#philippa georgiou and afsaneh paris

[reginasbread]

this is very funny that there are so many (*a dozen or so) Afsaneh Paris/Philippa Georgiou ficlets. lesbians just took 2 hot sci-fi milfs who never met and made them bang. big brains! I love this niche within a niche.

[ussjellyfish]

Incarnadine

also on ao3

Philippa finally gets out of sickbay and has Katrina for a roommate, just for a few days.

I need another chapter after this one, because there were things Philippa and Kat needed to talk about. Also, I have a thing for Philippa learning to touch people considering how much she hated it at first but...it’s the soft universe, it gets to you. 

Sorry this comes slowly, it takes a lot of thought. Thanks for hanging in there! 

Afsaneh rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm fine. I don't need rehabilitation, I don't give a damn about my nice new liver."

Michael keeps her lips pressed tightly together to keep from smiling too hard. Afsaneh and her Philippa had a pleasant relationship. They teased each other relentlessly, of course, but it went back and forth. This time, Philippa's slow to retort, because she doesn't know her. Maybe they're not like that in their universe. They probably can't be. Death was so close, even Philippa's family was out to get her.

No wonder this is so difficult.

"I am fine," Philippa insists again, releasing her grip on the rail by the long line of windows. She stands steady now, walks evenly, as if nothing is wrong, but half the muscles of her stomach have new nerves, new tissues, and they don't work quite right yet. She doesn't shake off Afsaneh's glare, and they stare at each other again, that way far too intimate for people who have just met.

"You don't have to be fine," Michael says, keeping her hands back, just in case. "You can be angry too, if you want. I've been there, it hurts and everyone's fussing."

"In my universe, I could have you killed."

"Lucky for us, the worst you can do here is glare."

"If it helps, I'm still very afraid of you," Tilly offers from a safe distance behind Michael. "I'm very grateful, because you saved my life and I probably would not have survived if I'd been hit with that weapon because I'm not tough the way you are and I really wouldn't deal with it very well." She smiles a little, all frazzled from their lack of sleep. "So I think you're doing great, and you're still terrifying."

All the way around the docking ring is a good distance. It still hurts, it has to, and no matter what she says, and Philippa has to be tired. She's been through it, physically as well as mentally, and she's been helped, still needs it, and that's probably the worst of all.

She takes another breath, stops looking at Afsaneh's too-dark eyes. But she's steadily more pale, stiffer. Afsaneh tilts her head towards Michael, cautious and protective. Michael's heard stories, how Philippa had to drag herself back from some nasty injuries, and she wasn't even the harsh version.

Michael reaches out her hand, offering it to the woman who is not, yet is, her mother. "You're doing great."

"Walking should not be an accomplishment."

"At least you're used to having an entourage," Tilly says, and her brightness is a gift to all of them, even Philippa, who turns and looks at her, eyebrows raised. "I mean, if you weren't, you'd get really annoyed we were all with you."

Philippa lets her tone snap a little, but it carries no threat anymore. "I am surprised your great Federation doesn't have things for you to do."

Shrugging, Afsaneh smiles. "Having things I should do and deciding I do not wish to do them right now is the great privilege of becoming a captain."

Michael looks out at the stars, wondering how far Discovery is now, and when this strange interlude has to end. "We're on leave until Discovery can pick us up."

"Admiral Cornwell is working," Tilly says. "A lot, enough for all of us, really, and I think we should make sure she eats dinner."

"At least someone's keeping your Starfleet together."

"Single handedly, I'm sure." Afsaneh rests her hands on her hips, and evens her steps with Philippa. "I suppose I should make sure we're not swarming with spies or stuck in some kind of time-space anomaly that's filled the lower decks with sea creatures."

"Don't let me drive you back to work."

"Oh you can't give me orders, your Imperial Majesty."  They stop, eye to eye, staring at each other as if nothing else exists. Maybe it doesn't in that moment. Michael’s never really been able to look at someone that way."I just want to see how you fare without me."

Tilly watches her go, eyes wide, mouth half-open. "Her service record does not convey her personality adequately."

Michael catches her and grins. Philippa laughs a little, deep and dry until she winces. Michael shouldn't move, shouldn't grab her hand, because she'll hate it, but she reaches out anyway.

"I'm all right." That reassurance carries gently, not sharp or annoyed. "I shouldn't laugh."

"We should head back. Tilly's right, we need to make sure the Admiral's eating."

"Make sure I'm not over doing it?"

"I'd never say that." Tilly nods, firm and concerned, but she's behind Philippa, so it's safe. "I'm not insinuating, still afraid of you, remember? Terrified."

Their hands slip together, and to her surprise, Philippa squeezes her fingers. "All right."

Maybe she is tired, or it hurts, because she can't just need reassurance. She's the Emperor, she's-- maybe she's only human, tough Terran outside and all.

Michael stays long after they eat, even after Afsaneh's gone back to her quarters and Tilly's yawning into her hand. She's so young, this Tilly and her curly hair, but like the unruly mess of her curls, she's growing on her.

She's sweet; kind, everyone here is kind, and it clings to her; it itches, like pollen or the way that the light here is gentler. It's bright, often, and she's half-tempted just to let the doctors change her eyes so she'll blend it. Let go of the old world and her eyes that shy from too much light. She lies on the bed in the dark. The bed's too soft and the walls are thin enough that she can here Michael and Kat in the living room.

"Go to bed, Michael." That would Kat, being the good doctor and looking after everyone, because here she puts people back together instead of ripping them apart.

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's healing well, and her muscular response is much better than yesterday. There's no internal bleeding, and Doctor Rosyx is going to be able to use her case as a very compelling argument to further the ban on tetryon disruptors."

"Philippa will find that amusing."

"She might indeed. Go, I'll keep an eye on her, and you can come for breakfast, Afsaneh will be off then too,."

"Thank you, Admiral, tomorrow then. I'll see what Tilly and I can find on the " So polite, her Michael. Not her Michael, not her daughter, but she grows closer to this one every moment.

She drifts, her body dragging her into sleep against her will, as if that too is softening in this universe of light and laughter.

She wakes in that liminal space of unknown time. Her room's bathed in darkness, softened by stars outside her windows and it could be any time of day at all. On the  Charon she'd know what time it was by the sound of the ship but here she's lost. Adrift. The chronometer ner the bed reads just before oh three hundred, bu she has no ship to run, no empire to manage. It doesn't matter if she sleeps now or sleeps all day.

Getting up for something, maybe it's just for something to do, she leaves the too-soft bed and walks into the living room. Admiral Cornwell sits at the table, data PADDS spread out in front of her, exactly where they left her. Her mug sits nearly empty in front of her and Philippa clears her throat, so she won't be a surprise.

"Can't sleep?"

"I slept enough."

"You're still healing, be patient." Admiral Cornwell lifts her eyes from the PADD. "You look better."

"I was delirious when you arrived, the improvement would be obvious."

She smiles at that. "I'm glad you're not on the brink of death."

Even the platitudes here are different. Her Cornwell would be plotting a hundred different scenarios about her death and the line of succession. This one rubs her temples and looks back down at her work.

“I haven’t had a roommate since the Imperial Academy.”

“Me either, but...it got you out of sickbay. Dr. Rosyx was eventually willing to concede that thouh I haven't practiced medicine officially, I could recognize internal hemorrhage.” Admiral Cornwell, Katina, here she’s just Kat, raises her half-empty glass and smiles, but doesn’t lift her eyes from the data PADD.

“I’m grateful.” Philippa studies the shared living area, now that Michael isn't worrying her back to bed or the Doctor reminding her again she should sleep, she can actually look. It's far nicer than anything at the Imperial Academy, but it's nondescript. There are no marks of Starfleet or symbols of the Federation to inspire loyalty. There’s even Trill artwork on the walls, and all the furniture is less lavish than it would be in her universe, because here they do not care for materials. It's all fabricated, made to be functional and pretty. No one here cares about rank.

“Thought you might be.” Kat tilts her head towards the food synthesizer. “You can’t have whisky just yet, but It makes a good cup of Andorian tea, especially the south mountain blue.”

"Did she like that?" It wasn't in her journals.

"No, her favorite was the smoked valley something, I can't remember the name. Smelled a little like peat." Kat rubs her forehead again and sets the PADD down with a sigh. "It must be strange to also be compared to her."

"She was weak."

"She was an incredible person, a great leader and a good friend." Kat doesn't even look offended, just exhausted. Worn down by the war and all of her losses.

"Those murdered by their enemies are hardly remembered as well in my universe."

"No Emperors unfairly slain are remembered with wine and song?" Kat smiles a little. She's digging, searching for truths, but she does it without a dagger like the Kat she knows.

"Wrong empire."

"I suppose." Finishing her scotch, Kat sets down her glass. "How are you sleeping?"

"Fine."

"That's about as believable when I say it." Setting the data PADDs aside, Kat really looks at her where she stands in front of the replicator. "It's not poisoned."

"Synthesizers can be remotely programmed, and fell out of favor with the ruling classes." She scrolls through, looking at all the varieties of tea. There are far too many and she's tried none of them. Her slaves had the ones she'd chosen on the Charon, and her chef often introduced new ones after carefully curating a collection. Here, she'll have to try them all herself, while time winds around her, snaking towards whatever end.

Asking the synthesizer for a cup of the south mountain blue, she wraps her fingers around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her hand. Walking back towards Kat, she pauses when Kat tilts her head towards the sofa.

"I'm not making any real progress at this point anyway."

"Your war is over."

"Rebuilding is far more complicated. We've lost so many starbases and colonies that it's hard to bring materials to where we need them to rebuild."

"Convoys of cargo ships aren't enough?"

"So many of them were attacked by Klingons that we don't have the ships." Kat sits back, hands on her thighs. "I need to make sure the refugees have what they need first, and we need our defenses restored, but it's impossible to do both simultaneously." Her eyes are bright and determined, her jaw set, but there's a deeper exhaustion that makes her voice unsteady. "I'm supposed to stop losing people when the war is over."

"That's never how wars behave." Philippa stands, pacing over to the table and Kat's abandoned data PADDs, lifting them up one at a time, she finds the logistics problem Kat's been struggling with. "The Relva VIII colony?"

"It's agricultural, if we can get them self-sufficient, we'll save ourselves a headache a few months from now, and hopefully export food to the nearby colonies."

The Tellarite settlement four parsecs away could be raided and forced to serve the Terrans, but that's not how Kat does things here. Philippa reads through the trade routes and the available supplies in the sector while she sips her tea. The allocation of resources is entirely unsuited to war, or even readiness. More than half of their fleet is involved in humanitarian relief, something Philippa's fleet never even had words for. Colonies that were not self-sufficient were absorbed by other colonies, run by better governors.

Kat will never ask her people to move, or expect them to understand the need for war or safety.  It's a miracle they survived so long at all, this insidious Federation and their free will.

"The Halii and Garpar VII colonies should be merged, if only temporarily, that will allow you to focus your rebuilding efforts on one planet, which can then support the other with less assistance from your sector authority. A similar measure can be applied here, in at Gamma Hromi, if you ask one colony to be your beachhead, the others can be restored at an easier time in the future."

"I can't just--" Kat pauses, smiling a little. "I could ask them to determine amongst themselves."

"Let them use their lauded Federation principles and compassion."

"Sometimes I worry those are the first to leave us."

"Assassinating governors who disagree with you must be frowned upon here."

Kat leans forward until her head rests on her hands. "Don't tempt me."

"Michael says you've lost many that you knew." Touching her shoulder, Philippa nearly jumps when Kat's hand covers her own. Contact is so easy here.

"The admiralty was decimated when we lost Starbase One."

"Not sleeping will only carry you so far, Katrina."

"Kat, please." She pats Philippa’s fingers, then picks up the PADD, losing herself in the never ending business of saving the galaxy."How are you going to move duranium to Ardana?"

"With shuttlecraft tractor beams. You extend their navigational shields around the crates and fly them in formation."

"I didn't think of that."

"It was necessary when my Captain Tilly and I invaded Betazed, most of my cargo fleet was otherwise occupied."

Kat gets that look, but nods. "Thank you."

"Obviously this would be easier if you'd just destroyed Qo'Nos."

"Our way never seems to be easier."

The stiffness in her side insists that there are good things in this soft universe. Here she lived. Taking a hit like that back in her universe would have made Michael emperor. "You will tell me it's better."

"It's less cruel." Kat taps a few more thoughts into the PADD and sets it down. "We expand to explore, to better ourselves."

"Wandering right into everyone else's tetryon disruptors like lost antelope." Philippa finishes her tea and sets down the mug.

“They were lucky you were there.”

“You would like me to admit that there was no luck involved.”

“There’s no shame in keeping an eye out for Michael.”

“Section 31 has interests everywhere.”

“So I hear.” Kat yawns politely into the back of her hand. “It must be strange, looking into the face of your daughter.”

“A lover would be stranger.”

Kat stands and crosses to the table to pick up her scotch. “More dangerous.” She pours some in her glass and a splash in the bottom of Philippa’s mug. “You’d think I could tell the difference in the way he kissed me.”

Studying her lips, Philippa has to smile. “Gabriel as I knew him was endlessly adaptable.”

Guilting her whisky, Kat nods, loathing darkening her eyes. “I know he deceived many.”

“But it cuts deep when it is you.” She takes a sip, letting the whisky evaporate on her tongue. “Michael only pretended to be my daughter, and she did not achieve that well. She didn’t call me mother until I was bleeding out in front of her here.”

“Did it help?”

“What mother would not fight harder for her daughter?” The whisky burns her throat, warming her chest. “Even a shadow that has her daughter’s face.”

“I can’t say I know Michael well, but I know her through Sarek, and Philippa. She’s an extraordinary woman.”

“Worthy of my misplaced affections?”

“Who would protest another mother?” Kat’s smile warms her eyes, but there’s a wistfulness in the way her lips curl. “My parents were lost years ago.”

“As were my own.” Death comes quickly in all universes, but she can’t help her curiosity. Here Michael was raised by that Vulcan. At least he had a human wife. “Is Sarek a good father?”

“Exceptional.”

Philippa nods, biting back the complaint that he’s a Vulcan and can’t possibly understand what Michael would have needed emotionally. Perhaps his human wife is responsible for the depths of Michael’s compassion. “He must have grieved her in the time she was missing, in that Vulcan way.”

“We supported each other in our grief.” She shakes her head, eyes bright. “I don’t know what I would have done without him. My Gabriel was my best friend, one of so many lost in the war."

“Including the one with my face.”

"They all hurt." Kat taps her fingers on her glass, blinking too fiercely to clear her eyes. "War never takes in one battle, it's wearing, all these little losses chipping away."

"You wonder what you have left, and that's why you work so hard."

Kat's surprised smile makes Philippa roll her eyes.

"We're not entirely devoid of feeling in my universe. I know what it's like to lose those I command, to know my peers that I counted on are dead and I can do nothing to save them. Our losses during the Klingon war before we took their homeworld were incredible. I lost many I had trained and mentored." She's been where Kat sits, staring into her drink. Kat doesn't even have a daughter to live for.

Neither does Philippa, not here, but Michael holding her hand is fresh in her thoughts. This Michael loves without hesitation, and for some reason--

Taking a deep breath, Kat shudders, faltering. She's been controlling herself too long, keeping everything together. She should talk to Afsaneh more, find ways of letting her burdens go. She must be so alone.

Philippa reaches across the sofa, taking her hand. Compassion is destructive, so is empathy, but she has no Empire to protect here. This is what they believe in, and perhaps it feels less awkward than she thought.

"I lost three captains I'd promoted myself, good officers, that I watched develop into exceptional leaders."

Philippa knows how this must end. "You went to their families."

"I tried to, couldn't find all of them." That sends Kat over. "Kostyshyn had no family left, not even a distant relation. Her wife and children died on Kelfour VI, and I couldn't find her parents. Perhaps they were there as well."

"It's all right." That's what they say here, isn't it? They remind themselves that they've done their best. Ease their hearts. Kat’s is not fragile. She was willing to do what Michael was not, yet she bleeds for her people.

This is a universe of softness, of people who bleed.

She's already given her blood for Ensign Tilly and her curls, for Michael. Section 31 will ask her to bleed again. Shedding the blood of her enemies is easy, she's always had a knack for that, yet here she puts herself in the way.

Here she lets Kat squeeze her fingers, and they sit in the quiet darkness, not discussing the tears Kat has stopped fighting, or everything they've lost.

"What was he like? Your Gabriel. Mine was once my right hand, almost a father to my daughter." Kat doesn't need to know what came later. Let her remember the good.

"He was an ass."

That she can smile about. "So they were alike then."

"He wasn't just- Gabriel was thoughtful, funny. Once we watched the Perseids on Earth, lying in a field together in the middle of nowhere. It seemed silly at the time. We could have gone to a telescope or found a way to watch them better. The dew made it cold and--"

"You curled up together." She grins and Kat raises her eyebrows. "Oh come now, even in my universe, I know the trick of watching the stars outside when the air gets cool." She lifts her arm, resting it on Kat's shoulders as if she means to seduce her and that earns a laugh.

Kat doesn't shy away.

Michael holds her hand.

Afsaneh may have even kissed her, but her memories are vague. Her lips are so familiar that her warmth could be a memory of the other.

Or not.

Kat leans back, shutting her eyes. "The stars are beautiful on Langkwai and the nights are just cool enough, if I remember correctly."

"You've been to Palau Langkwai?"

"You took me. The other you, years ago, with Afsaneh and Gabriel. He didn't wear enough suncream and turned the color of a hibiscus blossom. Afsaneh kept putting them in his hair because they matched."

They must have laughed on the beach, walked through the water, sat up long nights and listened to the ocean. A lifetime ago they were alive and happy, now their little group is half lost, half battered.

Ka rests her head to the left, then on her shoulder. It could be the whisky easing her guard, or the months of loss and loneliness. Perhaps she sat close to her Philippa and talked about their feelings.

She wants to hate that, to roll her eyes and mock the admiral for her weakness, but it's late and her right side's still stiff and foreign. Kat's warm, pliant and vulnerable, and compassion creeps into her. Insidious and deep; even harder to remove then dying cells.

[presidentlauraroslin]

Kinktober day 7 - Praise kink - mirror!Philippa Georgiou/prime!Afsaneh Paris

A huge thank you to @gracefullyclumsy for keeping me sane whle writing this and giving me feedback.

Afsaneh shivered despite her quarters having the same temperature as always, perfect for her, maybe a little too warm for everybody else. She knew it didn’t have anything to with temperature and everything with the woman sitting on her sofa in Afsaneh’s silk robe, her nipples clearly visible through the thin fabric.

“Strip.” Philippa’s voice was as cold as always. It betrayed all the horrors she was responsible for, all the lives she had taken without remorse and Afsaneh knew she should put an end to this. She should never have started fucking the woman who was but wasn’t her dead wife to begin with, because now that she had started, she found it impossible to stop. Touching her, being touched by her, it made her feel something again.

She unzipped her jacket and let it drop on the floor. Philippa raised an eyebrow. “Slowly.”

Afsaneh swallowed. She knew this game, knew it far too well, especially with her. She obeyed, getting rid of her clothes slower, giving the former emperor once again what she wanted. She wished it weren’t necessary to do it, to submit to Philippa just to get her to touch her, desperately searching for a glimpse of the woman she had lost, knowing that this Philippa would never show her that kind of love.

She wished she didn’t like it so much.

Once she was down to her underwear, not in anyway Starfleet regulation, something she had put on that morning in anticipation of this moment. Philippa’s eyes darkened, something flashing across her face that Afsaneh had come to recognize as arousal. “Did you wear that for me?”

“I did.” It was no use lying about it. They both knew what they wanted from each other. It was the only reason this worked, despite the infinite amount reasons that said this was a bad, completely fucked up idea. Nevertheless, it still caused a hint of smile that wasn’t quite as terrifying to pass over Philippa’s face.

“It’s very pretty. I almost feel honored.” The words lacked her usual sharpness and Afsaneh felt herself relax a little. This Philippa wasn’t kind, not in the slightest. She carried hatred, disdain and an utter lack of empathy in her veins, but she had learned that if she wanted to keep this improbable arrangement going, she had to treat Afsaneh with some semblance of kindness, the same way Afsaneh had learned to submit. “It’s almost too pretty to take off, but do it anyway.”

Philippa’s eyes followed every movement, her breathing getting a little faster as the bra hit the deck, followed by the scrap of lace that served as her panties. Finally, Philippa leaned forward and Afsaneh forgot how to breathe under her intense gaze. Philippa took her time, slowly dragging her eyes over every inch of her body. “So good at following orders and so beautiful.”

Her words caused a warmth to spread through Afsaneh’s body. It wasn’t anything like she had had with her Pippa, but this feeling, knowing she has pleased this other Philippa, it was good enough. It turned her on, made her want to do more for her. She wanted to please her enough that Philippa lost herself in what Afsaneh did to her, lost herself enough that she could pretend for the briefest of moments she could pretend it was her Pippa. “Kneel.”

Slowly, almost with a catlike grace, Philippa got up from the sofa and approached her. Where Pippa had been beautiful because of her warmth, her goodness, Philippa was beautiful because she was cold, calculating, scary. Her fingers brushed against Afsaneh’s cheek, slowly tilting her head up until she was looking into her eyes. “Such a good girl. Those pretty lips.”

Philppa’s thumb swiped over her bottom lip in a show of possessiveness that made Afsaneh’s spine tingle. She leaned down and for a moment, Afsaneh thought Philippa was going to break their one rule and kiss her, it wouldn’t surprise her, but then her hand slid into her hair and she tugged harshly, her mouth close to Afsaneh’s ear. “Are you going to make me feel good? Are you going to use that talented tongue?”

Afsaneh almost moaned at her tone, at her words. She could do this, she was good at this. This was what she wanted. She nodded, despite the tight grip on her hair and felt Philippa grin against her ear, before she straightened and undid the knot of her robe with one hand, allowing it to fall open. “Show me.”

It was as much the hand in her hair pushing her forward as it was Afsaneh moving voluntarily that put her face against Philippa’s pussy, her mouth opening, as if she had done it a thousand times, to lick her from entrance to clit. It always shocked her that Philippa tasted exactly the same as her wife. It made easier and impossibly harder at the same time. She heard Philippa moan and let it spur her on, working her tongue against her folds, pushing it inside, teasing her clit.

“That’s it. That’s how I like it.” Afsaneh hummed against her, letting Philippa’s words wash over her, a pleasant feeling settling between her thighs. She could feel her getting wetter, her nails scraping over Afsaneh’s scalp as she pushed her even closer and Afsaneh was happy to go, building her up in the way she knew Philippa liked, putting her tongue everywhere she could, licking her thoroughly. Philippa wasn’t much for teasing, but she didn’t want it fast and hard either when she was playing this game.

Philippa moaned and it sounded a little strained this time and Afsaneh had learned that it meant she was losing her patience. She didn’t need to order her around anymore, not for this part. She moved up, wrapping her lips around Philippa’s clit, moving her tongue against it as she sucked. Her knees were starting to ache and the grip on her hair was becoming uncomfortable. She didn’t care, not as Philippa’s hips snapped forward and her thighs trembled.

“Right there, that’s good.” The sound of her voice made Afsaneh moan against her. She loved it when Philippa let her control slip, when her noises came freely and her body moved like she hadn’t once been emperor of a brutal, intergalactic empire. She was chasing her pleasure, rolling her hips against Afsaneh’s mouth. Afsaneh wanted her to come, she needed it. She wanted to see her fall apart. She sucked harder, adding a hint of teeth.

Philippa was always shocking quiet when she came, her lips parting for a cry that never came, as her body froze for a moment before her orgasm caused her to spasm. It was beautiful to watch. For a moment she was completely caught up in something Afsaneh had done to her. And then Philippa looked down at her, her eyes as intense as ever, a rare smile on her lips that looked predatory as she pulled Afsaneh away from her pussy.

“You’re so good to me. It seems like such a waste that you’re limiting yourself. People would line up to fuck you if they only knew. But you’re my good little commodore.” Her last words were practically a purr, her hand coming to rest against Afsaneh’s cheek. Afsaneh couldn’t help but lean into her touch. Despite her slight frame, Philippa was towering over her, brushing her fingers over the wetness on her chin. “Shall I return the favor?”

“Yes, please.”

[cosmic-llin]

Philippa Georgiou/Afsaneh Paris - Long-distance Relationship

For @rikerssexblouse, in Round 24 of @trek-rarepair-swap

[nenya-kanadka]

I very much approve of the theme in your WIPs! You must tell us about your plans for postwar Kat and Commodore Paris!

*grin*Okay so, short version:Kat and Afsaneh both used to date Philippa. Now Philippa’s dead, Kat has met (and grief-fucked) Emperor Georgiou…and she has to decide what, if anything, to admit to Afsaneh.Sequel both to my Kat/Emperor Georgiou fics from earlier this year and to Essential, a Philippa/Afsaneh (with Afsaneh–>Kat pining) one-shot set before the Klingon war. Eventual Kat/Afsaneh, if they’ll let me.Slightly longer version:Philippa & Afsaneh were all but married for years and years, after Afsaneh’s first disastrous marriage fell apart. Philippa was also dating Katrina (open relationship/not cheating on Afsaneh). They were in love, but kind of wandered in and out of each other’s orbit, and Kat saw various other people (Gabriel, other friends, one night stands, whatever) too. Afsaneh is very monogamous; Kat is not. They’re friends.Kat’s also had a crush on Afsaneh since forever, but never did anything about it (because Afsaneh was with Philippa).Philippa has a starship, Kat’s an admiral, Afsaneh has Starbase One.Philippa dies. Gabriel dies, and then Kat finds out he was an imposter all along. Kat meets Mirror Philippa. Kat sees the massacre of Starbase One and assumes Afsaneh is dead.Kat (heartbroken, angry, self-destructive, alone) sleeps with Georgiou. Kat nearly commits genocide. Kat is a wreck.Then she discovers that Afsaneh is actually alive. Suddenly it’s relevant that the Emperor is out there wandering the Alpha Quadrant. Suddenly it’s relevant that Kat slept with her. Suddenly, Kat is looking at the last two times her best friends came back from the dead, and looking at Afsaneh, and wondering which Afsaneh this actually is.And fic happens. ;-)

[radioactive-violet]

Some Paris/Georgiou Wedding Headcanons

1. Afsaneh asked Philippa to marry her.

2. Philippa picked the wedding music. (Just imagine her saying “Afsaneh, I love you. But I want the music to be from this century.”)

3. They compromise on the song for their first dance. They choose something jazz.

[spacelizart]

Captain Georgiou + Commodore Paris for @rikerssexblouse, and @sapphicstartrek‘s fanwork exchange!

[reflectingiridescent]

can I please have Philippa/Afsaneh and 19?

For luck? For sure! ;)

*Using xīnài (心爱…like, “beloved” or something) as a term of endearment here because I can. And like maybe I should be using a Cantonese term instead, but WHATEVER. I heard it in a song, and it sounded nice.

——-

“I can do that for you.”

Philippa turns around, the tangle of her bra hanging between her shoulders. “Did I hear you correctly? You usually want to take this off.”

Philippa’s half dressed - just the top of her uniform left to go - and Afsaneh is not dressed at all. Afsaneh has this thing where she likes to hold the sheets artfully over herself even though they’ve been seeing each other naked for years. It’s silly, but Philippa won’t deny that it’s attractive. “I’m being helpful, then,” yawns Afsaneh. It’s earlier than usual for both of them, but today is important. “I want to be helpful now.”

It’s a bit strange, having someone else hook the garment onto her, but Afsaneh is right. It is helpful, and the gesture is nice. “You didn’t need to come. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy you did,” Philippa says, swinging her jacket on in one fluid motion. “But it’s just the commander’s exam. You did it. I’ll do it. I’ll pass it. It’ll be fine.”

Afsaneh flops back into bed, pulling the sheets back over herself. She also arranges her hair to fan out nicely over the pillows, and Philippa laughs. “What?”

She zips up her jacket and checks her hair for any loose strands that need to be pinned back. “You’re a work of art, Afsaneh.” Her hair’s fine. “Also, if you really want to see me, you should save your leave for when we can actually do something more fun than me working and you…not.”

“You sound like your grandmother.”

“She’s a wise woman.”

Afsaneh yawns again and stretches. “Look, any time spent with you is good time, and I’m not saying you’ll need it, but if you walk out of there and need to talk to someone who’s not your overworked ship’s counselor, I’m here. And if you don’t, I’ll also be here willing to eat the meal of your choice with you.”

Philippa’s not nervous. She’s really not. This is one of those things that’s scary if you look at it as an individual, but Philippa chooses to look at herself as more of a part of a whole, the latest in a line of Starfleet personnel who have to take such a test, and they passed, so it’s reasonable to figure that someone as apt as she would be able to as well. She sits down on the edge of the bed, and Afsaneh’s off-duty and feeling muselike, so she sits up and drapes herself over Philippa, curves and hair waves and sheet and all. “Should I have done this for you - been there, when you took the test?”

“Maybe, but my head was up my ass when I took the test, and you were on a deep space mission.”

Philippa rolls her eyes. “Okay, but for the record? Having you in my bed has never been the most focusing of activities.”

And gods help them both, Afsaneh bounces back into bed, everything bouncing with her. “Oh, xīnài, I beg to differ.”

“Wicked woman.”

“I wear the title proudly.” Afsaneh stretches out an arm. “Now kiss me before you go off into battle.”

She’s already wearing her shoes, so it’s a bit of a humorous maneuver, keeping her feet off the bed, but she manages to grab her girlfriend. “You think I need luck.” She tsks and kisses her anyway.

“It doesn’t hurt to have it,” Afsaneh smiles.

[rikerssexblouse]

Because I have no self-control, I outlined my first Mirror!Paris/Mirror!Georgiou story on the bus ride home. I’m really excited about it. I think it’s going to be really fun. XD

[jhelenoftrek]

WIP time - Nobody Knows

I’ve felt as if my writing has been stuck in about 6 ft of snow lately, but I’m rather pleased with how one thing is turning out.  Care for a peeksie?

“I heard the Buran was in your neighborhood.”

Afsaneh snorted.  “Ah, yes.  Gabriel was barely on my station an hour before the complaints started coming in.  Is that man satisfied with nothing?”

“He’s usually pretty happy with himself,” I countered, sinking back in my chair.

“We had lunch while he was here.  I really don’t know why he goes out of his way to spend time with me.  It has to be fairly clear that I’m not his biggest fan.”

I shrugged.  “Gabriel likes a challenge, Affie.  You’re one of the few people he can’t consistently get his bullshit by.  He’s probably testing out new strategies.”

“He also likes to press me for information about you.”

“Of course he does. I’m an even bigger challenge,” I smirked.  “Did he leave you with –“

“Oh yes, a whole bag.” She disappeared from view for a moment then reappeared with a fortune cookie in each hand.  “You pick.”

I tapped my chin in careful thought, then pointed to her left hand.  She cracked it open and read: “You make good decisions.”

“Ha!  I guess that’s why Starfleet appointed me and not you, Gabe,” I joked.  “Your turn.”

She broke the other one, but as she read the slip inside, her smile quickly faded. 

“What does it say?” I prodded.  She turned the fortune around for me to see.  

“’Your happiest days are behind you.’ Well.  That’s a depressing thought.”

Afsaneh’s expression changed back to a light smile.  “We make our own happiness, it doesn’t come from biscuits,” she retorted.  And she popped the cookie into her mouth.  

[pixiedane]

For Afsaneh/Pippa, please - 💙: who is more protective? 💜: who said "i love you" first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

💙: who is more protective?

Pippa is more protective in general – she will rush to the defense of her friends. Afsaneh prefers to allow people space to defend themselves. But because Pippa is such a known defender, Afsaneh is very protective of her. And because Pippa knows Afsaneh’s preferences she is slower to defend her than anyone else. So in their relationship they react contrary to how they react outside it.

💜: who said “i love you” first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

By the time Discovery/Beyond happens they’ve said I love you at some point, but it’s more often expressed in deeds than words. If Pippa said it first it would be off the cuff, if Afsaneh it would be planned. 

Send me a ship with a heart and I’ll tell you

[currentlycaptainparis]

Captain Afsaneh Paris was grateful for the teashop on Starbase 46. She still had a day left of her semi-forced shore leave. She was running out of ideas on what to do. Afsaneh had spent the morning carefully crafting a message to her son. The ship he was assigned to was somewhere, rather than a proper sector.

I’m still not used to the secrecy of war, she thought. And being here makes me miss DS K-6. At least I’ve stopped thinking of it as “my station”. Afsaneh sighed, then took a sip of her tea. She had been given command of the USS Dana two weeks after the Battle at Binaries. 

Two weeks after losing Philippa. At least Admiral Cornwell checked with me beforehand. The Admiral hadn’t given her the assignment, rather she wanted to make sure that Afsaneh was ready. Afsaneh still remembered what she had said. I told Katrina that even though I was still grieving, I was ready to do something. I knew that I needed to be on the front lines. And that I wanted to defend the Federation.

Afsaneh thought about that as she looked out the window. The tea shop was on the second level, overlooking the main promenade. Despite the war, there were still civilians on the starbase. Merchants, travelers, miners- These are the people I’m defending, she thought. This is what really matters.

[ussjellyfish]

hide your fires | Paris/Georgiou, & Burnham | DSC | Mature

for the darling @reflectingiridescent during round 20 of @trek-rarepair-swap! You get mirror Philippa Georgiou/Afsaneh Paris and a little bit of Michael and her rather awkward sort of step-mothers. It might be set in the same universe as Incarnadine (so is), but you don’t need that to appreciate this. 

Hope you like it!

Philippa’s bored, and a little lonely, so she breaks into Afsaneh’s quarters with dinner. It ends up being far more dangerous than she ever thought possible. 

"Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.”  - Macbeth

also on ao3"

Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires.”  

 Starfleet security, even for their fancy space stations, is predictably laughable. Her ID is barely checked when she arrives in spacedock. She's given barely any instructions for beaming down. Her fancy new Section 31 ID is barely glanced at as she passes through the docking rim. This Federation was just at war and yet she could take the space station with a starship and a few torpedoes. The Charon could have taken over the whole United Federation of Planets.

That's not really the point, but it gives her something to think about while she waits. Even here, on Afsaneh's precious station, her apartment is simple to break into. Her security code is the same, some of the art is the same, but the Betazoid painting on the wall catches her interest. Her Afsaneh only collected Terran art, mostly Persian style, repeated patterns, reflections.

This is different. So colorful.

Like the rest of this damn universe. Everything's bright, cheerful and soft. Phillipa had to change her outfits just to fit in as she traveled through these strange places. Earth is by far the strangest. Unlike her jewel of the Empire, this Earth is swarming with aliens. Vulcans live in Paris, Tellarites in Russia, and Andorians love Antarctica. She heard whispers of them building a new Betazoid embassy in Colombia. Luckily, it's easy to blend in, wrap up her leather in a bright scarf.

Smile. Be nice, calm, and carefree.

It's almost painful.

Afsaneh, of course, is late to return to her quarters, buried in work. There's no Imperial Senate for her to sway, or politicians for her to threaten. She's probably trapped doing something tedious, health inspections, cultural responsiveness... Is it as rewarding, keeping this Federation safe from itself while it bumbles through, crippled by its ideals?

Setting her badge down near the door, Afsaneh unzips her uniform jacket and sighs, leaving it on the sofa. That little scar on her arm is different. Perhaps from her time in one of their little wars. She walks towards the kitchen, PADD in hand. Barely aware of her surroundings, as she reads her PADD, and not even the candles on the table make her look up.

"It's a very good thing I'm not an assassin."

"If you were, I wouldn't need to make sense of this security report."

Philippa takes the PADD from her hands, tossing it to the sofa with her jacket. "Why bother with security at all when your Federation is the most insecure mockery of a functioning government I've ever seen and the Mintakans will probably conquer you."

"They haven't discovered iron."

"When they do, you're undefended so look out."

Afsaneh chuckles, actually smiles and rolls her neck left to right to smooth out the tension. "You know, you can tell me when you're coming."

"That takes the fun out of it."

"Life without an empire's pretty dull, isn't it?"

"It's interesting to be no one. Philippa Georgiou is dead, officially, unofficially I happen to look a lot like her and other than adoring children who've watched too many comm news reports from the war and have a hero, I slip through your universe perfectly unnoticed."

"Don't hurt any of my ships."

"I didn't hurt any of your little ships."

"Or make me send Michael after you." Sitting down at the table in her black tank, Afsaneh reaches for her hair, pulling it down from the bun. She sighs again, leaning over the table. "Where did you find char kway teow ?" Her pronunciation is a little off, but she tries. Her Afsaneh's was always perfect, but Philippa had more time to teach her how to use her mouth properly. This version might require a few lessons.

"I visited Earth, your perfect paradise of peace and safety."

Afsaneh starts serving herself, starving as always. "And stole spices and vegetables? How terrifying you are, Emperor."

Rolling her eyes, Philippa pours the wine. "I wanted to see my home."

"It's beautiful."

"There were aliens on the beaches."

"Pulau Langkwai is a popular tourist destination."

"I sat on the cable car with a school group of Betazoid children who couldn't keep their thoughts out of mine."

"They're learning." Afsaneh takes a sip of her wine and grins, her lips far darker and more dangerous than the wine. "How did you keep from scaring them to death?"

Now she's the one who needs wine. Thinking of two people makes her thoughts calm enough to pass in this universe: Michael and Afsaneh. She lets the wine warm her belly, and looks down before she answers. "I thought of Michael when she was their age, and you, raising your children."

"How many do I have?"

Philippa sets down her chopsticks, meeting Afsaneh's dark eyes. "There were three, one died in an attempt on your life, one served me faithfully until her death in combat and the last tried to kill you."

Blinking as she takes that in, Afsaneh lifts her glass in a mocking toast. "Here they're both alive and neither has tried to kill me, yet, I suppose, though I doubt it."

There they are, on the holo sitting on the bookshelf. The father is a different man, not the one Afsaneh's mother chose for her, but someone she would have married for love. Though his absence from Afsaneh's life now suggests that it faded.

"You were there, at their births, when I realised I carried them, even when we were both married, you have always been at the front of my heart."

"The other me."

"She's there, even though you try to be so cold and calcucating, I see her."

"That's impossible."

"I would have said that about good char kway teow on Starbase Nineteen, and you've already proved me wrong." Afsaneh takes another bite, smiling around her chopsticks. "Don't worry, I'm not trying to get my old lover back."

"Good." She returns to eating, less interested in the dead version of herself than the woman sitting across from her.

"But, I will admit I'm certainly intrigued by you."

"Oh?"

"Most people who want to see me again just leave a message, send me flowers."

"I could go steal some from the arboretum while you eat desert."

Afsaneh's eyes are so dark they could swallow stars and that smile is a light across universes. She knows it. She shouldn't. This is not her home, nor her lover, but she's a kindred creature, someone who understands her. Afsaneh knows who she is and has no fear, no hatred.

Only desire. She's intrigued when she licks her lips like that.

"We're out of wine," Afsaneh says, lifting the bottle. "Unless you brought more."

"We'll have to drink yours."

"Pity. I think you have more expensive taste."

Empty plates and empty glasses sit between them, taunting them. Do they stay here or do they engage in something they'll both regret? Will they even?

"You look at me like she did."

"I do?"

"It's the way your eyes shine, how you can't stop looking at my mouth." Afsaneh stands, resting her hands on the table. "It's really quite charming."

Philippa leaves her chair, circling the table until she can touch the bare skin of Afsaneh's arm. This universe thrives on emotion, connection, interdependence. She can't rule, she can't murder nearly as much as she'd like, and without Michael, she's alone.

Afsaneh's just as alone, even with her children and her ex-husband, and her starbase is so much easier to reach than one of Starfleet's favorite ships. Though, she'll have to cause some kind of trouble to see Michael soon. Just to make sure the unpalatable Kelpian has treated her well, and that she's happy.

Afsaneh tenses just a little, not to fight but with intrigue, leaning close to Philippa's neck. "How do you smell so good coming from a stolen Orion death trap?"

"Magic."

Reaching out to touch her hair, Afsaneh sighs. "You smell like her."

"We grew up in the same city, perhaps she smells like me."

"We went to Langkwai many times, my Philippa and I, and she showed me everything. We walked along the beaches, sat together in the surf. She used to stick flowers in her hair and we'd find them crushed in the bed in the morning." Afsaneh strokes for her hair, losing her reticence.

Philippa can't resist. "Does that mean you prefer to be on top?"

The gentle flush of pink across Afsaneh's face is so different from her Senator, her weapon, her master of intrigue.

"It's not a firm preference."

"Good."

Afsaneh chuckles, dropping her hands to her hips. "So that's why you're here?"

Running her fingers across Afsaneh's cheek, Philippa winks. "And dinner."

"Dinner seems to be finished." Afsaneh takes one step back towards the bedroom. "Unless you brought desert."

"I thought you might provide that."

That gets her. Afsaneh chuckles, then places a hand on her chest, her fingers warm through the leather. Philippa's heart does not respond to much, she's worn it down over the years, but now she's tantalized. She wants, and this version of her beloved she has never tasted, never known. Will she sound different at climax? Do her nails feel the same on her back?

"That's rather forward of you."

"I thought you'd appreciate a lack of bullshit."

"I like someone who knows what the fuck she wants."

"And if it's you?"

Afsaneh slides her fingers up to Philippa's neck, beaming. "Then we get along just as well as I thought we would."

"You're not afraid of being conquered?"

Afsaneh back further towards the bedroom, guiding her along. "Who says you're going to be doing the conquering?"

Philippa laughs, but her throat's tight with desire.  The teasing is fun, but she wants and the wordplay is only an appetizer. A taste... She presses a little and Afsaneh pushes back, shoving her against the wall. It's not the bedroom, but the hand on her stomach means it doesn't matter. Afsaneh strokes her chin, staring at her as if stripping her defenses with her eyes. When they kiss it's measured, calm, feeling each other out, tasting.

She tastes the same, and her lips have the same heat. There's none of the thrill of danger, the threat. This Afsaneh would never kill her, wouldn't even hurt her, and that hasn't been a trait in one of her lovers for more years than she wants to remember her way back.

The fear in the back of her throat is a new one, sharper than the wine or Afsaneh's lipstick. This doesn't have to hurt, won't end in death, and Afsaneh knows her.

Even loved her.

The other her might not have been tough enough to stay alive, but she risked things Philippa never has. Afsaneh nibbles her neck and her heart thuds. Maybe it's worth trying it, just this once. One night of vulnerability, a dalliance with the foreign concept of trust. She hasn't had enough to drink for that. There might not be enough wine on the station for that.

"Wonder where this goes." Afsaneh strokes the zipper on the front of her leather jacket. "Another corset?"

"I knew I was visiting you."

She pouts, and the purr in her throat is obscene. "And I only have my uniform."

"I think you wear it best."

"Not Kat, or Ensign Killy?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

Afsaneh nips at her shoulder, peeing leather from her arm as the jacket slips off. "I thought it might make you feel more at home."

"Would you really like to know what the other you did to my lovers that she disapproved of?"

"I can imagine that, but I'd rather imagine other things she might have been good at." Afsaneh runs her thumb over her breasts, devouring the corset with her eyes. "Or did you hold her down?"

"Only when she asked me too." When Afsaneh begged, she was so much fun. That was all a game, ploys and counter ploys, teasing and pushing boundaries to see how long they could trust each other, even they even could. This is exploration, feeling out the stars, and that is part of the other her, the ghost who smiled with her heart naked.

Afsaneh kisses her again, then steps back, pulling her tank over her head. That bra is definitely not Starfleet, it's too blue, too lacey, but the view it provides could rival sights from her former empire.

"I thought you might like that." Now Afsaneh turns, walking into the bedroom. "Computer, lights to four." It's hardly candle light, or the rare glowing crystals of Aenar, but in any light, watching Afsaneh step out of her trousers is a beautiful sight.

Turning to face her, arms crossed beneath her incredible breasts, Afsaneh smiles again. "Are you waiting for a formal invitation or a sign of weakness?"

"Are you trying to decide which I'd prefer?"

"I'm trying to decide if I want to rip the laces on that thing or undo it slowly." She stalks forward, wrapping her arms around Philippa's neck. "Though I like you staring at me."

"Good."

"Leather suits you." She takes another kiss, fitting their mouths together with more hunger. This time her tongue's insistent, forceful, and Philippa gasps. Her corset is too tight to breath in. That's why she's a little lightheaded, must be. "But I want it gone."

Chuckling, Philippa allows her to removes her trousers, and in that shuffle they fall to the bed, lying tangled on top of sheets too smooth to be Federation. "You do like expensive things."

"These?" Afsaneh props herself up on an elbow, eyes bright. "I might have gotten them as a gift, from a very charming trader that happened to be oh-so-terrible with her paperwork."

Her little indiscretions, tiny breaches in protocol, make her so much more intriguing. She's bent the rules for years within her Starfleet bonds, not for personal gain, or ambition, it seems that Afsaneh Paris wants to have a little fun with her life.

Philippa surrenders to another kiss, leaning down over her until Afsaneh flips them, using her legs to place Philippa on her back. She straddles her hips, beaming down. "Letting your power go to your head?"

"Only when it gets me something I want."

Her Afsaneh would tear the corset off with a knife, maybe nick her skin just to remind her that she was not to be trifled with. This one takes her time, letting her hair fall over her shoulders, heavy like her breasts. She's beautiful, dark and and teasing, profoundly unafraid.

Unlike the knife's edge she expects at her throat, there's no sting in her eyes, or her hands, only warmth and unfettered desire.

"Take it off."

Philippa reaches for her corset, but Afsaneh shakes her head.

"My bra. You can't stop staring at it."

"I love that this was beneath your uniform all day and you didn't know I was coming."

Afsaneh trails her hand down Philippa's chest, then grabs the corset right between her breasts, dragging her up to kiss her. "Who says I didn't know?"

She has too many questions, but Afsaneh kisses her again, taking her chance to demand answers. Her fingers find the laces of her corset, untying that with skill not out of place in her universe. Perhaps her fingers are just always nimble. Removing her bra is simple in comparison, it snaps free and gently, Philippa eases it off of her breasts. Teasing her nipples distracts Afsaneh enough for her to fumble.

"Naughty."

Afsaneh runs her teeth along her neck and before she can concentrate again, her corset's off, hitting the floor beside that delicate blue bra. Afsaneh sucks her breasts, rubbing her fingers across her panties, taunting, teasing, and the fabric's out of place, they should be naked, she should be able to taste her.

"Let me," Afsaneh insists. "Let me." She stands, removing her own panties. She pauses for a moment, golden and beautiful in the weak light. She doesn't have Afsaneh's scars, and that one on her ribs is new. The little silver lines on her stomach speak of her children. She eases the last shred of clothing down, then bends, pulling them from Philippa's knees to her feet with her teeth. "I used to love doing that at the Academy."

They had years of this, warm, comfortable, playful sex, without consequences or fear. When Afsaneh kneels again, this time between her thighs, it's the most terrifying moment of her second life. There's no pretence, no knife under the pillow, just an incredibly beautiful woman and a whole night of pleasure.

"Trust me," Afsaneh asks her, hands on her knees. "I'm very good at this." She leaves the rest of that dark lipstick on Philippa's inner thighs, kissing her way down while fire melts her body down to molten metal that Afsaneh works like a blacksmith, building, molding, taunting her towards orgasm. She digs her fingers into her back, into her hair, then the too-smooth sheets of the bed.

Breath comes fast, than it seems like she can hardly find it at all. She never allows this, even when her slaves are absolutely loyal, but Afsaneh tastes her, traunting, and sends her flying. Heat blooms in the back of her skull like a flash grenade until it blinds her. Afsaneh holds her, kissing her while her orgasm breaks her control. Maybe she already lost it, already surrendered too far.

Her eye sting and Afsaneh brushes her tears away before they kiss again and she tastes herself. How long has that been? Will Afsaneh tastes the same as she remembers or is that also different here? The whole multiverse could collapse into Afsaneh's lips against hers and she wouldn't complain. She might not even notice.

Exploring her with her hands, she teases that place on her hip that makes Afsaneh moan, and taunts her with her fingers higher on her thighs, then hr breath, hot against her skin. Tasting her takes Philippa back to the other world, but the way this Afsaneh cries out is different.

Free.

She doesn't fear her the way her Afsaneh always did. There's no hint of performance, no Emperor to please. Only pleasure and naked skin, sweat and longing. Philippa takes her time, licking without hurry or real intent because she could listen to Afsaneh's breathing go ragged until the stars go nova. The hand in her hair makes her suck, rub her teeth against her clit and that whimper sends a rush of heat down her own spine.

Orgasm shudders through her, making her back arch like a temple of a sacred city. Afsaneh has no tears, only breathy laughter.

"Who knew you were so gentle."

Philippa strea at her, cups her cheek. She kisses her forehead, then her cheekbone. "I've never been before."

Afsaneh's hand tightens on her back, but that's her only sign of surprise. "It's not bad, is it? This soft universe."

Kissing her until she can barely breathe, Philippa falls to bed beside her, trembling. "It's terrifying."

"When I was young, and foolish, you told me that as beautiful as the stars were overhead, it was the blackness that intrigued you. Between all those little lights was the void, and it went on forever. That was the unknown, and that was why you joined Starfleet, to discover more of that darkness, to find more light." Afsaneh strokes her hair, toying with the wall it falls on Philippa's breast. "You laughed at me because I was a city girl who joined to get away from my parents and do something with my life other than keep up traditions or stuffy old rituals. I never enjoyed the dark, not until you made it beautiful."

Philippa blinks again, shutting her eyes before they betray her. "That wasn't me."

"The way you smiled between my thighs, it might be."

 A three day refit of the navigational deflection would be frustrating, but Starbase Nineteen is the closest base, and she hasn't seen Afsaneh since the incident with Philippa, and she's the first person Michael wants to tlak to when shore leave is allowed. Captain Paris has the day off, and the computer says she's in her quarters. It's late enough in the morning to stop by, it's well after eleven hundred, and Captain Paris did remind her that they were family.

Family doesn't need an invitation. It's a very human rule, Vulcans would be very civilized in their visits, but the captain- Afsaneh- is as lonely as Michael, and losing Philippa took something from her that can't be replaced, even with another Philippa who has been a little more lucky with death.

She rings the door chime, confident for nearly a minute before doubt sets itn. She should have sent a message, arranged to have lunch. It's too awkward to just arrive at her quarters. She starts to go, she'll forget about this and maybe try for diner, and the door opens. Afsaneh's hair lies in waves on her shoulders, tumbled and mussed, and her lips are pink but her face is free of makeup. That make on her neck is very familiarly, and Michael could be back on that beach, suddenly aware that her captain's very good friend was more than a friend.

A very beautiful, distracting not-friend, almost a step-mother, in a way.

"Michael! What a lovely surprise, come in, we're just having breakfast."

We?

And there she is, sitting in Afsaneh's purple robe, her hair just as wild with marks on her own on her bare shoulders. There's no Imperial aura to her at all, and that flush of embarrassment wouldn't even have happened to her Philippa.

Her Philippa was shameless with Afsaneh.

Afsaneh touches that bare shoulder and then fixed Philippa's robe. "We have a guest, dear."

"What a nice surprise." That wistfulness passes over Philippa's face and she doesn't slam it down behind her mask. She lets it stay. "It's good to see you."

"And you. It seems like you're staying out of trouble."

"Well see," Afsaneh says, grinning over a croissant. "She might have earned some kind of punishment by tonight."

Michael's face burns like a solar flare and Philippa's cheeks flash pink.

"Only if she's very very lucky."

[presidentlauraroslin]

Characters: Commodore Paris, Mirror Philippa Georgiou Pairing: Commodore Paris/Mirror Philippa Georgiou Rating: M Summary: It's not her. It's not her wife. Afsaneh knows this. In the end it doesn't matter.

[cosmic-llin]

...okay and maybe Philippa Georgiou and Commodore (Afsaneh) Paris because I HAVE A PROBLEM.

I invented this ship on September 29, 2017! \o/

And then I wrote a single fic and got distracted by something shiny and wandered off a bit, but luckily you and @rikerssexblouse and @pixiedane and a handful of other geniuses took the ball and ran with it, and now there are like 20 works on AO3 and tons more posts about it floating around Tumblr!

It’s been really exciting to see the pairing take off and grow and develop headcanons and fanon and stuff. And like, Afsaneh’s name is so established now that it comes up as a popular tag when you start to type it! I feel like it’s a ship that affords so many opportunities to explore these two fascinating characters that we didn’t see enough of in canon.

I’m behind on the fic because I have a massive Trek ladies fic backlog right now, but I’m looking forward to taking a day soon and just diving in and exploring! :D

send me a ship and I’ll tell you my relationship with it

[lodessa]

Fics I Managed to Post During the 2018-2019 Teaching Year

 Salvation and Rapture For the Lonely, Doctor Who,  Ninth Doctor/Martha Jones, 34,133 words (10/10 Chapters Complete), Explicit.

Fresh in his grief and his guilt following the end of the Time War, the remarkably capable and insightful Martha Jones reminds Nine of why he loves the human race. After her traumatic time with Ten, Martha worries that spending time with Nine is a bad idea but finds she can't resist, especially as the differences between the way the two of them regard her becomes increasingly clear. Traveling together they find the strength to face their respective grief and inspiration to move forward.

a hundred thoughts to make this one disappear, Game of Thrones, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, 16,758 words, Explicit.

Jaime arrives at Winterfell and struggles to explain himself. Some things are easier for others to accept than they are for Brienne. (Divergence from TV Canon Pre-Season 8), Explicit.

The Troublesome Heat of the Indian Subcontinent, the Insufferable Gabriel Lorca, and His Rather Fine Eyes: A Katrina Cornwell Story, Star Trek: Discovery, Katrina Cornwell/Gabriel Lorca, 4,864 words, General.

When Miss Katrina Cornwell agrees to accompany her good friend, Philippa Georgiou, to visit their mutual friend, Afsaneh Paris, in Calcutta, she in no way anticipates the type of heat she is about to encounter. (Victorian Era AU)

In the Arms of Justice, A Song of Ice and Fire, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, 2,428 words, Explicit.

When the person you love saves your life, there is only one thing to do next. (PWP with feelings)

Punishment and Rewards, RPF, KM/RB, 2,008 words, Explicit.

Kate and Robert enjoy their lunch break on set a great deal.

k’war’ma’khon, Star Trek: Discovery, Philippa Georgiou and the House of Sarek, 13,679 words (6/13 chapters Posted WIP), General.

An Alternate Universe in which Philippa Georgiou survives to become the captain of the Discovery.

Crisscrossed Boundaries, Star Trek: Voyager, Kathryn Janeway/Chakotay, 4,194 words, Explicit.

Chakotay confesses a fantasy he's had for a long time and Kathryn is more than willing to fulfill it.

The Stranger Unveiled, Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont, 1,103 words, General.

Daenerys faces the afterlife. 

Sleeplessness, Game of Thrones, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, 890 words, Teen.

An exploration of what it is that keeps Jaime up at night.

A Bane of the Heart, Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont, 8,823 words, Explicit.

Ser Jorah Mormont survives the battle with the Night King, forcing Daenerys to suddenly realize a great deal about her true feelings. (Part One of Season 8 Canon Divergence from the end of 8x03 series Game of Fixes)

A Keeping of Oaths, Game of Thrones, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, 9,885 words, Explicit.

In a better timeline, Jaime sticks around at Winterfell after he and Brienne finally give in to their mutual feelings for one another, and they sort out what they want their future to look like together. (Part Two of Season 8 Canon Divergence from the end of 8x03 series Game of Fixes)

take this time (to set the record straight), Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen/Jorah Mormont, 2,336 words, Explicit.

Like so many at Winterfell, Daenerys also spends her final hours before the battle with the Night King with the person who means the most to her. (Missing Scene for 8x02)