So...
Star Trek, everyone. I have officially joined it. It started only a few weeks ago, to be completely truthful, and I was so wonderfully surprised and entertained by Into Darkness that I had to continue watching it.
Oh my gosh.
I just have all these feels, you guys.
So what better way to channel these feels than to write one-shots and the like and posting them here?
Here goes, then. My attempts at writing for this loverly fandom. I hope you all enjoy!
God bless and have a great day (or night)!
ThePro-LifeCatholic
I do not own Star Trek, nor its characters. But I really like Spock's cute Earth-like sweater. :D
She had said that whenever he wore that sweater, it would be the equivalent of wearing her embrace. It seemed a ridiculous comparison, but with all of his logic, Spock couldn't find a way to completely dismiss it. The coarse fabric was warm; in an altogether unexplainable manner, it brought him added comfort and security. Her scent clung to its fibers, inundating his senses with the weight of her unseen, yet constant, presence.
Hair washed and brushed. Thoroughly cleansed and worried over needlessly by his mother.
Beyond this fleeting moment of silence and seclusion lay those solemn faces; those carefully blank visages that would never see past the fragile, discomposed woman who had reared him (to his own great detriment, of course). For her emotions, her conflicted perception of life, of decisions, of logic and right and wrong: they festered in his own being like some tumor. He was an anomaly; an "outcast", to make use of the human vernacular.
His thoughts are in order. He knows exactly what decision he has made and what words he will use. But his heart pounds too quickly in his stomach. He twists the blue, scratchy fabric into knots about shaking fingers.
It was not logical to remain where he would never be accepted, allowed to grow and be challenged and reach his full potential. He was an outlier, placed in the most strange and lonely predicament of being a being of two worlds. But he doesn't see why he couldn't express the very best of both.
His name is called. Before him waited the Council: the very embodiment of the people he had long since chosen to honor. For his appearance, his thoughts, his way of life, was modeled and sustained by their doctrines.
The blue sweater is smoothed down. A deep breath taken in and released, just as she taught him. The added layer of clothing contributes to the calming of his senses in a way that he could neither describe nor deny.
There is no logic in delaying the inevitable.
The doors open; he steps in.