#kuumaarke

[defconprime]

Kuumaarke outfit from Star Trek Online

[novakspector]

I've added another character for your Holodeck adventures! Now you can enjoy a vacation on Risa with the Lukari beauty Kuumaarke, on civitai

[the-goofball]

There are three things in that room, that I would dev put into my room for real.

[alren-ki]

Cringe Is Dead, OCxCanon On Main, Anyway, I got to hang out with Kuumaarke in her element all day and Barb is just sitting there with heart eyes about it

[ecurai]

Side note but goddamn--Kuumaarke now outranking her was an incredibly emotionally complicated moment for Ael.

Technically--very technically--Ael t’Dosai is also an admiral. By which I mean, she has a long-standing honorary title of “General” from the High Council since their days fighting the Tal Shiar. And, what with her getting extremely entangled--to say the least--in the most recent Terran Empire incursions, she was also granted a courtesy title of Admiral to streamline her security-briefing access.

But she’s always been very clear that those are diplomatic titles only--they are not real, actionable military ranks. She’s a high-ranking senior commander, to be sure. She would be called a commodore if the Republic used that title. But in combat, she functions best as an independent starship captain--not a flag officer. Both Romulans and Klingons understand the Peter Principle and respect her self-awareness, because she is genuinely not good at coordinating mass fleet movements.

Just. When they met, Kuumaarke was a somewhat-naive young scientist helming her planet’s very first high-warp starship.

She is now issuing battlefield ultimatums to the enemy, and pulled rank on Ael without hesitation when her protectiveness crossed the chain of command.

Kindly, of course. Respectfully, always. But she did it. And while Ael was delighted to watch her grow into a true equal, it’s..........that opened a gulf between them, for a moment. Just a moment. And then that immediate moment of reconnection--the dropping of the military formality for a sweet little “agreed?” with just enough vulnerability to say that Kuumaarke also felt the shift, also doesn’t want to lose what they have, and reset the balance for them both.

She’s just. Not sure how she feels. She’s not sure what it says that there have absolutely been moments when Ael would, 100%, have invoked her right as ranking officer if Kuumaarke had argued with her, and not considered that to have affected their friendship at all.

It’s not resentment, to be clear, nothing like that. Just...

Ael and Satra, they call her Lightflower, she’s one of the only people Ael will embrace in public, and she’s become such a fixture in their lives, and...suddenly, the balance shifted. And it scared her.

[legofanguy1999]

Sci-Fi September: First contact

A Star Trek Online fanfiction for @thepromptfoundry event Sci-Fi September day 14 first contact featuring my oc William Houseman.

Starfleet Captain William Houseman and his crew onboard the U.S.S. Tubman made first contact with a species known as the Lukari. Their administrator Kuumaarke was a bit stunned at William's dark skin unlike her people usual pink skin as well having a smooth face.

[worthplaying]

'Star Trek Online' Unraveled Season Begins Next Week, Brings Back Kipleigh Brown's Captain Kuumaarke - Trailer

http://dlvr.it/SnR6p4

[foodcu-be]

some sto lower decks stuff from twitter 

[nightsevart]

Yo mirror Kuumaarke

[too-right-red]

Distracted Nemesis

[thehunter14]

Reflections finally on console and mirror Kuumaarke got me acting unwise

[themirrorcollective]

Some screenshots from the new FE.

[the-goofball]

Happy birthday to me :D

In case you’ve been wondering what I’ve been up to this last few months. The stories I could tell... I wish they would invent this gadget that put your thoughts right onto paper - or rather in a word document. A rough idea I had written down many moons ago is under the cut.

So, about my crossover thoughts... I don't know how much you've seen about my Seven, Raffi & B'Elanna fic and further ideas. Therefore I shall recap: the three become an item - end recap ;o) It comes as a bit of a surprise to all of them & B'Elanna - after loads of passionate smuttiness - wakes up in the middle of the night. Thoughts flying, she decides to give her best friend a call. Cue Tom Paris, who happens to be on vaccation with his partner Kathryn Janeway, sailing somewhere on the black sea. A bit into their convo, Seven appears and she finally shares the reason why she hadn't been in contact (complex feelings about having to kill Icheb). Of course Raffi shows up as well. So, at this point we have Seven (retrieval specialist/hitter), Raffi (hacker) and B'Elanna (engineer) in front of Janeway & I had this vague idea about Janeway sending them on some sort of a mission. But since writing adventure has never been my forte, that was pretty much it - until I started playing STO. And the vague idea shaped into something a little more concrete. Like maybe Janeway getting an urgent call that one of her officers was overdue to report in and just when wanting to end the call, she looks at Seven, B'Elanna and Raffi and sends them off to check out that missing officer because it's a delicate - and top secret - matter. Location could be New Romulus in these caverns. On 2nd thought, too many friendly people there. It has to be more secretive. No matter, our three heros fly to wherever it is they're supposed to go, almost get detected by a lone patrol scoutship - all hail to Raffi for managing to scramble their alert call before it gets out & to Seven for excellent flying & to B'Elanna to disable them without having to kill them (can you imagine the comments flying around that shuttle/flyer bridge?). Anyhow they get into the location, of course have some trouble with overeager guards & an undetectable forcefield that knocks Seven out cold. In the end however, they get the officer - who happens to be Janeway's right hand and a friend - and even the information that T'hir was supposed to get. They fly back into the sunset - oh, wait, wrong setting. They fly into a happy ending - maybe. Maybe not. Maybe someone is supposed to pick them up to save them a few days journey. Cue T'hir's classmate from the academy, captain of the U.S.S. Safforres, a temporal dreadnought cruiser. Thosha & her crew got pulled into missions so often that the temporal agency finally gave them the ship and just turned off the time drive when they weren't on a temporal mission. Nobody knows where the ship got her name from, but there are rumours that it has something to do with a love story. Raffi is highly amused that nobody has tried to get into the time drive because she would have tried ten minutes after it had been turned off. Seven is allowed to take the ship for a spin & B'Elanna is all over the system and specs. Oh, there's also a little b-plot with Thosha and Kuumaarke. Thosha has a huge crush on Kuumaarke and is so busy trying to be all professional that she doesn't notice that she isn't the only one who's head over heels ;o)

Then a mysterious someone appears and pulls them into a time-rift. Will they ever make it out again?

( Needless to say it’s gotten more complex with time, is it not?)

[alren-ki]

Beloved STO Mutuals.

I bring you one thought:

Butch Kuumaarke.

Thank you.

[ecurai]

Counterpart

Rihannsu starships ran colder than their Klingon or Federation counterparts.

Starfleet vessels aimed, in all things, for a kind of pleasant neutrality. Their climate controls were mild; not too cool for their short sleeves and light fabric, not too warm for long pants and multi-layered uniforms. Klingon ships, which historically placed far more engineering emphasis on weapons systems than anything else, had environmental systems perpetually fighting an honorable but doomed battle against tight quarters, naturally high Klingon body temperatures, and thick leather armor.

No such issue on the Ecurai. The warbirds of the Republic were kept cool—not cold, but not quite warm. You wouldn’t get a chill in shirtsleeves; but you’d certainly be more comfortable if you put on a light coat.

Which meant that Satra Valel registered the absence of a warm body in her bunk almost before she was fully awake.

That was, in and of itself, not unusual. They both had demanding jobs—Satra herself had vanished in the middle of the night plenty of times, in response to an urgent call from Sickbay.

But here, tonight? Having seen the things they had? 0400 hours, in geosynchronous orbit over Earth for the first time since the Undine… 

She counted backward from one hundred and twenty. The cold sheets said that this was more than just a late-night trip to the restroom, but there was nothing to be gained by acting like a fussy mother hlai.

“Computer.” She pushed herself up on one elbow, reaching out to activate her PADD. “Locate Commander t’Dosai.”

There was no mild computerized voice to respond to the request; a wryly self-aware Rihannsu tendency toward subtlety and the ability to keep secrets had melded well with the coarse Iuruth sensibilities of the ship’s commander. Wasting air, Ael called it—taking the time and energy to make someone sit through hearing you out when you could have simply said what needed saying and let them move on with their lives. The ship’s computer sent a politely silent ping to Satra’s PADD, and left her in peace.

Starboard observation deck. It could be worse.

Deactivating the PADD, Satra sat up properly and pressed the heels of her palms firmly against her eyes. Finally, shaking herself, she picked up a second unit. The subspace comm line she was looking for was already near the top; there was a pause of less than two minutes before it was answered.

“Doctor Valel! It’s been far too long, my friend! Business or pleasure?” 

Despite her concern, Satra smiled. “It’s good to see you, Kuumaarke. Do you happen to have my wife on the other line?”

Kuumaarke blinked mildly. “I’m afraid not, Doctor. Is she having difficulty connecting? I haven’t heard anything about communications issues in the Sol system…” A soft gasp. “But then, I wouldn’t have, would I! If the Ecurai isn’t able to broadcast—”

Sensing a solid five and a half minutes of concerned technobabble and possibly an Alliance-wide red alert in the making, Satra held up a hand to forestall any panic. “Kiuu mnekha. There’s nothing wrong, liorae’lagga. I just didn’t want to interrupt a private conversation.”

With a bright, warm laugh—the unforced sincerity that had led them to call her lightflower—Kuumaarke settled back in her chair. “Well, you may now feel free to interrupt away!” She grinned over a cup of what looked like some kind of tea. “And in future I do hope you feel free to insert yourself into any private conversation you wish, Doctor. I’m never too busy for such dear friends—though I might insist you let me finish my breakfast next time.”

After a moment, however, the humor dancing in Kuumaarke’s eyes faded. She glanced over her shoulder, then tapped something outside of camera range. When she leaned in again, lowering her voice, she had obviously changed the call audio to a private earpiece.

“Doctor,” she said. “How is the commander? Truly. I don’t wish to cross a boundary—I’ve seen some reports, I know some little of what she…what you all saw. But I haven’t…well, I suppose I felt I might not be the appropriate person to reach out to her. Given…”

Given how recently we were all fighting for our lives to get in a killing blow against a woman who looked exactly like you, Satra agreed silently.

Or, perhaps more pointedly: Given how openly your evil doppelganger was fantasizing about the sexual tortures she could dream up for us. Given how openly she warmed the bed of a woman who is terrifyingly, heartbreakingly identical to my wife. 

Given how openly you’re half in love with the real one.

Something of that last thought must have shown on her face. Kuumarke didn’t quite flinch; but she shrank back into herself.

“Doctor,” she said, too quickly. Then, taking a sharp breath: “I hope—I realize, of course, that this goes without saying. You hardly need reassurance from me that—but, given the circumstances, I only—I hope you know that—I have nothing but respect and deep affection for both of you. All of you! Satra, I assure you, I would never—”

“Kuumaarke,” Satra said quietly. “I trust my wife.”

Kuumaarke colored faintly at the censure; Satra acknowledged it with a mildly raised eyebrow, then had the good manners to move on.

“I trust you as well,” she said. “And not just because if I mistrusted you it would mean I mistrusted Ael; and if I mistrusted Ael, I am a citizen of the Klingon Empire. I would have done something about it by now.” That at least got a small, embarrassed laugh. With Kuumaarke finally willing to make eye contact again, Satra said softly, “None of our human allies are responsible for the actions of the Terran Empire. You have done nothing wrong. Neither has she. I wish she would call you at four in the morning. It might help her realize that.”

Kuumaarke looked up with a painfully earnest expression “Thank you. Well. Jolan tru, Doctor. Best wishes go with you.”

Satra inclined her head, smiled, and cut the subspace link. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and stood.

Starboard observation deck.

===

“Come to bed.”

Ael didn’t jump; Satra wasn’t surprised; it took effort to sneak up on Ael t’Dosai. But she didn’t respond, either. Not beyond the faintest twitch in Satra’s direction, just enough to show that she wasn’t being ignored.

She was, otherwise, ignored.

Satra Valel had enough pride that she had once called her rescue by the fledgling Rebellion a conscription under duress for the sole reason that it had inconvenienced her—and enough spite that she had dropped the House prefix from the ancient family name t’Valel for the sole reason that the shattered remnants of noble Houses had formed the backbone of Sela’s Empire, and she had wanted nothing to do with it. 

She did not generally respond well to being ignored.

She sighed. There was no heat in her voice when she spoke again.

“Come to bed, e’lev. I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

That, finally, got the ghost of a smile.

“This isn’t Starfleet,” she said, voice rough from lack of use.

“I never said I’d be speaking as your chief medical officer,” retorted Satra. 

Another long, slow pause. Another faint twitch, another half-ghost of a smile.

“You win,” said Ael softly. She didn’t move to stand.

Satra, who had only very rarely seen her this bad, moved to sit by her instead.

The observation area was actually a small, out-of-the way room near the belly of the Ecurai. It had the novelty of a partially-clearsteel floor, and a gorgeous view of the contrails thrown by the starboard nacelle in a nebula,  but was otherwise an unimpressive room—the real observation deck was the mess hall. 

But what this unpopular retreat offered instead was privacy. Intended mostly to provide the lower-decks crew with a quiet place to read or finish their reports that was more comfortable than their barracks, it was rarely host to more than one or two people at a time. In the middle of delta shift, it was rarely host to anyone at all. And no one on this ship would intrude on their commander.

Well. Almost no one.

Warbirds were kept dim as they were kept cool; neither Starfleet neutral-white, nor the minimal nightvision guide strips of a Klingon battleship. Warm, gold-and-emerald recessed lighting provided just enough light to be comfortable—just enough light that the shadows cast across Ael’s scarred, exhausted face would never be quite deep enough to hide in.

Satra settled onto the padded bench across from her wife, and waited.

Three full minutes later, Ael said, “I’m glad she has a voicebox.” Another long minute later, she swallowed heavily. “She can never…pretend.”

She tried and failed to keep her heart from cracking in her chest. “Is that what you’ve been dreaming? Ael—” Then, “Look at me.”

Olive-green eyes flickered, flinched, and failed to hold her gaze. As gently as she could manage Satra reached out, placed the tips of two fingers under her wife’s chin, and turned her gaze back.

When Satra had first laid eyes on the woman, Ael had been a ragged, underfed scrap of a thing; some feral twenty-something in way over her head, dressed in the torn and smoke-stained rags of what had once been a cheap facsimile of a security uniform, with a shitty plasma pistol at her hip, an ashen face, and a knife’s-edge, fight-or-flight expression.

She’d steadied, over time. With Klingon and Starfleet support, that quivering desperation had faded. With enough food, more sleep, a change of clothes, she started to look less like a half-drowned kitten. And the moment she was offered command of a warbird and made a choice—a real choice, one she could have walked away from alive—was the moment Satra had seen the starfire in her veins for the first time. 

“Ael ir’Iuruth t’Dosai,” she said softly. “Look at me. Look at me, dhael’stelam. What do you see?”

She’d steadied over time. But the hunted look in those beautiful green eyes had never left her. It never would entirely. 

It was a privilege like none in the galaxy, to watch Ael slowly fold that fear away. The tension lines around her eyes softened, and life gradually began to return to her face as she smiled. A true smile, this time. Her eyes searched Satra’s.

“...Fire on the sea,” she murmured. 

“Your wife,” Satra told her. “I hope.”

An old conversation. Fire and Water, she’d said, fingers tracing lightly over the back of Satra’s hand. Brushing calloused fingertips against her skin, raising pleasant goosebumps on the back of her neck. A creature of contradictions. A warrior and a healer, life and destruction, the most compassionate woman I’ve ever met who threw a rock at my head because I got myself hurt in the field, which is a contradiction if I’ve ever heard one—

Stop wasting air, Satra had retorted, and Ael had mimed a shot to the heart. And don’t speak poetry if you’re not going to bed me, Commander. It’s bad manners.

“Ael.” She let some steel—only a very little, but enough—into her voice. “My love. Do you think so little of me?”

Ael, gentle but firm, pulled her hand away. “She has the scar. She could have had my voice. She’s an assassin, i’Vorta. She wouldn’t have to fool anyone for long.”

“You’ve never seen your own face.” Satra released her wife’s chin without protest. “Of course you haven’t. You couldn’t know the difference. E’lev, you couldn’t mimic her if you tried. Your facial expressions are an active threat to Alliance operational security. To this day I have no idea how you managed to survive the Tal Shiar. There’s no need for Vulcan mind techniques with you in a room, you could have filibustered the Tricameron without saying a word.”

“Satra—”

“Ael. I know your name as well.”

A very, very weak smile. Finally, Ael rasped, “I’m just…glad she can’t use my voice.”

It was a solid, reliable distinction. A comfort, with the Inquisitor still at large in the Mirror Universe. Something to cling to. Except that their world had better reconstructive medicine than the Terrans' shattered universe. Except, of course, that Ael could easily receive the same injury as her counterpart. Be fitted with the same voicebox, and lose that easy identifier. Except that it would make no difference.

With deliberate care, Satra took her wife’s face between her hands.

“Do you think for a moment,” she whispered, “that I wouldn’t know you blindfolded?”

Whatever Ael saw in her face, the next argument died before she could voice it.

Satra pressed on. “It does not matter if she has your voice or you have hers. She has your face already and looks nothing like you, Ael. Don’t speak. You cannot order me to lie to you. You have never once looked yourself in the eye. I have watched your face for ten years, my starbird. I have fallen asleep to your voice for a decade. I know how you speak to me. I would hear your voice as clearly through a Terran voicebox as I hear it now.”

“Satra…”

“Don’t speak.” It came out like a prayer. “I know what a thousand forms of love look like in your eyes. I know how love sounds on your tongue whatever tech you might use to speak. And the moment any Terran inquisitor tried to use the name of my wife to hurt the people she loves, and thought a convenient scar or intact vocal cords would be enough to make me let her, I would gut her alive and send her screaming to the blackest fires of Gre’thor.”

For a long time they sat that way, foreheads pressed together, uneven breathing too loud in the empty room.

“You spend too much time around injured Klingons,” murmured Ael without opening her eyes.

"taHqeq,” Satra whispered. She brought their lips together. “Don’t speak.”

[heliconarts]

The new season of Star Trek Online ("Awakening") is out, featuring the return of YESTERDAY WAS A LIE and R.U.R.: GENESIS's very own Kipleigh Brown in the fan-favorite role of "Kuumaarke"!