#vacantwar

"Your intention is to what? Attempt to cripple New Vulcan? Wage war with the Federation?" She paused staring up at the man before her. This wasn't the first time she had laid eyes on the man; the first had been at his trial. She had gone as a representative of New Vulcan and a means of support for her son. She also wanted to see the man who had hurt her people and planet punished to the full extent of the law.

"Kill me as a means of avenging your pride against Spock?" Brow arched faintly at the question she posed then shook her head.

"Logically speaking all of those reasons are futile. New Vulcan will have a willing candidate in the wings for my immediate replacement." Knowing the Vulcan Counsel there was already one waiting in place as there was still contention about having a human representative for a Vulcan society but no one could truly argue the logic that was her experience, her connections and position due to marriage. It was only logical that she take on her husband's mantle. Lips pursed faintly in thought as a soft laugh escaped. "Regarding the Federation well, they will not consider it a war so much as a manhunt. And they will hunt you down."

 "Or," sarcasm practically forming her entire existence at this point. For the life of her, she couldn’t comprehend how he hadn’t simply shot her out of the airlock, into the depths of space, to watch the stars one last time while she faded away. "It sounds like I’m concerned that your blood is staining the floor."

╰┈➤ STARTER PROMPTS. / @vacantwar

Come what may does not mean pitting against a variable that shouldn't exist — yet there he stands. For all the arrogance Stephen Strange has become, Khan Noonien Singh is an exaggeration of what the sorcerer would never see himself as, no matter the climb of victories the augment holds. Maturity is never late. But those words make slip memories of a cold night; fingers that shouldn't touch grazing each other's as lightning cuts through the darkness. 'It's not about you.' Strange recedes, tao mandalas braced against the back of trembling hands fizzing out of existence with a subtle snap! in the air. Arrogance and fear — always there, always with him. The desire to do good because he can't be. Fear of failure because he's failed one time too many.

Bones would kill him all over again if he knew Jim was on his feet right now, much less here. But there's an anger inside of him that he hasn't felt in a long time.

The first time he sat in that chair, he started to feel the weight of expectations, of responsibility, of everything he'd run away from right up until Christopher Pike sat down next to him and believed he could be something more than a burnout. And now Pike is dead. Jim started to feel that old anger--the kind of anger that can only be paired with helplessness--as he'd tried to find a pulse. Then again, when Marcus threatened to destroy his ship. And again, when the Enterprise was dead in space.

Dying had almost been a relief, knowing he'd never feel that again. Except here he is.

here's your syrup

“I would have rather seen him judged,” he speaks with unusual severity. Ire subdued, unclear where exactly it is directed at. Kirk’s eyes avoid Khan’s. He didn’t join Starfleet due to any strong convictions, and still struggles to believe his place is indeed up there, among the stars, or sitting on the Captain’s chair. But something about the memory makes his blood boil, his jaw tense with a feeling he can’t quite place, and ignores how to quell.