The New York Times posted this Op-Ed piece about Star Trek’s 50th today and how, essentially, the franchise has become too corporate and it’s all spoilt because it’s not low-budget and fly-by-the-seat-of-its-pants anymore.

As I read the piece, all I could hear were the sounds of whiny Comic Book Guys everywhere complaining that no one was allowed to enjoy anything new anymore because it had changed over time, adapted, survived, and as all things do, evolved into something that other people than the “Original” fans could also enjoy.  (TL:DR, this op-ed is the sound of one fanboy fapping about kids on their lawn.)

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Reposted from my tumblr, inspired by a ridiculous picture of someone like Jim holding a kitten. AO3 link is here.

Three days, he figures— three days is a record for not mother-henning, and he’s goddamned entitled, now that it’s been that long, to go back and fuss and fume and check as much as he fucking likes. Not that the break hadn’t maybe been good for both their blood pressures.  But it was either strangle the whining sonofabitch (superhuman serum apparently didn’t affect personality, Jim was the same horrible patient as ever) or get the hell out and rely on the sensors SMA’d let him put in, that and the reports he got from the visitors he’d carefully scheduled to make sure Jim did not venture out of his apartment and catch something weird while they were still trying to figure out what the long term effects of 1) coming back from the dead and 2) Khan’s blood, may that asshole stay frozen forever, were going to be.

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