#ONCE I PULL THIS CHEKOVS TRIGGER ITS ALL OVER

[creativitycache]

I’ve been writing Ch 21 for a month, just dying to have someone point out the error that is actually Plot in Ch 20. It’s been consuming me.

I am wiggling like a Golden Retriever who is begging for someone to notice the Trick I just did. I want people to be in on the [Spoiler]! I am making the face of someone who just told a horrible convoluted pun but the worst part of that metaphor is at this point I haven’t even posted the punchline.

These are all things that are normal to want and possible to achieve.

[crowsgardens]

A short fic in which Tommy found Wilbur in the button room instead of Phil

A man in a trench coat stood facing the wall that housed a small wooden button. Surrounding him, lyrics had been etched into the stone walls of the room, ones he had written and carved himself. Outside of the room, echoes of fireworks sounded off, and cheering was something that was far from rare. People were celebrating, yet here he stood, about to destroy it all. The button was right there, the trigger to Chekov’s Gun.

It was something so small and insignificant as a piece of wood no bigger than his palm, but the havoc it could wreak… it was such a glorious thing, that button. It was the centerpiece to his plan, his path to catharsis. Wilbur’s hand shook as he placed it upon the button’s surface.

“After everything, it’s just you and me, in this room.” He chuckled. “I’ve been waiting for this moment, the moment to end it all. This place used to be special. Like the words I’ve scribbled on the walls, there was a special place, but it’s gone. Everything I’ve built is destroyed. It’s been ripped apart at its seams and all that’s left is a shell of what I’ve built… I don’t think it can exist as it was again. Even with Tubbo in charge.”

Wilbur swallowed, his throat going dry. “It’s right there… if I don’t do this now I’ll never get another chance.” Something bubbled underneath the surface of his skin, his face twisting into something that edged on anger. He lifted his shaking hand and slammed it against the stone wall next to the trigger.

“The nation I’ve built doesn’t exist anymore!” Wilbur snaps to himself, almost as a reassurance. He lowers his head and looks down at the dusty floor of the cave while he hovers his trembling hand over the button. “...It’s over,” He snaps, centimeters from the surface of the wood, about to pull the trigger and end it all.

“Wil?”

His heart stops, and he drops his hand away from the wall. It was a voice he had hoped he would never hear again. “Tommy..?” Wilbur turns.

Tommy’s face was etched in disbelief… and hurt. “What are you doing here?”

Wilbur closed his eyes for a second, trying to clear his racing thoughts. “I.. I think you know why, Tommy.”

Tommy walked towards him. “You don’t need to do this, Wil… I mean, this is our home. We built this together, surely we can rebuild it-”

“Don’t you see, Tommy? There is nothing to rebuild! It will never be the same. It will never be my home again, let alone ours. How are you so blind that you can’t see what happened after we left? They hate us, Tommy.”

“That’s not true! You should see everyone’s faces down there! They’re all celebrating!” Tommy stepped towards him. “You can’t really want to do this-”

“I do! I do Tommy, I really do!” Wilbur couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not the same, it can’t be the same. They cast us out! They hunted us, and you’re gonna stand there and tell me they care? They wouldn’t give a shit if I died, let alone blew up their fucking home, our fucking home, that they tore apart. They don’t stand for anything.”

“Look at me, Wil.”

“No.” He couldn’t. He had to do this.

“Wil! For one second get out of your fucking head and listen to me! We can fix this. You and me. Isn’t that what you wanted? To get our home back?”

“Our home is gone!” Wilbur looked up at him. Tommy had tears running down his face, even though he was trying to hide it behind his words. Wilbur turned away from him. “I’m doing this, Tommy, and I’m sorry, but you know the saying-”

“Wilbur, please don’t-” Wilbur felt Tommy grab his trenchcoat.

“-it was never meant to be.”

Wilbur slammed the button with his fist, and all hell broke loose. The sound was deafening, and the force of the explosion left Wilbur and Tommy knocked to the floor.

----

Tommy coughed, trying to expel some of the ash and dust from the explosion. His ears were ringing, making sounds feel distant and muddied. He pushed himself to his feet. his muscles aching from the day’s fighting. He moved over to the edge of the cave, where once there was a wall, now was the sheer edge of a cliff. When the dust settled, he could see figures down below, looking up at him in disbelief. His eyes burned as he looked down at what remained of his home. Nothing but a crater. There was nothing left. He let out a sob and fell to his knees, resting his head in his hands. He can’t remember the last time he had cried like this. He heard something behind him as he sobbed, and it sounded like… laughter.

“My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!” Wilbur shouted. Tommy couldn’t tell if it was to Tommy, or himself. Tommy growled and got to his feet, staring Wilbur in his eyes. Something was missing there and had been for a long time. This wasn’t Wilbur. This wasn’t his Wilbur.

“What the fuck have you done?!” Tommy spit out, and he hated the way his voice cracked from the stress. “You… you…”

Before Tommy could even think, Wilbur pulled out his knife. The worn blade was etched in battle scars, even though Wilbur didn’t like to use it much. Its handle was loosely wrapped in cloth that had been stained red. Wilbur threw it at his feet.

“Kill me. Tommy, kill me.” Something burned in Wilbur’s eyes as he gestured out into the crowd. “Look at them! All of your friends! They want you to do it, and I know you want to. You hate me, I destroyed your home.” He spoke fast, leaving no room for Tommy to process what was going on.

“Y-You’re like my brother! I can’t!” Tommy stepped back from him, the look in Wilbur’s eyes was burning through his soul and shocking him to his core. “I can help you, Wil. We can work this out-”

“I know you hate me for what I just did, don’t lie.” Wilbur bent down in front of him, grabbing the dagger. He shoved it into Tommy’s hands.

“I can’t hate you- You did everything for me! You gave me the home I never had and you took it away-” His voice cracked at that last part, and he hated himself for it. “You know I can’t kill you.” He looked back to Wilbur, but he couldn’t meet his eyes. His hands shook and his tears stained the dusty ground.

Wilbur quickly looked out into the crowd, his expression indecipherable. “Fine.” He snatched the blade from Tommy’s hands, and before Tommy even realized what was happening Wilbur turned his back to the cliff, and held the dagger pointed at his heart.

Wilbur closed his eyes. “Goodbye, Tommy.”

Before Tommy could react, Wilbur plunged the dagger into his chest. Wilbur gave a pained smile and fell backward into the crowd.

“NO!” Tommy screamed, his lungs burning as he moved as fast as he could to the edge as time seemed to slow down. Tommy slid to his knees and tried reaching out to grab Wilbur, but his fingers slipped around Wilbur’s hands that were wet with his own blood. He watched as the man fell, further and further, his trench coat billowing around him. Tommy couldn’t hear anything but his own voice, screaming for the brother who had betrayed him. Tears streamed down his face and he couldn’t pull himself together enough to hide it.

After a few long, sickening seconds, a wet thud sounded in the crater, Wilbur’s body finally hitting its mark. Tommy screamed until he felt his lungs would give out. His world was collapsing around him as he lost everything in one blow. Everything he could call home was gone, in a flash, just when he thought he got it back. He was foolish to think he could fix things. Even when it was so broken, when Wilbur was so broken, he thought everything could go back to the way things were after the war. The way things were before the election.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t care to acknowledge it. Whoever it was dragged him into an embrace, rubbing circles into his back, trying to calm him. He tried to pull away, but the person held him steadfast, whispering things to him that almost sounded like an apology. The voice was familiar. Tommy leaned into them, crying into their shoulder, letting everything flow until he was completely drained.

His lungs ached and his eyes could barely open from the headache. The person’s soothing voice still tried to comfort him, even though he couldn’t make out the words.

[goingknowherewastaken]

Diagnosis: Love

*not my gif

Title: Diagnosis: Love

Fandom: Star Trek

Relationship: McKirk

Warnings: swearing, flirting, pissed of Georgian doctors

A/N: Happy (slightly belated) birthday Tia ( @captainsbabysitter-blog )!!! ♥

This was done for Tia’s Birthday Challenge! I signed up and claimed the prompts of McKirk and the College Professor!AU because I had this little beauty - that I had shared with @thevalesofanduin and @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets -floating around my head for months! This was just the perfect opportunity to write it :D

And, oh, this is also the idea that sparked the reader fics, At the Center of the Universe and High Energy ;)

Anyways, Tia, I hope you enjoy it :D

Enjoy!! ♥

Diagnosis: Love

Pressing down the edges of the bandage one last time, Leonard stepped back away from the examination table. “Alright,” he said, “That should be it. Just keep an eye on it and replace the bandage as needed. If it doesn't look any better come Friday, come back here so I can look at it again.”

The kid on the table, Pavel Chekov, nodded his head, the short blond curls bobbing with the movement. “Da, I know.”

Leonard did his best to smother the frown that wanted to form before giving him final instructions and sending him on his way. Once the door closed, leaving Leonard all alone in the small exam room, he collapsed into the lone, rickety chair and rubbed at his face with a sigh.

This was not the path he ever expected to be on.

He had had everything - a gorgeous wife, a dream job, and the perfect home.

Then everything had to go to shit.

Now look at him.

Freshly divorced and living in an okay apartment as he crushes the dreams teaches bright-eyed med students and plays campus doctor in his free time.

Okay, sure, Starfleet is technically one of the top schools in the world and teaching the kids has its moments, but the doctoring has been grating on him.

The panicked patients coming in for various sex related treatments and advice he expected.

Treating overly caffeinated and sleep deprived, stressed out students wasn’t a shock.

The repeated treatments he had to hand out to the engineering majors...that was a bit out of the blue.

His first month at Starfleet, Leonard thought nothing of it. Just treated the kids, gave them a warning to be more careful, and then sent them on their way. It was during his second month that he began to take notice of how many replied with “engineering” when he asked about their major. And it was barely into his third month that he noticed a name that tended to be brought up by these engineering majors - James Kirk.

Correction.

Dr. James Kirk.

“You mean you’ve never heard of Kirk?”

Christine Chapel had given him an amused look when he had questioned her about the guy. Apparently, he was a pretty big deal at Starfleet, enough that Leonard should have already known this dude.  

Leonard pinched his nose.

Knock. Knock.

And Chris should have been thrilled that he had even thought to ask her! Nurses know everything and since she was the core instructor for the nursing majors of course Leonard thought that she would give him information about this irritable thorn in his side.

Knock. Knock.

“Dr. Kirk is a genius, Len, and one of the most popular professors! He’s only been here for two years and you would not believe the influx of students wanting to take Astrophysics that Starfleet got. Not to mention that his Robotics Club is one of the most popular clubs on campus.”

Of course she handed over the information he wanted, but not without teasing him from then on.

“Robotics Club?”

Knock! Knock!

That just explained everything.

Click!

“Hello - You okay, Doc?”

The sudden appearance of the low voice had Leonard jerking his head up. The action causing him to lock gazes with the most stunning pair of blue eyes he’d ever seen set in the face of an incredibly handsome man. A man whose head was not only currently popping through the small opening he’d made with the door, but also giving him a very quizzically amused look.

Leonard didn’t even realize he’d been shocked into silence until the man had questioned him once more. Flustered, Leonard shook his head and stood, motioning for the man to step inside the room and take a seat on the bed. As he did so, Leonard took a chance to take in and assess his new patient.

With black, vintage glasses set upon a delicate nose, the man’s face was framed with a bushy beard and hair in a burnished gold that just begged for someone to run their fingers it. Going lower, he noted a well tailored white shirt with its sleeves rolled up as the man cradled his right hand to his stomach, a dark blue suit jacket hung over one arm, black honest-to-god suspenders running down his torso and attaching to a pair of fitted dark blue pants that nicely accentuated the man’s pelvic area and thighs -

Leonard’s mind ground to a halt as the man tossed his jacket on the bed and hopped up to take a seat, cradling his hand once more.

Cradling his hand…

Injured hand…

Leonard was quick to pull his healing instincts to the front of his mind. “What happened?” He asked, grabbing gloves before stepping forward into the man’s space - between his spread legs - and his heart absolutely did not stutter when the man peered at him with those baby blues .

“I, uh, I was working and cut my hand,” he said, holding out his hand for Leonard to take. Which he did, taking great care to not think about knees on either side of his hips as the man’s warm breath ghosted across his face nor the faint scars and calluses that littered the hand as he examined it. Upon finding the cut, however, Leonard’s brows knitted together as he processed what he was seeing.

“This - This is what you came in for?” He looked up then, meeting those blue eyes that were completely free of shame.

And there damn well should have been shame in those eyes, because walking into a medical professional’s office and requesting medical treatment for a tiny fucking paper cut was one of the most shameful acts a person could possibly do.

Instead, the man just gave a casual roll of his shoulders and flashed a grin. “Well, I just wanted to make sure it was properly taken care of by a medical professional and all of my kids spoke rather highly of you.” By the end of his spiel, the expression he exhibited had shifted into one that had a knot twisting low in Leonard’s gut, sparking whispers of thoughts not welcome at the present moment.

“All it needs is to be cleaned and have a bandaid slapped on it.” Shifting and regaining his focus, Leonard squinted at the man as the gears in his mind went into overdrive over the latter part of the man’s sentence. “Who the hell are you?”

“Kirk,” he responded, plush lips tipping up into a smug smirk. “Doctor James Tiberius Kirk.”

...Fuck.

Leonard straightened, eye twitching as he stared down the still overly pleased Kirk.

This man - this gorgeous, golden man that he’d been attempting to not ogle this entire time is the same man who, due to the repeated appearance of his students in Leonard’s office, has become the bane of his existence?

“You son of a bitch.” The words ripped their way out of Leonard’s mouth in a hiss, triggering Kirk’s brows to jerk up in surprise. Much to Leonard’s chagrin, though, Kirk did not lose his grin and that just set him off even more. “Are you out of your fucking mind?! You have spent the past five months allowing your kids to be so pathetically careless where they have to come to me to fix the injuries that they shouldn’t even fucking have and then you have the goddamn audacity to march in here with a fucking paper cut like this is all just a fucking fantastic joke?!”

By the end of his tirade, Leonard’s chest was heaving as he glared at Kirk, unaware that he had leaned in closer during the scolding.

Close enough that they were nearly nose to nose.

“...wow…”

Close enough that when Kirk’s breathless word ghosted across his lips, Leonard found himself blinking in shock, listing and unsettled by the realization that he couldn’t tell which type of frustration was the cause of his thrumming, heated blood.

The slight bump of Kirk’s nose against his, the briefest tickle of his silver streaked beard, had Leonard swallowing. “Christine was right; you are incredibly hot when you’re frustrated.”

Another blink. A flex of his hands revealed that he was still holding Kirk’s hands in his. “Excuse me?” He said, voice coming out rougher than what he would have liked.

Kirk, on the other hand, appeared more than pleased by the sound, his eyes brightening and grin widening as his knees squeezed Leonard’s waist. “Sampson’s on Saturday night at seven. They have fantastic food.” His voice lowered. “And I make amazing pancakes,” he added with a wink.

And just like that, Leonard was left sputtering as a kiss was placed upon his nose and he was left alone as Kirk slipped away with a quick, “See you Saturday,” tossed over his shoulder.

Son of a bitch...what the hell just -

With a curse, Leonard snatched up the suit jacket and ripped open the door, holding the jacket aloft, yelling, “You left your damn jacket, infant!” Hearing no response, he dropped his hand with a huff, but a flicker of white had his irritation turning to curiosity.

And the scrawled out number on the slip of paper he picked up had him reevaluating his weekend plans as his lip twitched in amusement.

~ ;D ♥

Post A/N: So idk if I’ve mentioned this anywhere, but I imagine Jim for these fics to be the Astrophysics professor and the supervisor for the Robotics Club - well, okay I know I mentioned those bits of info but in regards to his own education I imagine him to have doctorates in astrophysics, engineering, and physics. Or a doctorate for at least one of those 

If you would like to join my taglists, just go here!!

All Taglist: @feelmyroarrrr @yallneedtrek @haveyouseenmymind @reading-in-moonlight @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @annathewitch 

McKirk Taglist: @pinkamour1588 @bookcaseninja @thefanficfaerie @auduna-druitt @frostingsfics @loststarlight @randomlittleimp @emmkolenn @cheesybadgers @sorryallonsy 

My Fic Masterlist

My Misc Masterlist

[samingtonwilson]

Return - Part 6 - Jim Kirk

 Part 5

Summary: series following the events of loot– takes place during events of star trek beyond. in this chapter, you realize popularity isn’t all it’s chalked up to be.

Warnings: language, some self-loathing, violence (but it’s canon)

A/N: shit is continuing to go down. i need to rework the last couple of parts i wrote-- it’s getting kinda frustrating.

Your heart had stopped more times than you could count over the course of the preceding few hours— when the first housefly-like ship collided with the Enterprise, when the leader of the invading party held you against a wall with his hand clutching your throat and recognition clouding his features, when Jim declared he would go into the bowel of the ship and separate the saucer. Each occurrence was another blow to your chest.

By the time three invading crew members blasted the bridge door down and shot two officers to their demise, you thought the beating in your chest had given out completely.

One crossed the bridge to stand before you with a large gun pointed at your chest, his shiny black eyes narrowed with the intensity of his smile. The dark lips curled over sharp beige teeth, the reflective pale blue skin with peaks and valleys astounding enough to force your gaze away— it normally would have been enough to rouse the beating in your chest.

But you stood before him and accepted it. You thought it might be your penance for causing so much trouble, for being the reason so many members of the Enterprise crew were now hurt or dead.

“Thief,” he quipped in a voice that was wet, so caked in whatever lined his throat.

You stared the creature straight in the eye, seeing Sulu rise from the captain’s chair in your peripheral vision. You wanted to tell Sulu to find a pod and leave— there was nothing he could do, there wasn’t anything he should do. The creature was right.

Before the creature could pull the trigger, three loud blasts sounded and all three invaders hit the ground. Your gaze followed the one lying at your feet, your hands beginning to shake at your sides as you stared at him.

“Captain!”

You tore your focus from the invader’s lifeless body and met Jim’s worried gaze with wide eyes. You nodded at him once.

He took quick steps towards you, pausing as he took in the unscathed, pearlescent skinned Kalara behind you— the reason you were sent to the Enterprise, a woman you believed assisted in orchestrating this whole fiasco. He then nodded back at you.

He moved to Sulu’s side. “How many of the crew are still aboard the saucer?”

“None,” Sulu replied, his eyes on the screen before him. “But, if I’m reading this correctly, the intruders are taking them,” his voice was grim and it resonated in the pit of your stomach.

It seemed Chekov was next in line to deliver bad news. “Captain, we are caught in the planet’s gravity. We cannot pull away.”

The three men, two in command gold and one in his black undershirt, stared at the view screen with slumped shoulders and exhausted spines. You focused on Jim’s back, intermittently looking down at the command gold wrapped around your broken, aching wrist.

“Get to your Kelvin pods,” he said, his volume low but still loud enough to be heard over the ship’s rumbling.

Sulu and Chekov voiced their compliance and stepped away. They clamoured about the bridge, helping the remaining bridge crew members into their respective pods before strapping themselves into their own.

Chekov nodded at you as he led the woman beside you to a pod. “You should get to your pod as well.”

You hummed, still staring at Jim. “I will.”

When Chekov’s pod was pushed out of the ship, you took calculated steps towards an empty one. “Jim, we need to go.”

He spun around. “Why are you still here? Get into a pod.”

“You need to get in one, too.”

“I will, just— You need to go,” he said, his hand finding the small of your back and ushering you into a pod. “See you down there?”

You smiled at him— it was difficult, but you knew he needed it. “Can’t imagine why you wouldn’t.”

Your eyes were shut throughout the launching of the pod, the ascending of the pod, and the descending of the pod. There was something about watching the Enterprise burn and shatter into thousands of pieces that seemed too painful, too emotionally taxing.

Your landing was in no way smooth. Your wrist connected with the pod’s walls on more than one occasion and you let yourself scream. You screamed at the pain running up your arm, down your spine, and you screamed at the pain resonating in your chest.

The part of you that blamed yourself, the part of you that couldn’t stand the idea of you finding a moment of peace, kept that pain in your chest no matter how many times you punched the glass door of the pod with your uninjured hand, no matter how many times your voice broke in the middle of a scream.

Pulling out the navy blue jacket of the survival suit stored in one of the pod’s many pockets, you slipped your arms through the sleeves and zipped it up as far as it would go, hooking a phaser to the belt of your uniform dress so it was hidden.

You caught yourself about to ruffle your hair to salvage some volume and snorted, shaking your head as you exited the pod.

It took you a few tentative steps before you could walk at a normal pace, the crunch of leaves, rocks, and dirt under your boots strangely comforting.

An arm found your waist and you would have screamed had the voice beside you not been so reassuring and accented in that unique way that always made you smile. “All okay?”

You nodded and set your arm over Chekov’s shoulders, walking side by side to where you saw Jim all dressed in the complete survival suit. “All okay, Pash. You?”

“Been better.”

You would have laughed had you not heard Jim’s voice shake the leaves on the tree behind him. He approached Kalara. “You knew,” he accused. “You knew we’d be attacked.”

Eyes wide, she replied, “You don’t understand.”

Jim held his phaser out, pointed at her as the whirring signaled its coming to life.

“Captain!” Chekov called once you were only a few steps away. You both took your arms from the other. “Captain Kirk!”

The woman shrunk a bit, cowering back. “Yes, I lied.”

You scoffed quietly to yourself.

“Our ship was attacked.”

Jim, still staring at her with his phaser cocked, said, “Chekov, check the comms for survivors.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Who is he?” Jim asked her, his jaw clenching.

“His name is Krall. He took my crew, like he took yours,” she replied, her eyes shifting from you to Jim.

“How did he know so much about the Enterprise?”

She frowned. Her features looked almost desperate. “All I know is that if I did this,” she visibly swallowed, “he would set them free.”

“Chekov, are you picking anything up on those scanners?” his eyes were still on her, his phaser still held up.

“Nothing, sir,” was Chekov’s grim reply. “What if they—”

“No,” you said. “He was taking them— for some purpose, for some reason we don’t know yet.”

“We have to find that saucer,” Jim stated. “Even minimal scanning systems will have more range than a tricorder.”

Chekov nodded. “Aye, Captain. It’s possible.”

“Captain,” she began again. “I was just protecting my crew.”

From the bits of her voice you’d heard throughout the day, you could tell it was higher pitched now— it even shook a little. Of course, you didn’t want to believe that definitively as the universal translator didn’t allow for clear enough sound of what was underneath.

Jim lowered his phaser and you almost raised yours, letting your uninjured hand form a fist by your side instead.

You remained silent throughout your trek to the remains of the Enterprise, keeping your steps in sync with Chekov’s rather than with Jim’s. Something about walking beside him, talking to him when you felt so vulnerable, bothered you— you needed to keep your distance.

The only time you spoke was to tell Chekov you were certain she would try something, perhaps contacting someone— you told him he should try to trace it when she did.

Jim, however, spoke throughout the walk. He told the woman the artifact was safe, that he thought Krall’s crew attacked for it— he told her anything and everything he could think of to fill the silence, even if it was the most obvious thing that had already been established.

By the time you reached the burnt saucer, your legs ached and your throat burned— the sky was even several shades darker.

You swallowed over the soreness in your throat and continued to climb onto the ship.

As you walked through the mangled corridors, several feet behind Jim, you tried not to focus on the state of the ship.

“Captain,” the computerized voice said, “the artifact was on the ship the whole time?”  

Jim crouched down and fussed with some of the deck plating. He caught your eye as he did so and gave you the shortest, most pointed nod you almost totally missed.

Immediately, you slipped your hand under your jacket and toyed with the edges of your phaser.

“I couldn’t afford to get caught with it,” he told her, his voice almost overshadowed by the clanging of the fallen, broken plates. “So I hid it in here.”

In a split second, her knee lifted and forcefully hit Jim’s nose so he tumbled off to the side, his loud grunt ringing in your ears as you removed your phaser and held it up.

Jim caught your eye again and shook his head slightly when she picked up his strewn phaser and held it at him. You stood your ground silently, making sure your presence was unknown.

“Tell Krall I have the Abronath.” She knelt, shifting on her knees as she looked at Jim and fiddled with the same deck plating he was. “Do you believe every sad story you hear?”

Jim’s eyes met yours then and there was a hint of amusement in his irises. “Usually only when it concerns that artifact.”

She pulled a compartment open, looking up at Jim when a whirring sounded in front of her and behind her.

You nodded at Chekov, silently letting him take this one.

“Put the phaser down,” he commanded in a slow voice. You liked watching your little Pavel stand in an assertive position. “Please.”

You shrugged to yourself with a frown of consideration— the assertiveness still counted for something, no matter how momentary.

“You get it, Pash?” you asked, placing your phaser back.

He nodded. “Aye. I’ve traced the location of her call.”

He motioned for you to approach his side and hid his smile miserably when you passed the woman, smiling at her sweetly. “Told you the artifact’s a fucking pain— completely not worth it.”

When you stood beside Jim and Chekov, Jim narrowed his eyes at Krall’s ally. “What does Krall want with this thing?”

“To save you,” she answered, a gross smile pulling at her lips, “from yourselves.”

You snorted. “Fuck if that’s not the corniest thing I’ve heard all day.”

You spotted some movement behind her and nudged Chekov. You both lifted your phasers immediately and shot at the member of Krall’s crew that emerged.

Jim took your unbroken hand in his and pulled you alongside him as he ran, ducking and using his phaser to shoot green bolts at the lot of them. When the pair of you slipped and continued down the hall due to the steepness of the angle, he groaned. “Thought you were the security officer.”

You smiled as you slid along the floor through an archway. “I would need my healthy hand back in order to do anything.”

He laughed lowly, shaking his head as you both jumped to your feet and ran down the connecting hall with Chekov’s audible breathing serving as confirmation of his presence.

The three of you struggled as you slipped and slid all over the ship, your combined grunts and sighs were the only sounds you could hear as you ran.

Jim led you through a small archway and helped you onto the platform upon which he stood, then assisting Chekov. “You both alright?”

You gave a half-hearted “eh” at the same time Chekov chirped an “aye, Captain.”

When Chekov pointed out that the three of you were trapped, Jim crossed the small room and leant against the agape doorway. As he peered over his shoulder, a large green glow zipped towards him and illuminated his features as he breathed heavily. “Can you get this thing started?”

You tilted your head and Chekov asked, outraged, “Are you intimating that we should engage the thrusters?”

“Have you lost your mind, Ji— Captain?”

He looked between the two of you, then back through the doorway. “I am open to other suggestions.”

You pulled Jim back so he stood far from the door and clicked your tongue as you removed your phaser. “Like you said, I’m the security officer. I’ll handle the shooting, you do the sciency shit with the wizkid.”

Before you could see the smile that pulled at his lips, you stood where he was previously situated and glanced over your shoulder. When you noticed one of the crew members checking his gun, you shot twice— each shot had an impact and you held back a shout of victory.

You only heard the end of the conversation Jim and Chekov were engaged in, catching Chekov’s still-outraged voice say, “If you miss the combustion compressor, —”

“I’m not gonna miss, come on!” Jim protested.

“Do you even now what the combustion compressor looks like?”

“Yeah, it’s a square, right?”

“No, sir, it’s round!”

“That’s what I said!”

You turned to see Jim holding a phaser over the railing. “If you miss, can we share the blame for this whole thing? Like, in the history books since we’ll both be dead? Split the shame?”

Jim snorted. “Who’s gonna tell the book authors?”

You twisted to face the crew members still struggling to find refuge from your shots. “Hey! Do you think you could tell Krall to contact Starfleet and say that Captain Kirk and I are both at fault for all of this? You know, in the event of our untimely deaths?”

When Kalara fired a shot in your direction, you spun around to face Jim and Chekov. “I’m taking that as a no.”

Jim finally took the shot, seemingly nailing it perfectly as white-hot fire bursted out and jolted the ship. He wanted to appreciate his achievement, but as flames rose to lick the railing he stood against, Jim grabbed your hand once more and shouted, “Run!”

As the three of you raced down the corridors, you arrived at a dead-end and yelled for Jim and Chekov to jump over the gap. “I’ll handle her, you guys go ahead.”

As she entered the hallway, you smiled. “Sweetheart, I really don’t like you.”

She scowled and took a shot, narrowly missing you as you took steps backwards. “Thief.”

“The one planet I’m popular on,” you shook your head. “And I have a name, you know, and other, more redeeming qualities.”

She tried to shoot again but no beams left the gun, a sigh of discontent leaving her lips as she looked down at it.

“You know, Starfleet’s gonna want the translator back. They’re not cheap,” you continued, gasping when your right foot stepped back into nothing. You caught yourself on the wall beside you. “You wanna give it to me now? It’ll be easier.”

When she began marching toward you, you spun around to face the gap and backed up to give yourself space. With a soft sigh, you got a running start and jumped over, once again barely missing the beam she shot your way. “You can just say you want to keep it.”

As the ship roared to life and began to lift off the ground, you sped up in your sprint to the bridge. You could hear her grunt as she jumped over the gap and sighed to yourself as you entered your target room.

“What took you so long?” Jim asked, glancing over his shoulder when you placed one of your hands on your knees as you struggled to catch your breath.

You swallowed and stood up straight. “She wouldn’t give me the translator. Commodore Paris won’t be pleased.”

Jim nodded, smiling to himself as he looked around. When he glanced at the phaser in his hand and the glass view screen before him, he shrugged and shot at it. “Can your wrist handle a little sliding?”

Chekov caught on and dove through the glass side-first, sliding down the saucer.

“You want me to ask it?” you yelled incredulously, staring at the gaping hole in fear.

Jim took the three steps towards you and led you to the glass. “When I say jump, you jump out, okay? It’ll hurt like a bitch, but you need to do this. Focus on me, okay?”

Slowly, you nodded, proceeding by following his instructions with urgency as you heard the shots from Krall’s henchwoman ring through the bridge.

A radiating pain ran up your arm, but you focused on Jim and on the wind brushing your hair out of your eyes. When he offered you the smallest, most reassuring smile you’d ever seen, you smiled back.

You turned onto your side for a second, letting go of Jim and sliding onto your stomach as you retrieved your phaser. As he looked at you confusedly, you raised an eyebrow. “I’m the security officer.”

You shot out several times, trying not to focus on the excruciating pain that rendered your injured arm useless. You turned back around in time to jump from the saucer, holding your arm in the air as you landed against a patch of bark that knocked the wind out of you.

“Move!” Jim shouted and the three of you rose to your feet, racing out of the saucer’s vicinity.

As you had landed farther and were therefore given a head-start, you had to turn around to make sure the two men were still behind you after you heard and felt the warmth of a large explosion. When you spotted them lying on the ground, you smiled. “D’you think you two could hold off on sleeping until we find somewhere more suitable?”

Jim groaned as he pushed himself into a seated position, smiling at Chekov as he did the same. “That was…”

“Amazing,” Chekov finished, grinning as if he’d just won the lottery.

“You two are ridiculous. That was—” you shook your head, clicking your tongue. “That was probably the worst thing I’ve experienced in the last five years and I was in prison for two of them.”

Jim was the first to chuckle, shaking silently at first but loudly laughing the moment you joined him. Chekov jumped in as well, rolling his eyes when you had to wrap your arm over your aching abdomen.

PART 7

tagged (lemme know if you want to be added or removed):  @outside-the-government @daughterofthebrowncoats @multifandom-slytherin @buckyy3s @cinema212 @caaptain @dani-fae  @wonders-of-the-enterprise @imaginesofdreams @the-witching-hours12-3 @kaitymccoy123 @anyakinamidala @vevsee@afluffykiwi @curiositywillbethedeathofme @arielsimaginess @captain-what-is-going-on@micheladakenzo @avengers-earths-mightiest-heroes @eufeme @buriedinfandomsandfeels@ididntmeantobutiaccidentally @avoidthoseeyes @emmkolenn @heartofdixie14 @thnk-you-fr-th-venom @captainveromendes 

[maximumbandwidth-blog]

On Design

The Boeing 737 Max has been in the news lately. The designers of the new system made a basic error in building a user interface. A user interface is anything that humans use to interact with a machine or a tool of any sort. A dinner fork is a user interface between you and your food, a button on your iPhone lets a human interact with the supercomputer in their hand. There are probably billions of examples, but in all cases it lets us imperfect collections of meat and bone use the tools that we create.

In the case of airplanes, the pilot interacts with the plane using a stick. When the pilot pulls back on the stick, the plane’s nose should go up, and when they push it forward, it should go down. I think the designers forgot that basic tenet when designing a system that causes that very basic interaction do something different. I don’t know if Boeing can fix this system or if they should redesign the plane from the ground up, I am not qualified to make that decision.

People aren’t perfect, and the designer’s job is always to help people do things that are important, to make the easy things simple, and to keep people alive and safe when doing things that are hard.

Airplanes have been here before. Every airplane with retractable landing gear has two levers next to each other, one controls the flaps and the other lowers the landing gear. When landing a plane the pilot first extends the flaps and then just before landing drops the landing gear. There was a time when these two levers were the same shape, and several planes landed on their bellies when the pilot pulled the wrong lever in the heat of the moment. This problem was solved many years ago by making the landing gear lever in the shape of a wheel, and the flap lever in the shape of a flap. The FAA now requires that all airplanes use these shapes.

Source: https://geremy.co.uk/GoFlight-Landing-Gear-Unit

When the pilot grasps this lever, they have multiple ways of ensuring it’s the right one, they can read the label, they can see where the lever is, and they can feel it by its shape.

When the Japanese were designing the bullet trains, they wanted to make sure that the trains were safe. All employees of the bullet trains are taught a simple system, called shisa kanko. Before performing any task every employee will first point at the thing they wish to do, then to say what they are doing, and finally to do the thing. Every employee, from the train operator to the toilet cleaner follow this procedure. The result is the best run train system in the world that has never had a fatal accident. There are certainly many other reasons the trains in the US seem to regularly kill people, but the point is that the designers of these trains understood that they were giving control of large, heavy, fast object to fallible humans and made every effort to ensure that at the end of the day, everyone gets home to their families.

Speaking of killing people, one of the most popular guns in the world, the AK-47 is designed from the ground up to ensure that when the operator pulls the trigger, the gun fires. The designer, Mikhail Kalashnikov knew that people are fallible. The gun has a lever that switches between safe, automatic, and single fire mode. When a soldier needs to fire their gun they are probably nervous and worried that they might get killed. The worst thing they can do is slam the gun into auto mode and waste all their bullets, but on this gun that setting is in the middle. If you slam the switch from safety as far as it will go, the gun goes into single fire mode, so every pull of the trigger will expend just one bullet. If you want to put the gun in auto mode, you have to think a bit more and carefully put it in the middle position. This ensures that when you really need to fire the gun, you won’t do something stupid.

I recently bought a new camera, the Canon 77D, and I suspect the designer of my camera has never fired an AK-47. It has a 3 position switch that goes from Off to Photo and then to Video. Most people are going to use this camera to take pictures, but I have to carefully move the lever to the middle position to do so. When I am in a hurry and just want to take a quick picture, the camera fails me.

Source: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cirSmff3WEs

Again, the principle here is that when you interact the machine, when you flip a switch or move a lever, the machine should do the thing that you want it to do. Designers need to put themselves in the users’ shoes and think, what do they need to do when they are under stress, or when they are in a hurry, or when they can do something that could kill people.

The world that people have created is wondrous, we have so many machines that can do amazing things, we can bring people together and we can help them achieve their dreams. The one thing no one can do is bring someone back after they are dead. This is something the designers of the Jeep should have thought of before they killed Anton Yelchin, the actor who played Chekov in the recent Star Trek movies.

Cars have been around for over 100 years and their controls are a marvel of design. Every car has a steering wheel that lets you turn right or left, a gas pedal, a brake that you can slam on to stop the car, and a way to shift gears. The brake is a vital safety device and is wonderfully simple, press it and the car slows down, slam on it and the car stops. Well, usually. There was a time when this didn’t work so well, if the road was wet and slippery, the car might keep going. Anti Lock brakes solved this problem brilliantly. No one changed the user interface, the same principle still works, push the pedal hard and the car stops, even in the snow.

If only we could say the same about the shift lever. In automatic cars, there are two basic positions, Park and Drive. Reverse and Neutral are in the middle, so when you really need to go, or really need to park, you can slam the lever into that position without looking. If you need to go in Neutral or Reverse, you probably aren’t in as much of a hurry. Same goes for other positions, D1 and D2 can only be accessed by moving the lever in another way. Whether the gear shift is on the column or on the floor, they all worked the same way, that is until technology intervened.

Shift levers are no longer connected directly to the transmission, they tell a computer to tell the transmission to do something. This mostly works well, engineers know how to make these systems reliable, but it gave designers the opportunity to play with the user interface. On Anton’s Jeep, you have to click the lever more than once to go from drive to park. A designer thought this would be simpler but didn’t understand the decades of history that went into the operation of this lever. Anton was in a hurry to get home and close the gate, and thought he slammed the lever into park. Unfortunately he only made it as far as Reverse and ended up getting killed by his Jeep.

Jeep never fixed this fundamental problem. They just patched it by adding a warning when you open the door when in reverse, and I believe this solution is inadequate. They need to recall every single one of these vehicles and put in a proper lever.

https://jalopnik.com/heres-the-problem-with-jeeps-recalled-gear-shifter-1782364420

Don’t kill people. Every designer should probably have those words printed right above their computer screens.

The rule applies to software just as much as hardware. Computer designers create buttons, switches, and levers on computer screens that emulate real buttons, and they have the freedom to create intricate interfaces that can control endless tasks. Send, Save, Delete, Quit. Basic operations that should simply do what they say they are going to do.

There was a time that when you deleted something in Microsoft Word, some of that text would stay in the file, many lives were ruined when people found text that people thought was deleted in their documents. Most people know now that once something is on the Internet, it never really goes away, and the Delete button is more useless than ever. Twitter made it difficult to tell if you are sending a public or private message and this has ruined many lives.

You may remember the case of the incoming missile warning in Hawaii.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/01/13/us/hawaii-missile.html

This was another case of a user interface problem. The system made it hard to determine if the operator was sending a live warning or a test. In this case, lots of people were frightened and inconvenienced, but what if the opposite happened? What if it was a real incoming missile and a test alert was sent out? Many people could have died.

The world is getting more complex all the time and we depend on many systems to help us run our lives. Our systems are increasingly capable and can do more, but the more they control the more likely it is that we can build systems that will cause people to die.

The examples in this story are from wildly different fields. You might think that airplanes and missile warning systems have nothing in common with each other, but user interface design touches every single system that we do every day.

Before creating a new system or modifying an existing one, a designer should think of all the failures and successes that came before, and build things that let us all come home safely at the end of the day.