Log in

The Twelve Rounds of Christmas

Title: The Twelve Rounds of Christmas
Author: Lilbatfacedgirl
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some language, references to genocide
Word Count: 5,000
Summary: Jim encourage every race and creed to celebrate Christmas their own way and is determined to attend every gathering.  He enlists Bones' help.
A/N: Written for 
[info]space_wrapped and betaed by the lovely and amazing [info]juliench1.  I think the original prompt was intended to be funny and this veered more towards the schmoopy and h/c sub-genres but hopefully it still works.  Also, I took some liberties with certain alien cultures to create Christmas scenarios, but the foundation for each is actually based in some ST canon.


Read more...Collapse )Read more...Collapse )


A Slow and Steady Burn

Title: A Slow and Steady Burn
Author: Lilbatfacedgirl
Rating:  R
Warnings: Non-con with a tentacle creature(s), general MU unpleasantries

Summary: M!Kirk needs to finish up his most recent trade agreement so he serves up his XO and CMO and forces them to "close the deal" in alien's traditional fashion.  This was originally posted during the tentacle fest at issenterprise but I recently re-read it and realized it could benefit from some improvements (and a run through with my spell-checker!)


He burns...Collapse )

A Plenitude of Human Weaknesses

Title: A Plenitude of Human Weaknesses
Author: Lilbatfacedgirl
Rating: R
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, Pike, Nancy Crater

Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Warnings: Language, Violence, Non-Con, M!Verse nastiness 

Summary: Response to the prompt "Mirror!McCoy is a doctor who has always resisted/rejected Mirror!Kirk's charms/demands, but when Kirk becomes captain, he ask Pike for a personal favor.  He wants McCoy as his CMO.  The doctor soon learns that giving Kirk what he wants is best for everyone.

Read more...Collapse )


Soft Beneath My Hands

Title: Soft Beneath My Hands
Author: Lilbatfacedgirl
Pairing: Kirk/Sarek
Warnings: Slavery, dub-con, breathplay

Summary: One-shot.  A companion piece to my story
"Of Great Price", in which Earth and Vulcan are at war in the MU, and Spock takes McCoy as his personal slave.  Sarek also claims Kirk as his slave and brings him back to Vulcan.

A/N: This can be read as a stand alone piece but will probably be easier to follow if you've read the first story (which, I confess, is kinda long).  Written as a thank you for the_archandroid 


There were moments; reckless, dangerous moments...Collapse )


Title: That's Why You Close Your Eyes
Author: Lilbatfacedgirl
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Warnings: Language, angst, violence

Jim and Bones 2gether 4ever, til Spock gets in the way

In which the face-off happensCollapse )

Title: That's Why You Close Your Eyes
Author: Lilbatfacedgirl
Rating: NC-17 for this chapter
Pairing: Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Warnings: Language, angst, gratuitious sex acts between two human males and a Vulcan.

A/N: Second to last chapter (pause while author does happy dance!)

Jim and Bones 2gether 4ever, til Spock gets in the way


Make-up sex, anyone?Collapse )

Okay, so I don't really use this journal for anything but the publication of my ST fanfics but this longstanding realization has just been re-affirmed like what????  I am married to Spock, I really, really am, and as I am actually totally in love with McCoy, this poses a bit of a problem.  Now, this is just not a problem I can take to my gabbing girl group, as they would all look at me as if to say, "Spock who?", thus tempting me to slap them.  So, in the interest of sisterly harmony, I will instead vent here, to a peer group that understands.

My husband is a Vulcan.  Not that he looks them, for while he is tall and thin, the red hair and blue eyes end all resemblance.  No, I mean he acts like them, really, really, and really.  Now, there are certain perks to this.  For example, it is almost impossible to overdraw your account when someone color-codes the checkbook (all my debit charges are highlighted in pink, his are orange, weekly expenses in blue, I'm not making this shit up).  Also, we never overpay on a major purchase as every nuance of the decision is scrupulously documented and placed logically on a spreadsheet.  In addition, he has exceptionally sensitive hands and gives bitchin back rubs and that I can definitely live with.

There are time, though, when it is tiresome, or when my own hyper-emotionalism is stymied by his logic.  Take for instance, our attendance last Christmas of a live performance of Handel's Messiah.  I'm talking the Boston Philharmonic at Jordan Hall.  As Part II ended and we all went to sit back down, he looks over over to where I'm tearing up over the Hallelujah Chorus and proceeds to tell me that he spent the entire first two parts working out a math equation in his head, based on an estimated number of seats in the house vs. the number of orchestra and choral members.  Taking into account the difference in seating price, and the elevated pay rate of chairs, principal singers, and the conductor, he had worked out in his head exactly how much he thought each performer had earned that night.  The beauty of the music had inspired him to...that!  Respectable, yes.  Impressive, pretty much.  Conducive to my mood at the time...not even close.

Which brings me to this week.  Now, I find nothing funny about domoestic strife, but the couple that lives three houses down from us treat it like a freakin sitcom.  If he isn't pouring bleach in her tomato patch then she's burning his baseball cards in the trashcan.  Just two days ago, I'm driving down the street after a long day and I see the road cordoned off by yellow police line tape (once again, I am not making this shit up).  In the middle of the barricade lay a lonely waffle iron, lying in the middle of the street (it was not outlined in chalk, much to my disappointment).  A steady trail of glass ran from the forsaken iron to the shattered glass door of their house.  Now, I don't wish to focus on the lunatics down the street.  Suffice it to say that Mrs. Doe chose to huck said iron at the husband over some real or imagined infraction, missing her aim and sending aforementioned appliance into on-coming traffic.  I was required to make a u-turn and drive around the block in order to leave the "evidence" undisturbed.

Naturally, I saw fit to regale my husband with this story over dinner in some detail, ending with the observation that Mrs. Doe must have a pretty strong arm to make that kind of distance with a large hunk of metal.  And where does my husband go with that?  I am treated to a twenty minute explanation of possible hypotheses regarding the journey of the waffle iron. I am asked to consider the iron's weight, the possible speed at which it was thrown, the incline and traction of the driveway.  I am asked to contend whether the iron remained airborne for the duration of it's journey or did it possibly impact the ground earlier and then slide into the road by way of kinetic energy. 

Now, I love this guy to pieces and wouldn't trade him for the world, but I don't think I'm going out on a limb when I say that I married Spock, because DAMN!  And in light of the fact that I am still irrevocably in love with McCoy, I have to face-palm and ask how the hell did this happen.