#silcntvalor

“No..”

That word passes from between his lips without his control. Here lies Aella Moore before him in her own pool of blood. His crew mate, his friend. Acting quickly, he tears cuts away one of his own sleeves and presses it against her abdominal wound. God…how could such things happen so fast?

“A-Aella…” he whispers. A plea. “Don’t leave me, okay? You’re gonna be alright, you’re gonna be okay,” he manages with shaking breaths and too quick of a pace. He presses, keeps pressing, in hopes that the bleeding will be stopped but it doesn’t. Even in his haze of emotion – which he is positive that Aella can experience– he can feel that warm liquid vitality seep through the shirt and stain his fingers in red.

“P-please…fuck…not like this,” he whimpers, watching as the light was fades from her eyes. “Not her, please…”

   She is in an ocean with no speech, no color, no understanding, and it is a shame, because she knows if her ears were working, she could hear Lieutenant Commander Falk’s voice. She speaks but does not hear the words she says, so she is not sure she’s said anything at all -- at least, not anything that can be heard above the rushing of water ( -- or of blood? ).

   Aella is so tired, yet feels relaxed in such. She could dare to sleep, here, and she sees none of her dead crewmembers anywhere! Breath coming in weak and shuddering -- she hardly sees anything at all.

   “Eric… are -- … are you… well?” Her hand moves to find her comm, on instinct -- cannot find it. Where is it they are, again? Other than the sea floor. There must be somewhere…

   She raises her hand -- tries to point at him, then to pull a flat hand away from her mouth, repeating her words. Her Sign feels so sloppy, so weak, hardly distinguishable like drunk lips. Why is the water so heavy around her? Why is it filling her lungs so quickly? She chokes with it… where is she, where is she, where is she?

holiday song starters | ᴀᴄᴄᴇᴘᴛɪɴɢ

Light one candle for the strength that we needto never become our own foeAnd light one candle for those who are sufferingpain we learned so long ago [x]

Malcolm stared down at the line of candles strewn across his bed, scrubbing a hand over his face. What was he thinking — they hadn’t even kept these traditions when he was a kid… It was harebrained and desperate to think now would be a good time to start.

Gunshots firing in a spray. Glass clattering and glistening in the lights. A man trying to save the day, but failing.

Breath quickening, shallow as his diaphragm struggled to maintain a fluidity of movement, Eric Falk was slipping into a panic attack. Please, not here! he begged himself, as that familiar surge of power electrified his nerves. War, death, destruction, David’s unblinking eyes glaring up at him as an accusation whilst Eric cradled him in his arms: all were images that flickered through Eric’s head with the vividness and efficiency of a hyperactive movie reel.

Something akin to a scream ripped through his throat and the world seemed to disintegrate. Lights exploded above him, the ground rippling with telekinetic force. When the gunman paused, confused and startled, he suddenly clutched at his masked visage.

“FUCKING CHRI-” He managed to screech in agony, just seconds before his head burst as easily as a watermelon beneath a sledgehammer’s mighty force. Fragments of brain, bone, and bloody gristle made for a gory sort of fireworks display. Dropping to his knees, Eric curled and rocked himself. Not again, not another death on his hands, oh fuck. The crowd’s clamoring and panic only intensified at this unfathomable occurrence, which served to degrade the veteran’s fragile state of being. In the midst of chaos, Eric whimpered and felt tears sting his eyes as they began to fall down his cheeks in an unrelenting torrent.

Nearest to the gunman, Francis was struck -- not only by the brunt of gore, but by a peculiar shockwave and a lingering ringing inside his ears. He wiped blood and matter from his face, shocked but steady, and stared into the panic and saw Eric. The stranger was the only other person who wasn’t running from the scene.

                   The tears on his face were familiar to Francis: Guilt-stricken and in pain.

                   Shaking all over from adrenaline, Francis crossed the foyer of broken glass, crosses the parking lot, and before the sirens get any closer, he reaches down to snag fingers through the collar of Eric’s shirt. Standing so close to the man, he can feel the aftershocks -- the very same indescribable humming energy that had seeped into the gunman’s head and blown it up from the inside out. -- It didn’t occur to Francis to fear for himself, not through how fascinated he was by the prospect of magic. ( What else could it be? )

send 📱 for five texts my muse didn’t send yours, and one that they did | accepting | @silcnt-valor

 the five she didn’t

[ PADD MSSG | LIEUTENANT COMMANDER FALK, ERIC | 2130 ] Would you mind if I brought you more tea? I found a very fascinating blend that I believe you may appreciate. 

[ PADD MSSG | LIEUTENANT COMMANDER FALK, ERIC | 0214 ] Do you sleep, or do you have difficulty as well? 

[ PADD MSSG | LIEUTENANT COMMANDER FALK, ERIC | 0241 ] You lost someone. Did you not? I wonder if you would ever speak of it, had I the power to ask. 

[ PADD MSSG | LIEUTENANT COMMANDER FALK, ERIC | 0431 ] Why would you ever wish to come to Starfleet? Was this a choice you made for yourself? I cannot imagine any

[ PADD MSSG | LIEUTENANT COMMANDER FALK, ERIC | 1702 ] Do you ever feel, as well, as if no one on this ship understands you? I suppose it is more difficult for you than it ever will be for me. 

  the one she did

“Stop signing at me so loudly!” Moby fussed and shoved at him when he got so close. He might have been trying to stitch up her arm, it didn’t mean he couldn’t do it from arm’s length. “Your triage is concerning.” He’s doing just fine.

Avril watched Elizabeth go with the wide eyes and dead stillness of a meerkat on guard. She blinked once, twice, then swiveled her head to Eric and Malcolm. “You didn’t mention your family was from a Hallmark cartoon.”

Her brother scowled at her but spoke to his fiance, squeezing his hand. (Not entirely to feel the ring against his palm.) “Think that means she’s fine.” He glanced toward the kitchen before kissing his cheek quickly. “We both are.”

It was definitely strange to be in such a cozy home. But it was also....nice.

Avril bounced across the couch to lean over the armrest, head lolling back. She shot them impish upside-down grins. “Think she’d spike some of that cocoa for us?”