legiion

[legiion]

which element runs in your veins?

                                                          air

you're made of tornados, of that crisp morning air in december that kisses your cheeks. you have the ability to make people breathe- you're a mouthful of fresh air, pure oxygen that fills people's lungs. if you got this result, you're brilliant, curious, independent, observant, and entertaining. just like air, your attention span might be pretty short; your mind is either lost in the clouds or filled with so many thoughts that you feel dizzy. you can be warm like a summery sea breeze, or destructive like a monsoon. a reminder from me to you: don't let yourself float away, learn to stay with your feet on the ground. you remind me of a rainbow colored kite, in a way; can't be held down, can't be tamed. you're such a wild, free spirit.

tagged by: @acertainfemininemystique ( thank you thank you ) tagging: @transcendcnce, @ensnchekov, @dreamaboutdeadguys, @x-avier, @fasciinating, & you!

#dg. #mm mhm mhm

[legiion]

He doesn't know; the boy scout has no idea. The universe Kirk comes from is made of fire and gold, the flames licking through his teeth and burning anything and everything from the inside out. You fight or you die. You serve or you die. Kirk has made it a point to live in the in-between, taking shards of dirt into his hands and swallowing it into his throat. It tastes bitter, always. Looking at Jim, Kirk can see himself, pieces of him swirling inside the same shade of blue in those eyes. All it would take is a push, or several. He wonders just how much the other man could take. They're the same somewhere. A string just waiting to be plucked. "Everything. And then, ha! He did an incredibly stupid thing, thinking blowing up a building would do the trick. Take back what I stole from him," Kirk laughs. It's a hollow, grated noise, flung out of the torn flesh he calls his own mouth. He took it, but it became his, his and his and his. Obsessed with it, cradling it with a softness that should never have existed in the dark hole their universe was built from. "Maybe I deserved it. I definitely did in the beginning. Thing is, it doesn't change what I'm going to do to him when I find him. My ship, my crew." Kirk's eyes gloss briefly, far away, as he imagines the Vulcan sitting in his chair. He would have liked that once.

"Now, all that matters is he's going to die."

It's a sore point for Jim, Spock keeping him out, refusing the touch of their minds— the meld that he wants desperately to have. He doesn't flinch, but it's a near thing. They read each other too well, he and Kirk; himself and what could have been. He's gotten under his counterpart's skin, this much he knows, just as much as Kirk's gotten under his. Head tilted he runs a considering look across rough features, the scars of a life he never lived.

In the end, it's the insatiable need to know that wins out.

"What happened... between you two?"

Somehow, despite the question, it's no longer just about him and Spock. Or him and Spock but what happened to him. It's not just anger that Jim's looking at, reflected back in a face aged with rage and malevolence. It's something deeper, more intrinsic, an absence that he can't quite put his finger on. Something missing that sets him apart from himself.

"Your world..." Jim trails off, eyes closed as he imagines, puts himself in Kirk's shoes, faded leather hanging loose around ambition and blatant greed. "—set you up for this," he says finally, the fluttering of lashes where he pins his counterpart with a knowing stare. "Betrayal, from the only person who mattered."

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #into the queue. #and then im gonna kill yours too just for funsies

[legiion]

“Think You Can Take Me, Mr. Spock?” PT X 102222a

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#A / HIKARU SULU #omg???

[legiion]

A slow, "Yeah," rolls out of Kirk's mouth. He's distracted, thoughts split between the thrill of escape and the adrenaline that only comes with a specific kind of bloodlust: revenge. It's been a while since someone had a stupid idea like this. Kirk would give them points for trying, he's here, stuck in this room after all. But their would-be assassin's failure is the blood surging through his body, and Kirk is alive alive alive. Moving underneath the vent, he eyeballs the space inside. From where he's standing, it looks like there's only room for one at a time. It's a shit situation, fury stretching into the creases of Kirk's eyes, tightening every muscle in his body. He has a thought as to who might have orchestrated this plot, lets a few names circulate almost disbelievingly - all but one - because it's the last person he'd ever think to do this. In any case, he looks forward to tearing them apart.

"You first." Kirk backs up, free hand grabbing at a wayward desk. He pushes it toward the wall to give Chekov a boost. After the last twenty minutes, Kirk isn't about to get stabbed in the back twice. He blinks at his navigator, "You see someone when you land on the other side, you know what to do. No one leaves this place."

Pavel blinks rapidly against the smoke and forces his unsteady legs forward. Under his breath, he curses his body, his oversight—fucking stupid!—but the bite in his words is sharp enough to drown out the crunch of shattered glass beneath his boots. He barely spares a glance for the mangled bodies around them, for this is how it is, and the only thing that matters now is that they are not dead.

Kirk's order to kill snaps him straight, has him reaching for his own knife, the one that is always strapped to his hip, never out of reach. This knife is one of the few things from the Enterprise he well and truly trusts and with each nick and slice and drop of blood spilled, he trusts it more and more.

After so many years, it feels as comfortable in his hand as a PADD.

The captain's orders leave no room for interpretation—everyone in here—and this is what Pavel has sworn, until Kirk betrays him, to do. To lend his skills. "Yes, sir," he says simply, no questions of why or how or anything else in-between, poised and ready to carry that order out.

Pavel moves carefully through the smoky room, scanning what he can see for any and all possible ways out. Waiting for the flames to be put out and the system's safety features to disengage will take too long. There is no computer terminal anywhere in this room that would grant him access to the system.

But there is often one thing they overlook. He shuffles along the wall, head lifted up above his eye level. "The vents." Pavel stops at the wall to the right of the sealed-off doors. "We can pry them open, get back to the main corridor. From there, we can make our way through."

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #someone player kill my muse omg #into the queue.

[legiion]

#ensnchekov #A / HIKARU SULU #best bros best pals #sulu and chekov <3

[legiion]

Those gears are turning. From the corner of the mess, Sulu waves at X'ia, resting his knuckles on his chin. Pavel's got a keen eye whether anyone else knows it. Set up on the bridge, Sulu would like to think they both do, tucked away behind everyone else. This could be something they could take with him. People watching. "I've never seen him so riled up," he says, thinking back on Scotty. It seems like forever ago now. But they're good memories; all of it is. "The look on his face. It was like he'd figured out warp twelve that morning."

He shifts his attention on their present goal, foot crooked on the floor. Another smile graces his face; leave it to Pavel to up the stakes on the first go. "Ten?" Sulu swivels and curls closer to the table, "Alright, deal. But you're crazy if you think it's Motayne. You didn't see all the changes to the shuttle schedule? Three, Pav. Three. In two days. When's the last time you saw X'ia fly anything? It's, uh," Sulu's snapping his fingers, "Igrit. From the hangar bay."

He almost protests—he would have—if not for that look on Hikaru's face that tells them they are going to be doing something else fun, something Pavel knows he shouldn't enjoy as much as he does, but he can't help it. He's subtle in the way he glances at the door, catching sight of X'ia entering.

His hands now free, Pavel steeples them together in thought and smiles.

"Of course I remember Starbase Two," he says in a tone that suggests what do you take me for, "how could I forget? You would think he was meeting someone himself with how excited he got, like he was lucky enough to know a big ship secret."

Pavel turns his head a little, watching as X'ia makes their way to the replicator. They spare only a quick glance Pavel and Hikaru's way, acknowledge them with a nod, a friendly smile. He wilfully continues, "It is tactical, Hikaru, and I will take your five chips and even raise you five more. Ten says they are meeting with that cute girl who is usually on Delta—Lieutenant Motayne."

He hums. "Why would you think it's the flight deck? What have you heard?"

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go. #C / SULU #pls look at these besties

[legiion]

Slowly, Kirk unfurls from the bed, shifting to drop both feet on the floor. His counterpart thinks he can do this to him, nip and bite with these tiny little teeth. Jim doesn't know what it's like; he's never felt that tremor of white light, wholeness, two souls stitching themselves together, real belonging. Closing his eyes, Kirk jerks his neck to the side, working his jaw around the sound, "Th'y'la," a soft whisper of worship in perfect Vulcan. It was never about being bonded. Too simple, not enough. All Vulcans get it, want it, have it; it's what they're supposed to do. But that — parted from him and never parted, never and always touching and touched — it was theirs, something no one else could have. It was Kirk's, it was Spock's, one and forever. And then it all gets torn away. Kirk is tumbling, frayed like the string when he parts his lips, "You really don't know anything, do you boy?"

"He and I," Kirk pushes to stand, dripping with poison, a tint of sympathy, "Were more than you could ever imagine. He gave it to me, I took it from him. And yours," Kirk's eyes narrow. If Jim knew anything at all, he'd be trying to kill Kirk right now, "Yours won't even let you in. Maybe they're the same in that way. Maybe they never loved either of us."

He hasn't but Jim's not phased, even if he's filing it away for later, tucked inside the box in his mind that holds Spock's secrets, the things he treasures the most.

Because Jim's found a weak point, now, and with his tongue pushed to his teeth he's putting two and five together, piecing what he knows with conjecture, extrapolating out and out—

Jim knows loosely about bondmates, was there with Spock when—

"What's that like—" Jim drives, moving now, crossing the space between them, finding his own loose thread and pulling mercilessly. "Being bonded with Spock?" It's an educated guess, but it's the best he has, and Jim's stalking closer, angling so he can get into Kirk's face.

"Having him, knowing the touch of his mind. Only to realise..." Jim drops his tone, a shrug rippling across his shoulders. "—he never loved you."

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #kirk vc: dont worry ill be killing you soon anyway

[legiion]

Spider-Man by Dan Mora

#A / PETER PARKER #it's me inserting other stuff since star trek has taken over my rp rn

[legiion]

All at once, Kirk stops moving. The piece of string is still in his hands, wound around and around, cutting into his skin the same way Kirk's got creases, snatches of anger at the corners of his eyes. He hears that word, lets it choke him; all these thoughts of saliva and green, green blood. But it's not quite right, is it? Kirk stares, jaw flexing, before his gaze squints and he focuses on Jim at the exclusion of everything else. Boy Scout wants to be the center of attention. And that's just it. Kirk tilts his head, lips worn down even if a bare slip of grin slides across his face, teeth like razor blades where they cut through the seam. Then everything changes. Kirk has never seen anything more pitiful.

"Ashaya," a huff of laughter is embedded into the word, "You're just a little boy. Now, I know." Kirk tugs hard at the string. It snaps easily in his fingers, "Try t'hy'la, hm? See, I'm willing to bet, that you've never heard that before, have you?"

Jim's watching without saying a word, this strangely obsessive and focused task that his counterpart is undertaking. Sexual energy wrapped in disdain. Unraveling his sheets as syruped words hint to his own unraveled psyche.

Huh. Jim should've known this would be about Spock in the end.

"So that's what this is about," Jim muses, and he hasn't tried to stop what Kirk is doing, merely observing with his own critical lens. It's chess on steroids, knowing that just as much as he's planning here, formulating, counter-planning, his mirror is doing the same.

Two tacticians, masters of their own game.

"He betrayed you," careful, the slide of his tongue over lips. "Your Ashaya."

It's purposeful, and Jim is cataloguing, air caught in his teeth, eyes narrowed and intent.

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #im kicking your ass

[legiion]

It goes without saying that Kirk is pissed. His eyebrows are mangled, eyes wide open as he bulls his way through debris. There are more dead bodies in the mix, under desks, on top of a thousand blades of glass, a single shoe cocked sideways on the tile. Kirk pushes past it all, tension making lines in his neck. Whoever set up them is going out, and slowly; that's a promise. But it won't be enough. Pinging for an exit, Kirk is already half-day dreaming about when he finds them. It's not a matter of if. He can taste it, a distant satisfaction like pure gold in his veins, coagulated behind his teeth. "No shit." Kirk glances back at Chekov for a blink. Feeling around his fatigues, he produces his dagger, gripping it so tightly, it's become a part of him, standing against the fire. All the doors have sealed automatically to contain the flames, the windows shuttered with durasteel gates. Kirk doesn't believe in no-win scenarios. He won't die now. Not when he's got a rat to drown.

"We're going back to my ship, Chekov. And we're killing everyone in here."

It is not fine, Pavel notes, but the captain is like a wild thing in this regard, ready to show in blood and fury how very wrong they were for assuming otherwise. He has survived worse on the Enterprise. It is a game here, one he knows well, has played since he was young, and so he knows when to hold his tongue and when to shout.

Pavel coughs instead against the smoke and wipes a dirty sleeve against the bleeding wound on his forehead, hissing as he does. "Or, this was not an accident," he mumbles, seemingly in-tune with Kirk's unspoken thoughts.

Somebody will pay for this when the smoke settles and he will have a hand in it. Anger coils in the pit of his stomach; anger at himself for not realising something was wrong, anger at whoever was responsible for this, too cowardly to show their face.

His legs are pitifully shaky, but they support his weight well enough. The adrenaline helps with the rest, dulling most of the pain he will likely feel later. He will have to check the brunt of his injuries over at another time, see what he can patch and what he can ignore. None of this will require the doctor's touch if he can help it.

"Yes," Pavel says, because that is the only acceptable answer. "We cannot stay. Someone will come looking." If this was his plan, he would want confirmation somehow. "If there was one, there will be other traps set. What do you want to do, sir?"

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #i am so sorry you have to deal with this guy

[legiion]

There's something about this bed, and Kirk doesn't bother to hide his own curiosity about it. He stretches out as the Boy Scout takes to glaring at him, fingers picking at the smooth cotton sheets without a single frayed thread to be found. He knows this particular brand of clean, precision. With a slow leer, Kirk is leaning down into the comforter, letting every single word that cheap copy over there keeps trying to poke him with, pass into space. Kirk wrinkles his nose. Who said there couldn't be any foreplay?

"Betray each other. I like that, yeah." Kirk bends a knee, planting one foot flat on the mattress as he finally finds a seam. He pulls at it, winds and winds the string into his fingers, "You ever been betrayed before, Jim? Can I call you Jim?" He looks up past Jim, eyes pinning to the door of the fresher dividing this room and the next, remembering. Nothing was ever quite as nice as these quarters. But they could be. Kirk's eyes slide back to his prey, "My credits are on: you have no fucking clue."

Jim closes his eyes, bites back his own sigh that's threatening to spill out in irritation. He's tired, bone-weary against the constant that is the universe pushing back against him.

Jim's stubborn, ambitious, and he'll part it like the red sea to get what he wants, but that doesn't mean it's ever easy.

He's leaning now, propped against the jut of the bench in his quarters as blue eyes flicker back to the stare levelled at him. "So what's the play here? You threaten me, I threaten you, we dance, team up, betray each other. End up back where we started."

He tips his head, eyebrow raised. Neither of them are idiots. There's only room enough for one of them.

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #i had to stop him from making a speech im serious

[legiion]

That's not at all the response he expected. Sam's eyebrows perk up, blue eyes shedding a bit of the glacier inside them that kept him from moving. He wrings his jacket in his hands, some old thing that seems so defining right now when compared to Jim's dress uniform. He's got a few hours before he's supposed to get back to the yard, take a shuttle back to Deneva and see to Aurelan and Peter. "You sure?" Sam tilts his head, taking stride to catch up beside his little brother. He eyes Starfleet's youngest captain - Jimmy's gotten so tall - harboring a suspicion he can't even hide. If it were the other way around, Sam would have told him to get lost.

"I mean, I get it if you wanna tell me to fuck off."

"Well," Jim's arms fall outwards, shoulders rolled back and chin tipped upwards. "You've seen me." It's the last thing he expected out here in deep space. It's not the first time Stafleet has ventured out here, but he's here to charter and explore, not run into family who turned their back on him.

Jim sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair and leaving short strands spiked out in rough angles, glancing out at the large bay windows of the station, at space and all the unknown that it promises.

"Come on," he says finally, shrugging against awkward silence. "Might as well show you around."

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / SAM KIRK #sobbing

[legiion]

Kirk sighs, as long and as dramatic as he can. Given everything he's been through in the last forty-eight hours, he thinks he deserves to be. He's earned it. Just like he's had to earn everything else. "Oh, you know," Kirk levels his eyes on his counterpart. He remembers this. That self-righteousness. That confidence. It's adorable. A captain and his first officer: the universe was never richer for it. But Kirk was. He was, he was, he was. It was a little easier when someone had his back, he can admit. Now, he'd give a lot — and that's saying something — to cut out that Vulcan's throat. He smiles, "Not here."

Oh they're not doing this. Jim doesn't share and he — the other him, bitter, all slippery and grease, everything that is Kirk, but isn't — should know this.

"Not here," obviously. It's just Jim and himself, squared off in possessive claim to something that is vehemently and eternally his.

Jim thinks he's figured it out, this part at least— Kirk, a version of him that is everything in opposite, a timeline of what could have been if— if — always if— if he'd been something else, if he'd known his father, if—

Jim doesn't do ifs. He doesn't do could have beens. And this, the faint hum of a ship at warp, galaxies streaking by in twisting eternity, is his world. If Jim, this Jim, was anything like him, he wouldn't even be here.

"Where's yours?" Countered.

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #pls unalive this guy

[legiion]

Fingers digging into his sleeve, Kirk yanks hard on his arm. Something snaps, loud, and through grit and bloodied teeth, Kirk tells him, "It's fine." There's fire and ashes everywhere, bits of debris and at least two dead. Kirk glares down at their mangled limbs, a cold breath filling into his lungs, "Someone," he starts, and slow, calculating when he spits red to the ground, "Didn't follow through." Kirk straightens, muttering, "I taught you all better than that," as he looks around, blue eyes wild into the flames. It's hard to see, or hear, a ringing drowning out most of the noise. But through the smoke, Kirk thinks he can smell a traitor. "Can you walk?"

His ears are ringing from the aftermath of the blast, but the captain's voice still cuts through the noise from somewhere far away, and Pavel does not need to see his face to know the anger that he will find there, that dangerous, cold glint like steel in the depths of his eyes.

Pavel's face stings, peppered with cuts and gashes from displaced debris and he can feel blood trickling down his forehead, just above his left eye. He grits his teeth and shuffles closer, stumbling slightly until his body's equilibrium rights itself. He tastes metal.

"Captain," he says slowly, his accent heavy in his confusion, "something was rigged to explode when we stepped over it. This area was supposed to be safe—already checked." That was what their intel had said, anyway, and Pavel is not so foolish to think they were sloppy in their work. He would not be, if this was a task that fell to him.

"How badly are you injured?"

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #you know he asked #but i cant be sure he wouldn't leave anyway fjdsakf

[legiion]

He can't lie that watching Pavel try to navigate his attention isn't some sort of vengeance on its own. Sulu was never going to leave. But he sits back anyway, sprawling out a little more casually like he's all but glued to the chair. Between the last mission and one days away, they've got time. Sulu swipes the deck, collecting the stack into his fingers before dunking them to the table's surface. It clacks as X'ia, a new security officer, rolls into the mess.

"How about a break from the card games?" He grins at Pavel, smile like something the navigator might recognize, "You remember that time on Starbase Two? Scotty swore two cases of brandy that someone from security was meeting someone from botany. I kept telling him he was full of it. He went on about it for three hours! And then you were all like, no hikaru, it's tactical." Sulu nods toward the door. "Five chips says it's the flight deck."

Pavel pouts, but it is more a sorry I got caught expression than it is him feeling genuinely bad that he is near undefeated in most of their card games. He should go a little easier, let Sulu win here-and-there, but if he did, he would probably be accused of purposely throwing to spare his feelings, and he has no argument for that because that would be exactly what he did. He knows he would hate that if someone did it to him.

"I can't help that you are just not that good at our card games." But the last thing he wants is for Hikaru to leave, cut their game time short, so he slides the deck across the table, placing it right in front of him. "Show me a new game, then; one I have never played before. What other card games do you know? Then it will be fair. It does not even have to be a card game. I can replicate something else."

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go. #C / SULU #we're leveling the playing field pav #by ppl watching

[legiion]

Kirk tips his chin, counting, listing with him: a ship, a crew — Spock. His mouth twitches, blood pumping in his neck. So, the Vulcan exists here, too. And Kirk, he catches it, the way his name sits away from others on a list of poorly hidden greed; all of it, at the end of a shiny gold grin. They're the same, he and him. But maybe not completely.

"Yeah," Kirk rubs a calloused thumb across his lower lip, brain funneling and funneling and funneling to a sharp and sticky point. It doesn't really matter what happened to the rest. "Fascinating that you mention him. He's not around, is he? Spock."

Jim knows this look, all leather and attitude and Riverside.

Blue flints under the bright overhead lights of alpha shift, a restless anger that's never dulled, simmering in wait behind a hardened gaze. It's worn on the outside of his mirror— bitter and overripe, left to sour and stain.

He lists, "My ship, my crew— Spock." A beat of consideration, "...the gold shirt, just for kicks."

Jim tips his head and this time it's his smirk that flits at the edge of lips. "What happened to yours? Couldn't hold onto them?"

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #smiles at you

[legiion]

Oh, he knew he was funny. Of course, it's him, even if it's some smaller, weaker, discount version of him. Kirk's eyes crease with mirth. There's something about all this that's tickling all the right places. He leans forward slightly, changing that word, Captain, out with, "Cute."

A single thick eyebrow rises, "You look like a boy scout." Kirk picks at the trim of his jacket, leather brown and worn around its creases. This universe does have some nice things. He wonders what else they have. "What, can't take a guess? You're me, after all. C'mon, I'll give you a pass."

Jim knows a lot about scars, even if most of them live under his skin.

He's never been on the receiving end of his own cataloguing stare, and Jim matches it with one of the same, tall where he stands in opposition.

"Captain," he answers without missing a beat, challenge in his tone. It would be farcical— this—if it didn't reek of life and death, and Jim recognises enough in himself to know that Kirk— this other Kirk, is playing with him.

"How about we skip the foreplay— what is it you want?"

#transcendcnce #v / main | to boldly go. #C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #pls end my suffering