#lindsaybob

[curator-on-ao3]

For the send me a character ask game, Trinity Santos from The Pitt, please!

(My first thought was to send you Robby or Jack, but then I thought that was too obvious, and I really don’t know what I think you’ll say about Santos. But, y’know, feel free to do Robby and Jack as well if you’d like! 😉)

✨ Send Me a Character: Trinity Santos (with Jack and Robby bonus round)! ✨

Oooh, yay! Thank you, @lindsaybob! ❤️

My first impression: I was like, oh, hey, hi, it’s Dahj/Soji/Kore/a bunch of other synths from Star Trek: Picard! Then I thought, ooooh, she’s got swagger here. Coooool.

My impression now: I love her. The way she offered her spare room to Whitaker. The way she was clearly mortified when she accidentally stabbed Garcia. The way she told the nurses she understood their gossiping in Tagalog—in Tagalog. Santos didn’t get a mentor, had what seems to have been a horrendous childhood, and isn’t exactly the most careful about people’s feelings. She knows her worth because who the hell else was going to tell her? Such a complicated and great character.

Favorite thing about that character: Her observation skills. She figured out Langdon when no one else even seemed to suspect him. No wonder she did well in medical school.

Least favorite thing: Okay, yes, she can be mean. But it’s in character and it works.

Favorite line/scene: For vibes, offering Whitaker her spare room. For damn good acting, calling out and threatening the guy she believed was sexually abusing his daughter. Holy shit. I know the show got a lot of Emmys, but that was some Emmy-worthy stuff.

Favorite interaction that character has with another: Most everything I already said, plus I thought her patient care during the mass shooting event was excellent.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: I’m pretty sure we’re going to get more Santos and Whitaker, and I’m excited for that.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: Santos reminds me of Ensign Ro. Justifiably angry. Traumatized. Not sure who to trust. Honest no matter the consequences. Damn good at what she does.

A headcanon about that character: I think Santos second-guesses her actions in social interactions and has a lot of regrets. Maybe that’s quasi-canon? I also think learning Krav Maga brought her a peace she had never known before when she was more vulnerable to attack.

A song that reminds of that character: Centuries by Fall Out Boy. I could see it being Santos’ hype song.

An unpopular opinion about that character: I don’t think she should get together with Garcia. I don’t think any of the “first day” doctors-to-be should get together with any of the more experienced doctors until they’re on more equal footing at work.

Favorite picture: Trinity Santos is feelin’ it on a stressful day:

✨Jack and Robby bonus round: ✨

My first impression: I love you, sad man, I love you.

My impression now: Still love them both.

Favorite thing about that character: For both of them, the way they communicate. Jack is more of a jabberer and more open with praise. Robby is more reserved (by contrast). But they both get the point across and do it well.

Least favorite thing: Honestly, I think their flaws are well-written and I can’t pull at any threads without unraveling their characters.

Favorite line/scene: Both roof scenes, of course. Robby’s breakdown in peds. Jack praising Mohan and others during the mass shooting. Jack and Robby talking as they walk away from the ER at the end of the shift.

Favorite interaction that character has with another: See above, plus Robby talking with Shen as they await mass casualties. That was surprisingly hilarious.

A character that I wish that character would interact with more: Each other. And Dana, even though she and Robby had some great scenes together. I just love everybody talking with Dana.

Another character from another fandom that reminds me of that character: Rather upsettingly. Robby reminds me of Oskar Schindler in Schindler’s List, as they both have breakdowns over the people they couldn’t save despite saving so many others. I’ve never seen the TV show MASH, but Jack reminds me of the vibe of the lead doctors on that show (in a good way).

A headcanon about that character: I think Robby maybe feels a pull to go to temple but doesn’t go (and/or on the rare occasions he does go, he avoids socializing). I think Jack maybe praises people so quickly because he lost friends in the military and regretted not praising them.

A song that reminds of that character: Trustfall by P!nk for them both.

An unpopular opinion about that character: I think Robby was too understanding with Collins after finding out that she didn’t trust him with the truth. I get it, but I think some anger could have been fair. (I am fine with the writing choice and understand it in context, I just have a different view. I also get that anger wouldn’t be productive or Robby’s vibe. But, wow, man, what a betrayal.) I don’t think I have any unpopular opinions about Jack.

Favorite picture: Perhaps unsurprisingly:

Thank you again for asking, @lindsaybob! ❤️ My first ask for The Pitt!

> send me a character ask game <

[curator-on-ao3]

May I greedily request another dialogue prompt ficlet, please?

Janeway/Paris (or Janeway&Paris would also be good; it doesn’t have to be romantic) - “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

Not greedy at all — request away, @lindsaybob! 💕 These are fun. 🥰

I’m going to go AU on this one for a post-Endgame established relationship. Fingers crossed you like it, and please keep the prompts coming, y’all.

———

In This Place of Dreams, We Find Ourselves

McKinley Station is as bustling as ever, computer chirps overlapping low-toned conversations, clipped orders, and seemingly far away reverberations of metallic clangs.

But it was silence that brought Tom out from their temporary quarters, doors parting so he could squint in the bright light of night shift, try to saunter as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, as if the grey-shouldered uniform he was issued doesn’t somehow feel like a betrayal of the red shoulders he wore for those seven years out there.

Kathryn had said she was going to take a walk. And Tom is used to that, used to her insomnia and her fears that would grow too big for their quarters on Voyager and her need to go away and come back because coming back to something — to someone — would remind her that it’s possible to come home again.

But now they are home, technically, and she’s doing it again.

Maybe she’ll always be like this. Maybe those seven years have changed her, etched a new personality over the old one.

Maybe not.

There’s a narrow corridor not far from the port docking clamps, an out of service section of the station overlooked by most adults. But children, bored admirals’ children brought to McKinley Station and told to entertain themselves with a padd while their flag officer parent sat in meetings, those children can find the narrow corridor, follow it until they reach the open-air turbolift, then tap in the access code that’s easy to guess because who sets Federation Day as an access code if they don’t want children to be able to guess it?

Tom retraces his childhood steps, keys in the old access code, and the turbolift rises. And it’s funny because people say visiting a place from childhood should feel strange, proportions out of place and objects seeming too small, but everything is just as he remembers, just as he and Kathryn talked about so many times once they both realized that, separately, they had found this place and stood on small tiptoes to try to get to the top faster, stolen lift ride ascending until it reached the top.

He’s at the top now, the lift settling with the same seeming sigh of accomplishment.

And awe.

The old, floor-to-ceiling transparent dome gives a clear view: Earth, Mars, the asteroid belt and beyond, every star gleaming, ships gliding past, motion as observed from stillness. This is the station’s original docking control room, a function long-since moved to deck six for closer proximity to other station operations, old computers left behind for reasons lost to time.

But nothing could beat this view.

Kathryn is sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back resting against an out-of-date console. She doesn’t turn from the stars — her stars, her North Star that became his North Star to get the crew home — but she must know it’s him because her voice is a gruff imitation of his father: “What are you doing out here by yourself?”

That’s what Owen Paris had said when he caught Tom in this room, small arms out pretending to be nacelles, flying, flying, flying.

So Tom pitches his voice to the timbre of Edward Janeway: “Young lady, you had better explain yourself.”

Because of course Kathryn got caught, too, her padd clattering as it hit the floor, her childhood equations an attempt to determine quantum efficiencies for every type of luminescence of matter she saw through the dome.

She chuckles now, pats the floor next to her, and he sits, her head finding its place on his shoulder, familiar weight in this room they’ve never been to together but both visited alone.

“They say we all become our parents.” He speaks in his own voice, words he feared until he could see the divergence of his life’s path from the Parises who came before him.

Kathryn speaks as herself, too. “I don’t think they meant it literally.”

“Nah.”

And they should talk — as themselves — about what it means to be home and about all the things they said they would do once they got back to Federation space. They should talk about … everything … from tomorrow’s briefings to the future beyond winding down Voyager’s first mission.

But, instead, he sits in a room where he was a child and she was a child, and he stares at Earth, Mars, the asteroid belt and beyond, gleaming stars and gliding ships.

He pretended to fly here.

She tried to make scientific discoveries here.

Now he’s flown farther than anyone else ever has and she has a stack of scientific discoveries that will keep headquarters busy for years.

And, yet, here they are in this place where they separately, silently, stole off to dream.

Together.

———

Send me an ask with character(s) and a prompt and I’ll do my best to dream up something you’ll like. ❤️

[curator-on-ao3]

get to know me

Tagged by: the delightful @lindsaybob — thank you @lindsaybob! 💕

rules: tag nine people you want to get to know better

three ships: Christopher Pike/Una Chin-Riley (Star Trek: Strange New Worlds), Kathryn Janeway/Just About Anyone (Star Trek: Voyager), and Captain Shaw/His Psych Profile (Star Trek: Picard, which I am optimistically counting on to somehow redeem Shaw and not only have him issue a heartfelt apology for deadnaming Seven, but also have him purposefully address her by her proper name of Seven — commander or otherwise)

first ship: Imzadi (Will Riker/Deanna Troi, Star Trek: The Next Generation and a bunch more Treks since)

fave color: purple and green (both amazing)

last song: “Marry the Night,” by Lady Gaga

last movie in the theatre: ummmmm … I don’t know. Maybe “Saving Mr. Banks”?

last show: in the theater? I don’t remember. At home? Star Trek: Picard season 3, episode 2 (Baby Got Back)

currently watching: Star Trek: Picard season 3, Night Court reboot

currently reading: lovely AO3 comments that came in while I had a very busy last few days irl

currently working on: in terms of fic, a Chapel/Pike story that I am looking forward to having more time for

current obsession: I don’t think I really have obsessions anymore. Just sparkling affinities.

Also, y’all know I have tag anxiety, so if you’re reading this and want to play, please consider yourself tagged. ❤️

[curator-on-ao3]

For the question meme (which I somehow missed when you posted it, so don’t worry if you’re not doing them anymore, I know I’m late to the party):

Chris and Una + “how long have I been asleep?” and/or “did you want to be alone?”

You’re wonderfully on time! 🥳 This might not be what you had in mind, lindsaybob, but I hope you’ll like it anyway. 💕

———

How to Save a Li(f)e

She’s about to follow Spock out, to leave Chris’ quarters with the night’s work done — their cover story planned, practiced, and polished to a believable shine.

I saw Discovery explode.

That’s what they’ll tell Starfleet.

I saw Discovery explode.

Chris and Spock sat too straight as they rehearsed, their gazes too steady, her gentle coaching helping them find their normal postures, to remember that a lie announces itself through changes to the spine, the eyes, the hands.

They didn’t ask how she knows how to lie so convincingly.

I saw Discovery explode.

Spock mourns a sister whose memory he has to lock away.

I saw Discovery explode.

Chris thinks he’s consigned to pain, disfigurement, grief for his own sense of possibility.

I saw Discovery explode.

She has to playact placidity, can’t flounder, not now, not when she could get caught in this lie-to-be, exposed, a newly suspicious Starfleet digging through her service record for other deceits, oddities connected into a pattern, suspicions confirmed, the loss of everything she’s ever worked for.

The doors to Chris’ quarters close, Spock in the corridor, her standing just inside, and Chris looks up, his gaze clouded by fatigue, by time and fate, by a battle both lost and won, a present gifted to them by the Discovery crew’s sacrifices in the recent past and distant future. Chris can be prone to melancholy, to swings of expansiveness and self-flagellation. Maybe she should give him solitude, let him work things through on his own, not run the risk of her burdens compounding his.

“Did you …” The question sticks in her throat. “Did you want to be alone?”

Her chest is heavy with hope. Is she selfish for wanting to spend the night, for wanting to curl her arms and legs around him the way she has so many times before, but never with lies and loss and fear swirling together, a silent storm in the air of a broken ship limping home? Is she selfish for wanting a port in that storm, for wanting to be his port in that storm?

His head shakes and his voice is craggy, fragile in a way he won’t let it sound in front of anyone else, not even Spock. “Please stay.”

I saw Discovery explode.

Her pyjamas pulled from his drawer, clean sheets, no words. They’ve talked too much already about the cover story, about how Starfleet might try to set them against each other, about the need to protect this lie that’s more important than the truth and she’s too familiar with that balance, with the tightrope of wrong to get to right. How long can the balance last? Will this investigation be the tipping point that sends her falling, falling, falling into disciplinary review, court martial, probably prison?

The nightmares come. Twisted faces of angry admirals, accusations, Illyrians deemed sub-human, hunted like Starfleet game, incinerated by phaser blasts set on a wide beam.

Her shoulder is shaking.

Her shoulder is shaking.

“Una, you’re having a bad dream.” Oh no, Chris has enough on his mind. He shouldn’t have to worry about her. “Una, wake up.”

Clean sheets are bunched in her fists, her pyjamas damp from sweat.

Maybe it’s almost morning. Maybe she’s that much closer to this investigation being over and she can find a mission, any mission, and fly away.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“About forty minutes.” Chris’ furrowed brow is lit by starlight. “That looked like one hell of a nightmare. What were you dreaming about?”

Forty minutes.

Lies upon lies upon lies — and it’s only been forty more minutes.

She forces her fingers to relax, drop the sheets, ease him onto his back, let her head rest on his chest, steady heartbeats, as if she hadn’t just taught him that a lie announces itself through changes to the spine, the eyes, the hands.

“I dreamed … ” Her eyes flutter closed. She could lose everything. “I dreamed that I saw Discovery explode.”

———

Send me an ask with character(s) and a prompt and I’ll do my best to dream up something you’ll like. ❤️

[curator-on-ao3]

For the weirdly specific asks: #7 “what animal do you look forward to seeing when you visit an aquarium?”

Jellyfish, definitely. Their semi-transparent glowy vibe is great, and I find the way they move to be like magic:

Close runners up (swimmers up?) are beluga whales.

Thank you for asking, @lindsaybob! 💕

[regalpotato]

For the weirdly specific ask meme: "rank the methods of death: freezing, burning, drowning," please!

freezing, drowning, burning in that order

at some point, when freezing, you just sort of sleep (or get naked and weird but...)

and i hate being warm, let alone on fire so...burning comes last.

weird ask meme

[amillionmillionvoices]

32 and/or 41 for the holiday prompt meme, J/C please!

She doesn’t know why she finds it as amusing as she does—something about the light snowfall, or the music, or the old, retrofitted boats that amble up and down the canals. Maybe it’s the busy streets, still cobblestoned even after centuries of use, the many children skidding through the alleyways, looking for enough snow to start a fight.  Maybe it’s the chill in the air, his scarf soft and warm around her neck and the smell of him, his arm around her waist and his face pressed into her hair or maybe it’s just that they’re here, they’re home, and it’s Christmas and there are lights and hot ciders and everything is bathed in the soft glow of fairy lights. 

Maybe it’s just that she hasn’t laughed this much in years, hasn’t felt free enough to duck her head into Chakotay’s shoulder and press a hand to her mouth and giggle at the sight of their gondolier, dressed in a paunchy santa suit as he guides them under a bridge, singing an aria at the top of his lungs.  

Beside her, Chakotay chuckles, the sound warming her bones more than his scarf or the blanket draped over their laps, and she can’t quite stop laughing, not until he presses his mouth to hers and silences her with a kiss. 

[lodessa]

lindsaybob replied to your post “My Janeway ship tags are all some variant of Janeway x Chakotay…. and...”

That would be simultaneously hilarious and adorable.

What I really want is it in comic panel format honestly.  I want to see their faces.

amillionmillionvoices

replied to your post

“My Janeway ship tags are all some variant of Janeway x Chakotay…. and...”

My heart kind of just exploded in my chest a little

Now I’m sort of imagining it being a thing later when they are actually together and her pet names for him are all coffee related. (What is the theme for his though?  What does Chakotay really love other than Kathryn Janeway?)