SO THIS IS IT. The Uhura/Gaila, Cumberbatch!Chapel, T’Pring/The Romulan Commander Star Trek reboot fic I’ve been working on my typewriter for… fifteen days, actually.

Basically, if I was writing the next reboot Star Trek film, something like this would probably be the plot.

This is somewhat inspired by two ficlets I wrote ages ago, one of them Uhura/Gaila and the other somewhat Cumberbatch!Chapel/Rand. I recommend reading them both beforehand for some additional context.

After Uhura found out, is took a glance and five words to end it. For matters like this, even with extenuating circumstances, there was no explosive violence from Spock. The whole thing was conducted in a very logical and civil manner, with a matched stare and those five words, meticulously articulated so to not misconstrue their meaning: “I can’t do this anymore.”

Spock didn’t understand the emotion, but he understood the sense of betrayal it conveyed.

Then it was over. Done and dusted. Spock holed himself up in his quarters and tried to meditate his horniness away while Uhura signed herself up to head a rescue mission to save his wife.

“How’d the Vulcan bitch get herself captured by a Romulan ship, anyways?” Janice asked for maybe the third time, sighing. She uncrossed and crossed her legs in the cramped space afforded by the ship’s cabin.

“We don’t know. All of our information depends on Spock’s intuition for this one,” Chapel said. Her hair looked extraordinarily beautiful today, Uhura thought. And her makeup was done up extra pretty. Uhura exercised the fleeting thought that Chapel must’ve put the extra effort into her appearance for the sake of impressing Spock, but he had not shown up to send them off, and Chapel had not seemed any worse for the wear because of it. In fact, her whole being seemed to glow radiant, filling the shuttle with a refreshing self-confidence that was so atypical of her.

Janice seemed to soak it all up. When she did speak, her eyes were only on Chapel as she awaited an answer. The two of them orbited each other like twin stars.

Uhura’s attention returned to the fourth occupant of the shuttle. Gaila lounged more than sat in her seat, her head lulled to the side, eyes cast to stare through the window at the passing stars. “Are we there yet?” she asked. She matched Janice’s sigh with a breathy one of her own, the movement lifting her breasts to strain against her uniform. Uhura watched her and remembered fucking her. In the end, that’s all it had been: fucking. There was no “making love,” or “sleeping with.” Just flesh touching flesh and the bare mechanics of sex.

Without the special drugs, Gaila with her pheromones in this state would be nigh overpowering. Only this time it was Uhura and the others popping pills and Gaila was clean, her full Orion physiology making a graceful return.

“The Romulans are going to love me,” Gaila commented.

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So last night I mentioned that I worked on the fic I had partially typed up on my typewriter. This was the fic.

I was hesitant to write a Babylon 5 fic just yet, because all of you are way more knowledgeable about the show than me, but then the prompt was: “Susan/Talia, call me maybe” and I couldn’t resist the lure of a good crack prompt.

The final result was somewhere between crack and angst, which is a combination that often happens when I try and write this sort of thing.

Susan had a penchant for obsolete, obscure pop songs. She would dredge them up from the great database of collective adolescent subconscious in the computer records, select a century and a decade at random, and soak in the trite, candied melodies and hollow lyrics of ages long past. The stylistic trends and the slang changed, but the core of the music stayed wonderfully constant, a great, solid rock to ground her life with.

Either that, or it was just another form of masochism.

Susan invented an accompanying game that consisted of taking a shot every time she stumbled across a song describing a positive, inane or otherwise serendipitous relationship she’d never experienced.

After selecting the apparent gem of “Call Me Maybe,” she sat back in her chair and downed the glass before the opening notes had even begun.

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The wood creaked beneath Simon’s foot, a crust of detritus scattered about like autumn leaves. The girl in the carved out hole hissed.

Simon sat down on the cracked planks of wood. He tried to sing, but his voice broke, and he resorted to humming instead, his voice rising and falling in a gentle, repetitive melody. Marceline’s eyes were reflecting light, the rest of her body hidden in shadow. After a few minutes, she started to crawl out, her movements hesitant, her body tensed like a frightened animal.

Then she launched herself into Simon’s arms and curled into him. Simon held her and hummed and tried to not let her see him cry.

I reread my Remus/Sirius Games fic, and was honestly surprised to find that the whole thing is actually decent. Because I wrote most of it in just a couple of days and submitted it unbetaed.

But basically, I found it worthy of going up on AO3, so IT IS THERE NOW AND YOU ALL SHOULD READ IT.

Also, I forgot to post this several weeks ago, BUT TEAM SIRIUS WON!

YAAAAY~

I DON’T KNOW I JUST SUDDENLY WANTED TO WRITE SIRIUS INTERACTING WITH TARA AFTER THEY BOTH DIE SO HERE IS A BRIEF HARRY POTTER/BUFFY CROSSOVER PIECE.

Sirius didn’t know where he was. It seemed to be a long hallway, the walls narrowly there, his footsteps echoing oddly against the ground almost as if his pace was being matched by a dog padding along beside him. Sirius reached out into the clouded air, felt nothing.

Then he stumbled upon a table.

It was round. Arthurian. Ornately carved with knots that twisted endlessly upon themselves, the stone appearing to move along the knotted paths. Sirius pulled out a chair.

“Hello,” someone said. A girl. Light brown hair pushed behind her ears. Grey eyes, like Sirius’s. She was sitting beside him at the table.

Sirius didn’t know where he was.

“Er, hullo?” he said.

“Are you new?”

“Yes? Maybe? I dunno.”

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Joanna took T’Pring as a spoil; tightening a fistful of rope around those thin wrists and dragging the girl with her as Joanna’s motley crew lifted the anchor and a keg of rum in victory. T’Pring would fetch a high ransom, but Joanna found herself captivated by those cold eyes framed by a pretty face, T’Pring’s white dress frayed and slipping. When T’Pring kissed her, Joanna forgot which of them had been the captor and which had been the captive.

The independent Enterprise department store was one of the very few that sold furry pets in addition to pet supplies, as per request of assistant manager Mr. Spock (or Mr. Sock as the employees nicknamed him). It had all started one day when a regular’s chihuahua puppy broke free from its leash and crashed into a display of merino wool socks, which tumbled down in a wave of technicolor packages as Spock lunged for the puppy and curled his arms around it, shielding it from harm. Kirk, the well-loved manager of Enterprise, observed these proceedings with a knowing smile.

(unfortunately, my only gif of this moment is too large of a file!)

Meda wanted more female!Bruce Banner fics to exist, and that got the plot bunnies swarming, so now this exists?

This also somehow turned into “the Avengers discuss Beowulf,” so I threw in some quotes and everything went downhill from there.

(Bruce Banner = Lucille Banner)

Lucille looked down into the barrel of the gun. Black. Like the night. Like the moment between unconsciousness and awake. Like dark lakes and dark moors, like every dingy hovel she’d escaped to, black like hatred and fear and loathing and despair.

Lucille squeezed the trigger.

The world split into blinding shades of green, and as she faded it only grew more vibrant.

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So I wrote a Cumberbatch!Chapel oneshot.

Chapel touched the corner of her eye and collected the tear before it could tremble down her cheek and smear her makeup. Raucous voices echoed in the hallway, made loader and looser with the addition of alcohol, but they faded into the background as Chapel gazed into the mirror and tried to clear her mind in the hopes that it’d clear away her tears, too.

“You look fine, you know,” a voice said, directed at her. In her surprise, Chapel dropped the mascara and it fell into the sink, clawing black streaks into the dirty porcelain. She saw a woman in the mirror smiling at her from an adjacent sink. The woman had an elaborate woven updo that Chapel stared at in wonder before she remembered herself and quit staring.

“Oh, thank you,” Chapel said. She retrieved her mascara and capped it hastily.

“You reapplied it twice. I thought I’d save you from taking the time to apply it again. So, is it some guy who’s got you into this state? If so, he’s a real jerk, and you should leave him.”

Chapel said nothing. Her fingers were curled around the counter, too tight. Roger Korby, laughing with his friends and clasping an empty glass in hand, the alien wine it once contained long downed. “A perfect woman, hmm… I’m always partial to shapely brunettes.” Chapel took in a breath. She forgot the woman beside her. There was only her form in the mirror and Roger’s words cutting into her thoughts.

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