Normally I hate AU/AH but your Office AU was exceptional. One thing I loved was how seamless the dialogue was. I enjoyed it so much that I almost didn't notice the underwhelming amounts of 'loves' and 'sweethearts', almost none at all! I was wondering why until I realized what you did! It was so subtle but so BEAUTIFULLY done, from "this is open space, it doesn't count as an office" to letting the doors close behind him before saying "good night love". Klaus and work ethic, it's so hot. I mean,
(2/2) there is still that roguishness when it comes to his behavior. I love how his moral ambiguity in canon is translated into his nonchalant view on money here. If I didn’t already think you were a literary genius before, I certainly do now.
i always get a little insecure when i want to insert little character nuances like that in my fic, because i tend to overthink what a character would or would not do/say in certain situations. especially since I once got a review (last year i think?) on how my stories can be “hard to understand” and i need to “provide more clarification/exposition/etc” and that sort of got me looking at all my stories in a different light. i’m a fan with saying a lot with a little, but only when it suits the kind of story to tell.
i’m so glad you noticed! i’m over the moon! thanks for this Very Good review, if i was half the literary genius you claim me to be you’d think i’d be a little more eloquent here but LMAO BITCH U THOUGHT. but thank you, i appreciate it muchlys <3
“You feel abominable, yet EEK!” written by Drakkenfyre
The air seems weirdly warm and clammy to you. It’s heavy, your eyes
lead you to a path upward. It looks mountainous and cooler. Part of
your mind reminds you that there are no mountains in this part of the
country. Still it’s so hot and stuffy, you charge up the hill. As you
go, you strip off your clothing. It’s just too damn hot. Your jacket
hangs on a tree branch. Your shirt falls by the wayside. You were
going to take your shoes off to remove you pants, but you notice that
your shoes are already gone, obviously shredded by your growing hairy
feet. Your feet are too big to fit through your pants legs, and the
jeans are now so tight they’re cutting off your circulation. It’s a
good thing you have claws now. You rip your jeans off, revealing huge
white furry legs. Aah, it feels so good. EEK! You are covered in
white fur and have huge clawed hands and feet. What did that old sherpa
dude do to you?
You feel the urge to climb, so you do. The higher you go, the thinner
and cooler the air gets. The trees are left far behind. You are in a
realm of perpetual snow and wind, and you feel comfortable, it feels
“Awrh!” roars an hairy white monster coming out of the blowing snow.
It’s covered in white fur, with long clawed fingers and toes, and huge
fangs. It seems familiar. You raise your hand to your mouth - fangs!
So there’s this tradition in Starfleet when a cadet graduates.
When you step off the stage after accepting your degree, you’re supposed to slip your cadet dogtags off your neck and give them to the person who helped you graduate, who got you through it.
Most, predictably, give it to their moms. Some, their dads, who served themselves. Usually, their significant others.
Jim’s mom couldn’t make it. And well, everyone knows why his dad wasn’t there (a fact the admirals keep wanting him to cash in on–they even asked him to make a speech at graduation. Pike told them where to stick it.)
Anyway, they graduate the Bridge Crew of the Enterprise first–the ones who hadn’t. It’s mostly ceremonial recognition but Jim’s glad for it. He’s not usually nervous on stage–although large crowds have made him anxious since he was thirteen–but it’s hot and his ribs still burn and he’s so damn tired. He hasn’t slept since, well, before his hearing. And that was only a few weeks ago. Fuck.
But before it, he’s walking across the stage, shaking hands with the brass, and getting pinned–Captain’s pin–and smiling. Somehow, after everything, he’s smiling.
Awkwardly, as he’s jogging down the steps, Starfleet uniform cap pinned at his side, hand scrabbling under his collar for the dogtags as he’s walking a few aisles away from his own seat.
“Hey hot shot, your seat’s over there,” Bones tells him–but he’s grinning toward the place where Pike and the other Captains are waiting.
“Bones-” Jim’s got a good grip on the chain even though he’s fucking hands are sweaty.
Maybe it’s a stupid fucking idea. Bones didn’t give his tags to anyone. And why would he? Besides a little girl in Georgia, there was no one else.
Before he can think too much about it, he tugs it off, holding it in front of him.
“Aw, kid.” Bones whispers.
And before Jim can about face or apologize or take back the sentimental gesture, Bones takes his fist out of his pocket, knuckles white, and loosens his grip, giving way to a palm indented by the punched out metal lettering: Leonard H. McCoy, Starfleet Cadet, ID: 116592213
“No one else I would have given them to.”
Somewhere, someone hoots–probably Cupcake, maybe Uhura and then Bones is pulling Jim closer, fingers lightly grazing his jaw, the back of his neck, gripping into his hair.
The kiss is a surprise–Jim’s mouth is dry, his lips are chapped, but it feels so damn right and maybe Jim’s cheek flushes, and maybe Chris Pike laughs out loud but it’s worth it. Definitely worth it.