exastris_scientia | retired open post // will still tag in if threads are ongoing!

✯ → → → |augment au\\chris + allergic reactions = giving your brother a heart attack » with julian bashir (

asklepian)

✯ → → → |rise of the guardians au\\nbd just rewriting into darkness » with kozmotis pitchiner (

asklepian)

✯ → → → |hogwarts au\\gryffindor!jim and slytherin!julian » with julian bashir (

asklepian)

✯ → → → |rise of the guardians au\\ jack rescues ~~gets his ass kicked~~ kozmotis and they head back to earth » with kozmotis pitchiner (

asklepian)

Edited 2015-12-07 05:06 (UTC)

✯ → → → |naval captain kirk and augment julian » with julian bashir (

asklepian)

✯ → → → |jim recuperating post ID » with spock (

vulcanblood)

✯ → → → |news at 11 jim kirk is allergic to the universe. why do you bother letting him off the ship?? » with spock (

vulcanblood)

✯ → → → |the romanoff twins find each other again » with natasha romanoff (

blowncovers)

[ this banter between them comes back readily enough, but not easily. it comes with an ache in his chest he's not sure he can define. little sister. not so little anymore. ]

Not as dead as your ability to cook.

✯ → → → |augment au\\khan rescues julian from section 31's clutches only to find that he doesn't remember him or who he is at all » with julian bashir (

asklepian)

✯ → → → |jack frost rescues kozmotis pitchiner from pitch black's lair » with kozmotis pitchiner (

gildedgeneral)

[ kozmotis might not know what it means, exactly, but jack does. worry takes over his determined features, even as he takes out a nightmare that charges him. ]

The eggs--- No!

[ there are other tunnels. if he can get to those, he might be able to save some of them. ]

Edited 2015-12-07 05:50 (UTC)

[ He hadn't intended to stay this late. He told himself it was only going to be for a few hours, just to get himself caught up on these reports, to start fresh for tomorrow. Two hours ended up being two more, and two more yet. By the time the doctor was done, it was well into the evening. Bones blinked blearily up at the chronometer, his hands rubbing across his face, wiping the strain from his eyes.

He should get going, get the hell out of here before pokes their nosey head in. The doctor sighs and starts stacking tablets up, one atop the other until he's got a nice little pile set up on the corner of his desk. Good enough, he figures, standing up from his chair, arms and legs stretching for a moment before he strides himself out of his office, out of medbay. A small wave thrown over his shoulder for any patients or staff that happened to catch him making his exit.

He's just on his way up to his quarters when he runs into him. Jim, stalking through the corridors like a man with a purpose. The doctor smiles weakly at the sight, his feet carrying him across the floor, moving as quietly as he could without giving himself away. ]

Isn't it a little late to be makin' rounds? [ He drawls into the younger man's ear, hands coming to rest on either side of Jim's hips. ]

[it had been intended to be a simple shakedown mission. they'd done a lot of work on black one recently, and poe needed to stretch her wings. she'd flown like a dream all the way to the backwater world where one of the resistance's contacts had reported finding...something. it didn't matter, because it hadn't panned out anyway. and he had bigger things to worry about.

leaving orbit, five first order tie fighters had come screaming out from behind the third moon. that was at least two more than he'd rather be facing, best pilot the resistance had or no. and they were hot on his ion trail--he needed to shake them before hitting hyperspace or he'd lead them straight to the resistance's front door.

bb-8 shrieked warning as a couple pot shots sailed across his nose. they'd told him to stand down and land, prepare to be searched. they wouldn't have messed with a new republic starfighter, but the older models the resistance fielded wouldn't pass for one even if he hadn't given black one a paint job fitting her name.]

Hold on, BB-8!

[he threw the ship into a tight spin, foils folded tight to throw off their targeting sensors, then streaked off hard, coming around in a loop that nearly made his flight helmet fall off.

but he had sights on the target. he locked his wings into attack position and fired. four shots, four hits--the starboard solar panel tore away from the tie's fuselage and it went into an uncontrolled spin, crashing into a second that was too slow or clumsy to get out of the way in time.

well, that was just too bad for them. it created a nice hole that poe intended to make use of. his foils folded again, and he flared the hyperdrive engines into life.

they managed to hit him just as he was breaking hyperspace velocity.

bb-8 wailed in binary, beeping frantically as it began to recount the damage. it had been a glancing blow, but it had been straight to the engines. they were damn lucky that it hadn't knocked them straight back out of hyperdrive and broke them into a thousand tiny pieces scattered across space. as it was, they were stuck in a seemingly impossible--scratch that, definitely impossible, wide open feedback loop. the engines kept getting hotter, and they kept going faster. the control stick in poe's hand felt like it was going to shake apart, and it was all he could do to keep her level.]

BB-8, give me good news buddy, you can fix this--

[the klaxons started wailing as all the gauges on the display in front of him maxed out--their speed was kriffing impossible. he didn't know where they were going to end up when they finally got out of hyperspace, but it was definitely going to be in the back-end of nowhere. something sparked. his ship felt like it was going to fall apart, rattling and groaning with strain it was never meant to take.

he looked up, out of the windows, and wished he hadn't. instead of the bright blazing blue-white-and-black of a normal hyperspace window, he saw just blinding white, incomprehensible nothingness. it didn't even look like they were moving. he wouldn't have been able to tell if the engines weren't roaring behind him.]

BB-8...come on, buddy, please.

[there was a triumphant wail, and then he jerked forward in his seat, thrown against the straps holding him in as the engines died and they spun on their axis into a dead drift. the g-forces were too much, and poe blacked out.

bb-8 sent a distress call on all resistance bands. they were dead in space.]

[ the lighting in erik's quarters was brought up just enough to start to wake him gently. charles was on the viewing deck, but he used the internal comms in order to speak to him as his vital signs rose out of sleep. ]

Pilot? You asked me to wake you if I were to find something interesting. I believe you'll enjoy this. I'm on the viewing deck, whenever you wake.

[ it was a nebula, but with something many considered to be a good omen on travels through deep space. wake angels, though they did manifest without the exhaust of a passing ship. they were too far away to have caused it, and charles' sensors did not indicate any nearby vessel. he'd keep an eye on things either way.

he tilted his face, leaning closer to the viewport, to get a better look as the colored gases swirled overhead. erik had allowed him to expand his personality subroutines, and he was finding more things he enjoyed daily. ]

[ the work on the ship was going well. they were helping clean up san francisco still too, but it was slow going. jim had gone up to the ship to check on progress there.

it was a madhouse. there were people from all over starfleet command and the neighboring ships on board. he could barely make it through the passageways without bumping into anyone.

like the guy he just accidentally shoulder checked. ]

Hey, sorry. [ he gave a small grin, and clapped the guy on one shoulder. ] You ok?

[ to say that jim was still wary of the man, joaquin, who'd broken them out of ---wherever the hell starfleet headquarters, was an understatement. he'd seen what the guy could do, and there was this undercurrent of distrust that constantly buzzed in the back of his mind. it was giving him a hell of a headache.

but for some reason, that he couldn't still fathom fully, he had helped him contact two others that he referred to as family. he'd even inputted whatever vague virtual breadcrumb was supposed to lead them to the both of them. now they just had to wait.

jim wanted to contact his ship, find out what was going on, but after what admiral marcus, the head of starfleet did to him, well---who could he trust? did pike know what had happened? or spock? bones? with the brutal interrogation he'd been put through involving two terrorists at large after an attack in london---

is that what they thought he was too?

it was making his head hurt. again. his head was always hurting these past few---days? he's not even sure how much time had passed, and he said little to nothing to the other guy. they were just waiting, now. jim tried not to bristle whenever the guy called him "chris" or when he mentioned that the two they were waiting on were their brothers.

i'm not that guy, i'm sorry. he'd say. every time he did it made something cold and angry flare up in the other man's eyes that made jim find another room to sit in cause it made him feel sick. ]

[It's far past the time Spock should be sleeping. At least resting. Instead he's still quite awake, taking care of tedious work that doesn't exactly have to be done now, but what's the point of letting it sit about and collect?

As far as he's concerned it's better to get it out of the way now and not have to worry about it. A lot of it is stuff either him or Jim could do, so he takes care of it if he can, besides he enjoys it to an extent, the busy work. Much like how some like to do crossword puzzles, this Vulcan liked doing this. Jim would give him grief no doubt if he knew.

But he is sure he appreciates it. In fact Spock knows he does.]

[As missions went, this was almost insultingly simple. Natasha Romanoff had many skills--almost none of them were needed on this particular guard duty but her sharp eyes, and she had almost nothing to contribute to the daily motions of the scientists examining the object recovered from the bottom of the ocean--the Tesseract.

She knew its history, what it had been used for in the past. The thing made her uncomfortable, in a way she couldn't name. Since she couldn't really do much about a hunch, she'd mentioned it in her reports, but there wasn't anything to do about it aside from being extra watchful--and she was always extra watchful.

The Tesseract had been more and more active the last few hours--throwing off brilliant flashes of blue light whenever one of the scientists prodded it. Dr. Selvig had called Director Fury, a move she respected as cautious. He'd appeared scant hours later, and she'd moved to give her report after he'd spoken with Dr. Selvig.

"If there's anything happening, it's not us doing it. It's something on the other side."

"The other side."

"It's a portal, isn't it? The Doctor hasn't done anything out of the ordinary. Scans, tests. Nothing he hasn't done on an ordinary day. It's never reacted like this."

And then it had exploded, washing the entire bay in brilliant cobalt light. She'd stepped in front of Fury--it was her job to protect him, moreso than babysit a glowing blue box and a bunch of scientists. When the light dimmed, there was a figure kneeling in the center of the room, smoke curling off of him, holding a sinister short spear and utterly silent.

She really wished Nick wouldn't have broken that silence.

"Sir, please put down the spear."

The words broke whatever calm had fallen over the room, and before Natasha could draw her weapon, the man had looked at it like he'd forgotten he was holding it, then raised it--and a concussive blast of what looked like light of the same type as the Tesseract was blowing up the bank of computers that had been behind them, before she'd thrown herself at Nick to get him out of the way.

It was over in scant moments, the SHIELD agents that had drawn weapons being blasted away or falling with throwing knives embedded in their throats. She took a few shots herself--she'd hit him, she knew she did, but it hadn't stopped him but for a split second, then he was firing that weapon again on her position. Natasha had rolled away, tried to bring her sidearm to bear again, only to have him in her space in less time than it took her to blink, and her wrist caught in an iron tight grip, squeezed so hard that the bones creaked. She tried to lash out with her other arm, her leg, to break his hold, but was slammed against the floor, dazed and utterly trapped.

"You...you'll do."

The blood-stained scepter came up, tapped with deceptive gentleness against her chest, over her heart. She felt like she was on fire and freezing all at once, until her mind opened and was filled with sudden and complete clarity, and at the same time emptied and waiting for his command--for Loki's command.

She came back to awareness of the room as Loki spoke with Fury, trading sharp words that they really had no time for. She crossed the room to Loki's side.

"He's stalling. The room is going to collapse. We're a hundred feet underground, we'll be buried."

"Like the pharaohs of old."

"She's right, the portal is collapsing. We have maybe two minutes before it goes critical."

"Well then."

Before the words even really left Loki's mouth, Natasha's weapon was in her hand, raised, and one shot was put with devastating accuracy right into Fury's chest, throwing him backwards and to the ground, and they were all moving like they were one. She snatched up the silver case holding the Tesseract as she moved by, handing it to Selvig.

She barely spared a thought for any of them. She had a bigger purpose now.]

[ Sheppard isn't usually the sort to take leave days for vacation, or time in general off. He used to, for a few rowdy nights out off-base with some good friends, or to have some time to spend with Nancy before it ended---. Not anymore. Atlantis, the safety and security of the Ancient City and her people are his priority, and while he'll take the odd day he isn't on duty off, he doesn't ask for any in particular save for once a year.

It's usually around the same time, not that many care to point it out to him. A time for remembering those lost with fondness. Focusing on the good memories and not the bad. It isn't easy. The guilt is still heavy on him, but sometimes after these few days to himself (or sharing with one of his team), it isn't quite as hard to bear.

John's at the pier right now, legs dangling over the side as he watches the sun start it's descent past the horizon. He has one open beer in his hand, and two closed sitting at his side. He invited Lorne, but he knows the guy treasures his free time, like most do. He brought the extra beer in case. He hears the soft scuff of steps and looks up, offering a slight quirk of a grin. ]

Hey, buddy. Thought you were gonna make me sit out here and drink all by myself.

[ He sets his opened bottle between his knees to hold it, and cracks open the other two. One still stays near his left elbow, and the other he offers up to the major. ]

[It could be worse. If Pegasus teaches you anything, it's perspective. And really, it could be so much worse.

There is enough shrub and small dead trees to build fires. No permafrost either, so they don't have to freeze their asses off. In fact they can camp quite comfortably, close to the gate. There are only few predators, so while keeping watch is necessary at least there aren't twenty-foot-tall mutant lizards spitting stone-melting venom into their general direction. They just have to wait, wait for this once-in-a-lifetime-constellation-thingy to pass (really, how many of these super rare moments are they going to encounter?) to allow for a stable wormhole.

There's enough food, enough water. They just have to wait. No really, there's no room for complaints - it could be so much worse.

If only.

If only the landscape wasn't so goddamn depressing. The monotonous dead tundra stretches out beyond the horizon and its shades of brown and grey and yellow ochre make Evan want to claw his eyes out. He really doesn't know how to make it through another week, the lack of visual stimuli are already getting to him.

Sheppard's asleep next to him and Evan can't stop watching him. His dark tousled hair forms a sharp contrast to the washed out dead colors surrounding them, his face relaxed, glowing in the fire, everchanging lines and shades dancing on his face.

Evan really shouldn't. It's a bad idea, in so many ways. But he can't help it. It's the first aesthetic moment in days, the first thing he enjoys looking at (yeah, cause that doesn't sound creepy at all) so he grabs his journal and starts sketching the sleeping Colonel's face with soft, swift pencil strikes.]

[ It started with a simple enough accident. Nancy, his ex, had found something of his while she packed up and moved to her new house. Actually, it had been a gift from her on their second wedding anniversary. The item in limbo was a really, really nice surfboard that she'd sent him a picture of as a joke since he couldn't be there to use it.

And as another joke she'd sent him actual snail mail with that same picture and a note that said "be waiting for you when you can get back". It had been funny, at least, John thought so until things started to get weird. It was the first time in years they had an amicable conversation that had nothing to do with his dad's passing. It was nice, he was realizing, to be able to talk to her again.

Of course, he didn't share everything. Nothing came up when she prodded him about relationships, even though Nancy had already remarried. John felt obligated to ask if he was looking after her, and due to the nature of her own job, she sometimes had difficulties keeping secrets from her new husband. Again, she now seemed to understand where John had been coming from all those years ago.

He told her the best thing she could do was try to keep as few secrets as possible. He was an ear when she needed one, and a proverbial shoulder to cry on when there wasn't anyone else that could get what was going on. Strange turn of events, but they were surprisingly friendly despite their differences in the past. It was a light day in the city today, and John was off-duty. He'd just picked up a couple of letters from Chuck, then headed back towards his quarters.

He saw Lorne near where his was and a confused look came over his face as he looked down to his watch. He slowed to a halt a few paces from him. ]

Hey, you're early. I mean, unless we agreed to lunch. I didn't get it confused, did I?

[ John must have got it confused. Especially if the look he was getting was anything to go by. ] I did. Let me put these up and I'll tag along.

[He's the one they would call Lorne.

That form comes with memories attached, unique features like a distinct way of computing colors and forms, certain speech habits, ticks, facial expressions and reactions. He can simulate the way the human called Lorne breathes, the slight parting of his lips, the way his shoulder shifts back just a little when he's turning his head. He knows everything about Evan Lorne, a perfect replica that never stops, never tires.

He knows it's something humans do - tire - and he wonders, if he were human, would he tire of running after John Sheppard like that? The man has been their guest for a while now. Lorne is supposed to watch him because carrying the memories of Atlantis's XO means knowing how the Colonel ticks, how he plans. It means Lorne can interfere before he can try anything.

But lately there's no pattern to the things Sheppard does. It's almost as if he's testing Lorne. To see if he gets what, annoyed? Bored? Displays some other form of human emotion?

He's the one they would call Lorne and he doesn't tire. He wonders, though.]

Edited (punches pics in face mORE) 2016-03-23 21:45 (UTC)

[There's not a lot to do these days, for someone without a calling. Natasha had walked out of the Avengers compound after Tony confronted her, hasn't looked back. Hasn't been able to. She's not welcome there. She's fairly sure she's not welcome at S.H.I.E.L.D. either. She doesn't know where Clint and the others were taken, after the airport, and she wouldn't be able to look Laura and the kids in the eye because of it.

As far as she knows, Tony and T'Challa hadn't revealed her deception, such as it was. He'd be after her if that was the case, and if anyone could find her, it was--embarassingly--Tony Stark. He was too persistent for his own good.

But for now, that wasn't the case. She was sitting in a coffee shop in Iowa City, nursing a black coffee and scouring the internet on a laptop she'd lifted a few weeks ago from a bunch of crack dealers in Chicago. Looking for news. Whispers. Anything.

It turns out, he'd found her first. They had protocols in place, a code they worked out between themselves, ways to let each other know they were safe. E-mail addresses they hadn't shared with anyone but each other, full of messages back and forth. Every time they finished a mission alone, they'd let the other know they were home safe.

The grass got long while I was gone.

He's safe. He's home.

She sends a response.

Guess you've got chores to do. Need some help?]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject