fasciinating

[fasciinating]

ITS EXPLANATION COMES TO REST at the tip of Spock’s tongue, navigator. In the depths of ancient text — the archaic words that oldest among them whisper to one another, whisper at Spock when he passes, uncaring if he should hear — it exists there, binding them, their katras, but like his newfound compatriot, Spock hardly believes in them.

Glancing at Pavel, he wonders if Pavel knows somehow, feels the draw of something much larger than all of them regardless of the momentary silence Spock gives him, afterwards.

It could be. There are signs they said; Layla certainly believes.

Spock drags his eyes some distance from the curve he made, past the line that cracks through it, breaking the atmosphere. He did not require Pavel’s assurances about the names she gives him herself. They are branded into his skull, tattooed behind his eyelids. And in the moments before Pavel had arrived, Spock wished to be rid of them, drowned in disbelief.

They are mistaken.

“ Faith is a powerful influence. ” He says quietly, using his pointer finger to form a delicate circle in the sand. The new shape sits high above the initial curve and to the right, on the other end of the trajectory Spock traced through it. Floating his hand somewhere further at its side, he punches down three smaller dots — alam'ak, behr'ak, czar'ak — trinary stars.

Vulcan.

“ Would it give you comfort to know that I agree with you? ” Settling on his haunches, a breeze tangles lightly at the fringe of Spock’s hair. The night is calm, for once, soothing. Despite the looming reminder of prophecy, he does not wish to squander the affinity they have developed so quickly with delusions of grandeur.

“ On my home world, my mother spoke to me about dragons. Great guardians with wings that would span entire mountains. She said — they carried our katras on them, protecting our souls with fire and sharp teeth as we returned to the desert. ”

Spock was six years old then, bright eyed and ignorant of the responsibility he was meant to carry as his father’s son. Should he compare these destinies, rising as heir to Vulcan’s kingdom seems far simpler than what his dreams have dictated to him. Inwardly, he prefers neither of these things, wanting, yearning to be unremarkable.

“ I found these stories to be ridiculous. ” A tick of amusement lends itself into the corner of his mouth. “ There were no bones, no scales to be found. It was perhaps, the only subject in which I doubted her wisdom. ”

Leveling his expression, Spock looks at their drawings then at Pavel, offering silent conviction to the numbers scrawled at their feet instead. “ I am no messiah, Pavel. ”

@ensnchekov

His secret name spills from Spock's lips like both an omen and a promise, shrouded in something ancient he cannot yet understand. It bears the weight of an entire world, of the hopes and dreams of millions upon millions of souls living and dead that have become part of the universe, gone but never forgotten. It rings like prophecy—you'll carry this name well, my son, it is the desert's wish for you—pitting fear and excitement against each other within the walls of his mind.

Something has been set in motion and though Pavel cannot see beyond the scorched dunes of Arrakis, he feels himself being pulled towards something grand, something whispering secrets when the sun is low. Beyond the edges of the world, there is more—everything—and if he only stretches his fingers to the sky, these fingers that have now learned flight, he will brush them against the brilliant light of the stars and take all their knowledge, too.

Whatever this means, for better or for worse, he is inexplicably bound to this man, the outsider to whom he has offered his most prized possession. The hands of Fate weave thin golden threads between them, around them, through them, each threaded with the glimmer of spice beneath the suns.

Bound without a debt of water—

This must be another facet of paradise—two people exchanging something without it being a matter of life or death, estimated precisely down to the last drachm. That there are worlds where debts and bonds and promises could be made with only the weight of a few spoken words...

He can scarcely imagine such a thing.

Pavel turns his attention back to Spock's finger, watching with the same awe and reverence as he carves more secrets into the world. This script looks nothing like the equation previously laid out before him; it curls and curves into elegant, swooping lines, capturing infinity with a few masterful strokes.

"Kharau?" The foreign word tingles as it rolls off his tongue, slightly mangled by his unfamiliarity. He strikes the consonants far too hard and rolls the r across the sweeping dunes, capturing the essence of the word yet with none of the effortless grace that Spock manages.

There's no explanation for the strange sensation blossoming in his chest, spreading warmth like a blaze across his ribs, his shoulders, down into his stomach. This word wraps itself around him—a shelter, a home, a shield—striking something deep within heretofore unknown. It is a path across the sweeping desert, the guiding star in the night, purpose that spans galaxies.

He cradles this word close to his chest, carving out a protective spot for it next to his name.

"Yes!" His excitement practically leaps out of him, slashing through the quiet. He hardly wants to wait—why not tonight? we are the only ones awake now—when there is so much there on the horizon, but Pavel bites his tongue. "We can do this every night."

Pavel shifts his weight, pulling his eyes from the new curves to focus on the triangle he has drawn neatly into the sand. It calls to him, begging his attention more than any of the other symbols in the equation. "Once. I was too young before to be taken along."

But I am looking forward to interrupting their operation.

"And—there is something I need to tell you." He pauses for just a moment, turning his head to look at Spock. "I know you know already. It is hard to miss what the others call you." There's a bite to his words, sharp as a crysknife.

"My mother—she believes in all this so deeply. So much so that some of the others make fun of her for it. She really thinks you are the one. I do not believe in this. Prophecy." He scoffs into the night.

"I think it is stupid. But she doesn't. So I do not want her to hear you calling me that name and I think you can see why. I would like if you just called me Pavel."

#ensnchekov #v. au | dune. #queue long & prosper. #i am screaming

[fasciinating]

“ When you have lived with a prophecy this long, the moment of revelation is a shock. ” (( dune verse, from emperor khan....... ))

DUNE: PART 1 PROMPTS.

HE SAW HIMSELF HERE IN HIS dreams, waiting at the doorway of a winding labyrinth — wrong — or perhaps, just right — when comparing it to the smooth, silver curves of the outside.

By now, Spock has been made a king, a prophet — the Mazhiv Saralashek — seeking the throne of the Imperium without hesitation or mercy because this, was necessary to the outcome of paradise. He did not choose it.

He did not want it.

And yet, standing before the Emperor, it were as if the voices of the winds had caressed him to this moment, pushed him forward — inexplicably — with the hum of something assuredly inconceivable steadying itself into a slow vibration that he can somehow hear — can somehow feel in the tips of his fingers — even if he does not yet understand it.

“ That is true for us both. ” He says. Raising his chin, Spock's shadow cleaves into the light spilling in behind him, confessing his own wonder in the echo of those very words; the reality of multiple prospects is treacherous of the Bene Gesserit. But he must remind himself of why he has come, meeting Khan in a temporary space of neutrality, of peace, against the blood-haze of the rising sun that Vulcans name q’iath. The possibility of unrest among the Great Houses is the only thing that steadies Spock's crysknife. His father would have preferred it this way.

Though, in truth, it will not last. It cannot last. In the end, there can only be one.

Khan concedes, or he dies.

“ I presume you are alone? ”

@paramounticebound

#paramounticebound #on screen | ask. #v. au | dune. #if khan isn't at the top of the stairs robes flowing out of the seat of the throne omg #spock vc: HAND IT OVER

[fasciinating]

#holo. #myedits. #queue long & prosper.

[fasciinating]

IT IS A BARE THING, ANOTHER GLANCE. In all this time, Spock has never inquired much further than anything related to their duties to the House. As a mentat, the way his training takes in these details, filing them, is automatic. But what Spock displays on his face is only curiosity, perhaps mildly unnerved, unable to imagine the cold she describes against his skin.

“ No, ” he agrees, Vulcan’s landscape is not so different in terms of geography. The desert could be replaced by a tundra, red lands exchanged for an unending white, “ Only I have never experienced snow — or ice — firsthand. No such thing exists on my home world. ”

Spock watches Echo close in on herself, her arms tucking around her knees. She was always so much larger to him in fight, in tenacity, than she appears. But right now, she seems so much smaller. It is strange. “ I would prefer that you did not. ”

Daringly, he shifts until he can seat himself next to her, his own hands resting loosely into the inside of his knees. The edge of his left leg grazes her right, “ I do not intend to die anywhere. ”

"All the time." She's not sure why she offers her experiences so freely to him. There's no gain to this. Information is power, but the only power either of them have here is their trust in one another. At least if she dies out here, then someone will have known her.

Perhaps that's something she's yearned for, finding some form of family within the Atreides armed forces. To be seen. To have a voice.

"Our hills are just this--" She gestures loosely with her gloved fingers to the landscape outside their stilltent. "--but mounds of snow. I guess the landscape of Vulcan isn't far off."

The brunette draws her knees to her chest, hugging them to her body as she stares ahead at nothing in particular.

"The flatlands are almost pure ice. Once you get into the cities, the heat from bodies turns that ice into mush. If given the choice, I'd never go back." She lets out the smallest snort. "Even now, I think I choose dying right here than living out there."

#galaeus #v. au | dune. #it's tent hours

[fasciinating]

THERE IS AN OCEAN ON AH’RAK, THE Vorath Sea. Though, Spock has only mentioned its existence in passing, in brief comparisons of both their planets during a time that seems so long ago now.

Traveling the waters of his home world has often been considered unwise, its waves untamable under Vulcan’s moonless skies. In truth, he has only viewed them from a distance, marveling at the contrast of the sea against a seemingly endless desert backdrop.

On Earth, Spock did much of the same, watching from windows and the faraway comfort of view screens and pictures, allowing him speculation rather than anything tangible.

Its obviousness must be clear to Bucky’s scrutiny, he thinks. He stands and waits, listening carefully as Bucky explains their journey breezily, attuned to a query Spock never asked but perhaps unconsciously intended.

Warmth, long banked, flares in Spock’s side.

“ You would not have succeeded in convincing me this far, had I believed otherwise, ” to privately borrow Bucky’s phrasing, he is aware that Bucky has got him, and rather acutely at that. Deduction of his reticence by any one else would have been highly improbable in the first place, “ I trust you. ”

Spock’s eyes are dark, focused on Bucky’s as he pushes that confidence into a subtle shift of his expression. It takes shape in the quirk of his mouth, refusing to separate — for the moment — from the weight on his chest, “ However, your reassurance is appreciated. ”

Raising his hands, he takes a hold of Bucky’s — warm in his own — and lightly squeezes them before releasing them to his sides. Behind Bucky, his reflection is peering back at him from the window, half banished by shadows and the clean cut of his hair.

“ Before we depart, you should know that I have given additional consideration to the matter of my appearance. ” He says, glancing at the glass before retrieving a tin of waxing product from his pocket. “ While you have theorized Vulcan’s involvement, it may be troublesome that I join you as is. ”

The jacket is helpful. Spock’s more traditional image overall, is not.

Determinedly, he thumbs through the substance and reaches up again, this time, ruffling the fringe of his own bangs, tangling them in his fingers until the strands are wild and inconceivably messy on his forehead. The cut is not quite long enough to conceal the points of his ears. But imitating the visual identity of any potential V'tosh ka'tur — Vulcans without logic — is, undoubtedly, logical.

Spock holds up the tin, “ It was yours. I assumed it was acceptable to ‘borrow’ it. ”

@lamentingwclf

Under normal circumstances, Bucky might be interested to sit down and discuss this topic of weaponry. Might find it fascinating to learn just how advanced Vulcan - or Starfleet itself - was in this department. But as is, he reads the frustration in the set of Spock's shoulders as he tries to determine how much ammunition to pack, and has to press his lips together to avoid laughing inappropriately.

Because it is primitive in comparison, but a comfort nonetheless, so Bucky tucks extra in impossible spaces for the both of them.

Yet the question stills him, and he halts his own preparations to give the other his full attention. Bucky's gaze is searching, and he thinks back to the simpler times. Them sprawled together on the couch with Koshka between them as they watch documentary after documentary during shark week. He thinks of what he knows of Spock's home planet - a desert. The question is masking reservation.

Spock has never been in open water, has he?

At least not enough to build comfort in the way Bucky has. So all things cease except for the need to comfort and provide. The space between them is closed in a few long strides until they are all but flush.

"It's a short trip." He starts, but knows the other needs facts, figures. "Maybe five minutes, and the water is only fifteen feet deep at most, getting shallower the closer we are to shore." An obvious statement, but he finds obviousness comforting in the unknown. His gaze leaves Spock's only to glance out the window. "Weather is clear, so it won't be choppy, but the engine is motorized, so you'll still get some bouncing, just not the side to side movement if we were on a sailboat."

Bucky reaches out, first pressing his palms flat against Spock's chest, as if smoothing his jacket, then gripping the collar and tugging unnecessarily. "You'll be sitting the whole time." Aside from getting him on the boat, which suddenly the image of him being trapped with one foot on the dock and one on the vessel while it shifts away is present in his mind. He tries, and fails, to hide a smile at the misfortune. "If we could avoid it, we would, but I've got you. Okay?"

@fasciinating

#lamentingwclf #v. closed | apartment 3b. #queue long & prosper. #rebel hair

[fasciinating]

HE CANNOT MOVE HIS ARMS, HIS legs, his mind is stagnant as the world erupts in heavy boots and distant voices. Spock is covered by a familiar shadow, straining to twitch his fingers.

Their worst scenario has come to fruition, surrounded by the very thing — the very people — that they had been running from, and the time doesn’t seem long enough for all it starts to stretch into eternity.

It is somewhere between oblivion and noises of static that Spock soaks in a moment of quiet, of an unexpected segment of peace. He cannot hear anything, nothing from the minds around them, not even Lyla.

But his thoughts are dancing with sunlight, littered with half-moon shapes and cooler spots where the warmth filters through the trees.

He takes an instant comfort to it. He hasn’t experienced anything like it, the silence, not since—

—there were roses in the backseat, and she looked at him, a woman that he does not know, cannot remember, smiling at him as she reminded him that she loved him, her hair dark brown with eyes like his own.

Watch the road.

“ Nice and easy, now. ” A man says, waiting for Lyla to comply when the better likelihood is that he will die and his intestines will stain the hard floor.

Spock takes comfort in that, too.

Five others take a cautious step forward. They move in unison, a new voice commanding them through the speakers somewhere in their ears. It sounds so familiar, and if he could react, his breath would quicken, his heart would race; if he could speak, perhaps that noise would be anguish and anger and fear.

Spock knows it instantly.

Mother.

“ Take her down first. ” A jolt of electricity snaps into the air, lightning around a baton. Others fire more tranquilizers. And when Spock wakes, he will have returned to a place that he would rather tear out his own eyes than ever be made to see again.

@lykaiia

And then? Once, that answer might have been difficult. Once, when they were still young, still had that thread of innocence to cling to, thin and frayed as it was, she might have hesitated.

Kill them.

Now, she envisions bodies at her feet gurgling out their death knell, their blood soaking into the carpet while Steven turns his head from the violence he is so unaccustomed to. The thought does not turn her stomach now. Instead, she yearns for the heat of their lives scorching her fingertips, the taste of copper and flesh on her tongue, curbing an appetite she has only learned how to sate during the days of their freedom.

They will die, every last one of them, and she will snarl and howl as they fall, flanked by the shadows that sing of the monster that she is.

How dare they, Ly thinks, baring her fangs at Spock's back as he chances a step into the unknown, how dare they come into our territory—

Spock drops to the ground in slow motion and the sound of his body hitting the ground is an assault on her ears.

She whirls around, every muscle in her body tense, ready to spring at the next thing that dares get close as she races for Spock's body. She is too slow to catch him before he hits the ground—the thud of his body against the floor is something she will not forget—but she is faster than the sets of foreign footsteps that file into the room, able to crouch down and curl her body protectively around his.

Behind them, around them, the shadows curl at her silent command, swirling and twining until she takes on the illusion of a wolf. Her snarl is deep and dangerous. Every sound pricks at the edge of her consciousness. Every booted footstep is a gunshot fired straight into her head.

They file in with lethal precision, forming a half-circle around them. Each one wears a thin, curved piece of metal fitted around their heads that glints mockingly as the moonlight filters in from the open window. Ly narrows her eyes, waiting, watching, pinned by the knowledge that there are more outside, equipped with who-knows-what, weapons or gear or worse, because there is no doubt left in her mind as to who these people are.

Everywhere, they are everywhere. The sounds of invasion flood her senses.

They found us.

They should have razed that entire place to the ground, stopping only when everything was dead, the only sounds left their breathing and the roaring of the flames—

"They're here. We've got 'em."

"No disturbances. Bravo is still stationed outside. Yes. Yes, confirmed."

Ly adjusts her fingers on the floor and coils back, poised to lunge at one of their throats. One of these soldier-assassins snaps their gun to the ready and fires a single warning shot that buries itself in her shoulder, too close to her neck for comfort. She yanks the silver needle out and tosses it at the foot of the human who shot her, promising death with a glance.

"Not going anywhere. Our eyes are on everything. At your leisure, ma'am."

#lykaiia #v. au | of two worlds. #queue long & prosper. #HNNNNNN #DINNER IS READY

[fasciinating]

[ KELVIN ] USS ENTERPRISE NCC-1701.

In response to the arrival of the Narada and the destruction of the USS Kelvin, the Federation saw advanced militarization of its armada in an effort to better facilitate their goals of ensuring interstellar security, improving economic trade, scientific research, and galactic exploration.

Many Starfleet ships are designed to be much larger while both weapons systems and general technology were able to benefit from the collected debris and scans made by the Kelvin of the Romulan vessel ( outfitted with technology from its original timeline; built in 2347 ) before it vanished into Klingon possession in 2233.

The best example can be seen with the Kelvin Enterprise; it is more advanced and significantly larger than the original, or prime, timeline ship. The Enterprise remains of prominent size even in comparison to many others in the Fleet, with the exception of vessels built afterwards like the Vengeance.

SPECIFICATIONS OF THE [ KELVIN ] USS ENTERPRISE ( MAIDEN VOYAGE EST 2258 ):

CREW COMPLEMENT: 1100*

TYPE: Constitution, heavy-class/flagship

AUXILARY CRAFT: 16 shuttles, including military and passenger shuttles; survival or "kelvin" pods designed into the ship's saucer section

LAYOUT: 36 decks, 17 at the saucer and 19 in the lower body

*Crew divisions are more heavily dedicated to sciences and operations given primary exploration efforts into deep-space, with command and medical tracks taking up the fewest in necessary positions.

#meta. #headcanon. #there's no kelvin enterprise-a okay that never happened :) #queue long & prosper.

[fasciinating]

STARING UP AT THE CEILING of the tent, Spock does nothing to conceal his marvel at the innovation infused in its construction. They had made quick work of it together. And now, tucked away from the elements, he can allow himself a moment to simply observe it freely.

The fabric seems to move, the entire structure buried so close to the sand and like a part of it, enamored by tiny droplets of water traveling through its systems like rivers and streams.

Reaching out, he follows one of the tubes with the tip of his finger, only stopping when his curiosity flares again. It snaps in her direction and the fact that Echo has rarely shared information regarding her home world — but is doing so — does not escape him.

He raises a brow, �� Ice fish? ”

Spock settles from his exploration of the tent, trying to imagine such a thing, “ Is it true that it snows? ”

He doesn't have to ask twice. Immediately she takes action at his side, removing what components remain in the small bag to secure the outer casing of their shelter for the night. Although she's certain they can both withstand their own exhaustion, the needle points south.

Sleep is required if either of them are to fend off wandering Harkonnen or Fremen.

"How hard can it be?" she scoffs, pulling the casing taut to create a dome-like structure to protect them from the elements.

Building their shelter is a welcomed distraction. It gives her hands something to do, her mind focused on a tangible goal instead of existentialism.

Yet when it's erected -- when she can crawl in for herself, breathing a sigh of relief when she can finally hide from the whipping particles of sand -- it's right back to square one.

"They're similar to the units we'd build back on my home world," she offers for free, yanking off her gloves just to give her hands a break. "I guess Arrakis isn't so different, though we have ice fish that try to kill you, not worms."

#galaeus #v. au | dune. #queue long & prosper. #this has me some kind of way fjaskldf

[fasciinating]

“ It felt like if I had been there, you'd be alive. ”

DUNE: PART 1 PROMPTS.

“ WHO ARE YOU SPEAKING TO? ” He asks her, and perhaps it is a foolish thing for how quietly he does it — uncharacteristically uncertain, welled by his grief — ridiculous for the way he already knows. It is an old gesture, familiar. A tradition built at the peaks of mountains and crimson stone.

On Vulcan, the winds demand to be heard. They howl and sing, carrying the voices of the dead—

On Arrakis, it may be the same.

Standing behind Michael, he considers that it could be, watching her with an ear straining to that wind and waiting — and quite inevitably — for his own heart to burst at a reply that may never come.

“ You mean for Sa-mekh, ” father. It is not a question. But nothing else needs to be said.

@mutiineer

#mutiineer #v. au | dune. #queue long & prosper. #sand for you

[fasciinating]

“ Defiance in the eyes. Like his father mother. ”

DUNE PART 1 PROMPTS.

DEFIANCE IS A POOR JUDGEMENT OF Spock’s endless condition.

He simply remembers—

She clawed at him, run red and howling as she tore flesh from bone, rejecting this monster with the strength only a mother such as she can bear.

“ You mistake defiance for promise. ” He says, tracing the black edge of the Soldier’s mask with his eyes — with hers, dark brown and withering, the color of the earth — drawing bloody lines and the speckled whites of their teeth underneath it. Look at them; the punishment for savagery can never be hidden from him.

He was only a child then. But the memory is infinite across an all-encompassing fire, enough to curl Spock’s fingers into fists. She scarred into this creature her anger, her refusal, and where she began the mark of her vengeance, Spock intends to finish it.

He’ll have his throat in his hands.

“ Tonight. You die like an animal. ”

@whtwclf

#whtwclf #v. au | dune. #my mom says hi #queue long & prosper.

[fasciinating]

IF HE HAS OFFENDED THE Lieutenant in any way, Spock is unaware, unaware of even his surroundings now that he has come so close to the plants. He had no other word for it that he would allow himself to say out loud.

But there is an undeniable weightlessness inside his ribs, now, drifting the sound of his own heart out of his ears. It has slowed from its initial thunder of surprise, quieted and tamed invisibly from the cacophony of emotion that had erupted within him.

It sang a song to him in the only way the desert could ever orchestrate.

Even its remnants were enough.

He touches the pads of his own fingers together, gauging its consistency against what he remembers of his mother’s garden in his mind.

She was always there, knelt in the sand, her hands in the dirt. It was rough, merciless under the heat, and yet she managed to cultivate the flowers of her home world against what should have been incompatible ground. She likened a comparison to him then. As a child, he did not understand.

“ Lab Five. ” He says suddenly. Spock turns to Sulu, his eyes slightly wider, betrayed of his eagerness. The lab is presently empty, dedicated to an endeavor not yet assigned. However, as Chief Science Officer, the designation is, conveniently, his to make. “ It could be utilized for your work. ”

Looking the rack up and down, he is already calculating environmental controls, " A significant increase in temperature will be required to steady them. "

IMPRESSIVE IS NOT THE WORD he is expecting. Dare he say it, Hikaru is disappointed. The sole reason for this project is not to gain praise for his skills as a botanist. It's to bring a little bit of home for those aboard the Enterprise. To give them joy when they are surrounded by back and white. Brown and blue. A piece of home. He even has a small garden in his room of plants taken from his town on earth.

His smile only curves half of his mouth as Sulu follows behind Spock. He watches where his hands fall on petals and leaves, nodding and making mental notes to himself. "Just a little tight on space." Sulu rubs the back of his neck. "I'm hoping I can either rearrange some things to include a few more beds or find an empty supply closet to use as a nursery." He's only half joking. But the lab space his pet project currently occupies is lacking in the free space department. "But if you have any suggestions, especially for the Vulcan plants, I'm all ears," he smiles.

#he1msman #v. main | do not go quietly. #spock's spockisms did them both a disservice haha #queue long & prosper.

[fasciinating]

HE NEARLY LAUNCHES INTO A long banked description of that occupation with the mention of time. His days of late have been spent reading and watching, sat in front of film viewers and listening to the history of Arrakis — their future home — over and over again.

Spock has memorized the notes related to their native fauna, practiced the art of sand walking, spending hours taking the whole of their language into his own mouth.

Strangely, the words were almost familiar, far simpler to consume than even his predilection to combat training with Kirk. Its syntax and inflection were not so different from the poetic craftsmanship of Vuhlkansu.

He poured over them despite the endurance required to survive these lessons, drawn in by curious religious rituals and beliefs, all of it with no true origin to be discerned.

Much of the context that he has absorbed thus far spans hundreds of years. The oldest texts remind him of the tombs scattered across Ah’Rak, written in Ancient Golic. They are powerful to him, commanding respect.

“ Mother advocated for a recess of my choosing. ” He says plainly. It was preferable to his physical exam with Doctor McCoy.

And arguably, there remains much that he could learn here. Emmett’s domain is littered with elements of this, new innovations scrawled all over with designs and half-built mechanics, devices forged with improvements and a wildness in Emmett’s eyes that Spock has rarely seen among the humans living on their world.

He’s refrained from entering this space many times. And to be offered even the smallest piece of it, now, Spock can just barely contain his eagerness when he takes the tool and immediately inspects it.

Roaming the object with his fingers, he lathers his attention over it. He wants to know more, to see more, swiftly waylaid around Emmett's references to the heat of Arrakis when offered the chance to assist.

“ You would allow me this? ” The question is redundant, he knows, yet coated with wonder, uncertainty — disbelief — that as a Vulcan, Spock quickly discards. The behavior is uncouth. But at nineteen years old, perhaps he cannot be blamed entirely. Eagerly welcoming of the invitation, he places the tool neatly into a crate resting on the floor.

Silence eats into the next moment, following Spock as he decides where to begin.

With packing, with his original concerns.

“ I was in training with Kirk yesterday. ” He says suddenly, recalling a soreness in his ribs. The weapons master was hardly as sympathetic as Emmett has displayed. “ He said — the planet was brutal. That the people were. ” Collecting a pile of odd bolts, Spock searches for Emmett’s face, “ Is that true? ”

@doctorbrown

Within the closed doors of his workspace lies another world entirely. To the untrained eye, everything appears in a constant state of disorder and disarray, standing in stark contrast to the rigid, orderly systems set in place within a Vulcan household. The inner workings of his mind lay bare across the room and in various states of assembly, woven into each device, each design, every piece of seemingly unrelated junk that has piled up over his many years.

It is human, messy and chaotic, perfectly reflecting its owner.

Not even the heat of Vulcan's Forge could temper the eccentricity in his bones, mould him in the image of those to whom he has offered his mind and his skills even after so many years. He is granted this, his personal sphere of increased entropy in which he can do as he pleases, and Emmett takes full advantage of the personal space the way he does his House's vast resources.

❝That's to be expected. Everything's changing and not necessarily for the better. I'm surprised you even found the time to come down here with how tightly your schedule's been packed.❞ Emmett shoots him a knowing, yet still sympathetic look.

He must be ready.

He drops his gaze to Spock's fingers, noting the barely concealed fight for control, and joins him near the workbench where his modified shield belt lay in a coiled heap, surrounded by tools and other assorted components. He plucks one of the tools off the table and offers it up to Spock as he says, ❝Of course I am. It probably doesn't look like it from the state of things in here❞—with the move only days away and rushing closer and closer by the second, not a single item in his space has been dismantled, tidied, or prepared for transport—❝but I've been too busy to devote the proper time and energy it'll take to packing all of this up.❞

He shakes his head, all-too-aware of what a monumental task it is going to be packing away his entire life in the eleventh hour. That hasn't been his only concern—those have been piling up exponentially as of late, stretching him in every direction imaginable—but for a fleeting moment, it's nice to think of this as the most daunting task on the horizon rather than constantly dread the blade poised at their throats.

For a moment, his exhaustion catches up to him, breaking through the youthful vigour he carries despite his advancing years. ❝Though, truthfully, I can't say the move doesn't worry me. The heat on Arrakis will make Vulcan look like a desert oasis by comparison and that's only the start of the dangers presented by that planet. And—❞

No, best not drop that now.

❝Anyway, why don't you tell me what's on your mind? Or, if you'd rather a distraction, you can help me start packing some of this up. I could use the extra set of hands.❞

#doctorbrown #v. au | dune. #queue long & prosper. #help i love htem #jfdsakljfds

[fasciinating]

“ I need you by my side. ”

DUNE PART 1 PROMPTS.

HE CAN ADMIT THAT HE expected this discussion to transpire differently. It is often — more so — the same as he would have anticipated it to be. Orders from Starfleet rest on the Captain’s shoulders, and at any other time, Spock would regale to him regulation: that no two senior officers from the bridge should be absent from the ship.

Between them, the choice is simple.

It should be Spock.

It should always be Spock.

As Captain, Kirk’s presence — his safety — among the crew is of too great importance.

Exhaling quietly, he does not dare to break Kirk’s stare. Somewhere on planet, the representative from Veshu — Ambassador Rym, tall and willowy, and wearing the iridescent garments of their people — awaits their response. They would only speak to Spock, recognizing him as a telepath, watching him as their robes drifted around their body like underwater wisps.

It reminds him of a beach from weeks ago — the great green sea of sunswept water — an unfurling starfish in the palm of Spock’s hand.

Inside the lift, he allows a nick of sympathy to dent between his brow, “ You are aware of their demands, Captain. ”

—Jim.

The start of a battle that Spock will lose before it even begins. He steps close, slotting one foot neatly within Kirk’s stance. The Captain will not be moved, standing there with a purposeful stoicism — this heat — that brooks no argument.

And gone are the rebuttals, the discouragement; it is apparent to him that he will not leave for the surface alone.

“ They will not be pleased. ”

@endeavvor

#endeavvor #on screen | ask. #v. closed | first best destiny. #remember when i said i was going to try to keep these short? #queue long & prosper.

[fasciinating]

#holo. #i love this shot of him so fucking much

[fasciinating]

THEY HAVE BEEN USING the rocks, the edges of cliff sides and shadows to seek sanctuary when perhaps, all they have required was simply beneath their feet. Bending to take apart their supplies, Spock lays out the tarp, fiddling with the tubing as he speaks to her over his shoulder, “ It is a possibility. ”

He has never constructed one of these before. The fabric is thick, yet thin enough to seem breathable simultaneously. It is a brilliant invention that the Fremen — or at least Doctor Kynes — had been generous enough to share. But he has only observed their methods from a distance, watched the way they work through film books and stories.

None of it concerns him like it should.

His mind is preoccupied with other things.

“ However, I am confident that we will be able to built it, ” Spock hands her part of the outer casing, “ Together? ”

She wants to tell him no; she's not certain about anything anymore. There was always this hard-coded will survive, but no endgame to what she should survive for.

With the family eradicated, the flag burned, she struggles deep in her heart wondering why she's so certain to stay away, to keep running, to start--

Breathe.

Spock's words words rip her from her own logic spiral, the tap to her elbow a grounding point, but not out of relief.

Her body seizes at his offer, frozen in fight or flight. Sharing the sand, the chance to rest -- her blue eyes cannot betray her apprehension, the distrust fleeting, until they drop to stare at his hands.

She shouldn't. They shouldn't.

"How?" Not a yes or a no. The smaller woman turns, observing the sand at their feet. "It won't swallow us whole?"

#galaeus #v. au | dune. #i have an entire crate of them #pls accept this attempted rizz as a token of my affection

[fasciinating]

“ Name what you want. If it's in my power to grant, I'll give it and ask for nothing. ”

DUNE PART 1 PROMPTS.

IN HIS MIND, THERE ARE billions of possibilities. War and famine. New life and the familiarity of death. In the night, Spock sifts through them, waving mental hands through red dust and unending flames — every past and future — to find a single path to follow.

What could he tell him?

Stood like a pillar on the desert’s surface, Spock roves his eyes over the folded figure of a relic and wonders. Their hair is crimson flame, that stare unseeing; this man belongs to something deeper, older, a fanaticism that has not known power since before long Spock was born.

It breathes through his mind like air through his teeth, like sand through his fingers—

—Jedi.

And now, what are you?

The question is unsaid, demanding no names, wanting of nothing but the heart of what Cal Kestis has poured into the forgotten ways of the Force. He has seen Cal’s mind, what Cal dreams of. And it was an ocean of gold grains, flecks of red spilling and spilling and spilling—

—until all that remained was a woman with dark hair and wild brown eyes, handing him her squalling child covered in sand.

He carried them to a shallow pool of blue water.

Spock stands with his back to the horizon, scrutinizing a wanderer, a possible traitor — a knight lost with no aim — expanding himself where nothing can be hidden from him.

Spock’s voice rings through Cal’s head: You drowned it.

“ I go to war with the Great Houses. ” And this, he says firmly. There is no avoiding the truth of it. Billions will die. Spock must know fealty, a warrior by blood and not just in name.

“ Fight with me. ”

@scrapratsoldier

#scrapratsoldier #on screen | ask. #v. au | dune. #queue long & prosper. #remember your dream looool

[fasciinating]

EVEN DAYS LATER, HE LOATHES THE name unearned as it is. Their union is a matter of diplomacy, expectation, and to the betterment of his people and the governing body of Ah’Rak, Spock can do nothing but obey.

He was risen this way, already a child of two worlds. But the subject of politics has never been in his enclave of interests, only carrying it onward as Father’s son.

Knelt to the ground, an entire universe collates behind his eyelids, made up of sand, of the water, the desert and the earth dusted by the stars. He was meant for knowledge, all too familiar with the sensation of want and hunger — human greed — at the tips of his fingers.

They flex now when she nears.

She, who is his wife.

Spock looks up at her, “ On occasion. ”

And on occasions when he has found little time to himself. The rest is to prepare him for a throne with which he derives no comfort from.

His hands fall away from where his fingers had been steepled together, “ The desert can be merciless; few flora survives here. I have found their rebellion to that fact to be worth my admiration. ”

closed starter for @fasciinating this isn't my fault.

To serve, to marry, to harness the power that comes with standing beside a Duke at the helm of an empire is a reward most Bene Gesserit prospects strive toward. In a never-ending game of chess, one could only hope their strategically-chosen pawn is treasured, sought after, so that their offspring may eventually see to greatness in their great plan.

Yet as one that survived her own sisters by the skin of her teeth, Echo can only wonder if this Duke will be disappointed. Derived under the pretense of an arranged marriage -- a soon-to-be Duke and his blushing, accomplished bride -- the Bene Gesserit are able to infiltrate yet another royal bloodline in the Great Houses.

And infiltrate she does -- except they don't particularly act like newlyweds eager to start anew.

Small, but mighty: should Echo fail her mission, then it won't be as much of a devastating loss as the others, but a loss nonetheless.

She pads barefoot out to the gardens overlooking their bedroom, her arms crossed. Her eyes settle on the crown of his jet-black hair as he rests on his calves, half her height.

"Do you spend most of your days studying plants, dear husband?" Even the term of endearment sounds manufactured.

#galaeus #v. au | dune. #beloved