Okay, Let’s Do This One Last Time, Yeah? For Real This Time. This Is It. My Name Is Miles Morales.

Somehow, I’m all three of them right now.

One Big Bed

——

Kirk: *yaawwn*

Kirk: Ah, the start to another beautiful day on the enterprise!

Kirk: Rise and shine Mr Spock<3!

Spock: Jim, it is not time to get up yet.

Kirk: Nonsense Mr Spock<3 the early space bird gets the space worm!

McCoy: DAMMIT JIM! I'm a doctor, not an owl! I need my sleep!

Chekov: Keptin, why iseverybody yelling?

Sulu: is that the time? Oh my.

Uhura: mph. hailing frequencies closed sir.

Scotty: I cannae take much more a this.

The fact that they all have separate quarters and beds means absolutely nothing to me btw.

A goofy lil idea I had for a 1950s AU where Spock is an active artist/writer/musician in the beat movement, and Kirk is from Leave it to Beaver.

Kirk is enamored with the new things that big-city Spock teaches him, and Spock adores small-town Kirk’s genuine, heartfelt hospitality.

———

Kirk: … Mr. Spock<3?

Spock: yes James darling.

Kirk: I um, wrote some poetry & I was wondering if you’d maybe take a look

Spock: POETRY! Why of course James!

———

———

Spock:…

Kirk: well? What do you think?

Spock: James… is this your first time writing poetry?

*kirk experiences despair*

———

———

Spock: JAMES! why are you crying?

Spock: your poetry may not be refined, but it is IMPORTANT. It is YOU. It is IMPORTANT BECAUSE it is YOU.

Spock: your poetry represents everything you are now James, but also everything you ever might be

Spock: it is the manifestation of your present state which makes it inherently valuable, worthwhile & beautiful. Other people’s opinions are irrelevant.

Spock: including my own

Kirk: oh. Thank you

Kirk I think… 

———

Another sketch dump of the bois

dont play defense

pup star

au where eberytjings the same but they have to go to five guyd

tbh though if i were mccoy i’d be pretty fucking fed up with spock too. imagine you’re a doctor, you dedicate your life to learning how care for hundreds of different life forms and species across the galaxy, and then your wife divorces you, which leads you to enlisting as a doctor for starfleet. this is WAY outside of your comfort zone, you hate adventure and you’d rather be sittin on a porch in the sun with some sweet tea in hand and your daughter on your knee, but you ain’t got nowhere else to go, and who are you if you aren’t a doctor? you’ve dedicated your whole life and so much more to healing. so you enlist, you get assigned to a starship. not your dream job, but if there’s one thing leonard mccoy knows how to do it’s treat patients. and then THIS MEDICAL MARVEL MOTHERFUCKER comes in with his fucked up gene spliced half human half vulcan biology and the rarest most obscure blood type even among vulcans with ZERO precedent for his existence or medical baseline and also happens to be THE WORST PATIENT IN HISTORY. REFUSES to sit still and follow instructions. always making smart ass comments about your silly human emotionalism. you’ll get insane fucking readings and be like “spock i think you’re dying” and the bastard will answer with a straight face “yes. that’s just pon farr.” “can you tell me how to treat it?” “no.” and then just walks out of the fucking sickbay. you’re constantly busting your ass trying to figure out how to keep this human-alien catboy mix’n’match medical nightmare from hell alive and healthy and all you get in return is backhanded compliments from an emotionally stunted fruit. and you can’t even complain about it to your best friend because he’s too busy doodling this obstinate motherfucker’s name all over his notebook while eye-fucking him on the middle of the bridge. hell i’d be an alcoholic too.