposed to be on the bridge. 

It tells her that it’s been slow. That there’s not much happening, so he came down to check on them. It’s his voice. His words. But they’re not coming from him. They’re being worn.

She smiles again, in response, tells him there’s not much happening there either. 

Malcolm watches the thing try his smile again. It’s still wrong. Off. 

“Maybe you should get some rest, sir.” Rogers offers, quietly. 

When he glances at her face, that slight unease is back. 

“It’s not me.” He begs, stands in front of her and watches her look straight through him. 

The thing glances around. “No, I don’t think so.” And walks off, leaving Malcolm with Rogers. 

He watches her face pinch up, confused, annoyed, and then he watches her shake her head, shake it off, and turn back to her pad. 

Sighing, he sits down on one of the boxes, watches the thing move around his team. Watches it pat them on the backs. He doesn’t breathe. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t cast a shadow. But he still feels: cold, distant, furious. That’s his team. His. 

And they don’t even know he’s gone. 

He watches the thing cross the armoury like it owns the place. Feels his teeth grind together as it stops beside Zhao. 

She glances up from the console when it approaches, and Malcolm watches her give it a small, distracted smile. Easy, calm, unbothered. Murmurs something, possibly a greeting. 

And then the thing leans in. 

Just a bit. Just enough. 

Sets a hand on her shoulder, just a little too close to her throat and the bare skin there. The contact isn’t overt – barely even notable. But Malcolm sees the way Zhao stiffens, how her smile falters like something in her brain just skipped a beat. How her eyes flick over in Rogers’ direction, just briefly. 

She laughs a little, awkwardly. Shrugs it off. Shifts away from it, just slightly. “Bit warm in here today, huh, sir?”

The thing chuckles, a laugh Malcolm has never heard from his own mouth, and he wants to scream again. 

Wants to rip that thing out of his skin.

It doesn’t move away immediately. It watches her for a second longer than it should. Not enough to be obvious, just long enough to make something cold twist in Malcolm’s gut.

Then it turns and walks on, heading back into the corridor, leaving Zhao blinking down at the console like she’s trying to reset herself. Desperately, he wants to stand beside her, apologise for overstepping, ask if she’s alright, but he’s pulled, helplessly, after it. 

It stops again next to Rogers. Smiles and tells her it’s heading back to the bridge. She frowns, only slightly, like she doesn’t understand why it’s telling her that – she doesn’t understand why Malcolm would tell her that. Because he wouldn’t. 

“Alright. See you later, sir.”

It echoes the sentiment back to her and leaves again. 

Behind him, Malcolm sees Zhao approach Rogers, her hand almost unconsciously rubbing at the spot the thing had touched. 

He wants to stay, wants to see how they react, how they talk about him, whether Zhao is uncomfortable or just confused, but he’s pulled in the same direction as his body. Unable to do anything else, Malcolm follows the thing, icy and vibrating with helpless rage.

It finds Trip, also wandering the corridors, which is odd behaviour for a man who prefers to be near the hum of the engines, and heads directly for him. 

“No.” Malcolm pleads, unwilling to let it impact on one of the first friendships he made on the ship. 

It doesn’t hear him, stops by Trip, who smiles widely and says something that throws him for a loop. Because… that’s not English. That’s not any Earth language and that’s not Trip. 

He stares at the two bodies for a moment, grasping at thoughts that seem to be floating away in the ether. 

And if that’s not Trip, then Trip must be in the same situation as him. So where is he? 

Fruitlessly, Malcolm turns around, looks around the entire area, as far away from the thing as he can get. There is no Trip, no other spirit following his body around. 

He turns back to watch them again and is hit with a horrible thought. 

Maybe there is another spirit following his body around, and the two of them just can’t see each other. 

Something like desperation settles in his chest. 

He continues to follow it around the ship. There aren’t really any other options. 

It sits in the mess for a while, tries various foods under the confused eye of a few passing crewmembers. None of them stop to ask what he’s doing: as far as they’re concerned, the security officer isn’t to be questioned. 

Malcolm continues to attempt to get its attention. 

He thinks, once, that it uses his mouth to smile – smirk – in response to his pleas for information, for his body back, for anything. 

They end up back in the armoury, alone this time, and Malcolm watches with trepidation as it extracts a phase pistol from the cabinet and carefully turns it over and over in its hands. He sighs, wanders over to the beanbags – “they’re not beanbags, sir! They’re for training! – that sit in one corner and sinks down. 

It keeps turning the phase pistol over. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat cuts through the silence like a knife. 

It’s Rogers, standing just inside the doorway, watching the thing. It’s testament to how rattled Malcolm is that he hadn’t even noticed her come in. But there’s something in her posture, tense, and in her eyes, that relights the doused hope inside his chest. 

The thing turns. Slowly. Not startled – never startled – but calculated, like it had known she was there and simply chose not to acknowledge it.

Rogers frowns, just slightly, but she doesn't drop her composure. “What are you doing?”

There’s silence for a long moment. 

“Just thinking.” It says, and slides the phase pistol into the holster on its hip. 

“Just thinking.” Rogers echoes. 

From his position as a spectator, it’s clear that the two of them have reached an impasse: Rogers knows that the thing is not Malcolm, and the thing knows that she’s aware. 

“Who are you?” She asks, eventually. After the silence has stretched out for several eternities. 

The thing smiles. Malcolm’s smile this time. It steps closer.

Malcolm follows instinctively, dread crawling up his throat. He watches it circle the room, toward her, each step quiet, deliberate.

“We’re travellers.” The thing says, in Malcolm’s voice. “We want to experience the universe the way you do.” It keeps moving closer to her as it speaks, and Malcolm follows, desperate and useless. 

Rogers doesn’t move. She just watches, jaw set, hands loose at her sides. “Experience it how?” she asks, voice low and even.

“Through your senses. Your skin.” The thing lifts a hand like it’s fascinated by its own palm. “Your touch.”

There’s something in the way it moves that starts to scare Malcolm. The way it continues approaching her, calm and collected, until it has her backed into the wall. 

She doesn’t flinch, just tilts her chin up to meet its eyes, even as it crowds her closer. “I want to speak to him. Is he in there?”

“You can’t speak to him.” 

Malcolm surges forward, putting himself between them though it’s useless, futile, desperate . “Stop. Please. Stop.”

It doesn’t even glance at him.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” the thing murmurs, stepping into her space now, close enough that their uniforms nearly brush. “It’s just experience. That’s all we want.”

“I want to speak to him,” Rogers repeats. Her voice has sharpened.

It shrugs, almost echoes its words. “He can’t speak to you.”

Her brow creases again, picking up on the slight change, even as it reaches for the zipper on her uniform. 

And that’s when she moves.

The phase pistol is in her hand before the thing can blink. One stun blast to the chest, dead centre.

It drops like a puppet with its strings cut.

The thud of his own body on the deck rings louder than it should.

Malcolm gasps, or tries to. His knees go weak with relief that doesn’t quite reach the surface.

“Emma.” He breathes into the silence. “Please, you have to be able to see me now.”

She doesn’t react, just stands there, still holding the phase pistol, still pointed at Malcolm’s body, as if the thing might shake off the effects and stand back up. Her mouth is pinched as she moves, keeping her eyes on the body, towards the comms unit. 

“Security to the armoury.” 

*

Some of them lug his body down to sickbay. 

It’s not just him, Malcolm notes with some relief as he follows; other crew members, similarly stunned, are already in the secure medical unit. Familiar faces, unnervingly still. 

His body is dropped – not without care – on a bed, next to Hoshi. 

Seeing her there sends a cold chill down his spine. She’s so still. Lifeless, like he’s never seen her. Not in all their time on Enterprise. Not even during the worst missions. Her eyes are closed, her hands folded awkwardly, and something about the way she’s positioned – like she was caught mid-movement – makes it worse.

The security team retreat, and have vanished when Malcolm thinks to push the boundaries of his tether. He can just push through the wall. 

On the other side, Rogers and Travis stand shoulder to shoulder at the observation window, looking in.

Their eyes are on his body.

On Hoshi.

On the others.

They’re both silent. Rogers’ arms are crossed tightly over her chest, jaw clenched hard enough that he can see the muscle jump. Travis has his hands on his hips, shoulders tight, gaze flicking between crewmembers as if hoping someone will just sit up and tell them it’s all over.

Malcolm moves to stand next to them.

He looks at them.

Then through the glass, at himself.

And for the first time, the silence settles into something heavier than dread.

“You OK?” Travis asks, quiet in the tense silence that seems to have bubbled around them. In the background, Phlox is present, the other medical staff moving around, murmuring between themselves.

Rogers sighs, shrugs. “I just… how long has that thing been in there?”

Travis bites his lip, turns back to the window. 

“How long…” she cuts herself off, sighs again. “I should have noticed immediately.”

“Yeah? Well, I should have noticed that wasn’t Hoshi faster as well, then.” 

He’s challenging her, Malcolm realises, pushing her to realise that if she’s going to say he had no way of knowing, then neither did she. 

“It’s my job to notice these things. I didn’t notice there was anything wrong with Hoshi either.”

Travis sighs, throws an arm around her shoulder and tugs her in to an almost-hug. “I mean, I don’t think anyone realised that possession was actually a possibility.” 

“Yeah…”

They lapse back into silence. 

Eventually they both leave, called away by duty, by the roles they need to fill while people are unavailable, and Malcolm is left alone to watch the medics check vitals, run hands through their hair, worry. 

Someone will come up with something, he tells himself. Archer wouldn’t leave just him to die, so he’s not going to give up on – he pauses to count – twenty two crewmembers. He tells himself that. Again. And again. Until the thought starts to sound less like truth and more like prayer.

Time moves oddly there, in his in-between place. 

People come and go, T’Pol, the Captain, friends of the other crewmembers, and – scattered between them all – his security team. They never stay for long, just enough time to step up to the window, cast their gazes over the bodies, and then leave again, but it loosens something in him, calms him to see them. 

And then people start leaving. 

Malcolm thinks he hears the Captain’s voice over the comms, telling everyone to go somewhere. 

He hopes it’s not to abandon ship. 

“Hey.” 

He turns, startled, to see Rogers, one hand pressed against the window, and Wolfe, behind her, glancing around the room like she’s keeping watch. 

“I don’t know if you can hear me.” She continues, slightly breathless. “But that thing said that you couldn’t talk to me, so I think you might be able to.”

“Emma,” Wolfe says, quiet, “there’s no one in here.”

“OK, OK. Look,” she turns back to the window, “the Captain has a plan. It…”

Malcolm watches the two women exchange a glance. 

“Yeah. He has a plan. So just hold tight, and we’ll see you soon.”

The comms crackle. “Rogers,” Archer’s voice says, “is sickbay cleared?”

She and Wolfe exchange another glance before she moves to respond. 

“Yes, sir. We’re heading back now.”

And then they’re gone again, leaving Malcolm alone, possibly with the ghosts of crewmembers that he can’t see. 

And the last thing he remembers is the beeping of medical equipment, signaling that the oxygen levels are too low. 

*

Malcolm wakes up slowly, everything heavy and muted around the edges. The exchange with the Captain blurs in his mind – fragments of Archer’s voice, serious and quiet, something about how close they came to losing control of the ship. Of losing people. There was fear in his eyes. And gratitude.

Mostly, Malcolm remembers that: overwhelming gratitude that they all came back.

He’s released from sickbay not long after, Hoshi walking beside him in the corridor with her arms tucked around herself like she’s not quite convinced her body is hers again.

“Is it just me,” she asks, “or is it really weird being in a physical body again?”

He presses a palm to the wall beside him. It’s solid. Real. Cold under his skin. “It’s a bit weird.”

She leans lightly against his side, and he lets her.

“I did like the walking through walls bit,” Malcolm says and is gratified when she laughs. 

When they reach her door, she nudges him gently with her elbow. “Go,” she says. “Your team’s gonna be hounding the medbay if you don’t show up soon.”

He draws her in, wraps his arms around her, presses a kiss to the top of her head. She breathes in like she’s grounding herself and he lets her. 

“Yeah. Okay.”

She disappears behind the door. For a second, the corridor is still.

Then Zhao rounds the corner.

She spots him instantly. Her face goes slack with relief. “Lieutenant!”

He stiffens instinctively. All he can think of is that moment, that wrongness, that hand on her shoulder that wasn’t his.

But she doesn’t hesitate. She closes the space between them and throws her arms around him, fierce and tight. His breath catches.

“God, I was so worried.”

“I… the thing,” he starts, guilt still crawling up his throat.

But she’s already shaking her head. “It wasn’t you. We all know. You would never.”

The ease with which she says it nearly knocks the wind out of him.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. She pulls back, grabs his wrist. “Come on. The others are losing their minds.”

She tugs him down the corridor, through the turn, into the security quarter.

They’re all there – Rogers, Di Dio, Kowalski, Castillo, the rest – clustered around like they’ve been holding their breath for hours. The moment he steps inside, the room erupts in relief: cheers, groans, someone yells “He lives!” and someone else swears they owe Bookie five credits.

And Malcolm, who just hours ago wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel the floor under his feet again, lets himself smile.

Walking through walls would never top this.

[prider-parker-imaginations]

Imagine getting flustered when Jonathan calls you a good boy. (Male!Reader)

You leaned back against an outcropping of rock, acutely aware of the sweat soaking through your shirt. Your whole body ached after a long hike and then a not insignificant climb up a mountain. "I thought you said rock climbing was fun," you panted, glancing over to your captain.

Jonathan let out a breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled. "You're not enjoying yourself?" Damn, he looked a pretty picture with his sweat-slicked skin glittering faintly in the setting sun and his form silhouetted by the colour-bruised sky. As much as you loved seeing him all proper and neat in his uniform, there was something to be said for this more casual, dishevelled version of him, arms bared and face smudged with dirt. Maybe this view alone was enough to make it all worth it.

"I might if my entire body didn't hurt," you shot back, offering your best tired grin despite the fact that your head was swimming. "And if I hadn't run out of water halfway up."

"You can have some of mine," Jonathan held out his canteen and you moved to get up to take it. Your body didn't seem to agree with that plan. Your vision darkened at the edges as a wave of dizziness crashed down over you and you stumbled back down. Dimly, you were aware of Jon calling your name as he came to help you. Spots swam across your vision. You could feel him helping you back into a sitting position.

"Think I'm just a bit dehydrated," you mumbled out, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to clear your vision and your head.

You could feel the mouth of his canteen brush against your lips. "Here."

You drank gratefully, lifting one hand to rest over his on the water pouch.

"There you go," Jon murmured as you drank, "That's a good boy."

The words cut through the haze in your head and you nearly started choking, opening your eyes wide to look at him. Your cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire as he lowered the canteen. You coughed and swiped a stiff arm over your mouth.

"You okay?" Jon asked before you had gathered yourself enough to speak, green eyes filled with concern. He pushed your hair back to feel your forehead. "You don't have a fever."

"Y-yeah," you stammered out at last, voice hoarse. "Just a bit light-headed." 

“Do you want me to call a shuttlepod to get us back to Enterprise?”

You shook your head, “I’ll be fine. Besides, I doubt even Travis could manage to land a shuttle up here. I think I just need some rest, then we can climb back down in the morning.”

Jon didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Should probably have Phlox take a look at you when we get back, just to be safe,” he compromised, settling himself down beside you. 

You dipped your head, “Fine by me.” You swallowed hard. "What, uh, what did you call me a minute ago?"

Jon blinked, frowning slightly as he tried to think. "Good boy?"

Once more you felt the words cut straight to your chest. "Yeah, uh, that."

"Would you prefer I didn't say that?"

"No! I mean, it's fine, just, uh... just caught me off guard," you stumbled over your words, fighting the urge to squirm under his gaze.

Jon glanced over to you, a playful smile tugging his lips as he shifted closer. "Do you want me to say it more often?"

Your cheeks and ears burned and you refused to look at him. "Shut up."

"That doesn't sound like how you're supposed to talk to your captain."

Your stomach did a nervous flip-flop that was half embarrassment and half anticipation. "Shut up, sir."

You could feel his smile as he pressed a kiss to your neck just below your ear, his breath tickling against your skin and raising goosebumps. A shiver passed through your body despite the heat and you sucked in a shuddering breath as he spoke in a purposefully low voice. "Good boy."

Maybe the view wasn’t the only benefit of making it to the top of the mountain after all.

[stonedtrek]

That one shot in ENT where Archer is facing the screen and then Shran’s antennae unfurl above his head? Yeah, that’s the best shot in Star Trek.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(Star Trek: Enterprise) Archer x Reader: Crush

                                                  “Crush”

Author’s note: This was a story I published on my old account, but I’m bringing it back! Enjoy!

Trip, Hoshi, and Malcolm try to figure out who Y/N likes.

             “Chef has really outdone himself this time,” Trip mumbled through a mouthful of food.  You nodded in agreement as you savored the taste of steak and mashed potatoes.  It was the taste of home.  You had become accustomed to life on the Enterprise, but there were moments when you got just a tad homesick.

              “Hello,” Hoshi greeted the two of you as she took at a seat at the table.  While Trip had wasted no time in digging into the meal, Hoshi seemed a little more preoccupied with a language book.

              “Hey, Hoshi,” you said.  “What’s up?”

              “Oh, just brushing up on some languages, particularly Klingon.  If I rely on the universal translator too much, I lose touch with what I’ve learned.”

              “I can imagine.  That’s a lot of languages to keep up with.”  You shook your head in amazement at the thought.

              “What can I say?  I’m a prodigy,” she glanced up from her pages to smirk playfully before returning to her studies.

              “So…”  Trip leaned in slightly.  “Has anyone seen what’s going on between Nate and Lillian?”

              “Who?”  You gave him a confused look.

              “Two of my people down in engineering.  They seem to be getting pretty…close… lately.”

              Hoshi looked up once more from her book, raising an eyebrow.  “I didn’t think you were one to gossip.  Since when do you care about relationships aboard the ship?”

              “Since he can’t have one himself,” Malcolm replied, setting his tray down on the table.  He took a seat between you and Hoshi.  “He’s forced to live vicariously through others because of his own lack of a relationship.”

              “Hey, that’s not true,” Trip insisted, his eyebrows furrowing in irritation.  “I just like to know what’s going on with the crew, that’s all.  As a commander of this ship, it’s important to keep track of these sort o’ things.”

              “Of course,” Malcolm replied, though the amused expression on his face suggested he wasn’t so convinced.

              “An’ it’s not like I don’t have a relationship ‘cause I can’t get one, or anything.  You know it’s against the rules for us to date subordinates.  It ain’t appropriate,” Trip added.  

              “Sure,” you joked.

              But you were familiar with the rule all too well. It was one thing that stood between you and a certain Captain Jonathan Archer.  Well, that and the fact that you weren’t sure if he felt the same way about you.  You couldn’t ask.  He was the captain and you were a subordinate.  It just couldn’t be.  And if you ever happened to bring it up, you knew that Jonathan would have to refuse anyways, being that he’s such a responsible captain that abides by the rules. It’s one of the reasons you admired him.

              “I know,” Malcolm said with a sigh.  “I also have to submit to that rule.”  He shook his head and pulled out a PADD, probably to resume work.  You wondered if he ever took a break…

              “What about you, _______?” Trip asked suddenly, making you look at him uneasily.

              “What?”

              “You’re not under the same rule.  How come you’re not dating?”  You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant, but you detected the hint of suspicion.  For whatever reason, the question caught the interest of the others at the table. Hoshi and Malcolm paused their work to look at you curiously.  Apparently, the whole crew had been wondering.

              “I don’t know…I just haven’t found the right person, I guess.”

              “Well, of course you haven’t,” Trip chuckled. “You barely spend time with anyone outside of command.”

              “Maybe I don’t feel the need to.  I’m here to work, not find a boyfriend,” you responded, hoping he would get the message that you weren’t interested in this subject.

              “But come on,” he continued.  “I know you.  You can’t tell me you haven’t even thought about it once.”

              “I mean, I have, but-

              “Is there someone back home?” Hoshi joined the conversation.  

             “Nah, she would have mentioned him at some point.”  Trip snapped his fingers.  “But that’s gotta’ be it.  You’re holding out for someone.”

              You shook your head, hoping that this conversation would end.  You had spent quite some time trying to keep your feelings a secret, to not draw attention to yourself.  There was no way that you would be discovered.  Not like this.

              Unfortunately, your facial expression betrayed you.

              “Yep, look at her,” Trip folded his arms and leaned back, pleased with himself for figuring it out.  

              “What are you even talking about?” you mumbled, turning your face away to hide your blush.

              “Is it someone aboard the ship?” Trip asked.

              “It has to be,” Hoshi replied.  “You said it yourself that she spends most time with the commanders of the ship, so…”  They both looked at you with wide eyes.

              “You like someone in command,” Trip concluded. “An’ since he has a no-fraternizing rule, you don’t want to say anything.”

              “I know you think you have me figured out, but I don’t like him,” you insisted.  

              “Who?” he asked quickly.

              “Captain Archer,” you replied before thinking.

              “Woah, there.  Hold up. I didn’t say anything about Captain Archer,” his smirk broke into a full-on grin as you stared at him completely speechless.

              Malcolm looked up from the PADD to gaze at you with wide eyes.  Hoshi’s mouth fell open in surprise.  Trip just kept grinning.

              “I-I mean.  No, it’s- I….Oh my gosh,” you covered your face with your hands, mortified that everyone in your group found out like this.  “I know that it’s not appropriate, but I assure you that I won’t let it interfere with work, and-”  You were just about to excuse yourself from the table, when Malcolm rested a hand on your shoulder.

              “Hey, relax,” he said reassuringly.  “It’s alright.  We understand what you’re going through.”

              “Yeah, don’t you think I’ve had feelin’s for a crew member or two that I couldn’t do anything about?”  Trip agreed.

              “And you’ve spent a lot of time with Archer,” Hoshi pointed out.  “It’s not exactly unheard of that you’d have feelings for him.”

              “But ya’ know the rules, ________.  Nothing can happen between you and the Cap’n. Besides, here are plenty of other crewmembers aboard the Enterprise.  Just because we can’t have relationships because of the rule doesn’t mean you can’t.”

              “I’ve thought about that, but…”  You sighed.  “I can’t be with anyone else.  Not with the way I feel about…you know who.”

“That’s really sweet,” Hoshi smiled.

“To be honest, I think I-”

              “Good afternoon, crew!”  Archer walked up to the table out of nowhere, making the whole lot of you freeze.  He noticed your reactions and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.  “And what might you all be talking about?”

              You noticed the smug look on Trip’s face and shot him a warning glance.  Oh no. He had better not…  

              “We were just askin’ _________ about her boyfriend,” he said causally, earning a few more warning looks from Hoshi and Malcolm.

              “Oh?”  Archer looked less confused and more concerned.

              “Don’t you think it’s strange that a pretty girl like her doesn’t have one?”

              “Oh,” Archer visibly relaxed.  “It’s most likely a personal choice.  There’s nothing wrong with that.”  He was about to walk away when he paused.  “What’s it to you, Trip?  You wouldn’t happen to be inquiring on the basis of personal interest, would you?”

              “No, sir,” Trip shook his head.  “I’m not startin’ anything.  Promise.  That would be against the rules, after all.”

              “Exactly.  Good. I knew I could count on you,” Archer said with a half-smile.  “And ________?”

             “Yes, sir?”

            “If anyone gives you anymore trouble, just send them my way.”

            You couldn’t hold back the smile.  “Thank you, sir.”

              After he left, Hoshi giggled.

            “Did you see how tense he got when he thought you had a boyfriend?  I think he was jealous,” she said.   You blushed and shook your head.  Then, you turned to give Trip a look.

              “What?  Just because I understand what you’re going through, it doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna’ have a little fun with it.”

              “You’re so mean,” you responded, though you were still smiling.

[i-have-zero-chill]

Archer is so pure like he literally just hails unknown alien vessels to say hi

[justafandomlove]

JONATHAN ARCHER IS LITERALLY A SPACE DAD He takes care of everyone without even thinking about it. He tried to shield Trip from enemy fire and they’re literal best friends, he just absolutely loves T'Pol and would do anything for her, Malcolm is his bro and most reliable dude ever, Hoshi is his sweet flower child who he adores, he even protects Travis and tells him to be careful like a big ole space dad should. Jon Archer is just the softest space dad I’ve ever seen. Even more than Jim Kirk. Jim is a soft space prince, but Jon is the soft space dad who protects them all.

Also, Trip and Malcolm in the Risa episode literally kill me, what hoes. Hoshi was SO FUCKING ADORABLE LIKE WOW I COULD NOT HANDLE IT And poor Space Dad thought he found a friend but she was a l i a r

I just really love Enterprise, okay?

[dylan-kasson]

Jon Archer Toronto, Ontario

There are park scooter riders and then there’s riders like Jon. I could watch an entire video part of him riding bowls. This isn’t street inspired park riding. It’s carving, flowing, slashing, airing, and it’s great. Scooter riding on transition seems limited when you are avoiding coping dancing and air combos landing on flat. Watching Jon ride this bowl felt like he could keep going, and he did. I stood on top of a staircase and watched him film. After he was done filming he kept doing run after run.