multifandom oneshots/preferences

ridiculous crossover episode viii

BACK ON THE BULLSHIT TRAIN CHOO CHOO BASTARDS ALL A FUCKIN BOARD

this is a really bizarre niche that i think needs more attention. the star trek universe works with like everything and i love writing crossovers with it

THIS ONES CROSSOVER IS STAR TREK: TNG AND METAL MASCOTS!

ps--in this one i imagine the reader's like 25-30ish

The last thing you remember before getting knocked out was seeing your away team party dragged away by some pissed off Ferengi and Kardassians. 

As you slowly come back to consciousness, your head starts brutally aching and you do your best to get up. The process from laying on your back to getting on your hands and knees is embarrassingly slow. The room you're in slowly comes into focus, and you see Wesley knocked out on the other side of the room. 

"Wes!" you mutter to yourself as you stagger towards him and press two fingers under his jaw to feel his pulse. It's slow, but there. "Wesley, come on, wake up."

It takes a little bit of shaking him for Wesley to stir and slowly open his eyes. He looks up at you and immediately grabs your arm. 

"Hn, where are we?" he whispers. You help him sit up and continue scanning his body for injuries. 

"I'm not sure. I just woke up, too. I guess we're in a prison? That seems about right."

Wesley wipes his hands on his uniform and looks around. "I mean, we are in a dusty room with bars, so I'll agree with you."

"There's a lot of weird shit in here, too," you motion to a pile of junk on the other side of the room. A lot of it is really old computer and appliance parts. "None of it's got any worth."

"Guess it came with the prisoners," Wesley shrugs. "I guess everyone else is in a cell, too."

You help him stand up, and he immediately stalks over to the bars, peeking out into the hallway. "No one in our away team is around, at least that I can see."

"Hm," you walk over next to him, noting that your cell is in a loop at the end of the hallway, like a prison cul-de-sac. Directly across from your cell, a dirty figure in a ripped white shirt shuffles and rearranges a deck of cards while humming. The tune they hum sounds vaguely familiar, but your head is still killing you, and trying to recognize a song is the least of your worries. 

"Eddie, will you shut the hell up? If I hear you shuffle those cards one more time, I'm going to throw one of these circuit boards at you," a nasally, coarse voice says from the cell next to yours. 

"Eddie," you mumble to yourself. 

"Ah, can it, Vic. Like yer bony ass could do shit ta' me," the figure in white calls back bitterly, looking across the hallway. In the dull orange light, you can make out that his body is either very wrinkled or very decayed. And his voice is very british. 

"Eddie," you repeat again. You can now remember lyrics from the song he hummed earlier. 

"What are you lookin' at, lassie?" he glares at you.