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marlinspirkhall · 3 years

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Tomorrow Never Comes, Chapter 01: “Play Me”

For Non-AO3 Readers. Originally published on AO3. Written for the 2020 Star Trek Halloween Bang.

Artist: @idealisticcatastasis

Content warnings: Graphic Descriptions Of Violence, Other Archive Warnings May Apply.

Chapter 1 Word Count: 5,719 words

[Front Cover] [Chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

There’s a groan. Jim shifts, ever so slightly, and the overhead lights flicker on. The room is flooded instantly by a bright, neon green, as if every surface has been covered in ectoplasm from an old horror movie. He’s leaning against something hard, and he pulls away from it with a groan.

It’s a metal bathtub, set into the floor. Above him is a shower head, rusted with age, and the wall is in a similar state of disrepair.

He catches a glimpse of something on the floor. A streak of maroon runs round the outer edge of the tub, trails to the ground, covers the floor in a patch around his feet- and yet, there’s not a drop of it on him. He shifts, tentatively, and it flecks off the metal floor. Whatever it is, it’s been further discoloured by the lights overhead, and it takes him a moment to process it. Not brown, he realises. Red.

Something stirs his stomach. Most of it is darker, dried, but the puddle around him is only half-congealed.

He leans forwards, and grimaces. In the center of the bath, a message is scrawled in blood:

“Play me”.

A long, jagged arrow points to the center of the bath. Tangled in a mess of frayed wires is a single screen, slightly larger than a PADD. Dried fingerprints. For a split second, Jim considers showing his discovery to the others, but the moment passes.

He reaches over, and turns it on. It crackles to life. A video is already queued, and it plays automatically. He fumbles with the screen, almost drops it, because- the person on the recording- is him. He looks different on the recording, though. The saturation of green, washing him out; the strange way he watches the camera. An almost alien confidence.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” the recording says, with a smile. “You don’t remember making this video. But, I assure you; you did.” He glances away for a moment, somewhere offscreen, and his voice softens. “It should be safe- he never comes in here.” He straightens up, and turns back to the camera. “But, I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Jim frowns as the figure on-screen reaches for something unseen.

“Now, don’t panic,” says the recording. “I want you to remain completely calm.” There’s a glint of metal.

His eyes widen.

“Everything is going to be alright,” the recording says. He holds a hand out, flat, and raises the other. In one, quick motion, he brings the axe down. Thud. A wet, tumbling sound. A muffled moan, and a hiss. The sound distorts further as the camera is knocked to the floor, pointing up at the ceiling, and the screen is flooded by the bright, overpowering green.

Scuffling. A grunt of pain, then relief. The video shakes, and continues to tremble as the angle shifts, spins, and suddenly steadies. Jim notes the space where the trail of bloodstains ends. When he was recording, he must have placed it on the end of the bath.

His recorded-self blinks, and exhales shakily. His right hand is now wrapped in a towel; soaked through quickly by blood.

Jim stares down at his own hands. There’s not a scratch on them, and he still has all ten digits.

Past-Jim exhales, his face drawn with pain, and gives him a shaky smile. “Now that I have your attention,” he says, “Let’s start at the beginning.”

[INSERT: IMAGE: “Divider green knife”]

On the outskirts of Mars Colony Alpha is a large, concrete complex no-one discusses. A majority of the structure is buried beneath the surface, untold levels stretching beneath the dirt. Somewhere on the ground floor, James Kirk is onto his third book of the day. For the most part, he measures the days in books, and not the even, unbroken schedule of the guards.

The gymnasium is about the size of an indoor tennis court, claustrophobic walls painted shades of beige and grey which don’t quite agree with each other. The tops of the walls are set with small glass observation windows, the glass tinted just enough that you can’t be sure when someone’s watching you.

Some of the other inmates have formed small cliques, and Jim is reminded uncannily of high school. For his part, he keeps to himself, and takes up a space by one of the rowing machines. He’s so accustomed to ignoring the watchful gaze of the guards that it’s easy to pretend he doesn’t see the eyes across the room, studying him.

At lunch, it’s the same. He eats quickly, and keeps one eye on his stalker. He’s certain he hasn’t seen him before. Judging from the eyebrows, he could be Romulan, though it’s impossible to tell for certain, as his ears are hidden by long, dark hair. Still, Jim thinks, it’d be unusual to keep a prisoner of war on this level; most of the people here are ex-starfleet.

On the way out of the dining hall, he doubles back on himself, and slams into the man. He grunts, and Jim keeps walking, until he has him backed into a wall.

“Why are you following me?” He hisses.

The man tilts his head and stares down at him serenely, his dark eyes glittering. His hair goes just past his shoulders, and has a slightly silky quality. Up close, he can see that the man lacks the forehead ridges typical of Romulans- it’s far more likely that he’s a Vulcan. Jim slumps a little, his grip growing slack, but the man doesn’t move a muscle.

“Hey!” A guard yells.

Jim releases him with a blink, and turns on his heel.

Footsteps follow him down the corridor.

“That was not an invitation to continue,” Jim says over his shoulder.

“I assumed you wanted an answer.”

“Well, you know…” He walks faster. “A little mystery brightens my day.”

“In that case, I apologise in advance for depriving you of your entertainment.” The man keeps astride of him easily, and Jim grits his teeth.

“Don’t worry, you get used to it around here.”

“Mm. A man of your talents must get bored easily.”

The corridor splits in two, and Jim takes the left path. “And which talents would those be?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Your skill for decoding.”

“I’m flattered,” he laughs, “Though, that’s not what the academy called it.”

“Indeed. The academy had remarkably low tolerance for practical jokes.”

Jim slows. “Well, that all depends on the effectiveness of the joke.”

“Yes. Or, how well you cover your tracks.”

Jim snorts. “Well… Hypothetically speaking, of course-” he lowers his voice. “Why would you come to me? I wouldn’t be here if I was any good at that.”

“To respond in terms which are equally hypothetical- it is not a mistake you are likely to make again.”

“Ah; I get it-” a guard passes them in the corridor, and Jim gives them a cheery smile. “You want me to join the prison’s cipher team.”

The man nods. “That is correct. Though, the latest series of-” another guard passes- “Recreational puzzles would be presented to us in Klingon.”

Jim shrugs. “It’s possible, but I’d suggest a xenolinguist, instead.”

“Our search is limited to the confines of the prison-”

“Of course,” Jim gives him a searching smile. “You are an inmate, after all.”

“I always endeavour to remain discreet.”

“Oh; that’s a useful skill,” he comments, as they climb the steps to the dorm areas. “You’ll have to teach me some time.”

“If you’d like.” They climb the rest of the stairway in silence. At the top, the man lowers his voice. “It is unfortunate, when the government which incarcerates you falls.”

“And why’s that?” Jim breathes.

He quirks an eyebrow. “There’s no one left to overturn the ruling.”

“That’s true,” Jim murmurs, and heads for his door. “But I’ve only got three months left, and then I’m out of here-”

The man blocks his path. “Or, you could get out of here tonight.” He tilts his head a little, studying Jim intensely.

“What?” The corner of his mouth twitches. “With you and the cipher team?”

The man gives the slightest nod, and Jim considers it for a moment. It’s almost tempting. But, ultimately, whether he gets out today or tomorrow, there’s not much waiting for him outside.

He steps around him with an awkward smile. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you-” he pushes the door open, and steps inside. “But it seems that rumours of my intelligence have been greatly exaggerated.”

The man remains silent, yet there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“… Though, I’m still smart enough to do this.” Jim says in a breathy whisper, as he swings the door shut.

At evening’s meal, Jim once again feels a pair of eyes on him, and pays firm attention to his plate. The main structure of the meal greatly resembles beets, and- if he concentrates enough- almost tastes like it. Still, his attention is split, and, when he next glances up, the man is no longer there.

He frowns, and spears one of the roots.

And sees something from the corner of his eye.

He sits bolt upright, sliding backwards along the bench with a prologued glare at his unexpected visitor. The man is back; watching him with unsettling intensity.

“You move fast,” Jim grumbles, and quickly stuffs his mouth to excuse himself from conversation.

“Yes.” Not completely without manners, he remains standing; his hands behind his back in a posture which looks strangely familiar. It hits him suddenly, and he tilts his head at the man. At ease, he thinks, with a reluctant nod to the seat opposite.

He sits.

Jim swallows, and lowers his fork. “Let me guess,” he says, dully. “Your cipher team’s still one person short.”

The man nods, his face carefully neutral. “Our team leader will be disappointed.”

Something stirs in Jim’s stomach, and it’s not just dubious beets. “And… What happens then?”

The man almost smiles. “You need not concern yourself with it.”

“Uh huh.” Jim tries to remind himself to stay out of it. “But you didn’t come here to make small talk.”

“No.”

“You’re here to try and persuade me again.”

He blinks at him. A silent question.

“You’re going to tell me to

The man inclines his head. “I sound convincing so far.”

“I-” Jim laughs. “Son of a bitch.” He sits back in his seat. “That’s been your tactic all along,” he realises. “You were going to get me to talk myself into it.”

"It is not a tactic. You simply anticipated my arguments before I could state them.”

“And, if I hadn’t done that?”

He considers for a moment. “I would have attempted to make you see the logic in joining me.”

“Right,” Jim straightens up in his chair a bit. “You are a Vulcan, after all.”

The man holds his gaze for a moment, then raises an eyebrow. “Is that enough to persuade you?”

Jim smirks. “Maybe. But you know more about me than I do about you- I don’t even know your name.”

“Spock.”

“Jim. But; you knew that.” He smiles, and sets his hands on the table with a slap. “How many people are on your... Cipher team?” The cafeteria is busy enough that they could talk openly, but Jim enjoys the slow-blinks Spock gives him when faced with unexpected information.

“Two,” he says, finally.

Jim stares at him. He studies his expression for a trace of the humour he saw before, but, apparently, the man is deadly serious.

Jim leans forward. “Granted, I don’t know the nature of the puzzles you’re dealing with, but-” he lowers his voice “- That doesn’t sound like nearly enough.”

“You will only be present for part of the operation.”

“Alright. So how many people are involved in the entire operation?”

“That is a discreet matter.”

“As, I suppose, is the question of who you’re working for.”

Spock nods.

“Discreet.” Jim repeats, as he gives him an unsubtle once-over. “And they sent... You?”

“I am capable of remaining inconspicuous,” Spock says, with the slightest smile.

“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean people won’t notice you.”

Spock frowns. “To what are you referring?”

Jim smiles, coyly. “I’m afraid that’s a discreet matter.”

Spock stares at the table for a moment, expression unreadable.

“You want to know if you can trust me,” he says, finally.

“Yes.”

“You can’t.”

Jim gives an amused huff. “That’s not a very convincing argument.”

“Nevertheless, it is the truth.”

“I get it. You prove your honesty, I trust you, I leave with you.”

“I am not attempting to manipulate you; I am simply running out of time.”

Jim frowns.

Spock’s hands shift slightly under the table. “My partner, Leland, is breaking me out tonight- me, and the best hacker I can find.”

Jim sits back “And, to think: I thought you chose me specially.”

A breathy, almost-laugh. “He did.”

“I’m flattered.”

He watches Jim. “I…” He jerks his head. “Was not supposed to offer you a choice in the matter.”

“… Less flattered,” Jim murmurs, as his eyes dart to Spock’s hands.

Spock’s mouth twitches, and he lays them flat on the table. “I have no weapons.,” he assures him.

Jim lets out a breath. “Do you need any?”

“Well-”

The cafeteria is plunged into pitch darkness. A murmur reverberates around them, and someone yells. Jim grabs at the table with one hand, and reaches into his pocket with the other. He searches for the familiar, smooth blade handle.

It’s not there. His heart pounds faster. It’s in my quarters, he realises, trying to stave off a blind panic.

After a moment, the emergency lights flicker on: a bright, unrelenting red.

Spock tenses, his face bathed in the light, and he stares at Jim helplessly.

“It’s okay,” Jim places a hand on his arm. “It’s just a power cut.”

“No; it’s not.” Spock stands, suddenly, and surveys the hall. His grip is tight on the back of the chair. “It’s Leland. Stay here.”

He takes a step forwards. Chair legs scrape as Jim scrambles to his feet. “Where are you going?” He hisses.

Spock fixes him with a look. “To stop him from killing anyone.”

“What-?”

“Return to your rooms!” Bellows a guard.

Jim turns, but Spock has already disappeared. Cursing, he hurries in the direction he left, being buffeted between the crowd. He weaves his way down the corridor, and the lights begin to flicker overhead. He curses, and moves faster.

The lights fail as he’s half-way up the stairs, and he grips the handrail for support. The only source of light which remains are strips of bioluminescent paint which line the floor, tingeing everything in a faint blue-green. He stumbles to the top of the stairs. The few people who had returned to their cells wander out again, muttering amongst themselves, and the guards are nowhere to be seen. Jim reaches his room, out of breath, and leans against the wall, gasping.

He should just stay here. He should just lie on his bed, and wait for the situation to be resolved. Instead, he reaches into his mattress, and retrieves the small, fold-out knife. He runs his fingers over the handle for a moment, and then slips it into the pocket of his jumpsuit.

Downstairs, Jim skims his hand along the wall, to help navigate the pockets of darkness. The material is unusually coarse, like concrete with too many air bubbles trapped inside it, and there’s a scream up ahead. Heart pounding, he begins to move a little faster, passing the usually-secure area around the turbolift. Three inmates are clustered around it: two humans and an Andorian, bickering amongst themselves as they attempt to rewire the lock.

There’s shouting up ahead.

A guard stumbles into view, shouldering a phaser rifle. Jim freezes- but their attention is elsewhere, staring at something unseen. A yell echoes down the corridor, and it’s lit up by a flash of red, then blue, as the guard falls to the floor.

Jim grits his teeth, and he pokes his head round the corner.

The corridor is covered in debris, flakes of plaster and brick which used to be the exterior wall. At the other end of the corridor, guards and escapees are firing at each other indiscriminately, and Jim doesn’t stick around long enough to find out if the weapons are set for stun. He simply retrieves a flashlight from the fallen guard, and slips through the gap in the wall, out into the self-contained atmosphere of the prison dome.

Outside, an alarm blares. His nose wrinkles. The air is thinner here, and slightly metallic. Recycled. He begins to walk uphill, figuring that the slight incline will help him find Spock- if that’s still his goal. Still, he doesn’t see how he’s going to make it much further without him.

Still moving, he cranes his neck upwards. In the darkness, it’s hard to tell- the flashlight beam won’t reach that far- but he can just make out a large hole in the glass above him.

As if someone has smashed their way in.

The gap has been sealed by the self-repair protocol: a thick layer of fast-drying plastiform. He picks up the pace, pointing his flashlight at the ground as he comes over the crest of the hill-

A runs bang-slap into the side of a dark grey shuttle.

“Drop the weapon!” A voice growls behind him.

Jim blinks, and steps back from the metal surface. “No… It’s just a flashlight,” he stammers.

Something is pressed to the back of his head. The barrel of a phaser.

“Then drop the flashlight,” the voice growls. “A phaser blast at this range… That’s not something you come back from.”

The flashlight slips from his hands, and his heart pounds. He turns his head slowly.

“Don’t move.”

In the glare of the shuttle lights, Jim can’t see much, but he can just make out a pair of eyes, staring him down.

“Leland-?” Jim realises, as something hard crashes into the back of his head, and he crumples to the ground.

Jim wakes up at the back of the shuttle, lying on one of the stiff benches Starfleet was fond of calling ‘beds’. His head throbs, and he pushes himself up on his elbows with a slight groan. “What…?”

As he sits up, a thin blanket tumbles from his shoulders, and he feels immediately colder. Spock sits in one of the seats facing him, his gaze fixed on the wall, and Leland sits in the pilot’s seat. Jim stares at the back of his head, eyes bleary. He has short, dark brown hair, and a dark grey uniform.

Leland turns to him, and Jim spots a dark Starfleet badge on the front of his shirt. He throws Spock a questioning look, but he keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead, his lips pursed.

Leland smiles. “Hey, Jimbo-”

“It’s Jim.”

“- James,” Leland waves a hand. “I’m sorry about pointing a phaser at you back there.”

Jim gives him an awkward nod. “It’s… fine. But-” He rubs the back of his head. “You do know those things have a stun setting, right?”

Leland smiles. “Well; I had no idea who you were.” He glances at Spock. “Tell him.”

Spock looks up. “He had no idea who you were,” he says, robotically.

“… It’s okay.” Jim glances between them, trying to work out the shift in the atmosphere while still nursing a headache.

“It’s not okay!” Leland insists. “We’re a team now, so we’ve got to trust each other.”

Jim closes his eyes. “Yeah, sounds good,” He murmurs. He leans his head back against the wall.

“Really?” Leland asks. “Because you don’t sound that enthusiastic.”

“I’m just-”

Leland snaps his fingers twice. “Spock?”

“You don’t sound that enthusiastic,” Spock says, dutifully.

“Alright,” Jim exhales, and glowers at him. “It’s just: if we’re a team, then I’d prefer to know who I’m working with. I mean; you can’t be Starfleet.”

Leland turns back to the viewscreen, and fixes his gaze on space.

“Or, maybe you could tell me what we’re doing-?”

“Relax. I’ll tell you the specifics when you get there.”

“But-”

Leland begins to hum to himself, and Jim’s gaze flicks to Spock. He, too, remains silent.

He surveys the shuttle. There are about six seats in total- seven if you count the bench- and everything is a dark grey. Whoever designed the interior was a utilitarian, not an artist.

There’s a pile of clothes at the back of the shuttle, and Jim notes that Spock, too, has changed into what appears to be a modified Starfleet uniform. He doesn’t recognise the badge, and wonders if they can really have gone through such an extensive redesign in six months. It’s sleek, all-black, identical to the one Leland is wearing. The last he’d heard, Starfleet didn’t even exist anymore.

He rifles through the pile of clothes at the back of the shuttle, and changes into a pair of jeans and a red plaid jacket, feeling immediately warmer. As he swaps out the grey jumpsuit, he removes the knife from it, and slips it into his jeans pocket instead. Spock watches this without comment, but quickly looks away when Jim meets his eyes

Jim studies the tense way that Spock holds himself. His hands are tucked away, arms folded just a little too tight across his chest. The shuttle’s internal temperature is probably only programmed to account for human standards, and he knows Vulcans are accustomed to warmer temperatures. Wordlessly, he reaches for the fallen blanket, and holds it out to him. Spock stiffens, and fixes his eyes on it. He doesn’t seem to want to make the first move. Jim leans forwards, and drapes the blanket over his shoulders in one smooth motion.

Jim drifts off. When he next wakes up, the ship is orbiting a purple-blue planet covered in rivers and forests. The readout says it’s M-Class, but it appears to be deserted- no civilisation of any kind, with the exception of one, very faint, signal.

“What is this planet?” Jim asks.

Leland barely looks up. “Heirin.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t have. This is Klingon space.” He nods to something out of the port window. “There’s an outpost on that moon which monitors most of the traffic in this system.”

Jim looks up sharply. “And they just let us wander in?”

“The magnetic disturbance from the asteroid belt on the other side of the system should have masked our signatures. Besides; they’re not on the look out for a little ship like this.”

Jim searches the skies in the direction indicated. “Let me guess; this is going to be our little hacking project?”

Leland gives him a look. “We want you to shut down the outpost via remote link. Heirin is just going to be our base of operations.” He grins, and sets the shuttle on a landing path on the night-side of the planet. Jim watches the tops of the purple-leaved trees get closer, and

“And, when the Klingons find out about it?” Jim asks.

“Relax. It’ll be a long time before they can find someone brave enough to investigate.”

Jim folds his arms. “Klingons aren’t famous for their cowardice.”

“No, they’re not,” Leland hums. “But, for this planet, they’d make an exception.”

The shuttle continues to descend, flying over the purple-leaved trees and passing over vast swathes of pink fields. They cross over a wide river, flying low over a forest which looks distinctly greener than the others they’ve passed so far. Up ahead, a tall structure rises from the trees.

It’s three three stories tall, and made mostly of dark metal. A gap in the center suggests that part of the building has since fallen away. They land in a clearing, to the right of it. Jim steps out of the shuttle, and surveys it from this new angle, as Leland and Spock unload a case of supplies from the back.

“Where’s the server room?” Jim asks.

Leland arches an eyebrow. “You don’t need to see it yet. Relax a little.”

“Right… but you do have one, right? This place looks pretty broken down, and I can’t hack a Klingon outpost from this distance with your shuttle alone, no matter how high-tech it is.”

Leland stares at him for a moment, his expression suddenly sombre. “If I told you where it was, what’s to stop you from shooting me?”

Jim gives a little huff of laughter. “I can think of many reasons, Leland, but number one would be: I don’t even have a phaser.”

Leland laughs in return. “Yeah?” He hands him one. “Well, you do now.”

Jim stares down at his hands in surprise as Leland begins to move towards the stronghold, whistling.

‘What the fuck is wrong with him?’ Jim mouths, but Spock only stares at him.

“Cosy,” Jim comments, as he hauls the first crate into the central hall. Everything about the stronghold speaks to Klingon architecture, but the interior has clearly been redecorated by humans. Large rugs and carpets cover sections of the floor. A wide sofa and two arm chairs sit on one side of the room, with a dining table on the other side.

He prises the top off one of the crates, and peers inside. It contains numerous phaser power-packs. “I don’t think we’ll be needing all of these,” he says, with a nod to the far wall.

An innumerable collection of weapons adorn them, of Terran and Klingon origin. They’re assembled with seemingly little order, hung at irregular intervals by nails hammered into the wall. Five bat’leth’s, a crossbow with a laser, and a gin'tak spear. There are others, too- Romulan, Andorian- things he can’t quite place.

“Whoever was here left in a hurry,” Jim says.

“Or, they never left at all.” Spock says quietly.

On the opposite wall is a large fireplace, comprised of neat, pink stone. The Mantelpiece almost looks like granite, although it’s much smoother. The material is probably local. A single staircase stands to the left of the fireplace, ascending through to the next level. The dining table sits to the left of this, just in front of the windows.

Jim wanders through a set of glass doors, and out onto the balcony.

A Veranda wraps around the second level of the stronghold, seemingly an afterthought: unlike the rest of the building, it is fashioned from a pale, beige wood. It doesn’t resemble any of the trees he’s seen on the planet so far, and he wonders if it’s been imported. He could almost believe it was built by humans, but the pillars follow the trappings of Klingon architecture: angular, wooden supports, slotted into reinforced bases. Still, it could all have been done in an attempt to mimic the existing styles. The one anomaly is a single, spiral staircase just off the center of the platform.

He keeps walking until he gets to the end of the allotted area. There’s a second, smaller communal area attached to the Veranda, fashioned from the same imported wood. Tattered banners adorn the walls, a dusky red: The emblem of the Klingon empire. Three triangular spikes jut out of a ring of white, and Jim stares at the symbol, rooted to the spot, realising for the first time that he’s deep in enemy territory.

In front of the flags is an alcove, which someone has evidently attempted to make comfortable by adding flimsy red cushions. Still, if this was intended as a place to sleep, he can’t imagine it would suffice, because, despite all its comforts- and the ceiling overhead- it is still, technically, exposed to the elements.

There are more pillars laid out in front of the alcoves. As he goes further into the area, his eyes widen, and he stops walking.

“Leland?” He calls over his shoulder.

There are footsteps as Leland approaches, and surveys the carnage in silence.

Blood stains the base of the pillar, some red, some magenta, and the cushions have been scratched up. There are places where the furnishings have been ripped away entirely, and one of the cushions is a deeper red than the others; a carpet placed over a strategic place on the floor. A single blade lies on one of the scuffed-up cushions. It’s Klingon: the blade is shaped like an arrow, with a decorative line cut out of the center. A d’k tahg.

Leland approaches it with interest, and Jim spies a bloody handprint on the wall.

“I thought you said The Klingons never came here,” Jim breathes.

“Worried?” Leland grins, and reaches for the discarded d'k tahg. He twirls it between his fingers before adding it to his belt, a glint in his eye. “Don’t worry; by the time we catch their attention, you’ll be gone.” He claps him on the shoulder, and moves back along the balcony. Jim breathes shallowly, the feeling of foreboding intensifying.

They return to the shuttle via the spiral staircase, and finish unloading the supplies. Everything comes in unmarked boxes, but Jim assumes that the rest of this must be food- although, if anyone is the type to pack more ammunition than food, it’s Leland.

Jim leans on a crate. “You still haven’t told us what this place is, exactly.”

Leland shrugs. “I thought it was self-evident: An abandoned Klingon stronghold.”

“But why is it abandoned? They can’t have forgotten about it,” he says, with a nod to the pylon on the roof.

Leland grins. “The Klingon’s know about it, but they avoid this planet like the plague. There are a lot of… Superstitions attached to this place,” he says, cryptically.

“What; are you going to tell us a scary story?” Jim folds his arms.

Leland smiles. “I might. But you’d need to gather some firewood... Scary stories are best told around a campfire.”

Jim hesitates, and thinks of the nice, warm-looking fireplace in the cabin. Still, he wouldn’t mind the chance to explore- and to get away from Leland for a while.

“Fine.”

Spock stands stiffly, perhaps from the cold, and Leland turns to him. “Go with him, Spock. Make sure he doesn’t get… Lost.”

Jim spreads his arms wide. “It’s a big planet. Where am I gonna go?” He bellows over his shoulder. His voice echoes off the trees.

The bark of the trees here are tall and green, and he’s reminded, suddenly, of the moss back on Earth. The thought is accompanied by a familiar gut-punch, so he instead focuses on the plant life which surrounds them. The trees are surprisingly thin, despite their great height. He’s so busy craning his neck that he stumbles on something hard. He braces himself on a nearby tree, and Spock comes to a sudden stop behind him. The rock he tripped on is covered in a thin layer of bioluminescent fungus. The mushroom itself is a bright, sickly shade of green, though the light that it emits is more pleasant, soft lime.

Behind him, Spock shuffles restlessly, so Jim steps to the side. They make fleeting eye-contact as Spock takes the lead, treading a path through the untouched undergrowth. Though he’d never admit it, Jim feels a small thrill of adventure. He remembers the days when he wanted to join Starfleet; the promise of exploring the unknown too tempting to resist- before The Unknown came to kick their ass.

Jim watches the back of Spock’s head, and wonders what’s going on in there. The man he’d met on Mars Colony and the man in the shuttle were two very different people, which he’d initially blamed on Leland’s influence. Still, there’s something unsettling about Spock’s continued silence.

“So, tell me,” Jim says. “Why were you in that prison? Leland couldn’t do his own dirty work?”

Spock barely glances at him. “He would have been recognised.”

“I’m sure.” Jim trots alongside him. “But, you being in there- that wasn’t just a cover, was it?” He studies Spock’s profile as they walk, trying to work out how close he is to the truth.

A cyan light shines off Spock’s face, and still, he says nothing.

“C’mon,” Jim swipes a branch out of the way. “A guy like you should have made Captain in what, five years, maybe six?”

Twigs snap underfoot.

“That was your goal, was it not?” Spock says, finally. “To become the youngest Captain in Starfleet history, on a bet?”

Jim straightens up a little. “How did you know-?”

“-And the reason you thought it necessary to cheat on The Kobayashi Maru.” He raises a brow pointedly, and sets off towards the woods at a fast march.

Jim slides on loose stones as he hurries after him. “You knew Captain Pike,” he realises.

“Yes.”

“So, it wasn’t your aspirations which landed you here. A mistake, then?” A branch catches in Spock’s hair, and ricochets back into Jim’s face. “Ow!” He hisses.

Spock glances back. “A mistake.”

Jim glowers at the back of his head, and rubs his jaw. “I’ll say,” he mutters.

“Perhaps-” Spock halts without warning “-We are both here for reasons outside our control.”

Jim rubs his nose.

“- As you said earlier; it is a big planet.” Spock turns to him. “Big enough that it is not entirely inconceivable that you could make it back to the shuttle without Leland’s notice.”

Jim blinks at him. “I’d need the keys for that,” he says, finally.

“You would,” Spock says, neutrally. “And you would find them, in my pocket.”

“I wouldn’t get very far.”

“Perhaps. But, the treatment Klingons give their prisoners is likely to be kinder than Leland’s.” He turns to keep walking, but Jim grabs his elbow.

“And, what; you want me to strand you here with him?”

“Preferably not. But, whoever leaves will have a greater chance of escape as long as the other keeps him distracted.”

“Then- why not you?”

“I am responsible for bringing you here.”

He chuckles softly. “Perhaps. But I chose to come. And I’m not leaving without you.”

His eyes dart to him. “Then you are a fool.”

Jim grins. “And I thought it was obvious.”

[Front Cover] [chapter 1] [Chapter 2]

#star trek fic #tomorrow never comes #spirk fic #spirk #star trek aos

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enterprisetrampstamp · 5 years

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powerful (with a little bit of tender)

Written for @benicebefunny for @sapphicstartrek 's femslash exchange!

The line of T'Pring's back is straight and long, elegant in the misty morning light that creeps through the empty window frames of the modest cottage. Heat slips inside as well, blanketing the room and spiralling Nyota's thoughts along a simple track of lethargy. She doesn't move from the bed, flat on her stomach and legs twisted in the cotton sheets, and simply watches.

T'Pring's chest rises and falls almost imperceptibly in her meditation. Her long black hair cascades in a gentle wave down her back, over the thin fabric of her tunic. There has never been a more poignant moment in her life, Nyota thinks as she watches her. Not her assignment on the Enterprise, not her various promotions, not even their wedding, not 36 hours prior. The bond between them thrums with the sorts of quiet, passive love, of an earnest devotion, which can only be heard when the world is this still, this silent, when they both tiptoe into their own versions of meditation.

REET REET.

Nyota's eyes flutter shut as her lip twists up in disgust. For the love of--

She reaches for the side table, craning to get her comm into her grasp without moving from the bed. "I'm on my honeymoon," she says into it, flatly, without listening to whatever her temporary shipside replacement has to say, and snaps it shut. She considers it for a moment- hardy and strong metal designed to take an away mission's beating, buffed to a shining gold color which will stand out sharply against the close cropped brown lawn- and then tosses it out the window to find later.

T'Pring snorts.

"I've been a model officer literally since the moment I graduated from the Academy," Nyota mutters, muffled as she presses her face firmly into the pillow. "I've saved the Earth specifically half a dozen times, and other planets too many times to count. Jim can give me the week he fucking promised. Go back to meditating."

"It could be an emergency," T'Pring points out. She sounds ever so vaguely chiding, but the only emotion pulsing through their mental link is one of deep seated amusement.

"It's always an emergency. They don't need me."

The amusement deepens, sharp and cutting and just a little bit snide and a little bit proud, at its heart.

"Yeah, I heard it, too." Nyota yawns so widely that her jaw cracks, the sound swallowed by the heady humidity of the air. "But regardless, they'll have to manage without me, because I'm here with you. One full week--Jim promised. Spock promised. And since they're both jackasses who don't know the meaning of a work-life balance, I made Len and Christine promise to hold them to their promises."

Whoever had managed to convince Christine Chapel to return to the Enterprise deserved every commendation in the world. A sainthood. A full jug of Scotty's remarkably smooth bathtub liquor. Nyota hadn't realized she needed a friend who was a high ranking, take-no-shit female officer until the blonde with the caffeine addiction had filled in for Len at a staff meeting, settling in next to Nyota and proceeding to tear Scotty a new one over his lax approach to workplace safety protocols. It had been best friendship at first sight.

T'Pring slides slowly over top of Nyota, the tip of her nose tracing lightly up her bare spine before taking a gentle turn for the featherlight press of lips against the birthmark on her shoulder. "I can hear it beeping," she rumbles, still thoroughly entertained, as she finally settles her weight like a blanket over her wife. There is a possessive sort of satisfaction in the motion--like inspires like in Nyota's own chest.

Forever, she doesn't need to think, because T'Pring has already murmured it into her skin the night before.

Nyota finds her hand, palms coming together and fingers twining in what is more intimate than a simple Vulcan kiss, the press of fingertip to fingertip, yet more chaste than the deepest of the human kind. "Grab my phaser," she suggests.

Her own silent laughter shakes her shoulders as T'Pring's revulsion shoots spikily through her mind. "Do not even joke," she says sternly.

"I will not deface Starfleet property to continue my honeymoon sex marathon with my wife," Nyota promises dutifully.

"Your captain shall be glad to hear it."

Nyota's laughter breaks out of her this time, high and wild in the morning light. "My first officer will be thrilled to hear it--my captain would have already snapped that thing in pieces!"

She can hear the beeping, too, if she strains for it. That's as reassuring as anything else, honestly--whatever the situation, it's pressing enough that they want her attention, but not so pressing they're just beaming down to get her. Len's probably already on the bridge, chewing Jim's ear off for daring to call her, even as Spock silently encourages her temp to keep hailing her.

"We must rise, eventually," T'Pring tells her. "I still wish to hike the trail today."

Nearly every square meter of this entire planet belongs to a wildlife habitat, meticulously maintained by its nearest neighbor. This cabin is one of less than a dozen on the surface, each situated by a winding nature path so rugged and minimally maintained as to be hardly recognized for what it is. To venture out onto it means there is the promise of a dozen stunning vistas, of seven waterfalls, of silent companionship as she trails diligently behind, of the way her wife's trousers tuck into her hiking boots and of those little whisps of hair that escape her braid as the sun rises and then sinks in the sky.

But staying here has the promise of more of that silent, still love humming through her veins, of the taste of T'Pring's lips and the decadent flavor of the wine chilling down in the cellar. They have a week to enjoy that trail--she wouldn't mind another day spent right here.

Nyota sighs, trying to sink deeper into the bed, and T'Pring must sense (does sense, they're Bonded now) her reluctance to move because she nips teasingly at the nape of Nyota's neck with those slightly too sharp to be human canines. "We shall not do the whole thing today," she promises. Curls her free hand about Nyota's hip and lifts her own weight enough to nudge her into turning over. Her dark eyes, when Nyota reluctantly obliges, are soft and earnest and far too expressive for her solemn face. Her fingertips stroke the curve of Nyota's jaw, light and reverent. "I shall not stop to take any clippings."

She hums internally with amusement again, fully aware of the overwhelming fondness in the exasperated, "Better not," that Nyota mutters with a slight roll of her eyes. Botanists. Obsessive, the lot of them.

"And--" T'Pring's smirk tugs at the corners of her lips-- "I have been told that the third waterfall has a particularly refreshing pool beside which we could take our lunch."

No image comes through their Bond, just imagined sensation--overheated, sweat slick skin slipping into the water, sweet berries foraged off the side of the path pressed to each other's lips. The glorious shade of the trees after each bout of brilliant sunlight, and the spattering of freckles taking root on T'Pring's shoulders and cheeks. Trudging through the door of the cabin on their return, muscles aching with the satisfaction of a well spent day, laughter as they finally tumble into the bed.

"Well," Nyota says, and it is not so much begrudging as it is breathless, "when you put it like that."

"Then we are agreed." T'Pring squeezes her hand and then releases her, rolling out of the bed completely. Her loose tunic falls to mid thigh, and she finds her trousers where they had been flung in the far corner of the room. "Today we hike."

She is already walking to the other room, clever fingers deftly beginning to braid her waist length hair, as she adds, "On our way out of the cabin you can also locate your communicator and verify the status aboard your ship."

There is a moment of pure silence.

Nyota stares up at the ceiling, exasperation flooding through her system like ink in water. "I've been had," she tells the ceiling. She imagines she is speaking to the Enterprise, somewhere unseen in the sky high above their heads. "Take us back to the Vulcan elders, I want a divorce."

T'Pring's answering laughter- so blindingly rare- is nearly enough to make up for her treachery.

#sapphicstartrek #femslash #t'pring #uhura #t'pura #@benicebefunny-- it's shorter than intended so I'll be taking a swing at your other ship request as well I think!!#expect to see another one today or tomorrow #the 'something funny' request was tripping me up a bit but hopefully this is acceptable!#I don't know why I can't tag you :/

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bluesakura007 · 3 years

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Undeniable - Chapter 5: The Father of the Moth Woman - Khan Noonien Singh x OC

Summary: A conversation with her parents causes Zin to reveal to them the full explanation of how much Khan means to her and why she’s defending him.

Warning: This chapter is touching up on a little bit of angst again.

The afternoon arrived and kicked into action some hours on from Khan’s revelation of his origins and his childhood, with which Zinalya had been spending the last few minutes ambling aimlessly around the San Francisco harbour, taking this time after the aforementioned heart to heart that he’d shared with her to clear her mind, both from her mostly latent concerns about the current situation as a whole and from the tears she had shed during their conversation.

She had her hands on a metallic railing lining the edge of the pavement where she was standing, this edge being the one that was nearest to the smooth, visually calming surface of the waters taking up the harbour; the railing's own surface was cold to the touch right now, but this was another thing in her environment that felt calming.

Off in the distance, standing by a set of buildings as a group, were Jim, Spock and Nyota, who were all watching as Zinalya took her hands off of the railing after a few seconds and began walking again, down the pavement. She was hardly difficult to see in the crowd, thanks to her burgundy hair colour.

"It kinda makes you think..." Uhura pondered out loud.

Spock turned his head to look at her. "About what?"

"About all this she's doing: she's willing to leave behind all she's ever known, her family, her job, everything, so that she can be with the man she loves." Answered the communications officer. "It makes you think about how much it means she loves Khan."

"She also might be making a mistake driven by allowing her passionate emotions to get the better of her."

"Way to kill the mood, Spock." Kirk remarked with a small laugh.

"People can make decisions regarding feelings of love without logical or rational thought of any kind." The half Vulcan hybrid responded, sticking to the point he was trying to put across as he continued to watch Zinalya gradually walk away, off into the part of the harbour’s crowd too far away to be seen, with the other two next to him still also observing her vanish. "I am aware that, in some cases, choices made in the name of romance can be for the greater good of both people involved, but in the other instances, their feelings can impair their judgement and therefore lead them into making harmful decisions."

"I’ve got a hell of a lot of my own doubts about her going away with him too, but it’s not our business to separate them knowingly." Responded the captain. "It’s like what we all heard Zin herself say to Bones earlier: we can’t dictate who she’s allowed to have the feelings for, so that means we can’t try to keep them apart."

"And we all saw what she’ll do to anybody that tries." Commented lieutenant Uhura jokingly.

"What additionally concerns me, however, is the possibility of Khan’s way of thinking and his ideals and mindsets being transferred to her." Said Spock.

"You’re worried about him being a bad influence on Zinalya?" Queried his girlfriend, for confirmation on whether what she thought she just heard was true.

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Now you’re starting to sound like you’re her father." Opined Jim, in the same manner as his remark a few moments ago.

"But the thing is it's like Romeo and Juliet: I'm not saying we have to be in full support of what she wants to do either, but Romeo and Juliet were two lovers who were forbidden from being together by almost everybody they knew, and in the end it caused them both to commit suicide." Nyota added. "So if we try to get involved and stop those two from being together then we could basically just end up making it worse."

"As I recall, the ultimate fate of Romeo and Juliet was additionally implied to be because of their over-eagerness in progressing their relationship and not wanting to wait to find a more suitable and less dangerous environment before commencing marriage to each other."

"Spock, remind me never to let you start writing literature." Jim put in another of his remarks to his friend.

Almost another half hour on from that moment, the half Trill in question had made it back to her apartment, where upon entering she promptly sat down in one of the armchairs that she’d made use of last night when she was still pondering on whether or not to put her plan into action. Before she did indeed obey her impulses and set everything that had taken place that day into motion. However, this time she was in an at least somewhat better mood due to her feelings of closure at having gotten it off her chest and not having to hide it anymore like she'd been doing for the last several days before this one.

Suddenly, her attention was grabbed as her communicator in her pocket chirped, which she flipped open. "Go ahead."

"It's me." There came the sound of Sulu's voice on the other end of the line. "I called to tell you that your parents have just started trying to give you a call, ma'am."

"Okay. Thanks for letting me know, I'll talk to you later." Zinalya acknowledged before then closing the device again and, begrudgingly, got up and walked into her bedroom, where there was a wall-mounted screen on which her video calls could be held. She already had the words “Oh god...” running through her head - if the opinions and controversy she'd faced from her crewmates regarding her feelings for Khan so far were bad, that of her family was bound to be a whole lot worse.

She psyched herself up for a moment and then pressed the button on the controller pad nearby which would open up the incoming video call, and there they were. Her parents. Mason Hamilton was a human who used to work as a Starfleet adjutant, with Zinalya's hazel-green eyes and short, mousy brown hair, and her mother, Siazru Tebal, was a joined Trill and the fourth host of the Tebal symbiont working as an architect's executive on Earth, and was so far the first, and only female one, out of the Tebal hosts. She had shoulder length dark dark grey hair with a burgundy tint, entirely brown eyes and, due to being fully Trill, she had a lot more of this race's distinctive spots compared to Zin.

"Hello Zinalya." Siazru greeted.

"Hi you two." She responded. Here it comes...

"We’ve heard about what you said this morning in the Khan Noonien Singh trial." Mason said after a second of working out what to say next. ...And there it is.

Their hybrid daughter allowed herself a small chuckle. "News obviously travels from pretty quickly."

Her father nodded his head, his expression turning serious and steely. "It does." He continued, "Now, my million dollar question is: what the hell were you thinking?"

"Mason." His wife hissed to him, attempting to do this discretely.

Zinalya slowly crossed her arms. "How do you mean?"

"What was going through your brain when you said that? When you decided that you were in love with a terrorist?" He spat back.

"I thought you agreed you were going to be casual and cautious about this." Siazru did a mental facepalm.

"I didn’t just decide, dad." Replied Zin. "I didn’t think about it or pre-plan how I feel, I just spoke out what was in my heart. I went with what my gut was telling me."

"You didn’t think about it? That’s even worse!" Exclaimed Mason. "So you’re willy-nilly becoming the girlfriend of a criminal?"

"I’m not going to say anything cliché like ‘the heart wants what it wants’, but I just like him, simple as that. It’s something I can’t even put in words."

"And she said she wasn’t gonna say any clichés." He snorted derisively to himself.

"This is the reason why I was hesitant to answer your call - I just knew you were going to be like this." Zinalya snapped. "I was beginning to understand a little about why some of my crewmates might be sceptical, but you not supporting my decision is a whole different ball game!"

"I don’t mind what you do in life as long as it means you’re safe and happy!" Her father yelled back. "And going off on an exile with a killer is not what qualifies as safe!"

"Oh so you’re okay with me being safe but not being happy. In fact, you know what? If the man I like is such a big problem to you then why don’t you just disown me, dad?"

"I don’t want to disown you Zinalya, I just want you to make choices that are best for your own good! You’re our daughter, which means we love you and we don’t want you to throw away your future like this!" Shouted Mason.

"I’m not throwing anything away, I’m just exchanging one future for another." She gripped the bridge of her nose with her right hand.

"For a future where you spend it all with a murderer!" He retorted, at his highest volume yet during the conversation. "Whether you like it or not, I have to get this point into your head so that I can damn well help you!"

"YOU’RE NOT HELPING ME! SCOTTY AND PAVEL ARE THE ONLY ONES WHO’VE ACTUALLY LISTENED TO ME AND ARE SUPPORTING ME IN THIS AND THEY’RE NOT MY FAMILY!" Her building anger having finally reached its ultimate boiling point, Zinalya blew up at her father without any warning, silencing him immediately and releasing her pent-up frustrations about the matter. "YOU'RE SAYING IT'S FOR THE BEST BUT IT'S NOT! APART FROM PAVEL AND SCOTTY NONE OF YOU REALLY DO CARE ABOUT HOW I FEEL! IF YOU DID THEN YOU'D UNDERSTAND THAT THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO DO! I WANT TO BE WITH KHAN!"

Once she had finished screaming, she stopped to take a deep breath to at least calm herself down to a small degree, facing away from the image of her stunned-into-silence father and equally surprised mother as tiny tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. There was still a hint of his own annoyance at the situation on his face but for the most part, Mason was visibly regretful that he'd caused this reaction from his daughter.

Siazru gently asked another moment on, "What do you like about him, if there is anything particular? Is there anything specific that caused these feelings for him in the first place?"

Zinalya blinked several times, before turning back around again to face them and giving her answer. "He's not just some cold-blooded murderer. He has feelings of longing, and regret, and sadness, like the rest of us." She sniffed. "He said he basically only ever had a normal, happy childhood during the first four years of his life, and then after that he was treated as a lab rat for most of the rest of it. As some kind of ongoing project that needed to be improved on and tested and controlled. And when he was woken up last year, he and his friends had ran so far and so fast from the threat of being wiped out altogether, and he was manipulated by the threat of every one of them being killed for the purpose of an admiral starting a war and getting personal glory for himself. An admiral who'd forgotten what the Federation stands for and managed to manipulate Khan into believing that everybody he had left in his life had been killed. He was scared, and people lash out when they get scared enough."

"I see." Siazru nodded in understanding, while her husband bit his lip slightly in his still fresh remorse.

"When I first started having my feelings for him on the Enterprise, I was doubtful too; I was worried about what it meant for me to feel that way about a man deemed as a criminal." The youngest of their three children continued. "But then I started to find out that he's not how he seems. I've also got a theory that it's the work of destiny, and that we don't really need to understand why we like each other and the only thing we do need is to be grateful for it. In fact, let me explain this in a different way: let's say, just for argument's sake, that Khan was a moth. As in like some kind of humanoid moth-like creature called the Moth Man." Her parents both nodded, wondering where she was going with this metaphor, as she then directly addressed Mason, "Well, the thing is, dad, you're the father of the Moth Woman. What I'm trying to say is, I don't know how it happened but me and him are made for each other." A beat passed, and then she finished with, "He's gentle underneath all that stuff on the surface, and I am still very open and comfortable with Scotty and Pavel because they are still my friends, but when I'm with him I feel even more like that. Being with him sometimes makes me feel like I wanna dance or burst into song, and the way he looks at me... it's like he's looking deep into me and realising that he can trust me. He only shows it on the outside a little bit, but when Khan sees me, his eyes light up, too, like he's trying to be welcoming. So now I can either try to save him, so that we can be together somewhere, or just let him be put back into stasis forever. It's a simple question of do I dare to try or don't I, and I've decided that I do."

#khan x oc #khan #star trek into darkness #into darkness #benedict cumberbatch #khan noonien singh #star trek aos #aos #into darkness khan #star trek #khanbatch #khan singh #stid

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askmyboys · 4 years

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Asmodeus and Jimmy

First n foremost, I nEED to update this blog more often than I do ugh- but here’s two babs I made based off of sims and there is a trigger warning down there somewhere highlighted in HUGE bold text before it goes any further so please keep it in mind

| Names: Asmodeus Kosmos and Jimmy Vulcan

| Nicknames: Asmo/Kos and Jim/Vul (sometimes Jimmy likes to mess with Asmodeus and calls him momo)

| Genders: Trans FTM

| Sexualities: Asmo is gay while Jimmy is Pan

| Ages: Unknown

| Heights: Asmodeus is 7'5" while Jimmy is 5'3"

| Species/Race: Asmodeus is a demon and Jimmy is a human

| Skin Colors/Body Types: Asmodeus's skin is red and he's pretty muscular and Jimmy is fairly pale and much more chubby

| Eye Colors/Hair Colors: Asmodeus's eyes are pitch black and his hair is also black (hairstyle is: Greaser Style) and Jimmy’s eyes are a Baby Blue color (his hairstyle is really just a Manbun)

| Appearances: Asmodeus wears a Red and Black flannel with a simple black t-shirt underneath, he also wears black ripped jeans and some black multi buckle punk boots, he also has a black collar with some spikes on it he wears as well, and finally he wears some gauges. He has large pointy ears, razor sharp bear trap teeth, and a few scars here and there but nothing too severe it seems, he also has large black claws and some large black devil-esque horns and a black devil style tail (he doesn’t bother disguising himself bc he literally just does not care in the slightest, if he didn’t like the looks of his punk esque clothing he’d even keep his hooves n fur to look even more inhuman)

Jimmy wears a black and white striped suit (the white stripes are v e r y thin) with matching pants as well and some black business shoes, he also has glasses as well not for the look just bc he literally needs them to properly see anything, his outfit isn’t too spectacular or out of the ordinary but he does have a few strange scars on himself and his wrist (before conclusions are jumped too, no, it was not an intended self harm scar, he did do it for an ENTIRELY different reason and you’ll see why soon) (oh and I almost forgot like a dumbass, Asmo is Trans thanks to his demon magic- he gave himself the body he wanted and Jimmy of course being a human, this was before he even got to meet Asmo anyways got the surgeries/took the T and all he needed and wanted ya know?)

Oh yeah and btw they both have short boxed beards.

| Personalities: Asmodeus isn’t the most… friendly neither to demons nor humans, in fact, he’s actually a cannibal- he’ll eat his own kind but he’ll also eat humans as well, he’s VERY mischievous and loves to cause trouble and pull pranks and terrify people, he’s always hated his own kind and humans both however… There IS one human he actually likes to be around and stick with, which of course at first it wasn’t that way but I’ll explain that in a bit, he’s pretty cold n cruel towards others, he’s often hungry so he feeds himself quite a lot much to a certain human’s dismay bc he’d really rather things lay low n such but lmao that’s not gonna happen fuck that, Asmo does p much what he wants WHEN he wants to and there ain’t a damn thing anybody can do about it- he truly is p much a rebel.

Onto Jimmy… Jimmy is much more kindhearted and sweeter, he’s not exactly the best with people due to a lot of anxiety and social anxiety so usually he doesn’t hang out in large gatherings and such as that, he usually spends a lot of time in his own room playing some games in his free time but usually he’s writing and working on multiple stories, now if it wasn’t obvious enough as it was, Jimmy is the human I was referring to earlier, him and Asmo live together and I’ll explain why in the side facts but for now, Jimmy’s goal is to one day became a famous author even tho he knows dealing with people and crowds will be tricky, he knows it’d be worth it in the end for sure… Absolutely LOVES animals of any kind, dogs, cats, rats, hamsters, etc you name an animal and he loves them so much he’s too scared however of Asmo eating said animals to bring one into the house unfortunately.

Jimmy loves reading as well, he’s an absolute bookworm and I’m not saying this bc he’s a writer or reads or shit like that but he genuinely is a geek, he’s a complete dork but we love him anyway I’m sure after all… Havin’ a problem with Jimmy is a death sentence with Asmodeus around.

(tl;dr: Asmo is cruel, cold, evil essentially and also a cannibal he’ll eat his own demon kind and he’ll even eat human kind, he’s VERY gluttonous so it’s hard to fill him up most of the time he can just never be satisfied, he does care about one and ONLY one human and that of course is Jimmy obviously, nobody touches or bothers Jimmy with Asmo around, he hates other humans and demons alike however, loves causing mischief and mayhem, pulling pranks, and scaring the hell out of people, always hated his own kind

Jimmy however is much more friendlier, kinder and a sweetheart, however his anxieties both social and regular anxiety gets in his way a lot so he can’t handle people and a LOT of situations tbh, he LOVES writing and hopes to one day become a famous author even if he has to deal with people he knows its worth it, loves to read as well, he’s a geek/dork and lovable as ever, 100% LOVE. FOR. ANIMALS. You let this man see a fucking puppy or hell even a baby rat and he will break down in tears bc its so damn cute, he’ll cry even worse if you let him hold a puppy or somethin like that)

| Side Facts: This is gon be a long one now… so woo boy… Jimmy despite sounding like an average normal human being p much, he’s had a very dark secret… Jimmy was actually supposed to be a cult leader at some point, however for reasons unknown that little thing didn’t work out which he is actually relatively relieved of bc truth be told he wanted no part of a cult in the slightest, that didn’t stop him from being curious about demons and such as that however… There was one demon in particular he had heard them mention quite often and it’s yep, you guessed it! Asmodeus Kosmos… His curiosity had admittedly gotten the better of him so he did some research and…

(Trigger Warning!!! For blood, ritual esque themes, demon summoning of course annnnd p much him cutting his wrist for said ritual so if that bothers you please don’t read any further into it)

Jimmy grabbed the supplies he needed, it was pretty basic stuff such as candles, drawing an upside down pentagram, etc- he then grabbed his knife and slit his wrist, letting his blood flow out into a chalice p much and at first he thought this was the worst decision he ever made and besides nothing even happened so now he’s going to have a scar on his wrist and have to deal with lots of blood but before he could even move to go grab a towel, lo and behold… There was a bright red light and then out popped Asmodeus from the pentagram who immediately grabbed the chalice and rather greedily began slurping up the blood inside, after finishing his little… drink… He looked over at Jimmy who was honestly very mortified right about now and p much grinned at him like “Yooo! What did a lil fella like yourself summon a demon like ME for?” Asmo was definitely… shocked like… really? THIS is what summons him? Jimmy looked like any ol regular human! Nothin special! Just another snack!

And that was when Jimmy realized… He didn’t actually know why he summoned this demon, he had no reason other than curiosity and then an even worse realization of this demon is going to be absolutely. Fucking. P i s s e d. He was lowkey freaking out, before he could even think of the proper response, he just blurted out “Uhh… C-Curiosity…?” which made Asmo’s expression drop a lil, it was more so one of confusion than anger “...Ya know, normal demons woulda been pissed but lemme tell ya somethin’ I ain’t no normal demon and I gotta admit… Outta all the human blood I’ve had, yours by far has been the fuckin’ b e s t tastin’ blood e v e r! Dunno what’cha did bud but ya definitely did somethin’ right! Well, for me at least, for you uh well not so much” Asmo definitely made ill intentions clear to Jimmy by flashing some sharp teeth (this is turning into an actual story now shit uh just roll with it and for fucks sake why can I write better when im not even trying to do an actual story?!)

Asmo of course barely gave him any time before walking over and casually grabbing his wrist, he licked the wound clean much to Jimmy’s dismay… Could demon saliva cause an infection? He didn’t exactly want to find out but it was too late now, Asmo didn’t notice the terror humans usually had for him so maybe this guy didn’t read the fine print or somethin’... “Uhh ya do realize like, I’m gonna eat’cha now right? Did you even, like, r e a d the smaller text in the books? Or did they cut that part out just hopin’ some poor soul would get devoured?” before Asmo could take a chunk out of Jimmy he quickly began to speak “Wait! I’ll… I’ll make a deal with you!” Asmo being the lil trickster that he was couldn’t r e s i s t… “Ooh… What kinda deal we talkin’ ‘ere pipsqueak?” Jimmy didn’t even know what he was saying, he just blurted the next few parts “What if I like… Help you? With, uh, the eating thing?” Asmo of course couldn’t believe his ears, he deadpanned “Ya serious? Ya gonna help me, get other humans who are basically gonna become my meal? JUST to protect yourself?” and there was a pause but before Jimmy could rephrase his question it was too late, Asmodeus grabbed his hand and shook it “You my friend have got yaself a dealio! I’ll spare ya, but uh, I expect a meal v e r y soon~” of course, now Jimmy was completely fucked… Now he had to keep this demon fed because a deal was made and he couldn’t break it or else he’d be the one eaten… And of course not to mention breaking a deal with a literal demon is not the best thing to do in any universe…

Over time of course though… Jimmy had actually begun to bond with Asmodeus, despite all the people he devoured over time… Other than his harsh exterior, rude behavior and pranks n scaring others n stuff… Asmodeus has become much nicer and kinder to him… And even opened up more to him, he knows he can’t change Asmodeus’ ways and get him to stop eating others unfortunately but… After all the time these two have spent together, all the chatting, and even all the flirting (mostly Asmo has done that to Jimmy) they have not only become best friends with each other but in fact, maybe there’s something… More going on there. Aka their dating by now, they actually love one another very much and now? Asmo could never e v e r even dream of eating Jimmy, he’s… actually even scared if he grows too hungry around Jimmy he could accidentally hurt the human… And he’d never want that now, he’d rather himself be locked away and chained up than hurt Jimmy and truth be told… Jimmy is the only being that’s ever been actually nice and kind to Asmo, even after basically threatening him at the start and kinda tormenting him with his pranks, his teasing, and scaring he was still so nice and warm towards him… He was also rather pleased to find out that not only was Jimmy not straight but also ayyy Trans Buddies!!!

#new ocs #my ocs #Asmodeus Kosmos #Jimmy Vulcan #demon oc #human oc #trans ocs #lgbt ocs #trans and gay demon and of course trans and pan human bc fck you i do what i want #these were originally sims #but then I decided I want more babs and so voila here we are #tw: rituals #tw blood #tw cutting mentions #tw cannibalism implications

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mlm-writer · 7 years

Text

Sexy Cop, Bad Cop Pt. 5

As always thanks to my partner in crime @gentlemccoy for helping me with the story and beta’ing it.

Original prompt here by @thetwelfthpanda

Completely SFW aside from swear words.

Word count: 1322

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Jim kept explaining everything to - and flirting with - Spock. The Vulcan seemed little affected by the latter. He surprised everyone with his cooperativeness. Jim received the credit for that and with it also permission to take Spock without any guards to the cafeteria for lunch.

Apparently Bones did not count as a guard, but he might as well have been. Before they left the room, Bones made a point of letting Spock know that he was armed at all times, as a precaution specially for him. The two humans left with Spock between them. Spock walked as rigid as always; Bones kept his eyes on the bowl-cut as if its existence offended him and Jim was uncharacteristically tense because of the tension between Spock and Bones.

Unsurprisingly the eyes in the cafeteria were all on the trio when they entered. Spock could not blame the humans for staring. Of course they all heard of the extraterrestrial in their midst and naturally none of them had seen one before. “So what do Vulcans eat?” Jim asked as he grabbed a tray for both Spock and himself. Spock took the one handed to him and followed Jim like a youngling following its mother. Commander McCoy in turn followed Spock, but not like a youngling. No, rather like a predator following its prey. “Vulcans have a very adaptable metabolism. However, because of our philosophy, we would rather not consume any animal products.” Spock heard the man behind him scoff. The Vulcan turned to the dark-haired human with a questioning raised brow. Commander McCoy returned the favour with the same gesture.

Jim was for a moment unaware of the other two having a ‘staring with a raised eyebrow’ competition. He kept thinking out loud which food would be preferable for Spock. Philosophy? Given how logical Vulcans apparently tried to appear, at least for as far as Jim’s knowledge went for now, that was the Vulcan word for religion, though they would probably deny having any. Spock’s options were limited to a veggie burger or a beet salad. “So which one sounds better?” He finally raised his gaze from the food only to see Spock and Bones still near the stack of trays. “Guys?” The two finally broke their gaze and moved their feet. “I apologise”, Spock responded when he was closer to Jim again. “I recommend to take the veggie burger since the salad looks disgusting”, Jim suggested with a clear disgust for the sight of salad. “And what are you going to take?” Bones asked, clearly not pleased with what Jim’s choice of the day was. He just knew what it was already, but Bones being the ever-hopeful man he was believed that if he questioned Jim’s choices enough, he might amend them. “The burger, what else?” Jim smirked, eliciting a displeased sigh from Bones. “You’re gonna get diabetes with your eating habits”, he complained as he grabbed a sandwich for himself. Jim could not quite see what was on it, but knowing Bones, it was probably chicken. “Bones, is coca cola vegan”, Jim asked as he grabbed a can for himself and held another in hand for Spock. Bones sighed again as he took the can from Jim’s hand and read through the ingredients list. After a short moment, he put it on Spock’s tray next to the veggie burger. “Have fun feeding the alien your junk food.”

Shortly after the three of them sat in the corner, most eyes on them. Spock had insisted on using cutlery. Jim had told him at least ten times that burgers were human culture and meant to be eaten without cutlery. Spock had countered that humans were an underdeveloped society. Jim was pretty sure he called humans savages. Underdeveloped or not Jim was enjoying his burger. It took him at least three bites before he looked up and saw the mutual disgust on both the other males’ faces. The origin of Bones’ disgust was clear. He feared for Jim’s health. Spock, however, was not so clear about his revulsion as the older human at the table, but Jim could already tell the smallest hints of emotion on Spock’s face. “Is something wrong, Mr Spock?” Jim asked after swallowing his bite. Spock raised his brows for a short moment, before he looked down at his burger and cut what seemed to be the first piece. “I do not believe it is a wrongdoing, lieutenant. I merely find your human eating habits to be repulsing”, he almost politely stated before taking a small bite. He seemed a little displeased at the taste of the veggie burger, but he ate it nonetheless. Jim frowned. Was it the meat? Was it the fact he ate with his hands? Was it him? “Uhm, Spock… what exactly is it that you find uh… repulsing?” Spock opened his mouth to say something, but Bones beat him to it. “Well first of all, do you have any idea how much fat is in that thing?” Bones had put his sandwich down, making Jim sigh at the knowledge that meant he was going to get a lecture.

“And secondly, you got sauce all over your face. I’m your best friend and even I find that repulsing.” Leonard handed Jim his napkins. The older male knew Jim always forgot to take those and always took twice as many to make up for his best friend’s eating habits. What he saw when the other took the napkins actually surprised him. Lecturing Jim about his eating habits and messiness was a daily occurrence everyone was used to. Normally Jim would take the napkins and wipe his face with a playful grin, probably enjoying getting Leonard worked up. Today, however, he looked almost ashamed of the ordeal as he wiped his mouth thoroughly. “Commander McCoy, on Vulcan it is against our philosophy to consume any products originating from animals. We also possess a strong aversion to consuming products without the usage of cutlery.” Leonard looked at the aliens, slightly impressed by noticing Jim’s out-of-character behavior too. Then again, who knows what those two were up to last night? “Want a piece of advice from me? Don’t drink that crap. It is like diabetes in a can.” Leonard pointed to the can of cola, before resuming his lunch. He was not up for culture classes. Jim quickly slipped back into character, telling about the whole history of coca-cola, as if it belonged to the must-knows of human culture. At most it was a must-know to understand obesity in the Unites States, but who was Leonard to break his best friend’s happy ramble?

After lunch, Jim and Leonard were forced to part with Spock. The alien needed to go for MRI scans and Christine was convinced Spock was not the violent type. Probably true, since the alien valued other living beings so much, he wouldn’t even eat an egg or something. “Okay, spill the beans.” Leonard looked up from his paperwork. Jim at some point had crossed the room and was now leaning against the commander’s desk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Leonard folded his hands on top of his desk and looked innocently up at Jim. The blonde sighed and pulled a chair over, so he could sit near Leonard. He leaned close and spoke quietly. “You’re not as good in hiding things as you like to think you are. Well… At least not for me. So tell me what has been on your mind since this morning.”

Leonard sighed heavily. How was this kid both thick in the head and perceptive at the same goddamn time? The commander looked down and opened the drawer under his desk. In it was the piece of black cloth. He took it out and lied it on the desk, looking Jim dead in the eye. “I found it this morning”, Leonard clarified, not taking his eyes off his best friend.

#spirk #Jim Kirk #james t kirk #Christine Chapel #James Tiberius Kirk #spock #s'chn t'gai spock #leonard h mccoy #12th panda au #star trek

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kaymcspaddenauthor-blog · 5 years

Text

Children of the Star: A Star Trek Story

Chapter One: “Nyota Means Star in Swahili”

Disclaimer: No money made here. A labor of love only.

Spock almost never dreams. For a long time after he lost his mother, he slipped into troubled nightmares whenever he closed his eyes to rest, but those stopped long ago—years, though at this moment he cannot calculate the exact number. Nine years since his mother’s death, or perhaps ten? He is never unsure when he is awake.

Yet he is certain he isn’t asleep. He knows he is sitting cross-legged in front of his asenoi in the crew quarters he shares with Nyota. She is still on duty on the bridge of the Enterprise, monitoring the communications between stellar cartography and a shuttle survey team sending back data on the only variable star in this quadrant.

Variable stars of this magnitude are not rare and the work should be routine. Ever since the ship entered orbit, however, the crew has reported unusual neurological and psychological symptoms to sickbay.

Radiation emitted by all stars affects organic life in some way, so the fact that Procis 241 might influence the crew’s behavior is not, in and of itself, cause for concern. Earth’s star, for instance, provides the requisite energy for plants and animals to thrive.

Of course, overexposure also causes epidermal burns and cancers.

That doesn’t mean that Procis 241 is necessarily a danger, or even the cause. Any number of reasons for the headaches and dizziness the crew have reported are possible, including a parasite or another contagion. The Enterprise crew also could be suffering the normal effects of being in close quarters without shore leave for an extended period of time.

Even Nyota has been exceptionally irritable with him lately, snapping with uncharacteristic anger at minor annoyances. Hence his choice to work separate shifts, and his increased need for meditation. Part of him hopes their current rift is the result of the star and not proof of an inevitable slide into a parting of the ways.

Speculating about the star and its effects is pointless until the survey team finishes gathering data in 12 hours. Or 13. Spock feels something close to alarm at the gap in his memory.

“Are you well?”

The voice is both familiar and not. Spock opens his eyes and looks into the face of a young woman. Her worried gaze is human, but her features—upswept brows and ears—are Vulcan. With a jolt, he knows who she is.

“I am...fine,” he says. “Daughter.”

The syllables are odd on his tongue. Surely she has a name, something he calls her that is less formal. He casts about in his memory but comes up with nothing.

The young woman—his daughter—leans over and puts her hands on her knees so she can peer more closely at him. “Are you certain? You seem distracted.”

Looking around, Spock sees that they are in a park, he sitting cross-legged on a blanket spread over the grass. In the distance, children laugh. A motorized scooter rumbles past. A warm breeze lifts a matted strand of his hair and he shivers.

If this is a dream, it is far more detailed and realistic than any he’s had in the past. And although he occasionally indulges in imagined scenarios while he meditates, he is always the conscious author. This is something different.

The young woman stands up straight and crosses her arms. “Are you going to sit there all day? I thought you were going to show me around.” Her tone is playful and she grins as she speaks, something no Vulcan would do. A human would, and in particular, the human he knows best.

Spock gives an audible sigh of relief. Nyota must be somewhere nearby.

“Where is your mother?”

“Who knows,” his daughter says, shrugging. “She and Bubba went to see some boring something a little while ago.”

“Bubba?”

“I know he hates it when I call him that, but Uncle Jim was right. All brothers need to be teased.”

Spock is mystified but also quietly delighted. This young woman is obviously Nyota’s child—graceful and dark and mischievous like her mother. But she is his daughter, too, her Vulcan features and dry wit part of his inheritance.

“Now, are you going to come on?” She raises her voice slightly and Spock gets to his feet.

“Berlin,” he says, recognizing the park, though he cannot remember its name. His father took him here once on a tour of European capitals before he’d applied to the Vulcan Science Academy. They’d had an argument—here, in this park—and the rest of the trip had been awkward and silent.

Not an argument, but a disagreement. Sarek did not argue. He pronounced what was, and Spock either agreed or was wrong.

The argument in the park—the disagreement—was about trees, of all things. Sarek had insisted that the trees in bloom were a species of oak, but Spock was equally sure they were linden.

“The linden trees of Europe were extinct by the late 21st century,” Sarek said. “A fungus destroyed them all. You are mistaken.”

“Nevertheless,” Spock said, “the scent of linden pollen is unparalleled. Surely you noted it. And although oak leaves resemble linden to a degree, it is you who are mistaken. Obviously, some linden trees survived the mass extinction to which you referred.”

A twitch crossed his father’s face. When he spoke, Sarek sounded annoyed and disappointed in equal measure. “Why do you always question what I say? Why are you like this, Spock?”

Even now—even here in this not-dream world—Spock feels a measure of surprise at what he did then.

“As you know,” he said, locking his gaze with his father’s, “I am the product of my genes and my environment, and you are responsible for both.”

The scent of linden trees wafted around them like an aftertaste of a bitter meal.

His daughter—the young woman whose name he does not know—runs ahead of him. “Come on!” she calls back. “There’s not much time!”

He picks up his pace and breathes in the heavy fragrance of the trees. His daughter stops abruptly and turns to him, lifting her arms over her head to indicate the canopy of green leaves.

“This!” she says, her tone joyful. “I want to learn all about this!”

“They are linden trees,” Spock says, grateful to have something to say. “People long believed they had become extinct after the Third World War, but here in Berlin they survived.”

In a rush, his daughter—this lovely young woman with her mother’s eyes—comes toward him and takes his right hand in hers. A warm spark of energy flies between them.

“Yes, I know that, Father! What I want to explore is why! Why are they here? Why did the ancient molecules evolve into trees and not something else? Why these trees? Why here? Why?”

She lets go of his hand and he feels as bereft as if he had lost someone dear to him. Her words make no sense, almost as if she is speaking an unknown language, but he gives himself over to the reality of this not-dream-not-meditation. His usual anxiety about things—his drive to find out and know—is quieter here. Somehow he is content to let his daughter be the explorer, even if he does not understand her quest.

He’s a different father than his father had been. Or he will be.

Perhaps the variable star is interphasing with the future and this is a vision of what will be. Twice already the Enterprise has recorded instances of spacial interphase in variable star formations. Could this be a third, with a peek into what will happen years from now?

Or perhaps he is suffering a psychosis brought about by the proximity to the unknown radiation signature of Procis 241. Given the odds, that seems more likely.

“You need to wake up,” he hears Nyota say like a faint echo. He presses his eyes closed and tries to return to his room, his asenoi.

But his daughter is suddenly at his side and they are walking through a copse of trees, fragrant with tiny white flowers.

“Remember how Mother got so mad that time I overwatered her orchid,” she says, and to his astonishment, Spock does remember it. His daughter barely up to his elbow, her black hair pulled back into two sleek ponytails, confessing that she’s been watering the orchid on the sly. Nyota’s dismay that this gift from Spock to celebrate the birth of their fist child was drowned in rusty colored water.

“And remember how Grandfather brought her another one just like it, and how he said flowers can be replaced but children are fragile?”

This, too, Spock recalls—the potted orchid in his father’s hands as he stood in the doorway of their apartment in San Francisco—Nyota’s eyes watering as Sarek spoke. The harmony between mother and daughter restored by his words.

“I remember,” Spock says, feeling such a measure of love for Nyota and his daughter and Sarek that his heartbeat thrums like a timpani in his side.

“Please come back,” Nyota says in his ear, but his daughter takes his hand and again he feels the electricity between them.

“I’m not ready for you to leave,” she says, tugging him forward. “If you go, I may not see you again.”

That is true, Spock thinks. If this is a figment of his imagination—a construct of his star-addled brain—she will disappear when he regains consciousness.

But if she is a glimpse of the future, seen through the strands of a stellar interphase—

“I’m going to give him 40 cc’s of methadryl. That should get his attention—“

Dr. McCoy’s voice this time.

Spock lets his daughter’s fingers slip from his. “I must go,” he tells her. He opens his eyes and sees Dr. McCoy squatting beside him on the floor of his and Nyota’s quarters. The asenoi flickers behind him like a misshapen jack-o-lantern.

“That will not be necessary.” Spock motions towards the hypo in the doctor’s hand.

“Well, welcome back, Spock,” the doctor says. “You gave us a scare.”

“How long have I—“

“I found you like this when my shift ended.” Nyota is kneeling behind his left shoulder and he swivels around slowly to make eye contact. A faint sheen of perspiration is across her cheeks and nose. Her eyelashes are wet.

“I’d like to keep you overnight for observation in sickbay,” Dr. McCoy begins, but Spock interrupts.

“Unnecessary. I am unharmed.”

“As I was saying,” McCoy says, pointedly addressing Nyota, “I’d feel better if I could haul him down to sickbay for awhile, but there’s no more room at the inn. We are full with patients much more agreeable and compliant than your partner here. I’m on my way now to report to the captain. As far as I can tell, it’s not a virus—“

“The star,” Spock says. “The odds are that it is emitting some sort of scandian particle radiation, or it might be undergoing a stellar interphase—“

“Dammit, Spock. Spare me the mumbo jumbo. You can tell Jim yourself. And sit back down. He’ll come to you.” To Nyota he says, “Keep him here.” He raises his eyebrows and adds, “If you can.”

McCoy leaves with a noisy flourish.

When the room is quiet again, Spock listens to Nyota’s soft breaths. Still sitting beside him on the floor, she edges closer until her arm brushes his.

“You were somewhere else,” she says at last, breaking the silence. “I couldn’t reach you there.”

“I could hear you,” he says. He feels her bristle, her anger flaring across her skin.

“Then why didn’t you—“

“Our daughter required my attention.”

At once her anger dissipates. He hears her sharp intake of breath. “How is that possible?”

“I would be untruthful if I said I knew. But she was ours, Nyota. Or she will be. It defies logic, but I know this.”

He looks up then into her face and is startled to see her smiling. Of all the emotions he could have anticipated—disbelief, skepticism, worry—he is caught off guard by her amusement.

“You do not believe me.”

“On the contrary,” she says, taking his hands in hers. “I do. You would never, ever, ever tell such a ridiculous story unless it was true.”

Her laughter unlocks something inside him and he falls easily into their private, affectionate patter.

“Even delusional people can sometimes sound convincing,” he parries. “Or my logic could be faulty and I might be mistaken.”

Nyota grins. “It won’t be the last time, will it?” She stands up and holds out her hand to him as an invitation to join her. “Come on,” she says.

“You heard the doctor,” Spock says as he gets to his feet. “I am to stay here until the captain arrives for a debriefing.”

“Exactly. Which knowing Jim Kirk, won’t be for at least twenty minutes. We have plenty of time.”

“What did you have in mind?” Spock follows her as she makes her way to their bedroom.

“Use your logic,” Nyota says, smirking. “I want to hear all about that possible daughter of ours.”

“Khio’ri.”

“What?”

“Khio’ri.” Spock lets the word tumble across his lips. “Khio’ri. Vulcan for star. We will name her after you.”

#star trek #spuhura

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whenthemarshmallowmettheslayer · 6 years

Note

Favorite fics you ever written?

Warning this a long post because I've written a lot of fics.

For Harry Potter:

1.) The Definition of Good. Summary: After Chamber of Secrets Harry gives Dobby a place to stay. Everything changes.

2.) Keep it simple, keep it safe. That's all you can do when it's too late. Summary: Harry smiled; it didn't reach his mom's eyes. "There's no need to call me sir professor," Harry quipped once again. This Harry knew. This Harry could take and dare he say it? Liked. Or rather, he liked it compared to the alternative despite his hatred towards the greasy haired wizard before him.

(Harry can't help but remember the chocolate cake slices and hours of looking at photos of Mrs.Figg's cats, the warm - to the point he feels as though they may burn him - embraces from Mrs. Weasley, Dumbledore's soft spoken promises and words that might as well be empty, of Sirius' offer of Harry living with him just gone in a blink of eye because he fell into a veil Harry's godfather could not come out of.)

For Percy Jackson:

1.) I scream too loud when I speak my mind. Summary: Percy Jackson does not accidentally vaporize his pre-algebra teacher and everything else that happens afterward. (I've actually loved writing all the parts of the series but I'm only including this one.)

For Death Note:

1.) To be a Queen. Summary: It's that the queens (Misa, only Misa, because Misa the idiot sees what no one else sees. L says he doesn't swing that way but L wants Light, Kira, but Light is Kira therefore the other king. So duh he can't be L's queen no matter what that pevert wants.) in chess are the most powerful pieces despite the kings (Ryuzaki and Light) being the most important. Because without the king (Kira and L) there's no game, if you defeat the other king you win; Kira wins and he will.

2.) Game over. Summary: Instead of replying to baby Kira Matt takes the cigarette out of his mouth and with a smile (it's weird to smile because Matt never really smiles and it's probably a real ugly ass sight to see) throws his last cigarette onto the Death Note.

Game Over, he thinks and just walks off without so much a word. He wonders briefly what's next. With Light it's easy (boring even). He'd follow his dear dad's footsteps and become a police officer. Probably the best and maybe he'll meet L. Those two assholes deserved each other, Matt decided, but what about him?

(Or the universe gives Matt a restart after dying and he sadly uses his last cigarette on the Death Note.)

For Tokyo Ghoul:

1.) There's a ghost in my lungs. Summary: A series of non-linear conversations where Haise learns about his past, how he became who he was, and people that Kaneki loved. (Haise time travels to the beginning of Tokyo Ghoul. I've only posted one chapter so far.)

For Jessica Jones/Alias:

1.) Rest in pieces our youth (so we might glue it back together again). Crossover with Spiderman Homecoming. Summary: Jessica Campbell and Peter Parker are least likely of friends ever since Jessica came back to school.

For Fullmetal Alchemist:

1.) I've got questions. Summary: Edward smiled thinly, something viscous but not ugly (never ugly, not when it came to her) was the look in his feral eyes.

"Rose," gently, Ed thought, like she was Al or Winry when they were doing stupid shit, "that was a list that represented the complete chemical makeup of a human body for the average adult. It had been calculated to the last microgram, but still there has never been one reported case of successfully creating a human life."

Some people put their faith in gods to be able to live their life; some, like him, lived their life to achieve a goal. There had once been a time when Ed use to pray with mom. He had even prayed after mom had died but had stopped a long time ago.

It wasn't the constant frustration of loose ends (till now, Edward thought, Cornello's ring on his mind). No, he had stop praying even before that. It wasn't even the bastard's sharp jabs that were constant; always there as though Edward would ever let himself forget. What an idiot; how'd that man ever become a Colonel? Besides obviously burning children and women to death that corpses he climbed on to get to the top of the military.

2.) (What is) insanity but the ability to draw the perfect circle? Summary: There's a creak in a board behind him and he whirls around, hands ready to clap. It's Scar. Again there is a difference. Well differences technically. That makes his hand hover, pausing him from clapping. Scar, wearing glasses while inside on a rainy day, stares at the sight before him.

He should take a picture. It'll last longer.

"Are you Edward Elric the Fullmetal State Alchemist?"

Maybe it's because someone has actually him if he's Edward that he answers honestly. "No."

Or Edward is okay with suggesting to partner up with Scar to kill his Fuhrer (who might not be a homunculus in this universe) but isn't okay with Nina going in the rain and getting a cold.

For Star Wars:

1.) Love of a daughter. Summary: "and yet, so far at least we have yet to figure out what you gain from this." It's a question as well as statement. A chance to explain, to come clean on why she - a unknown Sith- had assassinated they're precious, beloved Chancellor (what fools). But how could you come clean when there is so much blood on her hands? Never-mind the sins and blood on Vader and Luke's when her family had been alive.

When she answers it's not because she's announcing her transgressions in hope that her heavy, dirty soul might be saved. One couldn't repent when they didn't feel guilt in their sin.

"For the love of a daughter." Leia pauses and looks back at Anakin and thinks: I did this to avenge you. After thinking that Leia says one more thing - the last thing actually because she nothing else to say after this.

"And you should have been more careful electing your Chancellor. You never know who is Sith." This has double meaning but she's the only person who knows it.

And she's fine with that (no, she isn't).

Leia wonders if her younger self and Luke will ever become the monsters like her Luke had been and the monster she is.

2.) When dreams come true (which they often do when Anakin Skywalker dreams them). Summary:It happens in the day, in the light. A dark masked man with heavy breath that was killing the slave owners and freeing the slaves. No one - not even the Hutts, who were now dead- could stop the droid looking man.

That doesn’t surprise Anakin though. Anakin had seen the stranger’s blade that coated the sands with different colors of blood. A red lightsaber. The man was a Jedi and he had come to free them.

(Or young Anakin's dream comes true just not in the way he dreamt it.)

3.) Nobody does it like Artoo. Summary: Because the droid had just killed Chancellor Palpatine. The man who was the closest thing Anakin had to father.

“Artoo please tell why you just killed Chancellor Palpatine?” He asks, in soft calm voice. He needs to keep a level head. Needs to be the Jedi many claim he cannot be. Deep breathe in. Deep breathe out. He could be calm when all he wanted to do was try to find the person who responsible for rewiring Artoo and show him/or her why it was a bad idea to touch his droid and make his droid kill a person he loved.

Artoo beeps his answer and Ana-

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN PAlPATINE IS DARTH SIDIOUS AND THAT YOU’RE FROM THE FUTURE!?”

4.) Of time travel and relationship blocking. Summary: But he knows the universe is better off by Artoo's travel in time. Palpatine is dead. Artoo had killed the Sith Master that had destroyed too much of his humans’ lives. There was no Empire and Darth Vader did not exist. The twins were raised by their creators. All was good except Leia was coming to age of no longer a child yet not an adult.

Which meant other human boys were becoming attracted to future Senator. Human boys who were not Han Solo. It was becoming rather frustrating - to the point Artoo felt like rolling into a wall- but at least Anakin agreed that these human boys did not belong with his creation. (Sequel to the fic above. Never did write more chapters for this fic but I do adore it.)

For Star Trek:

1.) I appreciate your enthusiasm, but Kodos will not be in this production. Summary: This was not how Jim imagined telling Bones about Tarsus IV. Actually that was a lie. Jim had planned to never tell Bones about Tarsus IV. But so is the life of Jim Kirk (also known as James T. Kirk, JT, Captain, and t'hy'la to Spock and Ambassador Spock who both had yet to tell him what that word meant. A childish part of Jim thinks that Hoshi would tell him if she was still alive before his mood darkens. The memories - the guilt - of that day flashes before his eyes and God does Jim hate drugs.).

2.) Logically speaking. Summary: "Say mother had been," there had been a pause as Spock tried to find the right words to convey his question, "say mother went through unnecessary strife during her adolescent years and somehow you ended up in the past. Do you allow for her to face this to persevere an already faulted timeline or do you save her?"

By then, Amanda had made her way to her husband side so she could look into Spock's eyes. The question was odd and admittedly out there but her son's eyes said otherwise. Spock's eyes could be compared to an open book and that book told Amanda that this somehow was serious and her son was torn.

(Or the backstory on how Spock sort-of got permission from his father to steal a ship from the Vulcan Science Academy through Amanda Grayson's eyes.)

3.) I prefer to have my nightmares with open eyes. Crossover with Black Butler. Summary: Jimmy, JT, James Tiberius Kirk (whoever the hell he truly is) knows what it's like to adapt just to stay alive, to be whoever he needed to be just to survive. Just to eat.

It makes him laugh and JT doesn't know this but he reminds the demon (Sebastian he once was called and will take the name, the mask, of once again) of another young boy who the world had destroyed. Who had laugh a bitter laugh because that was all he could do. Crying, after all, did nothing. (Maybe one day I will write that Shinigami!Jim fic. If I ever do I will gift it to ShortyKatezey.)

4.) I need you, I need you, I need you right now. Don't leave me alone. Summary: It doesn’t matter in the end that this universe’s blue eyed James T. Kirk isn’t Spock Prime’s Jim. He still feels Jim-so familiar to his Captain, his Admiral, his Jim, his thyla yet so differnet, so angry, so broken - death.

It should have been me (it had been him in his universe) is Spock’s first thought after he momentarily gets over the wave, the crash of emotions he feels. His next thought is: I am not fine. (This is Spock Prime reacting to Jim's death in Into Darkness.)

5.) Of bored school boys and a death god. Crossover with Death Note. Summary: Ryuk drops the Death Note and a bored but brilliant beyond his years teenage boy picks it up. Sound familiar? Except it's not. JT is many things but a God complex isn't one of them.

For The Vampire Diaries:

1.) When did you dance with death? Summary: When did they all die? When did this become their lives? Was Damon to blame? Stefan to be blamed? Was Katherine to blame? Or Klaus to blame? Were Klaus' parents to blame for trying to keep their kids alive and eventually making them into monsters? Whose to blame for the fact they're all murders instead of simply, normal teenager?

And you know what? They're going to be dead for sure instead of just their morality and innocence having kicked the bucket. There's no vampire blood in their system that could cure them from what Klaus will inflict; Katherine ran from Klaus for hundreads of years and her family was slaughtered just because she wanted to live. They had killed Kol - Klaus' own brother - and trapped him with the burnt corpse.

2.) Revenge is best served with condoms. Summary: "I know who you are. You're the tasty little thing my older brother has come to truly fancy." Tasty little thing. Caroline froze; those words replaying in her head except in British accent (the only accent she truly had thing for).

For Yuri on Ice:

1.) The downside of love. Summary: Soulmates that share the bruises on their other's skin can have a downside if you haven't met them yet. Katsuki Yuuri learns this the hard way.

#Asks #anon #ao3

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