#( incoming message from queuefleet. )

[empathicstars]

What makes her think she wouldn’t be? Well, how long did the two of them have, to go over the bountiful ways of her failure? She sought to find a way to answer that, when Fox continued —

That makes it sound like you aren’t your own friend.

A concept utterly confounding to her. She allowed the surprise on her face, the glance of confusion.

“How could I be my own friend?”

Tilting her head slightly, Fox frowned as she thought about Aella’s words. She was young, yes, but her mind worked things over in order to understand them in ways that even some adults didn’t. “But, you already are a good friend,” she disputed. “What makes you think that you wouldn’t be?” When she thought hard about it, she supposed she hadn’t seen the other close with many others. At least, not in recreation time, but that did not mean she did not have friends that Fox perhaps did not know, did it?

“That makes it sound like you aren’t your own friend.”

[empathicstars]

@facetedspades​! 

   To say that Aella had been avoiding Dr. Julian Bashir would be a huge exaggeration of the word. Avoiding implied she went largely out of her way to not see him, when the truth was more akin to... small changes to attempt to circumvent. 

   She saw him at the replimat or at Quark’s bar, occasionally, and if she needed to be in either place, she attempted to avoid the times she had seen him there. She took a slightly longer path to her station to avoid the lift that was nearest the medbay. 

    Doctor Bashir himself seemed a kind man — intelligent, helpful, and professional in all matters. But Aella had had more difficulty sleeping than usual, and she knew she was due for a check-up soon, and irrational fear had led her to avoiding him. 

   When, naturally, she was assigned to go with him on a mission. 

   It was... ironic. A more emotional part of her wished to call it fate, or her comeuppance, or poor luck, but she knew better than to believe the universe operated under such things. It was cause and effect. Largely coincidental. 

   15 minutes before they were meant to board to go to a medical conference, Aella stood completely poised and ready. She was prepared for an away mission — not simply a conference — but she knew it better to be over-prepared than remorseful. Her anxiety, she hoped, was likely a simply... acceptable level. It had nothing to do with being alone with the chief medical officer, or her fear of mistranslating once again, yes? It was nothing to do with that. No, not at all. A few calming breaths and she was sure... she would be fine. 

[empathicstars]

@wasscared​, “I can’t talk about it.”, continued from here​:

She couldn’t talk about it. The way he held her eye, for a moment - and the way he looked away (down, to his hands, loose on the table) - was accepting. It was not his place to insist that she relate a part of her history she did not want to share; there were things about this young woman which did not… add up, so her reluctance to share anything further made sense. Besides: it had been a … probing question. Connor still wanted answers. The curiosity was not sated, but for now the respect for her position won out. “You must have travelled a long way. Can I buy you lunch?” the offer did not come without the catch of company, but Connor would feel out how many - and which - questions he’d try to ask.

   If Aella were able to shamelessly lose herself in her own emotion, perhaps she’d be proud of how calm she was, at that moment.

   But that was the problem — she could not praise her lack of feeling when she could not feel satisfied by it. There was a word for things like that... irony? Perhaps she had been seeking another, but it escaped her, now. 

   The panic that’d accompanied her realization that she had ended up in a different universe had quite suddenly tapered to an apathy. Perhaps it was shock, she realized, belatedly. Perhaps she was so overwhelmed that she felt calm.

   The correct answer to the proposition offered from the person across from her was no. She was altering, influencing a pre-warp civilization if she accepted his offer. But she had this strange feeling that he would be rather more committed to the ‘mystery’ of her were she to deny him his request. That aside, it may be the easiest way to glean further information about where she was, and find a route back... 

   “Thank you, sir.” 

[empathicstars]

   Hey guys! Hope all’s going well with you!

   I’ve heard and seen on the dash that some of y’all struggling with one of the problems I’ve also been having -- and that’s not seeing the correct iframe buttons at the top of a theme. Meaning, you see this

instead of this. 

   If this problem seems to persist especially with blogs with Wikplayers or SCM players at the bottom, and you use Chrome, the solution is surprisingly simple! 

Go to chrome://flags/#same-site-by-default-cookies

Switch "SameSite by default cookies" to "Disabled."

Profit! 

   If this problem is across every single blog you access and you’re not using Chrome, here are some other things you can try! 

Clear your cache.

Try turning extensions off and on.

If all else fails, contact Tumblr support.

   Shoutout to Dave from Tumblr Support who finally fixed this problem for me after months of me suffering through it, you’re a real one.  

[empathicstars]

The fire that’s been lit suddenly changes, morphs — fizzles and shifts, turns and changes. Aelliana glances up, and a small figure is standing between her and her adversaries, steady and serious as though intending to block the brunt of the pain. Her eyebrows furrow. The others tease him for his thoughtfulness, but he interrupts them, in Federation Standard.

Does... he also believe she cannot speak his language? He glances back at her, and she blinks, before — she sees. There is something in his gaze that’s too heavy, too sad.

She does not understand. How could someone like him give her that look? He is younger than her — a Vulcan. How could he...?

And then, the violence breaks out. For once, it is not directed entirely at her, so she scoops up her fallen books, shoves them in her bag, and looks for an exit. The children have descended on her self-made hero, and there is plenty room for her to escape, but...

But of course she is not going to leave him there. What can she do, what can she do...?

The young defender stumbles back, after having been attacked, and she grabs his wrist. “Zahal-tor shal. Heh sahr-tor,” she tells him, and with that, drags him as quickly as she can after her.

As the encircling shadows of those who silently observed seemed to close in, suddenly the pressure on the wrist was gone.

There seemed to be a shuffle of feet moving back and away that soon morphed into a buzz in the air, murmurs spreading similar to that of ripples in a tide pool. A new, even closer, shadow had appeared but it was different from the rest of the more antagonizing ones. The owner of said shadow was standing between Aelliana and her peers, shielding her from them. He was vulcan too, he appeared just the same as the others besides his shorter stature. Perhaps he was younger. Yet, he did not stand with the others, he was facing against them.

A moment of exchange seemed to broil between the bigger and the smaller, all in the language of the Vulcans, as the two appeared to debate with one another.

'...Let it be known that I am acting in defense of another. Logically, my actions are not unprovoked, unwarranted, or unnecessary and should not be taken as such.' Spock had raised his voice finally, staring defiant at the bullies, his steady statement now in Federation Standard. It seemed he wanted her to hear him. For a brief moment, the young shielding vulcan glanced over his shoulder at Aelliana on the ground, a softness in his eyes-like he understood. Then, his fists clenched and he lunged forward at the taller, nailing in a punch to the nose. 'Leave her alone!'

[empathicstars]

@bakcr​ liked this! 

   It is late at night, and Aella should be alone. These are the two prevalent thoughts the moment she hears something creak on the ship behind her. Her current starship is well-crafted, indeed, but there are still tells when it is near silent, and there is only the hum of the warp coils to keep one company. 

   The first time she heard the movement, she bid it away. She was imagining it. It was the play acting of  her ill mind. The second time, her fingers clenched against her screen, but she still did not look. 

   It was only when she was sure that she was sensing someone that she finally turned around, face impassive, eyes scanning the room for the figure.

[empathicstars]

@positronicminds​ gets a starter!​

   In truth, Aella did not have much experience with Lieutenant Commander Data. Occasionally, she would see him; in the halls, or in ten forward, or speaking with the other senior officers onboard the ship. From what she could tell, he was well-liked and well-regarded -- and for some reason, those thoughts lead to ever more anxiety about their away mission together. 

   It was her, him, and a few security officers preparing to beam down to a planet to track down the location of a strange signal she’d discovered while on-duty. She’d been given the privilege of joining the team due to her findings. In a way, she was grateful. There was a strange, uncomfortable feeling roiling in the pit of her stomach, and were there to be danger, she’d prefer it happen to her and not another communications officer. 

   She arrived at the turbolift approximately two minutes prior to when she’d been asked to be there, tricoder, phaser, and medkit at the ready.

[empathicstars]

@fangsjustice​ got a thing! 

   At any moment, one could be spirited away. 

   At least -- that is what all the tales into which she’d ever dove told her. 

   At any moment, one could anger Kami, and disappear. It did not matter what one may be in the process of doing -- Kami would call you, pull you, and you’d sink into the spirit world. 

   But, of course, Aella did not believe in terran folklore, nor terran gods. So this must be... a dream? 

   It had been moments before Aella had turned in for the evening. Her hair hung about her, she was wearing long, rather thin civilian wear -- in absolutely no condition to be seen by anyone. But here she was, in what felt like an entirely different world. There was a sharp, dank smell in the air -- and she realized she could hardly see, except for a torch flickering in a grasp above her. There, in the glow of the light, stood what appeared to be a human -- red hair, tied back in a long ponytail, beaming widely and somewhat mischievously. She was dressed in unfamiliar clothing -- adorned with heavy metal that glittered in the low light, a cape on her shoulders. Armor. Armor, as though Aella were... 

   ... In a pre-warp civilization? Perhaps in the past of one of the civilizations of which she had already known?  

   Thoughts of perhaps dreaming of a medieval world died when the redhead before her frowned down at a rifle in her hand -- eyes widening as it glowed, and slowly, her gaze came to rest on Aella. 

   “Oh, it’s you, isn’t it?” 

   Aella’s lips parted -- but before she could speak, there broke commotion. Shouts. Harsh voices. The walls of stone around her reverberated with the noise, and the person before her nearly threw her rifle into her hands. 

   There was a flash of light. Everything disorienting, and loud, and Aella had hardly been oriented in the first place, and thus, she collapsed onto the ground, released the weapon, sat on the ground with fingers shielding her eyes for a moment until the light condensed, and faded, and... 

   Aella dropped her hand, and her throat dropped into her stomach. The world, which had just felt oppressive, and small, and tight, went liquid with her shock. 

   There, in front of her, taking in his surroundings, was... a person.  

[empathicstars]

alljvststars​: 

Aella snatches the fun out of the debate so quickly that it hits like a kick to the chest. Fuck. Her voice catches in the dusty aftertaste of blood in her throat and the world narrows down to just the placid composure on her friend’s face.

Avril blinks instead of jolting away, blinks again, doesn’t notice the ugly sneer on her mouth until it’s already stretched out towards the vicious points of her teeth.

She lets all the breath out of her lungs at once and jerks her whole head away to lock her eyes on something distant and stable.

Her voice finds itself before she does. “Stupid thing to waste your end of the deal on.”

   And it was exactly this anger, this insistence, that made it all the more of the right thing to ask. Something hurts -- like shattering ribcages, like a throat full of blood, like color and sound and light leeched from everything, everyone. 

   The room sounded startlingly quiet, for a moment. Just their breathing, and now Lieutenant Leath’s sharp sigh.

   “I do not believe it is,” she finally exhales. “Do you accept the terms?” 

[empathicstars]

@bakcr​, tell me what’s wrong

     & teeth bite down on her lower lip as her shoulders slump. blue eyes lift to look at the lieutenant in front of her. souffle seemed to be the only dish that she couldn’t get right - ellie wondered if it was what she was working with, or if she truly just didn’t have the talent for it. ❛ this is my fourth one, ❜ the brunette gestured to the deflated bowl, lower lip now jutting forward in a pout.

        ❛ i just can’t seem to get it right, ❜ ellie huffed and threw off the oven mitt, as she slumped further down onto the bar stool. ❛ not the most pressing thing to be upset about but i mean… i have to feed the crew something. ❜ & no the replicator was NOT an option.

   At this point, it was likely most logical for Aella to submit sympathies and take her leave. After all, she was not particularly handy with food -- any food further than soup, that was. She did not believe she needed vast knowledge in the area of food preparation to recognize that soup and... ah, whatever it was that was in the bowl before her were quite different dishes. 

   “Is it imperative that you feed the crew this?”  

[empathicstars]

@rootkill​ liked for a starter! 

   They needed to speak to her. 

   There was information they needed from the sole occupant in the brig, information vital to the ensuing mission, and so far as Aella could tell, no one had been able to draw the truth from her lips. Her lieutenants returned frustrated, cloudy-eyed, hands wrapped into fists with lungs full of shallow, shaking breaths. 

   It was not long at all until they asked the empath for help and, as ever, she accepted, quietly, lips sealed, head inclined. It was rather early in the morning when she stepped through the doors of the brig -- nodded to a guard officer, who moved to take a stance outside the door. 

   Cautiously, Aella edged herself into the room, took a seat across the forcefield, and for the first time, saw her.

[empathicstars]

@altrxisme​ liked for a starter! 

   “It should not be much further.” 

   She and Lieutenant O’Daly were about 80 meters from what they’d detected on long-range sensors -- some sort of communication relay still active and, according to preliminary readings, half-buried in the planet’s surface. It was sending multiple distress signals, but there were no life signs detected on the planet’s surface. No life signs or biological matter that would lead to the presence of any of the alien species voiced in the distress signal having been down on the planet’s surface. It was a perfect mystery -- and exactly the sort of thing the Enterprise took pride in checking out for itself. 

   There was a strange pressure on her forehead as Aella trekked forward, and she pulled her comm from her belt, somewhat reactionary. Better to be prepared than sorry, after all.

[empathicstars]

ncthingstars​: 

       zack wishes.

he wishes he could be more like her — fitting in perfectly in this place, if not in appearance than in her ability to act like a vulcan. to act like she belongs. at least from his perspective, limited as it may be, he is the outsider here. despite his own heritage, and her distinctly non-vulcan one, she belongs. he does not.

then again, she would likely see it entirely the other way. that would be like someone saying he belonged on earth. very clearly, at least in zack’s own mind, he did not. that’s why he’s here.

( distantly, in the back of his mind, he wonders if she would want to return to betazed one day. he wonders if she even remembers it. )

it’s interesting to watch her behavior — so much can be learned from a person’s physical movements. and he is nothing if not observant. he notices scrapes and bruises even if he doesn’t say anything about it, or the way their gait changes after an injury. 

( he’s seen all his siblings fall from their bikes on multiple occasions, and has treated their bleeding wounds and accompanied them to the hospital to have their broken bones set. )

( it’s the reason he refused to learn how to ride one himself, or to drive, or to pilot any sort of shuttle or aircraft. structural design is incredibly faulty. that’s what he’s here to learn about, after all. to improve on, hopefully. )

( these injuries are not from a bike though; he knows that if nothing else. )

“a real vulcan?” he asks, and he says that in standard, startled out of the native language that feels so uncomfortable on his tongue. “if i was, i should be able to speak the language better, right?” 

she’s intelligent, despite her younger age — though he’s certainly in no position to equate age with intelligence anyway. maybe it’s just her speech patterns, so clipped and formal. it’s familiar in a way that stirs up warm feelings in his chest.

his eyes do widen at the offer, and he blinks once, surprised, before nodding. “yes, that would be a productive use of both our time and skills,” he says. “and it would be an excuse for you to speak vulcan here. you can just say you were helping me.” he reaches up instinctively to brush hair out of his face, hand pausing and then dropping back to his lap as he remembers he’s cut it. no longer in his eyes. no longer floppy enough to be pushed aside. “that doesn’t make sense,” zack says, scrunching up his face as if to try and better understand. “just because someone is raised in one culture does not make them part of it. biologically, that’s impossible.” he seems to have taken the concept a little too literally, or else he’s actively ignoring the truth in the words.

still, his expression softens further — or to be more precise, turns worried. confused. “why are you apologizing?” and he sounds so innocent, head tilted to the side, eyebrows drawn in further than usual ( he’s still getting used to not hiding them behind long bangs ), that there’s nothing malicious or angry in the question at all. “i believe you’re right, earth is more natural.” he hugs his knees closer to his chest. “supposedly, being here will…. put me out of my comfort zone. i fail to see how that is beneficial though. however, logic dictates that this is the best place for me to be right now.”

and then as if to prove a point, or offer anecdotal evidence, he hikes up the bottom hem of his shirt, revealing his somewhat scrawny form — but more notably, bruising and light scarring along his ribs. he speaks matter-of-factly, as if he isn’t even talking about himself. “from a schoolyard…. altercation…. a few years ago.”

   He looks at her with eyes she does not quite understand, words unwieldy in their gentleness. To one not raised on Vulcan, perhaps, they may find some of his words, the concepts he conveys, harsh, but to her... it is the mildest thing she has ever heard. 

   But he does contradict himself. He implies that he understands the difference between biology and culture -- but then also decides that language is biological. She does not have the confidence to point out the discrepancy, however. After all, if either of them is wise, it would certainly not be her. 

   ( She also does not point out that of course she would know that being raised in one culture does not make it apart of it. She does not point out that her entire life has been a study on that topic. She seals her feelings where she always does -- somewhere behind her throat, somewhere too far away for her mind to accidentally touch. ) 

   “Language is cultural, not biological,” she whispers. The only thing of which she can say and feel somewhat sure. But she does not meet his eyes. She watches their feet. Both placed on the ground similarly. Both too close to their frames. 

   “Mentor... says it is good to stray from comfort zones. Mentor says it is growth.” But Aelliana does not like growing. Growing just brings more pain, and she can hardly deal with the pain she already carries. 

   It is hard, however, for Aelliana to answer why she apologizes. She would have to unveil her failings to him, watch the judgment color his tones. It is too much, and she is tired, and a part of her is still bleeding. 

   She wants to go home, she thinks, even though she is already here. 

   He shifts his shape, and she freezes for a horrifying moment -- body tense to absorb the shock of whatever happened -- but he only reveals himself to her. ( And how ironic, that he should do so just as she decides to hide herself away. ) 

   “What happened?” she murmurs -- as though speaking too loudly will shake them both too hard, now. It feels like the question she should ask, but she cannot explain why.

[empathicstars]

@thebookofsands sent, ❝ "Happy birthday, Aella. I apologize for not giving you a physical gift, but I hope you like this in its place. I wrote it for you." Rhee smiles at her friend and pulls out her violin. Closing her eyes, she begins playing a rich, vibrant melody. She lets every thought, every hope, every wish pour into the music. When she finally concludes, she has to collect herself so she doesn't cry. "I- I'm sorry if you didn't like it." ❞  

   The morning had been, by all accounts, a relatively quiet one. She had only just gotten off of her shift hours ago, and nursed the hours afterwards with a cup of tea balanced in one hand, a pencil in the other, standing before her wall of books and attempting to complete her cross-reference between various novels based around heroes in different cultures and languages. It was a rather vast project that had been occupying her time the past couple of weeks, and today was as good of a day as any other to continue her work upon it. 

   The chiming at the door was surprise -- as was the mind that lingered behind it. Lieutenant Box seemed to have no major qualms about arriving to Aella’s room without plan, and though Aella was meticulous, it had never quite mattered to her, either. She simply placed her writing utensil down and answered the chime.

   Lieutenant Box had a violin case -- and a wish of happy birthday. She set it down, pulled her instrument from it and... played.

   Rather in awe, Aella eased herself into a seat, watched the lieutenant play competently and vibrantly. The music was beautiful. Too beautiful, in fact, to be for Aella. It was too difficult to fathom.

   The emotion lingered even as the final note played -- Lieutenant Box had left all of her in her music, and Aella could feel the strain at attempting to hold onto a semblance of control. 

   Still -- she, herself, was too dumbstruck for anything further than, “You truly wrote that?”

[empathicstars]

  Hey guys! Just wanted to throw another little baby update post out here!

  I wanted to thank you all for your support and patience as it takes me a thousand years, as normal, to get to replies. I have a lot of things I’m excited about, and a lot of new mutuals I want to write for, but I’ve also been very physically ill and I have 95+ drafts combined from all of my blogs. Which I love! I love having so much to write, I love the interest, I love the excitement! But it also means that things may be slower for y’all. I really can’t truly afford to pull a lot out of the queue right now until I really cut into more of these drafts! I’m taking things slow and having fun with replies, playing Fallout, and watching some very silly and nice Youtube channels, which is giving me a ton of muse everywhere.

  Please rest assured that nothing has been dropped, and that I’m super excited about all of my threads -- it’ll just take a bit!

  If you’re a new mutual or we just don’t have something active, please browse my ( open. ) and ( ask meme list. ) tags, because I’d love to write with you!

[empathicstars]

inthisbeyond‌: 

“It feeds off of nanoparticles in the air around it and–that isn’t the most interesting part–” Yep, fuck it, she’s a tiny bit too excited about this to hold up the facade, a smile pulled at her lips as she pulled out the pad for the other to look at. Her cheeks dimpling, “–it adapts to whatever environment it’s in. The biology adapts and changes to feed off of whatever the most available nanoparticle there is in the area. And it does this within an hour.” 

   And there, on the lines of the other’s face, was passion -- clearer than she’d quite expected, clearer than she knew how to hold herself. Though there may’ve been surprise tugging somewhere inside of her, her face remained neutral, and she encouraged the reaction in the form of questioning. “That is... interesting.” Ah -- it came out strangled and strange, even in the attempt! “Does it reproduce very often? Do you believe it is difficult to contain?”