autumn-trekking
Damnit Jim, I'm a shipper, not a doctor!
27| Black| Sag☀️Cap🌙 Libra⬆️| She/Her | Uncertified Xenoanthropologist
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What the frinx is a dog???
Headcanon: dogs are super confusing to non-humans
Nog has no idea what a dog is, really. Sure, he’s seen dogs before, but what are they?
Every time he and his squadmates venture off campus, they seem to encounter one, and they never look the same. Two days ago there was the poofy brown one that was less than half a meter tall, but last week there was the one with flat hair that was taller than him when it stood up and put its front feet on his shoulders.
He’s not sure if other offworlders feel the same way he does, but all the human cadets are extremely nonchalant about dogs. They can recognize a dog no matter how strange it looks, whether it’s small enough to fit in a shoulder bag or nearly large enough to be ridden; whether its ears are pricked, upright triangles or long, drooping flaps; whether it has a spiral-liked, curled-over tail or none at all.
They can even identify what type of dog it is, and he’s heard them use dozens of names to refer to them when he’s just struggling to realize it’s a dog at all. He tried asking why there were so many kinds, only to be inundated by explanations of what dogs could do even if they don’t actually do those things most of the time any more.
Every time Nog comes up with a new rule in his head for How To Tell If It’s A Dog, some new kind of dog comes along and breaks it. At first it had seemed easy; dogs love people and will greet any stranger, he’d concluded. But then there had been that sort of cream colored one with the pointed-up ears who had refused to dignify he and his friends with any attention despite the cajoling voice Daniels used that dogs usually responded to eagerly.
He had amended his ideas about dogs accordingly to allow for aloofness of certain individuals (or types??), and thought he was beginning to understand until he met the woman at Golden Gate Park with the tiny cha-wa-wa and the massive sane burnart, who she revealed was mistakenly pregnant by the miniature fellow at her side. Nog had been rendered speechless at the impossibility of such a vastly dissimilar pairing resulting in viable offspring, though he was somewhat heartened at seeing the little guy get the girl (until the woman mentioned that he’d shortly after been “fixed” [and what fixed meant]).
Dogs have different colors and markings and faces and bodies and ears and tails and behaviors and Nog can’t make any sense of what a dog is, but he thinks he’s gotten better at guessing. Now when he sees people with animals that appear to be dogs (the presence of a leash is often helpful), he has learned to say the same kinds of things his human friends say.
“What kind of dog is that?” is always a good bet because if there’s anything humans apparently love, it’s explaining what kind of dog theirs is, as if Nog understands the nuances of mixes and breeds. He doesn’t mind, though; he’s gotten the comm info for a number of women who were very happy to talk to a “fellow dog lover,” and it’s not like the creatures are unpleasant (except the smell sometimes). They’re a little invasive and have the tendency to stick their noses in very unwelcome places, but overall he’d rank them as being very genial creatures, and it’s not like any of the (still extant) animals on Ferenginar are particularly personable.
He’s fresh out of class when he sees a woman lounging on the quad with a blanket spread out beneath her and her dog on a leash nearby nibbling at the grass. It’s a new behavior he hasn’t seen before; but then, he’s observed them eat trash and bugs and unidentifiable things, so why not grass? The dog’s owner is not in uniform, so it must be her day off class or duty, but she appears to be about his age so he approaches her.
“I like your dog,” he says to the woman, who looks up from her padd to give him an odd look. He presses on despite that. “What kind is it?”
Now she is obviously suppressing a laugh and he wonders if his opening line is too transparent. She picks up the fuzzy little beast – one of the long-eared varieties – and he sees that it only has a tuft for a tail.
“You need to read up on native Earth species, cadet,” she says, holding her pet aloft, bright red leash dangling. “This is what we call a rabbit.”
Nog flushes at his mistake. Really, what the frinx is a dog?
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Spock really is beautiful; there is no other suitable way to describe him.
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Star Trek characters who would listen to as much Chappell Roan as I do (and what song would be their favorite):
Julian Bashir- Casual (ugly crying every night bb)
William Riker- Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl
James T Kirk- Pink Pony Club
Johnathan Archer- My Kink is Karma (and he'd absolutely be a bitch if anyone found about it, too)
Christine Chapel- Red Wine Supernova
Jadzia Dax- HOT TO GO! (but Good Luck, Babe! in private)
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This is something I believe probably happened on the Entiprise at some point.
It was a quiet day (a terrifying concept to everyone in Starfleet) and Chekov is bored so he decides to go around the crew and jokingly ask them if they are the favourite child.
He jokingly goes up to Spock because everyone knows he's an only child and asks him if he's his father's favourite child
Deadpan Spock responds with a firm no.
Years later a confused crew becomes even more confused when they meet Sybok because how the hell is this Crazy emotional Vulcan Sarek's favourite child!
Sybok is amused by this and keeps up the ruse. In memory of his favourite family member.
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I was on Twitter today, and I saw this tweet, and dang if it isn’t literally Sybok and Michael with Spock:
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Since I can’t stop thinking about the Disaster Siblings, Michael and Spock totally yank Sybok’s ponytail when he’s being insufferable or they just want him to stop talking. And yes, “yank” as in they still do it when they’re well-into adulthood.
And when Spock was little and couldn’t quite reach yet, he’d nod solemnly at his sister and she’d do it for him, no words necessary, no questions asked.
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Spock: I think I felt something fall on me. Can you check the top of my head?
Chekov: The only person who can see the top of your head is the Almighty himself.
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Spock: We arent twelve anymore, we should stop saying “butthurt”
Michael: Why? You sound ass troubled...
Sybok: A little booty-bothered if you ask me.
Michael: Oh no, now he’s having a tushy-tantrum.
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Sarek?????
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okay ignore canon for me babes vbut spock has shakespeare knowlrdge. so please . please. think of the concept of the vulcan learning center pulling an average public high school thing and having kids read the play outloud in class. imagine a bunch of annoying stuck up 14 year old vulcans reading romeo and juliet and everyone giving absolutrly nothing.
but then u have the fucking grayson kids.
sybok absolutely DELIVERS as mercutio. he tries to hard to get a drama club going. he fails
michael gives less but is still a Fantastic lady macbeth.
spock cries reading as hamlet.
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