#Kathryn really walked off like it was a serve 'I was about to ask you the same question...' GIRL YOU ALMOST TORTURE-KILLED A GUY

[getoutofmyjaneway]

Beta Cannon: the Pre Voyager Era of Kathryn Janeway | Mosaic v The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway

This weekend, I got a copy of the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway from a local book store. For how frequently we speak about Mosaic in the community (despite having some flaws) I was shocked that I had not heard a lot about this book and assumed it was a bad thing. And yeah in some regards it was (see @mia-cooper’s post on the subject). I have a lot of feelings (I’ll post a proper review at a later point) but one thing that did stick out to me is the divergence from what we have considered Beta Canon, aka, the extended universe of Star Treks told through novels, short stories, video games, etc. After completing the novel, I jumped right into my old standby copy of Mosaic, which has dictated a lot of Janeway’s back story since 96. Both of these novels cover the beginnings of Janeway’s life and how she was shaped into the woman we know. 

TLDR The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway changes a lot of things for no reason. Some of these are for the good. Some for the bad. And some, for like no good reason at all, like it was fine as it was, and was accepted cannon for like 25 years, but sure fine whatever.

I will mention that, as Mosaic has been a book in my library and I have read it too many times, so of course, I do have a bias toward it. Additionally, I feel like it is fair to mention here that authors of Fanfiction have leaned on this as their bibles since 1996 as Mosaic is written by Jeri Taylor, one of the show-runners for Voyager. Because of its connection with a showrunner, Mosaic is also integrated into the canon of the show. It seems that most points that are taken from Mosaic in the Autobiography are only included because of their existence in cannon material.

Anyway, this review is going to focus on the characters that shape Kathryn and I will end with my final thoughts. This is long so to respect your dash, you are going to have to click keep reading. You’re welcome.

Obligatory Spoiler Warning for ALL of Mosaic, chapter 13 of Pathways, and chapters 1-7 of The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway

Edward Janeway

In all media, I feel like we can safely say that Kathryn Janeway is in fact a daddy’s girl. Her relationship with her father is very important to her, so it is interesting to see how it is portrayed very differently in both novels. In Mosaic, a lot of the highlights of Janeway’s earlier years revolve around time spent with him. From giving her special attention after ‘Your Sister’ was born, to consoling her after her losing tennis match and subsequent walk home in the rain, and trips to Mars, Kathryn mentions great fondness of quality time spent. In the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway he is more described as an absent father, one that she always wanted to see and please. When he was home, she wanted all of his attention and to impress him greatly. She wished to follow in his footsteps after gaining a love of flight and the stars with a plane ride and a telescope he gave her. He tried to prepare her by detaining the events of the current conflict with Cardassia and inviting Starfleet brass over for dinner. Overall, in her early childhood, it makes more sense for Edward to not be around often. There is not a lot of conflict between the sources, other than the details of the aforementioned tennis match and different childhood nicknames.  

Edward is in a crash aboard an experimental ship on Tau Ceti Prime which leads to his death. This is where the big differences begin. In Mosaic, Kathryn and her fiancé are also on board. In  Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway, Kathryn is still on the Al-Batani. The fall out of this event has a great effect on Kathryn of course in both novels. As this is a missive shaping event of Kathryn’s life, I felt it very jarring to be changed. This moment shaped Janeway and gives us good context for why she handles situations the way she does. I see this trauma and I understand her character better, for dealing with the loss of two of the most important people in her life all at once.

Gretchen Janeway

The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway was good to Gretchen Janeway as her character is basically a blank slate. We know little about her from Mosaic as it mostly focuses on Kathryn’s relationship with her father (and other male influences in her life). It is nice to learn more things about Grechen as with Edward’s job, it is likely that Kathryn was mainly raised by her. Other than being an artist, she also wrote some of the Flotter holos and wrote a number of children’s stories about the people of Bajor during the occupation. She does a lot of humanitarian work with the refugees from Bajor during the occupation. She loves to garden and get her daughters involved. She has a close bond with Phoebe due to their overlapping interests, but you can tell that she strives to support her in what she does. Overall, I like getting know Gretchen to be someone of than Kathryn’s mother.

Phoebe Janeway

 I was shocked when researching Memory Alpha for this review, Phoebe is never named in any Cannon media up to this point (Star Trek Prodigy could very well change this). We know Janeway has a sister and she is an artist, but that is it. Both novels keep her very similar personality-wise. In both stories, Kathryn is not looking forward to being a big sister. They also both mourn the loss of their father together. In Mosaic, she is not mentioned much. Kathryn tells her she is not old enough on an off planet trip and Phoebe plays pranks on her. The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway goes much more into depth. They don’t get along when they are younger. They fight a lot. I feel this is a very realistic portrayal of real siblings, vying for attention and approval, snapping when they don’t get their way.  They both excel at what they do, Kathryn in her studies and Phoebe through her art. They seem to need to one-up each other at every turn.  As they grow up, they grow closer together, as many siblings do. Points added for giving Phoebe a wife, something which has been included in a lot of fanfiction. Overall, there are no big conflicting points.

Mark Johnson

Kathryn’s fiance at the time of the Voyager’s disappearance, Mark is a very different part of Kathryn’s life in both novels. In Mosaic, he is a childhood friend and went by his middle name Hobbs. Seemingly always two steps behind Kathryn, he did a lot of the same activities that she did, tennis and swimming in the underground cave systems. He did these poorly, and this makes Kathryn always look down upon him. They reconnected after her father’s death and she fell head-over-heels for him. Personally, I always felt this was a little uncharacteristic of Kathryn, to run away from her responsibilities to be with a man. It just seems very out of character and has always bothered me. The  Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway takes a completely different approach. She meets Mark as a friend of Pheobe and her wife as a widower. They hit it off and they fall hard. You can see the conflict in Kathryn as she debates how to move forward with a relationship as they have different outlooks on life. She has a drive to explore but does not want to be an absent parent. She debates quitting, which I don’t think is something Janeway would have ever done. Overall she decides to accept Mark’s proposal just before taking command of Voyager. This makes the Dear John situation a lot more believable as it makes sense that he would want to move on with his life much quicker. Overall, I have to just ask, why? I know Mark doesn’t have a lot of character, but why change basically their whole relationship dynamic? 

Justin Tighe

Justin is a character I actually like for selfish reasons. This explains why I was very miffed that he was nowhere to be seen in the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway. Justin is Kathryn’s first love, they were coworkers, engaged and in love, and dies in the same accident that takes her father. As a person who always wanted Chakotay and Janeway to get together, this incident perfectly gives the reason. She is afraid to get romantically involved with a crew member because of the nature of the job. This dynamic is seen between Picard and Nella Daren in TNG very well. Kathryn has learned the hard way that she can lose a person under her command and how it feels when you are in love with that person. In early Voyager, you can see she isolates herself from the crew and it takes time for her to get comfortable. And during Night she relapses to her old ways. This is the way I have always justified Janeway’s reluctance to have a romantic relationship during their time in the Delta Quadrant. By understanding her background, I have a lot of respect for that choice. Her relationship with Justin really shaped how she handles relationships and without the impact he had on her life, it actually makes her character weaker.

Owen Paris

Owen is Kathryn’s mentor. In Mosaic, they meet as he is reviewing her junior honors thesis advisor on massive compact halo objects. From here they gained a relationship built on respect and learning. It makes sense that, as he was her personal mentor, that she would be close with his family, and why she would seek out Tom as a person to bring with her to the Badlands mission. In the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway, she does not meet him until she is on the Al-Batani. This doesn’t only weaken her relationship with Admiral Paris, but moreover weakens her relationship with Tom. If he was her superior officer, why would she develop such a ‘big sister’ mentality to Tom if she didn’t have as many opportunities to meet him?

Tuvok

Mosaic does not go too much in depth with Tuvok and Janeway’s relationship, but its sister novel Pathways does. In Pathways, Tuvok meets Janeway when he is an ensign under her command of the USS Bonestell. The Bonestell and the Billings, two ships that Janeway served on, tend to get confused a lot. Most sources have Janeway’s first command as the Voyager, Including Voyager itself -  “It doesn't seem like my first command is shaping up the way I expected,” Janeway Shattered. The Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway has her and Tuvok meet on the Al-Batani. I actually really like the dynamic between them, as they grow to respect each other over a much longer period of time. I also like that, though Janeway climbs through the ranks, it does not change their relationship dynamic as she still relies on him and asks him advice as if they were equals. I think giving them a longer time to build their relationship. Also would like to note that Janeway and Tuvok also had a friendship with the original CMO of Voyager, Dr. Fitzgerald. I always wanted to know more about the Pre-Caretaker crew and I would have loved to see this dynamic and how the grief of losing a close personal friend in the Caretaker incident would impact them both.

Also I feel obligated to shout out the Janeway and Tuvok story in Star Trek Waypoint One-Shot. I need to get around to doing a series retrospective, but this short story I have not seen anyone talk about and I love it so much. Please read Waypoint. Okay next.

Other characters

Cheb - Janeway’s boyfriend in Mosaic. He was kind of an asshole and got her into trouble. He is not in the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway and I see no problem with this.

Boothby - “[he is the] head groundskeeper at Starfleet Academy. When I was a cadet, he used to give me fresh roses for my quarters,” Janeway Revulsion. Boothby is not in Mosaic. In the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway, it is explained that her mother loved to garden and this was something that Boothby did as a gradian figure to make her feel at home and destress. Makes sense.

Aisha - A childhood friend of Katheryn’s. Only in the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway. Mosaic has this weird thing about highlighting the relationships with only the men in her life, so it is nice to see her have some other female friends.

Nexa - Katheryn’s roommate at the Academy.  Only in the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway. Nexa helps broaden Kathryn’s horizons by helping to learn about Exoliguisticts, first contact, and the Betazoid culture. Again nice to see her have other female friends.

Riker - Yes they go on a date in Mosaic. He is not mentioned in the  Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway. I know he is a gag character but I still liked it.

-----------------------

Final Thoughts

A lot of characters were changed between these two novels. There is a lot to like and a lot to hate. I really like what the Autobiography of Kathryn Janeway did with characters like Tuvok and Gretchen Janeway. Other characters were not so lucky (Justin, sweetie I’m so sorry that they would erase you like that, oh my god). It’s a mixed bag, but one thing I need say is... why?

We have had a good thing going here with the established canon as is. Mosaic (and Pathways) is the foundation of which the last 25 years of fanworks and the relaunch novels are based on. Why change history when it is already written?

Always, would love to hear your thoughts and thank you for reading my novel of a post. I will see you in the full review.

[haravath0t]

Mahal Kita

Pairing: Loki x Filipino!Reader

Warnings: none, just fluff! 

A/N: Ahh! It finally arrived! My first ever Loki drabble, or a Loki work in general! And it’s a Filipino!Reader too! What a combination! I’m so so excited to have been able to have do this drabble for my lovely @tomholland-96 ! Thank you Lex for being so enthusiastic about my culture! You have no idea how much I appreciate it! I hope you enjoy this as much as I do writing it! Happy readings, everyone!

*Translations will be in bold and italics!

“Nanay! Tatay! Hi! Kumusta po kayo? Okay na ba kayo?” (Mom! Dad! How are you? Are you guys okay?) You say, excitedly, beaming at your phone screen before you set your phone down on a sturdy place to Facetime your parents while you continue to set up ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

Loki couldn’t help but take his eyes off of the book he was reading to watch you. He even smiled a bit as you laughed with your parents and showing your parents the food that was steaming nicely from the pan, the nice scent filling your nostrils. It was easier to filter out the chatter coming from all sides of the table, since you already had him up in his head. He really admired the way you openly grounded your culture, and even became rather interested in it.

“Okay ma, pa, kakain na ako! Naghihintay na ng guests ko!” (Okay ma, pa, I’m going to eat now! My guests are waiting!) You say to your phone as you put the dish on the big serving plate. “Sige, anak! Nandoon ba yung boyfriend mo? Kailan makikita namin siya, ha? Gusto ko makita kung gwapo ang future asawa mo!” (Alright! Is your boyfriend there? We need to see him, ha? I want to see if your future husband is handsome!) You mom teases, earning a laugh from you. “Oh my goodness ma, isang araw po, mas gusto namin kung in person na ng meeting ninyo.” (One day, we’d rather meet you two in person) You say, shaking your head. Loki then closed his book and got up to help you put the plates and utensils on the table, making you smile and thank him. “Alright ma, pa, tatawag ko kayo bukas!” (Alright ma, pa, I will call you both tomorrow!) You say waving at the screen, smiling more when your mom and dad wave back.

“Oh, sige anak! Mag ingat ka, ha?” (Alright, you take care!) Your dad says, earning a nod from you. “Opo, Tatay! Ingat din! Love you, bye!” (Yes, dad! Take care too!) you say hanging up the phone and making your way to the table with the team waiting for you. “Alright you guys! Dig in!” you exclaim, smiling when the team quickly takes some adobo or sinigang. You laugh as you see Bucky and Sam fighting over who can get the bowl first, or Tony casually eating some of his sinigang with the rice. You took a seat next to Loki, who was quietly and patiently waiting for you. “Here, my darling, I gave you some rice on your plate,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “Thank you, love,” you say, looking at him with a grateful smile before the two of you dig in.

Loki had been eyeing you as he helped you put the dishes away, biting his lip nervously. He doesn’t know why, but this question has been itching on him for quite a while. So, with a breath, he asks.

“Darling?”

“Yeah, my love?”

“Ummm… I have something that I would like to ask.”

“Go ahead!”

“Can you teach me tagalog?”

You get surprised by this as you put the last dish away, looking over to see the poor guy nervous. You couldn’t help the smile and giggle that left your lips. “Can I ask why?” you were getting more and more excited by the second. Loki was now scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “You see, I thought I could impress your parents with it. When we go and meet them. I’d find it rather shameful and disrespectful if I didn’t at least know about your heritage and your language. Even if it’s a little.” He reasons, causing you to smile even more and walk to him so that you can cup his cheeks and peck his lips. “Well, if you want to darling, then I don’t see why I can’t try. If anything, I’m actually so so happy that you actually want to learn something about it.” You say happily, making Loki reciprocate a small and soft smile back. “Well, I am relieved,” he starts, holding your hand so that you two could go to his room, “Because, you see… erhm… I did try to learn it myself, the language that is. I searched the local midgardian libraries, even asked Stark, but, I believe I don’t think I’m making much progress. I suppose it’s more assuring if my Filipino significant other helps me.” “It’s hard to find a perfectly good definition for some words, but I’ll help you!”

And so you did, you and Loki sat next to each other on the bed, going through basic phrases like “Kumusta po kayo?” (How are you?) “Ako po si Loki” (I am Loki) “Maraming salamat po” (Thank you so much) and so much more. If anything, the god was actually progressing quick, so much quicker than you thought, that you both decided to take the rest of the night off to watch a corny Filipino movie on Netflix (A Kathryn Bernardo and Daniel Padilla movie, of course). You were both now laying down in your room, watching the movie on the TV in your lover’s arms, hugging his form while nuzzling your head into his neck. You were smiling in content, still quite happy that Loki was so committed to make a good impression on your parents.

He was now combing your hair as you and Loki made fun of the lines, but still kept watching; a newly found guilty pleasure the both of you surely will have in the future. You didn’t realize, however, that your tiredness is getting the best of you, eyes subconsciously and slowly closing and open as you slowly succumb to sleep. “Y/N? Darling? How do you say I love you?” Loki asks as he watches the characters confessing their love to each other. “Mmmm...mahal kita…” you mutter softly as your eyes start to stay closed a bit longer. 

Loki looked over at you and couldn’t help the smile that had appeared on your face. You were so beautiful and cute, and you were comfortable in his arms and his touch. “Ah… seems like my precious Filipina must take her rest then…” he whispers, more to himself, before he leans over towards your almost sleeping form. “Goodnight, Y/N, my darling, mahal kita.” Loki whispers in your ear softly with a smile before he covers you both in blankets. “Mahal na mahal kita, Loki.” (I love you so much, Loki) is the last words you say before you are completely asleep in Loki’s arms. Loki, despite the rarity of him sleeping, tries tonight. Admiring you in front of him, he whispers, hoping you’ll somehow hear: “Sana… sana sapat ang pagmamahal ko sayo.” (Hopefully my love for you is enough)

Permanent Taglist: @world-of-aus @world-of-aus-reads @whew-oh-em-gee @tomholland-96 @lordyitsjordy @letstalkaboutsebbaby @thee-soom-soom @lookiamtrying @vesper852 @hailhydra920 @buckybarnesthehotshot @heyiamthatbitch​ @rodrikstark​ 

(If you’d like to be apart of the taglist, or any specific type of work, please let me know! ☺️❤️)

[inky-duchess]

History Bites Special: The Six Queens

This is the first in a long line of posts where I pick the best moments of history and the antics historical figures in order to give you inspiration for your WIP. Think of History Bites like prompts, only juicer and 90% accurate (results may vary) as I regale you with interesting tidbits about

On this day, Henry VIII died. Unlike last year, I won't be remembering Henry. We will be remembering the Queens and their achievements.

Katherine of Aragon was the daughter of Isabella of Castile, a power Queen Regnant. She lived to see the fall of the Moorish Empire in Spain and the treasures of the East Indies brought back by Christopher Columbus.

Katherine was almost wrecked at sea in her first journey to England. They fleet turned back and the second journey got her safely to England. The first thing she did was attend mass. During her journey, the King, Henry VII decided to go visit her early actually bursting into her chambers to see her.

After her first husband died, Katherine was proposed as a wife to his brother Henry. Her father refused to pay out her dowry, so the wedding was put off for years and years leaving Katherine in poverty as the King of Aragon and King of England basically had a pissing contest. Katherine sold off jewels in order to eat.

When Henry VIII went off to fight in France (another male ego pissing contest that achieved nothing), Katherine handed Scotland its biggest defeat in history. She led troops at Flodden, winning a battle where the Scottish King died. When she wrote to Henry as well as sending him the Scottish king's coat and banners, she mentioned that she had wanted to send the body of the king but the nobles were being pussies and said no. It may have been the shadiest letter of all the Tudor period.

Henry was actually terrified of what Katherine could do. When yelling at one of his advisers, he admitted that Katherine had a chance of beating him in battle. Katherine never did don armour and trample Henry in battle. A shame.

Anne Boleyn was two. Anne was raised abroad in the courts of France and the Netherlands. In the Netherlands, she served the shrewd Margaret of Austria who was fond of her. When Anne returned to English court, she was considered a catch because she was so clever and worldly.

Anne did catch the eye of another man, Henry Percy the son of the Duke of Northumberland. The two were deeply in love and it was rumoured that Percy was going to put aside his father's choice and marry Anne. Cardinal Wolsey broke it up and Anne was banished.

Anne was rather a deft hand at creating catchy and shady mottos. Her first was "Ainsi sera, groigne qui groigne,” which means “Grumble all you like, this is how it’s going to be".

Anne was quite sharp at times. She had her aunt, sister and the King's best friend banished from court. She wore yellow after hearing that Katherine of Aragon was dead, in a mockery of the Spanish mourning tradition. She ordered that the Princess Mary be stripped of her title and serve her own daughter as a maid.

Anne as quite determined. She held Henry off for seven years before agreeing to sleep with him, she stood up to him and the powerful men of the kingdom whenever they went against her and she saw the foundations of the Church of England being laid down due to her influence.

Anne also had a dog named Purkoy, who she adored. When the dog died, Henry had to tell her himself and she was distraught.

Jane Seymour was next. Jane is really debased as being pliant and rather dull when compared to Anne but Jane could be just just as bitchy. On the day Anne walked the scaffold to her death, Jane picked out her wedding clothes.

Jane reconciled Princess Mary and Henry. She acted as a catalyst in bringing them together. Henry yelled at her but in the end she had her way.

Jane begged for mercy for the rebels in the Pilgrimage of Grace. It was rather a ballsy move but she stuck to her guns until Henry reminded her of Anne's execution.

Anne of Cleves was four. Anne grew up in the Duchy of Cleves, her brother being the Duke and a member of the Protestant League. Anne was Henry's last choice of bride as he wanted a French Princess but they told him fuck off so his advisor Cromwell sent Hans Holbein, the court painter to paint the infamous portrait. Henry saw the picture and decided to marry her.

Like his father, Henry couldn't wait to see the bride. Dressing in disguise, Henry went to see Anne. He pressed a kiss on her and she recoiled. She hadn't a clue who he was. Henry left rather wounded, yelling that she looked like a horse and smelled bad.

Anne was oblivious that Henry was working against their marriage from day one. When speaking to her ladies, it became clear that nothing went down in the bedchamber. When she was sent away for her health, she was utterly flummoxed by a letter stating that their marriage was at an end. Anne wept but then picked herself up and took Henry to the cleaners. She got estate after estate from him and became the richest woman in England.

She survived all the Queens and Henry, living to see Mary I's ascension even riding in the coronation procession. She was particularly fond of Princess Elizabeth, even teaching her how to make pancakes so Elizabeth could care for herself.

Catherine Howard was five. She was just a child when Henry decided to chase her. He was not the first old sack of shit to molest (yes, it was. He and M*nnox were fucking wrong. Don't gimme that shit about the times.) Catherine was maid in waiting to Anne of Cleves when she was noticed by Henry. See a pattern here? And Catherine was Anne Boleyn's cousin to boot.

Catherine is usually portrayed as a flighty woman but in reality, Catherine could be quite kind. When hearing that old Countess Pole was in a draughty cell in the Tower, Catherine paid for clothes to be made for her to keep her warm.

When Catherine was in the Tower, she asked for the block to be brought to her so she could practice her execution. Before the axe fell, Catherine was rumoured to cry out, "I die a queen but I would rather die the wife if Culpepper," who was her alleged lover. It is probably myth but one can't help but wish she said it as a last fuck you to Henry.

Kathryn Parr was the last and certainly not least. She had been wed twice before Henry, her last husband dying only a few months before Henry began making eyes at her. Kathryn wanted to marry Thomas Seymour but out of duty married the King.

Kathryn ruled as Regent when Henry went off to France for ego reasons. She brought all the royal children together, mothering Elizabeth and Edward and acting as ally to Mary. She managed to convince Henry to reinstate the Princesses to the succession making them princesses again.

Kathryn was a reformer and scholar. She penned the first novel published by a woman in England. She studied theology, listening to sermons by the controversial preacher Anne Askew. Henry didn't like Kathryn questioning his opinions and drew up a warrant for her arrest. The warrant somehow found its way to Kathryn and she immediately went to Henry and began to repent all her "offenses" (her having an opinion). Henry forgave her. Kathryn was the only queen to survive Henry's displeasure and cling on to her position.

[henriiiii-1001old]

ramble time, go

*SLAMS TABLE* THANK YOU ANON LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOO

ok, so i've been thinking abt putting some more symbolism and foreshadowing into my au, but i didn't really know how to do that

until i remembered there was supposedly a show that aired around 1983 in fnaf 4, so i made plot for it :]

(i'm just gonna put this under a "keep reading bc this fucker's gonna be l o n g)

just tl;dr: fredbear goes missing, freddy and friends + spring bonnie go out to look for him, find the funtimes, get kidnapped, villain gets revealed, spring bonnie escapes, comes back with new friends and beats main villain's ass

so, the show first started when an indie animation studio asked william and henry to make a kids show based off of their characters, and they gave the go ahead. the show was called "fazbear and friends", and here's kinda the general stuff:

your main character is spring bonnie, who is looking for their lost boyfriend best friend, fredbear. he had been kidnapped not too long ago along with some other people in their village by an unknown villain. they go to the fazbear crew-- freddy, bonnie, chica, and foxy -- for help. they accept bc fredbear is their friend too and they wanna help ppl

so they start heading out, and whenever they think they're a step closer to fredbear, they meet one of the funtimes. the first one they encounter is ballora, a ballerina mother who is looking for her daughter. they next meet funtime foxy and funtime freddy, who are star-crossed lovers who were banished from their village. they then meet circus baby, who at first was hostile towards the group but then saw ballora and calmed down.

now, all of these characters have special abilities:

freddy: an enchanting, really good singing voice. it's able to scare away enemies because they hate positivity (this is a kids' show may i remind you lmao) bonnie: really good at playing guitar. he often accompanies freddy's singing. chica: amazing drummer and also accompanies freddy and bonnie. when she's not doing that, she's making pizza for everyone. she also has a magic rainbow as a pet, but no one knows where it came from foxy: really good storyteller and a cool pirate man with good skills with his sword. he needs work on sailing a ship though fredbear: the ability to communicate with people from far away as well as spirits spring bonnie: the ability to disguise as anyone they want, but they have to do the voice impressions themself (which they're pretty good at) circus baby: can turn her arms into claws to fight people. she can also make ice cream from her stomach ballora: she can dance fight. and she's very flexible and can walk around like a spider funtime freddy: really good magician and can actually use magic to make things appear and reappear. also can make anyone laugh by telling a joke (stand up comedian shit) funtime foxy: very jazzy dance man and can dodge most attacks with ease

they all become somewhat good friends and get along!

anyways, so they all finally stumble upon what seems to be an abandoned palace. they find fredbear inside what seems to be a throne room. fredbear and spring bonnie rekindle, but then all of a sudden, their magic is taken away. fredbear's magic seems to be different as he was able to cuff everyone's hands with a weird magic and he introduces someone he's been working for this entire time: the pink peril.

so pink peril explains that he was the one kidnapping people because he wanted to take all the magic in the world and take it over for himself because evil reasons. and he found out that you can take someone's magic away when they are at their most vulnerable (for example, spring bonnie is most vulnerable around fredbear). he then explains that he had kidnapped fredbear but promised him a small fraction of pink peril's power if he joined him. so fredbear did just that. plus, he wanted to ensure that pink peril didn't hurt spring bonnie or any of the others.

spring bonnie and the rest of the gang are of course hurt, and spring bonnie declares their romantic relationship friendship over. before everyone is locked away so they can get their powers taken away, pink peril notices chica's pet magic rainbow and says something about it being connected to someone called the white rabbit. so he tries taking it away from the gang, but spring bonnie manages to escape the magic binding their arms, takes the rainbow, and escapes. everyone else is cheering them on, and they promise that they'll come back to rescue everyone.

[end of season 1]

now, this is representative of william's first travel through fnaf world, but it's a little different. so william burns in the ffps fire and wakes up in fnaf world. he meets fredbear and is told that if he wants his punishment suspended for a bit, he's gonna have to go and gather all the other souls he burned with. and fredbear also sends the missing children with him so he doesn't try anything funny. so they find kathryn, mike schmidt, fritz smith, charlie, and elizabeth while on their travels. they also meet up with carol and chris bc they were sent by fredbear to help. the group then meets up with fredbear again but they then get transported to a weird dimension where they meet someone who calls himself "king mikah" (who is really king michael but michael decided to be an identity thief for 2.2 seconds). so "king mikah" explains that he had taken over fnaf world to indulge in experiments with remnant and also to give william a "proper punishment", so they all fight, the group succeeds, and "king mikah" escapes and goes into hiding. william then goes and finds that "king mikah" had been building a place for himself, and as he was being chased bc he broke into the place, he found a room full of portals to different dimensions. he jumped into one and was never seen again. unfortunately though, that portal led to the vr game fazbear ent was developing, which starts the rest of act 3

SO now onto season 2 of fazbear and friends! so spring bonnie had escaped pink peril's clutches and comes upon a forest of glowing trees. here, he follows a mysterious figure to someone called the white rabbit. the white rabbit explains that she has been trapped in this realm for years because of an unknown force stripping her of her magic and sealing her there. she then recognizes chica's magic rainbow, and they merge to form the white princess, who is just the white rabbit but her powers have been restored. she gives thanks to spring bonnie by telling them she will help them with whatever they want. so they then explain the stuff with pink peril, and white princess is really sad bc they used to know each other in a positive way :'( but they were also granted some magic to help fight.

as they go on their way to pink peril's palace, they meet up with a refugee from the palace, the marvelous marionette, who gives them shelter to hide from pink peril and plan out their attack. sadly though, they are eventually found by pink peril, and white princess is kidnapped. behind the scenes though, pink peril had brainwashed her into becoming pink peril's own magic rainbow, and now that he has her on his side, he can take over the world.

spring bonnie finds themself in the glowing forest again, but this time they meet the white king, who is white princess's father. spring bonnie notices there's a seal placed on him so he can't escape, but spring bonnie, using the magic white princess had bestowed them, frees the king and they face pink peril once and for all.

they first free the fazbear gang and the funtimes. then, they face the evil magic rainbow. as they face pink peril one-on-one, they use the power of friendship to defeat him, and peace is finally restored to the land. fredbear tries rekindling his and spring bonnie's relationship, but they reject him and he gets put in jail.

[end of season 2/show]

now this one is a bit more complicated to explain. so william and vannie fight and they die together in a fire vannie had caused. they wake up together and face "king mikah" immediately. they are taken to his palace where he explains what he's gonna do to them. vannie then exposes him as michael and not mikah, and he gets mad. william and vannie escape together before anything happens.

as they're running from king michael as far as they can, they meet up with spring bonnie, who helps them on their journey to stop king michael. they explain that they're not working with king michael because they and fredbear had a really bad falling out. spring bonnie didn't want to work with a cruel king who took the land by force, but fredbear ensured they'd have great power. william knew that was familiar, but couldn't put is tongue on it >:/o

then, they meet up with charlie, and she offers them shelter to plan out how to defeat king michael. she and cassidy also had a falling out of their own, but charlie still loved her with all her heart and wanted to save her. but then vannie gets kidnapped and brainwashed into becoming chica's/michael's magic rainbow.

william them stumbles upon the lord scott, who was the old ruler of the land before michael had taken over. he agrees to help william if william can accept his fate of punishment. william accepts and then they go face michael.

they fight for a bit and as michael is about to serve the final blow, vannie comes up behind him and stabs him in the chest, leaving him fatally injured. scott becomes ruler of fnaf world again, everyone's happy, and michael and william get sent to their respective levels to be punished.

WOOOO THAT'S IT THANK YOU IF YOU READ THIS FAR

[lilacmoon83]

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 21: Taking Chances

Emma stepped out of the Inn this morning in a dejected manner. Granny had told her in no uncertain terms that she could not keep the dog at the Inn. She had barely had him for a night and was already attached though. Sadly, she would probably have to take him to the shelter later, but she wasn't ready yet. She had picked up some dog food for him last night and his belly was happily full. So after he took care of business, they set off for the station. She noticed the new clothing store on her way, but before she could consider anything about that, she bumped into a fairly huffy Tamara.

"Oh sorry…" Emma said. The other woman huffed and brushed past her.

"Is there a problem?" she asked. Tamara stopped and then turned to her.

"As a matter of fact there is...you," Tamara replied.

"Me?" Emma asked.

"Did you know that Neal has decided that he's moving here and not coming back to New York?" she questioned.

"Actually no...he hadn't told me that, but you certainly seem to think it's my fault!" Emma retorted.

"It is...none of this would be happening if he had never run into you again," Tamara accused.

"Oh trust me...he's the last person I wanted to run into!" Emma retorted.

"Look...he's not moving here because of me. It's Henry," the blonde said.

"If you guys win custody, then why can't you just move Henry back to New York?" she asked.

"Because...it's complicated. I have a life here," she replied.

"Yeah, he said you have family here, which doesn't make any sense, since he told me that you were an orphan!" Tamara said. She narrowed her gaze.

"He told you that?" Emma asked.

"Yeah...he told me that, but I guess it doesn't matter what I want to him anymore," Tamara replied.

"So...what are you going to do?" Emma asked.

"I'm going to try to convince him that moving back to New York with Henry is what is for the best," Tamara replied and a stab of fear spread through Emma at that.

"You can't do that," Emma protested. Tamara looked at her in disbelief.

"And why the hell not?" she questioned.

"Because...Henry is happy here! And we're not cruel, unlike Regina. If we do win, we're not going to take him away completely," Emma exclaimed. Tamara huffed.

"So...if I do convince him to move back, are you going to stop us?" she challenged.

"Yeah...as a matter of fact, I am," Emma responded.

"That sounds like a threat," Tamara said.

"Take it however you want," Emma replied, as the other woman stalked off. Emma turned and nearly collided with another woman.

"Oh dear…" Narcissa said.

"Sorry," Emma apologized.

"No worries...that seemed intense," Narcissa commented.

"Uh yeah…" she said, as she watched the woman go into the new store. She was about to question her, as a new store was kind of a big thing in a town like Storybrooke, but she heard Mary Margaret call to her next.

"Good morning Emma," she said.

"Uh hey guys…" she said.

"Oh...whose dog is this?" Mary Margaret asked, suddenly noticing how familiar the dog seemed.

"It's uh...a stray," she answered.

"Wilby?" David asked in disbelief, as he knelt down and the dog went to him instantly.

"You know this dog?" Emma asked.

"He...he was mine, back in our land. We...we had to trade him for food the winter before I had to pretend to be my brother. It nearly killed me," David replied.

"Wait...he's yours?" Snow asked, as she watched a bright smile spread across her husband's face.

"Yeah…Emma, you found Wilby!" he exclaimed and then hugged her without thinking. Suddenly, he realized what he was doing and pulled back.

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...make you uncomfortable," he stammered, as he looked at her stunned face.

"It's...okay," she assured him, as he and Mary Margaret pet him.

"Listen…Granny won't let me keep him at the Inn. I have to take him to the shelter...unless…" she said.

"Yeah...we can take him, right?" he asked his wife. She smiled at him.

"Of course," she said, as she realized exactly what this meant. She knew this dog and was stunned by what that meant, but the time to tell him was not now.

"So…I better go. I need to post a listing in the Mirror for a deputy," she mentioned.

"Wait...you're hiring a deputy?" Snow asked.

"Uh yeah...the workload without Graham is getting to be a bit much. Why? Do you know anyone?" Emma replied.

"Absolutely...you should hire David!" she said.

"Oh Snow...I'm not sure that's a good idea," David chided. She frowned.

"Why not? There is no one better for this job. You were a Knight!" Snow replied.

"I know...but Emma needs someone that she completely trusts and is comfortable with," he said, getting a bit sad.

"I'm not sure that's me," he added.

"But…" Snow started to protest.

"Do you think you're qualified to be a cop?" Emma asked skeptically. He shrugged.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"Well...there's a lot of paperwork for one thing," Emma replied.

"Oh come on, Emma...paperwork?" Mary Margaret questioned. David smiled at her.

"It's okay," he told her, as he looked back at Emma.

"I did a lot of paperwork at the shelter," he replied.

"Okay…I'm looking for someone that is physically fit," Emma said.

"Oh, he is very fit, I assure you," Snow blurted out. David looked at her in amusement and Emma rolled her eyes. Snow looked at them sheepishly.

"I'll be quiet now," she said.

"I was a Knight, like Snow said. And I don't think I'm getting soft, nor do I plan to," he answered.

"Fine...what about weapons? Have you ever even held a gun?" she asked.

"It's curse memories, but yes," he replied. She un-holstered her weapon and handed it to him by the butt of the gun. He took it, took the clip out, un-cocked it, re-inserted the clip and put the safety on, before handing it back to her. Emma looked at him skeptically.

"Emma...I know I said I'd be quiet, but he jumped in and saved you from that crazy drunk. He's been putting his life on the line for you since you were a baby, he's saved my life more times than you know and many of our friends...there is no one better," Snow said, making the case for her husband.

"And…Wilby is a really well trained bloodhound. He'd be an excellent K-9 cop. In fact, you can take him to the station with you while we get breakfast," David added.

"Okay...if the dog is part of the deal, you're hired. Be at the station in an hour," she said, as she walked away. He smiled and Snow couldn't wait for Emma to be out of earshot, before she squealed in delight and hugged him in excitement. He chuckled, as she placed kisses all over his face.

"Wait...she didn't just hire you because of the dog, right?" Snow asked. He smiled.

"No...but she needs to think that she did right now," he replied.

"But why?" Snow asked.

"She's not ready to let anyone in. I get it...I was kind of a loner before you. She is too," he replied.

"But you're not anymore," she said.

"No...and she'll get there too," he assured her.

"How can you be sure?" she asked and he gave her a look.

"Because she's just like you...how did I not see that?" she asked. He smiled and kissed her tenderly.

"Because I was never a loner or standoffish with you. Any walls I had...you crashed through them on day one," he replied.

"When I hit you with a rock?" she asked with uncertainty.

"Oh yeah…I was in love from that moment on," he replied, as he slung his arm around her.

"You were not," she protested.

"Okay...maybe not then, but certainly later that day the moment you put my mother's ring on your finger," he said. She cuddled against him.

"I like that part of our story," she replied. He kissed her hair.

"Me too...come on, let's get some pancakes and then I have to go to work," he said. She gave him an excited smile at that, before they headed to the diner, unaware that Narcissa had witnessed the entire exchange envy burning off her in waves.

~*~

Regina sipped at her coffee, as the waitress took her plate. She had listened to Narcissa's entire story and while she thought her reasons for hating Snow were ridiculous, she didn't care if it meant making her pay. An ally that hated Snow as much as she did was exactly what she needed. Her plan wasn't much different than the one Regina originally had. She had planned to out Mary Margaret as the town tramp and then kill Kathryn to frame the murder on her nemesis. Once she was convicted, she would see that she made her way to a prison outside Storybrooke, never to darken her life again. There was no happily ever after or true love if she went to prison for life. Not even her Charming could save her from that. It was perfect...until they woke up and David divorced Kathryn to be with Mary Margaret. Then the murder plot was no longer plausible. But now...there was a new possibility. Narcissa had just texted her about an argument she had witnessed between Emma and Tamara, Neal's fiance. It was almost too perfect. Narcissa assured her that Tamara was expendable and pinning her murder on Emma was perfect. Sending their daughter and the Savior to prison would destroy Snow and Charming, ensure that her curse was never broken, and make sure her son wasn't taken away. Regina smirked deviously, as the bell rang and she saw the two idiots, blissfully embroiled in their own little sappy love bubble, walk in.

"Enjoy your happiness, because I will destroy it...if it's the last thing I do," Regina said darkly.

~*~

Many Years Ago

Narcissa watched her sister, as the tea was delivered and stood up when she saw Eva was distracted in a conversation with Johanna, the new nursemaid she had hired for her brat. With this many people around, she knew she'd be caught so she improvised. She took a sip of the tea and faked a gagging noise.

"Oh...that's horrid!" she exclaimed.

"Is something wrong with the tea, Your Majesty?" one of the servants asked.

"Yes...it's bitter! How dare you serve us this swill!" Narcissa exclaimed.

"I am terribly sorry, Your Majesty," the girl apologized. Narcissa was about to continue her tirade, but Eva intervened.

"Narcissa...there is no need to be upset or scream at the staff," Eva chided. Narcissa pretended to deflate.

"You're right...but I think I will make your tea, my dear sister. You must be careful what you ingest with my little niece inside you," she said sweetly.

"You've never made tea in your life," Eva reminded her.

"I know...but I want to. You should let me pamper you since you're the one carrying such precious cargo," Narcissa said, as she headed off to the kitchen.

Once she arrived, she found another pot of tea brewing and smirked, before walking toward it.

"You don't want to do that, Your Majesty," a voice said. Narcissa turned to find a red fairy before her, flanked by a peridot green, and dark blue one.

"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded to know.

"We're here to stop you...from hurting that little Princess!" Merryweather said.

"That little Princess is about to be the bane of my existence!" Narcissa hissed.

"Your vanity has clouded your judgement, Your Majesty...it is doing you a great disservice," Flora admonished.

"She is to be the fairest! She is going to steal my place!" Narcissa claimed tearfully.

"Oh stars no...your niece will be a great gift! She will do so much good for the people," Fauna claimed.

"Who cares about the people? What about me?! I am the fairest in all the realms! But my mirror says it will soon be her!" Narcissa said.

"She will be very fair...but her beauty will also come from within and that is something you are solely missing, Your Majesty. But you can change your ways and I am going to give you the chance to meet her," Flora said, as the potion disappeared from her hand.

"No...I need that!" Narcissa pleaded.

"Do not attempt to harm the baby or I will oust you to your sister and tell her exactly what your intentions for her child are," Flora warned.

"Meet her...you'll see how good and wonderful she will be. You will love her," Fauna urged.

"Never," Narcissa refuted.

"Well...the Kingdom will certainly love her. She'll be good, kind, and beautiful," Merryweather said.

"Merryweather...please, you are not making it better," Flora chided.

"Well, it's the truth. You may be beautiful on the outside, Queen Narcissa, but you are hideous inside!" Merryweather accused.

"Merryweather!" Flora snapped.

"Heed my warning, Your Majesty. Do not force my hand to stop you," the red fairy warned, as they shrank to their fairy size and flew away from the enraged Queen.

"Can we return when she's born? I want to meet her now," Merryweather said.

"Oh yes...we will return for her Christening," Flora assured.

"Then maybe I can give her a gift...something in blue," Merryweather said.

"Oh no...something in pink will be much more suitable," Flora replied.

"It will be neither," Fauna said.

"Oh? And I suppose you think she should be in green?" Merryweather challenged. Fauna smirked.

"Peridot...and there will be something very special in Peridot in her future. But no...this one's color is most certainly as pure as her. She will be in white and all the animals will love her," Fauna said proudly.

"Well...white is better than pink I guess," Merryweather grumbled.

"Hmm...better than blue too," Flora agreed. Fauna shook her head at their antics, as they returned home.

[alexskarsgardnet]

New Alex Interview with the NY Times + a new portrait by Aaron Richter!

There Are Worse Roles Than the Seducer. Ask Alexander Skarsgård.

The actor talks about his latest turn as a compelling sociopath in “The Kill Team” and his Emmy-winning role in “Big Little Lies.”

By Kathryn Shattuck

Alexander Skarsgård found “The Kill Team,” Dan Krauss’s 2014 documentary about American soldiers accused of murdering Afghan civilians for sport, deeply disturbing.

But when Krauss decided to transform it into a feature film, and asked Skarsgård to play Sergeant Deeks, a role based on the ringleader — Staff Sgt. Calvin Gibbs, now serving a life sentence — Skarsgård imagined something other than the war atrocities and whistle-blowing central to the narrative.

“At end of the day I saw it as a love story,” he said, recalling his character as at once fatherly and sadistic, in many ways irresistible to the impressionable infantrymen. “It’s about jealousy and how my character is able to manipulate these young soldiers and how he plays them against each other. It’s a courtship.”

The sociopath in sheep’s clothing is a role Skarsgård has come to know well; it follows his Emmy- and Golden Globe-winning turn as Perry, the suave, wife-beating rapist whose death ignites “Big Little Lies.”

And now he’s shooting “The Stand,” the CBS All Access adaptation of the Stephen King novel by the same name. He’ll play Randall Flagg, a.k.a. the Dark Man (among other aliases), an evildoer who repeatedly shows up in King’s work.

On break from the show’s Vancouver set, Skarsgård , 43, settled his towering, post-“Tarzan” frame onto a sofa in a Manhattan film office while alternating sips of water and black coffee. The city is his base, though he intends to spend more time in Sweden with his family.

Has portraying the seducer become a recurring theme? “I hope not,” Skarsgård said, laughing uncomfortably and blushing a little. “Though I could have a worse fate than getting stuck doing that,” he added.

These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

NYT/Kathryn Shattuck:  Calvin Gibbs isn’t heard from in the documentary. So how did you begin to develop his character?

Alex: It was very important to me that he was enigmatic and magnetic in a way where he would draw them to him. It’s not that he’s just a tough badass who’s been to war, because that wouldn’t be very interesting for long. It’s that feeling of “I would do anything, whatever you ask me to,” which in this case turns into something really, really dark. So in these more intimate moments I wanted it to be more of a seduction. It’s not all big muscles and testosterone.

NYT:  Because you wanted Deeks to feel like an “other” when he appeared, you didn’t prep for the film alongside Nat Wolff and Adam Long. Were they aware of what was happening?

Alex: [Laughs] I think they felt that I was trying to seduce them.

NYT:  What disturbed you most about the documentary?

Alex:  It raised a lot of questions — and a lot of questions about myself. How would I react in a situation like that? Do I have the moral courage to say when enough is enough or when something is wrong? Whistle-blowers are vital to a democracy, and I’m very troubled by the way they’re being persecuted today. Having served in the military, I’m not naïve and understand that there are things that you don’t want to go public. But when there are wrongdoings, there’s got to be a channel to address that, and they’re referred to today almost as if they’re spies. We would not have had Watergate without Deep Throat. We would not have had the Pentagon Papers without [Daniel] Ellsberg. It’s important to have people in authority be held accountable. Because if they can act with impunity, then what kind of society are we creating?

NYT:  Drawing on your own military experience in Sweden, how do you explain the dynamic between commanding officers and enlisted men that makes soldiers do things they wouldn’t ordinarily consider?

Alex:  You’re fascinated by them. When I first joined, I remember a week or two when we’re on base and the guys that had been in for a year already were out on a mission. We were sitting there in our crisp, brand-new uniforms, nice polished shoes, and we hadn’t yet earned the hat and the symbol on your shoulder and the dagger that our unit had. And when they came back after two weeks in the woods with the smell and bloody knuckles and dirt and a uniform that’s been out in the field for a year and the hats, and the daggers on their shoulders, I remember looking at those guys like they were the coolest human beings on the planet. If they ever said hi or something, we’d just melt.

NYT:  Let’s talk about that other sociopath, Perry in “Big Little Lies.” Your character was already dead in Season 2, but you frequently showed up in flashbacks. Did you film new scenes?

Alex: Yeah, all those flashbacks were shot a year later.

NYT:  How tricky were those scenes in which you hit Nicole Kidman, who played your wife?

Alex: Nicole and I slowly walked through the movements, just to feel that we were comfortable with what was happening and that we were on the same page with what we’re trying to do. But then it was like flipping a switch when the camera rolled and diving in, which was very intense and very exhausting. But I think the importance in that relationship is that you flip those switches at the same time, on and off, and Nicole and I were very much in sync. We both know we feel it and then, boom, we’re in. And then we know exactly when to stop and pull the ripcord.

NYT:  You also had a scene with Meryl Streep, who played your very scary mother. Were you at all nervous or star-struck?

Alex:  I’d never met her, but Dad [Stellan Skarsgård] has worked with her on “Mamma Mia” twice, and he adores her. She couldn’t have been more magnanimous or lovely on set but you definitely feel that you’re in the presence of greatness.

NYT:  So like the military, there’s a hierarchy on set?

Alex: I wouldn’t say it’s a hierarchy because she’s so warm and lovely and easygoing. It’s not like you’re on set and a big movie star walks on and people tense up or get uncomfortable. But that said, it’s [expletive] Meryl Streep, so to work with her was extraordinary. You don’t have to act because she gives you so much that you could just sit and absorb and receive. I felt like a spectator sometimes in those scenes. I just wanted to lean back and eat popcorn and admire her.

NYT:  And now you’re cast as Randall Flagg, another terrifying guy.

Alex:  It’s early days, so I’m still trying to shape him and figure out who he is. But he is definitely one of the most enigmatic characters I’ve ever played. He’s a trickster and seducer as well. He has an anarchistic streak, and he’s intrigued by physical destruction but also moral destruction and finds most people very pitiful and very easy to manipulate.

NYT:  Is Stephen King involved in the production?

Alex:  They’re talking about going up to Maine to do a private screening once we’re done with the first episode, and it’s exciting that he’s very much involved. He wrote the final episode himself. It’s a coda to a novel written 40 years ago where you see what happened after the novel ends, and that episode is amazing.

NYT:  Next year we’ll also see you in “Godzilla vs. Kong.” What can you say about your character?

Alex:  He’s much more likable than Perry or Randall Flagg. He’s a geologist and works closely with Kong. And what I liked about my character was he’s terrified, he’s not brave, he’s not equipped to be a leader or a hero, and he enters this adventure very reluctantly. I’d done a series of quite intimate and dark films, which I loved — “Little Drummer Girl,” about the conflict in the Middle East, and “Hold the Dark,” about a man who loses his son. So after these very intense roles I was just ready to go and have fun.

NYT:  Back to the question of being a whistle-blower yourself: What did you ultimately conclude?

Alex:  It’s easy to sit here on the couch with a coffee and say, “Yeah, I would blow the whistle, of course. I’d do the righteous thing.” I hope that I would have the courage to do that — but I’m not sure.

Sources/Thanks:  Article:  Kathryn Shattuck for The New York Times (x, x), Portrait:  Aaron Richter for The New York Times  (x, x)

[sharpnothashtag]

Chapter 41, The Good Ship CrushWay

If you’re keeping track at home (as I’m sure none of you are) this is the beginning of season three!  This began as an idea back in the summer of 2018, when I read all of my friend’s CrushWay fanfic (a considerable amount) in one day. (https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieD?fbclid=IwAR3H_Q6kcXZThegwEHFBsggHvRXzjNORwNCBTAWq-Fmzmxp5yD1XXrCdO70)  I thought to myself: “What if I took that ship and MADE IT MY OWN?!”  Out of that was birthed whatever this has become.  It has been a great source of solace and silliness in 2020, which could have used more of both of those things. As a general PSA, I should probably state here what I’ve said multiple times in conversation about this fic: I do not claim that this fic is actually any good.  It is, however, a ship-ton of fun! (Author’s note: I’m ret-coning something from the very very first episode.  It is the year 2375.  The first episode occurs in 2373.) With that being said, let’s start off season three the way it should be started: with a Data episode!

Data is practicing violin in his quarters.  His doorbell rings.

Data: (putting down his violin) Enter. Bev: (entering, clearly excited) I got it! Data: (mirroring her excitement) May I see it? (Bev nods excitedly.  She pulls out a golden band with a single emerald in the center.) Was it altered?  Other than it being sized, of course. Bev: It was my idea to include her birthstone, but her father’s ring was just the perfect idea.  I am a bit jealous that I didn’t think of that before Gretchen mentioned it. Data: Kathryn will love it.  Beverly, may I pose a semi-rhetorical question to you? (Bev giggles a little and nods.) Who would have thought that you would be marrying again--and for that matter, marrying someone younger than you? Bev: (feigning insult) You don’t have to rub it in.  (small smile to show that she’s kidding) Just because Kate is 39 and I’m...(she can’t bring herself to say it)  Data: 51 years, two months-- Bev: Yes.  Somehow I always forget that you do that.  Now...is everything prepared? Data: Yes, Beverly.  The crew is to report to the Promenade at 2100 hours to celebrate.  Worf and DeAnna are making a trip for this occasion.   Bev: He’s been baking, hasn’t he? Data: Yes.  He seems quite pleased with his efforts.  DeAnna is, of course, supplying a chocolate bar of sorts. Bev: Wesley said he’s bringing his dom-jot board. (Data moves his head in a very Data way.) What is it? Data: I made a connection I had not made before.  Wesley is twenty seven now, correct? Bev: (blinking, realizing Wesley is older than she was when she had him) Yes.  Well, 26.  His birthday is next week, though. Data: And he is coming in on the Rogelio with the graduates of Counselor Troi’s program? Bev: Yes, the academy is hosting the graduation.  Wesley has been catching up with Boothby for a few days, so he decided to go to the graduation to support Patrick and then come back here for the party.  What is the connection? Data: You know about Kathryn’s new post, correct? Bev: Of course I do; it’s OUR new post--all three of us.  (impatiently) What connection did you make, Data? Data: One of our newest academy graduates is coming to be a part of the crew.  Their name is Daneel Akares. Bev: Hmm, strong Bajoran name.  Why him, though? Data: Them, Beverly. Bev: Sorry, them.  Why did you make the connection from them to Wesley? Data: They have the same January 11th birthday.  And they bear a striking resemblance to Wesley. Bev: ...is that all? Data: No.  There is one more curious similarity. Bev: Which is? Data: When Daneel was 13, they ran away to go undercover to the Cardassians in disguise.   Bev: (horrified) They’re a  Zoma Devo’tá? Data: (gently) They were.  Daneel did some damage, escaped, and returned to their parents.  Together, they fled to an underground shelter, built ages before the occupation.  While they were there, the story goes that Daneel built an undetectable communications system, where they could intercept messages from the Cardassian military and alter them to redirect troops away from Bajoran forces.  They became an exceptional strategist--unparalleled in tactical skills.  From there, the story turns to legend. Bev: Legend?  Do tell. Data: The Traveler appeared. Bev: The Traveler?  There’s a name I haven’t heard in ages. Data: One day, there was a bit of a cave-in.  Daneel had managed to fit a few families into their shelter, and the militia had been leaving food at an undisclosed location.  Each night, one person would sneak out of the shelter, retrieve the food, and bring it back.  It was Daneel’s turn.  When Daneel was almost to the food, the Traveler appeared.   Bev: What did the Traveler say? Data: The Traveler said he was looking for you. Bev: Wait.  Me?  Me, Beverly Crusher? Data: Yes. Bev: Why me? Data: The Traveler noticed you were caught in that warp bubble Wesley created, and he was looking for you to try to get you out.  Daneel was greatly frightened. Bev: Did their emotions activate the sequence? Data: Yes.  This is frightened them even more.  The Traveler realized he had frightened Daneel and reached out to touch them.  Something in his touch diffused the bomb. Bev: What happened then?  Why did The Traveler appear there--Starbase 133 isn’t close to Bajor at all. Data: As no one completely understands The Traveler’s ways, I am unsure.  As for the next part of the story, Daneel is the only living Zoma Devo’tá.  Maybe when they get here, you can ask them.  They are the Chief Tactical Officer. Bev: That’s a big position for a recent academy graduate. Data: As I said, they are unparalleled in their tactical strategies.  They are said to be unorthodox.  When dealing with the Borg, that is sure to be an invaluable trait. Bev: Well, it sounds as if our newest crew member is sure to be a wonderful addition to the team.  I’ll see you later, Data--I should really go prepare to propose now (smiling broadly). Data: I will see you on the Promenade this evening!  The best of luck to you, Beverly.

Beverly grins, nods, and exits.  Data exits and reenters the room with an easel, one featuring an almost finished impressionist rendering of Bev and KJ holding hands and walking in the snow into the Northern Lights..

Data: First Officer’s Personal Log, Stardate 37044.763.  Today, two of my friends are getting engaged.  I have spent several months challenging myself to paint in an impressionist style, and Kathryn encouraged me to paint the Northern Lights.  As their wedding gift, I am playing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You” on the violin and then unveiling this painting. I am looking forward to getting together with this crew tomorrow morning for our first briefing on the new assignment.  While not a crew of traditional taste, the people promise to pose an interesting dynamic for my first real venture into command.  Serving under Kathryn Janeway with me are several returning crew members from the Enterprise and a few from Voyager as well: Communications Officer Seven of Nine, Security Chief Tasha Yar, Chief Engineers Miles O’Brien and B’Elanna Torres, Chief Medical Officer Beverly Crusher, Ensign Tom Paris on the helm, and Ensign Ro Laren at the conn.  While we are unsure of our need for one, we also have a ship’s counselor on this voyage: Patrick TusNua.  His new last name is Gaelic for “New Beginning.”  I cannot think of a more fitting way to begin his journey.

Data finishes his last brush stroke and hangs the painting on the highest point in his room.  He eyes Spot, who is licking his paws.

Data: (picking up Spot) This is up.  Up is no.  (Spot struggles, so Data lets him go.)  Bev: Dr. Crusher to Data. Data: Proceed, Doctor. Bev: Data, could you come to my quarters right away?  I need your help with something. Data: On my way, Doctor. Bev: Data? Data: Yes? Bev: Would you bring your violin? Data: Of course.  Data out.

Bev and KJ’s quarters.  Bev is sitting on the ground, rocking back and forth in an attempt to calm herself down.  Data enters.

Data: Doctor, would you like me to help you up? Bev: No, Data.  Would you come sit with me? (Data sits down, laying his violin at his side.  Bev takes a deep breath.) What if she says no? Data: (confusion) Kathryn loves you.   Bev: Yes, but what if she doesn’t want to be with me in that way?  She’s going to be the Captain, after all.  She shouldn’t be compromised by her feelings toward her crew, especially if one is her wife. Data: Most species are compromised by feelings toward their loved ones.  Humans especially, in my experience.  Also, I believe she understands the risks she would be taking.  If she did not understand that risk, she would not have accepted the command. Bev: What if I’m too old for her? Data: (moving his head in a Data way) She has made absolutely no remarks to me about your age, and you have not told me of her mentioning your age at any point in your relationship. Bev: I know she hasn’t mentioned it, but it’s 12 years.  That’s significant. Data: It is only significant if you require it to be.  Beverly, Kathryn loves you for who you are: age, Wesley, depression, dead husband, and all.  I do not know if she will say yes, but it is highly probable that she will respond in the affirmative based on her past behavior patterns.  Now, why did you ask me to bring my violin?

Bev has laid out a trail of rose petals to the bedroom, where she is sitting in the center of a heart made of fresh-cut roses with the ring next to her.  Data is standing in the corner, tuning his violin.  KJ is walking down the hall and sees a padd on the ground outside the door to her quarters.  It says, “Ring the doorbell first.”  She shrugs and rings the doorbell. A few seconds later, the door opens to Data’s playing, accompanied by the computer’s piano, trombone, and saxophone trio: “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley.  KJ follows the trail of rose petals to Bev.  She kneels down with her.

Bev: Kate, I’ve tried to plan out this speech.  I’ve tried to quantify in words how much I love you.  I’ve tried to make this some inspiring, sweeping declaration and it never comes out the way I want it to.  But, I’m 51 years old, and I am lucky enough to have found a woman better than my wildest dreams.  We...fit.  And I don’t want to spend another day of my life without you by my side.  (pulling out the ring) Your mom gave me your father’s ring and her blessing.  I had it sized for your (teasing) tiny fingers, and I put your birthstone in it. KJ: (wiping a tear away) It’s perfect. Bev: Will you marry me, Kathryn O’Dell Janeway? KJ: (nodding, putting the ring on) Yes, of course I will. (Kiss) Thank you, Data. Data: You are welcome.  I will leave now to allow for you to have time alone.  Congratulations.

The Promenade: Miles, Molly, and Keiko, DeAnna, Alexander, and Worf, Tom and B’Elanna, Tasha, Ro, GJ, Wesley, Patrick, Seven, and Data are waiting impatiently.

Miles: Data, when are we starting, again? Data: 2100 hours, Chief.  We have two minutes. Miles: Shouldn’t we be hiding, then? Ro: Don’t be an idiot, Miles.  It isn’t like she doesn’t know it’s coming. GJ: As her mother, I honestly don’t think she does. Tasha: I agree.  She knows most of us are on board, but in her mind, we’re here to be briefed on our mission and to disembark next week. Miles: If we’re going to hide, we need to do it now. Ro: I’m not hiding. Alexander: Come on, Ro.  Please? Ro: It’s something one would do for a child! Alexander: So, do it for me? Ro: (taking a second to ponder.  Since she has a soft spot for Alexander) Okay.  Let’s hide!

A fair amount of commotion as they all try to hide behind various furniture.  Since it’s the Promenade, there’s not much to hide behind.  Worf comically stands directly behind a fichus that does not remotely hide him.  As Ro and Alexander crouch down behind the jumja stick cart, they run into Tasha, who has curled up inside the cart and looks extremely uncomfortable.  Wesley crouches behind a chair, and Seven lays down flat behind a very long ottoman.  A door opens, and Bev and KJ are holding hands, KJ clearly not expecting the lights to be off. 

KJ:...The hell? Computer, lights! Everyone: Surprise! 

Tasha tries to pop out of the jumja stick cart and ends up tipping it over in the process.  It lands with a big crash. Worf knocks over the fichus, and dirt flies everywhere.  Seven sits up suddenly, and she knocks her head on the edge of the ottoman.  KJ laughs a bit too hard at all the ridiculousness, and Bev runs to Tasha to make sure she’s ok.  Since Wesley is closest to Seven, he springs up to help her.  GJ, also laughing far too hard, goes over to her daughter.

GJ: Congratulations, Katie.  Your friends/crew love you so much that they decided to injure themselves in an attempt to surprise you. KJ: I’d have it no other way.

Tasha is ok, but definitely has a concussion.  She and Seven go to Sick Bay for a quick healing and then return to the party.

[itsclydebitches]

Title: Mightier Than the Sword (Chapter Three)

Fandom: Witcher

Summary: A month after the events of “Rare Species,” Geralt slinks his way into an inn and is faced with the question of how an emotionless man apologies. (TV!canon with some details drawn from the books and Wild Hunt.)

Pairing: Pre-slash/slow burn Geralt and Jaskier

Word Count (This Chapter): 2,701

Where to read it: Below or on AO3

Traveling with Jaskier was as exhausting as Geralt remembered.

Only a fool would assume that was a bad thing.

Indeed, exhaustion had many forms and not all were made equal. Witchers understood that better than most. The ache from training was not the same as pain from a battle. The morning after drink could not compare to the morning after a cry—or so he’d been told. Geralt was indeed exhausted with Jaskier at his side... but he’d also been exhausted with him gone. The latter was an itchy feeling that never went away, felled not by sleep, drink, or even the occasional woman. It loosened its hold on him only when Geralt spent long afternoons talking to Roach, which was how he had been able to label it as something akin to loneliness. Not the true thing though, surely. Witchers didn’t feel the same as humans did, most felt nothing at all, so it only served to reckon they wouldn’t get lonely quite like they did either. Vesemir had given long lessons on the enhancements Geralt’s additional mutations had granted him, though little on the consequences. None of it had been hard to figure out on his own though. Not once he set out on the Path. Unlike his brethren, Geralt had... needs. Or desires rather, for he’d had little difficulty in suppressing them over the years. He found himself craving the gentle ministrations of the priestesses over the brusque treatments of rural healers, when they designed to treat a mutant at all. The conversations held with streetwalkers were at times more enjoyable than the sexual release they built to and when it was through, watching them all but sprint to the baths to be rid of him, Geralt could admit to a foreign ache in his stomach. Something he couldn’t fill with food. Admit, but not speak of. He’d once shared meat with a witcher from the School of the Viper. In turn the man had shared his crudely made alcohol. Potent stuff and within an hour Geralt’s tongue had loosened far more than he was used to, speaking of those strange moments and hoping that his companion would open his mouth across the fire, admitting to the same. Or at least to something similar.

Instead he’d accepted Geralt’s ramblings in silence, then packed his things in that same quiet, deepening it. He’d left without a word, choosing the forest over his company. He learned his lesson well and over the years Geralt had grown more adept at shoving such desires deep down where they could cause him no more strife. After all, he might also desire hot food and a feather bed to sleep in. That didn’t mean he had any hope of receiving them. It was an exhaustion he’d grown used to.

Nowadays though... Geralt’s head grew heavy because it was being stuffed with information he’d never need: the exact circumference of Lady Kathryn’s waist, what strings worked best for an Elven lute, why you must never soak a dark colored shirt with its lighter siblings, the best spots in Novigrad to buy cinnamon pastries (though Geralt admitted he might well use that last bit). Jaskier talked incessantly, until Geralt’s ears ached and his throat grew scratchy from the uncommon number of responses he was expected to give. Being forced to interact with someone from dawn to dusk ate at him in unexpected ways, so that Geralt tumbled onto his mat each night weary from something other than travel. Though it did occur to him that he might be helping create that monster. Surely Jaskier’s conversation was tied at least somewhat to the encouragement he received, yet Geralt couldn’t bring himself to dissuade him. He’d spoken harshly once and had regretted it for weeks after.

More proof of his abnormality. Witchers weren’t meant to feel regret either. Too emotional for his brothers; too unfeeling for the rest of the world. It left him somewhere in between, freakish to all who bothered to spare him a glance.

Yet here Jaskier sat. Talking.

“I really must buy a proper case for all this,” he said, carefully weighing down his papers with nearby stones. Jaskier had a tendency to rip them from his notebook while working, chucking them into the fire before realizing there was still merit and attempting to retrieve them with a squawk. Geralt had kept the fool from burning himself on more than one occasion. “Something enchanted, I think. Although...” Jaskier’s mouth twisted, the same lemon-puckered look he adopted whenever Yennefer came up. Today, Geralt found the look more amusing than offensive. “I hate to sully my work with that stuff, but it’s probably worth it in the end. Something waterproof, of course. Resistant to fire too. Oh! Maybe one of those retrieval options. You know, the fancy spells that draw the object back to your hand. And—”

“Expensive,” Geralt finished. “Even for you, Bard.”

“That’s poet,” Jaskier sniffed. “I’m hardly just a bard, Geralt. Sure, I might be forced to put my art to catchy tunes in order to keep our bellies filled—”

“Ours?”

“—but poetry is my true calling and one day you shall hear it recited from Oxenfurt Academy to the poorest villages of Velen! Provided that my writing survives our journey, of course. I just need to...” Jaskier tore a few more pages apart so that each held but a single stanza, secured them with more stones, then re-arranged the whole design, quick as a Gwent master. “What do you think? Should the description of the swamps come before the battle, or as a way of breaking it up?”

Before Jaskier conversation had been rare, but easy. Geralt knew precisely what was wanted of him and could map out the talk down to the last words he’d receive: “Fine.” “Freak.” “Quickly.” “You’d better.” The common folk wanted him to be a sword against the rest of the world. The rare woman wanted him as an easy fuck with no chance of pregnancy. Conversation led only to these two outcomes and when he’d completed either he was sent on his way. Jaskier though...

That first morning together he’d donned the clothes Geralt had stolen and done a little twirl, asking how he looked. “What’s it matter?” he’d replied, thinking of the stains and tears that would inevitably develop; whether the wool would be warm enough for a human out in this cold. Jaskier had pouted though and given him five words that had reverberated in his head for the last few days.

“I just want your opinion.”

No one had wanted Geralt’s opinion before. Not unless it was in the service of their survival. Now there was clothing and poetry and the occasional pretty thing. Geralt opened his mouth, unsure if he could force anything to come out of it. Beside him on the log Jaskier was quiet. That, more than anything else, shocked a response out of him.

“Before,” he said. Jaskier blinked.

“Why?” Genuine tone. Honest expression. Jaskier got nervous when he lied and Geralt would have heard the kick in his heartbeat.

“You don’t break up a fight. It happens. It ends.”

“Huh. I believe you’re right. Best not to interrupt the action,” and just like that the moment was broken. Jaskier surged forward, spreading his legs to scribble on the papers between them, then leaning to reach those positioned near Geralt’s boot. His writing was nigh illegible and Geralt suddenly felt compelled to mention as much.

“My handwriting? You’re one to talk given your spelling.”

“My spelling?”

Jaskier dipped into the bag where his lute lay, retrieving a few pages with unnerving accuracy. Geralt immediately recognized them as his own notes. Jaskier flapped them in his face causing him to draw back with a growl. “No one spells ‘pathetic’ as ‘pathetick’ anymore. Or ‘connection’ with an ‘x.’ Your spelling is at least a century out of date, my friend. Who taught you? A vampire?” and Jaskier laughed at his own, highly suspect joke.

“No. But I learned to spell a century past.”

“You—?”

Jaskeir’s head whipped around. He stared at Geralt. Geralt stared at him. Jaskier’s eyes were as wide as a newborn foal’s.

“Right,” he finally said. “That’s... yeah. That’s a thing. Okay then, grandfather.”

“Don’t call me that.”

He only got a noncommittal noise in response, the same one he heard whenever Geralt demanded that Jaskier not compose another song about him. He was already lost in his own words again and Geralt let him go, distracted himself. Because that had been different too. Most recoiled from his age as quickly as they did his eyes or his scars. Yet here Jaskier sat, shrugging off his age as easily as he would... well. Geralt didn’t know what to compare it to. He’d never had a need. The fool currently smearing ink on his chin was a mess of contradictions that Geralt feared he’d never untangle. As brilliant as he was dense. Brave as he was cowardly. He ran from monsters only to then willingly walk beside another and unlike those who judged him on looks and rumor alone, Jaskier had true reason to fear him. Geralt had treated him monstrously and gotten only kindness in return.

It all made his head ache. Vesemir had warned Geralt that the Path would be confusing. Humans, elves, dwarves, and halflings—they all led such complicated lives; governed by meandering social rules that witchers could never hope to master. It often made him long for the simplicity of Kaer Morhen. Even so, Geralt didn’t think that anything would have prepared Vesemir for Jaskier.

The sudden image of the two meeting burned bright in his mind, causing a suspicious twitch in Geralt’s lips.

Jaskier, meanwhile, impatiently tapped quill against paper.

“Fog sweeping

Hearts still

When rose the drowned

For troubadour bound

and came to claim his—”

Geralt, what part of a human do drowners eat?”

He nudged one of the stones further onto its paper, keeping it from flying with the breeze. “Everything.”

“Well that’s not useful.”

“And there was no fog. Or is your memory that fickle?”

“Excuse me, but I’m not the one forgetting lessons here. What have I taught you about truth and fame? They rarely go hand-in-hand.” Jaskier suddenly grinned. “A bit like coin and monsters that way.”

For some reason that smile and those words sparked a memory, an actual flitting thing that danced at the edge of his mind. Ah, of course. Triss. She had demanded to know whether there was more in Geralt’s life than beasts and payment for their slaughter. Now, looking at Jaskier, he wasn’t sure what answer he would give her.

“Far too many words that rhyme with ‘still,’” Jaskier said, oblivious to Geralt’s thoughts. Whether it was arrogance or brilliance that drove his focus, who could say. “That’s the real problem here. Too many options. You wouldn’t think it, but it’s the truth. You’re like that too with your, ah...” Oddly, color rose high into Jaskier’s cheeks as he looked back at his companion, hand making a sweeping gesture from Geralt’s head to his toes. “... everything. Your everything, Geralt. I mean, what am I supposed to describe first? Soft hair? Golden eyes? Armor bearing the marks of your survival? Though perhaps not as that’s in need of a wash.” Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “You stand out. Everything practically begs to be put to paper, but there’s only so much flattery an audience will sit through. One must pick their details wisely. Hmm. Actually, I may well opt for your hands, dear witcher. They are after all the real tools that saved me that day.”

Six hours from now Geralt would be ankle deep in a stream, trailing behind Jaskier in an effort to keep anything from sneaking up behind them, but in truth he’d once again be distracted. Uneasy about his own abilities and cursing that state. Because if a mere human could spring on him so, what would stop a creature of more cunning and skill?

Geralt should have caught the movement. Jaskier sat right beside him and yet somehow he managed to snag Geralt’s hand without him realizing, fingers cupping palm. He registered how cool the human’s skin was compared to a witcher’s blood, the calluses so similar to his own, yet residing in all the wrong places. Geralt felt a thumb tracing his lifeline, heard Jaskier’s voice as if from deep under water...

...and then instinct had him pulling away with a snarl. Geralt stumbled off the log and resisted the urge to drag his hand up against his chest. Impossibly, it felt bruised. Raw and burning in equal measure.

Jaskier froze.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice pitched low and soothing. Like he was attempting to coax a temperamental mare. Indeed, Roach flicked her ears at the noise and turned, bumping her head briefly against Geralt’s shoulder. It was only then that he realized he was still snarling, lips pulled back to reveal teeth too large and sharp for a human mouth. Jaskier had gone a shade paler than was his norm.

“No touching,” he said. “Message received. Except,” Jaskier hesitated. Geralt watched his throat bob once, then twice. “Didn’t seem that way a few days ago. You—” he briefly raised a hand, that same hand, up into his hair where he tugged at the strands. “Gods, Geralt. You can thread your hands through my hair but I can’t so much as brush you without getting... this?”

Finally, his lips receded. Geralt’s shoulders relaxed and his pupils went back to their normal size, no longer dilated for defense. “That was different.”

“How?”

“Because...”

Because it just was. It was like exhaustion. Nothing was made equal. Geralt checking Jaskier for a head wound was not the same as Jaskier touching his hand. Dragging him to Yennefer’s doorstep was not the same as the press of shoulders Jaskier had attempted over the fire last night, or the squeeze of an arm during breakfast, both of which Geralt had managed to dodge. He didn’t know why he’d failed this time and that vulnerability strangled anything else he might have said. It all died in his throat and eventually, when the silence grew, Jaskier looked away.

“Knew I shouldn’t have made that joke about chamomile and bottoms,” he muttered, rubbing at his face. “Right! Well, you needn’t worry in the future. I value my neck too much to risk it wrung over a closer look at your hands. Besides, terrible cuticles. Chipped nails and dirt beneath them. I doubt my audience wants to hear any of that.”

It hurt. Somehow it hurt to move from Jaskier’s praise to these insults, however unconvincing they may be. For Jaskier’s heart was beating like a rabbit’s and he was still avoiding Geralt’s eye. The worst was that, with a few minutes and deep breaths behind him, Geralt found that his hand no longer burned. Rather, there was a satisfying warmth that crawled up his wrist and his fingers twitched, eager to reach back. To take what he’d just rejected.

“Jaskier...”

“No, no. No need to explain. I get it, really. I’m the impulsive one. Rude too, though it’s unintentional I assure you. ‘Little fool’ my mother used to call me.”

“Jaskier.”

“I apologize, Geralt. Seriously. I shouldn’t have—”

“Jaskier would you shut up for once?”

He did, but only because by now the sounds were near enough for a human to hear. Jaskier stilled, eyes widening as two voices approached from the west. Men, with the roughened tongues of hunters. Harmless perhaps. But Geralt had never put his trust in odds, even good ones.

“Should we...?” Jaskier whispered, motioning to run. He already had a tight grip on Roach’s reins.

Geralt considered, then looked to the spread of papers still on the ground. It would take longer than the few seconds they had to gather it all up.

“No,” he said. Warmed fingers grasped the hilt of his sword. “Just keep behind me.”

Jaskier did. Close, but not so close as to touch. Geralt shoved aside the meaning of that as two shadows moved out from behind the trees.

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

IT’S HERE!!!!

So many thanks to: @cspupstravaganza, @sherlockianwhovian, @lassluna, and @kieravanrenvie.

AO3 if that’s your jam.

Today you get the prologue and the first chapter, so read away, my pretties!

I'd Pick You (and Your Little Dog, Too)

A Captain Swan Pupstravaganza Story

Summary: According to everyone in the known universe, Emma Swan's dog is supposed to lead her to her soulmate. But she's not even sure if she wants that. Soulmates are pretty idealistic, don't you think?

Prologue:

The pounding of Emma’s heart matched her footsteps as she ran through the woods on the edge of Storybrooke. She did her best to ignore the pain in her back that her bookbag was causing her, slamming against her tailbone. She forced all thoughts out of her head, pointedly ignoring the bruise clearly forming above her jeans..

She just ran.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She felt it faintly, but she ignored it. A nagging feeling in her belly threatened to stop her in her tracks: she hated to make her brother worry.

But he’d be better off without her.

David was the golden child, a straight-A student and a natural athlete. He’d been their parents’ pride and joy, while Emma had been a troublemaker and a disappointment. She’d done well as a child, her competitive nature causing her to pit herself against her twin brother in every conceivable way. They were equals in many ways, though Emma’s true strength was in literature while David had understood long division a full two years before she’d begun to grasp the concept. But somewhere along the way, she’d started losing their imaginary competitions. She suddenly had to try to ace all of her tests, while everything still seemed to come easily to David.

She’d been a sore loser.

So instead of trying and disappointing her parents - and herself - she’d given up. Stopped going to class and started hanging out with the stoners by the football field. She’d lost track of the days and weeks.

And then her parents had died.

It was a car accident, it could have happened to anyone. But while David flourished in his grief, planning the funeral and contacting family members and even arranging hotel stays, Emma had only fallen further down the hole she’d dug herself.

And then the funeral came. One week after the accident, Nolans and Swans, humans and canines, from near and far had descended upon their home and Emma had hidden in her room, while David remained the center of attention.

She ventured halfway down the stairs during the small gathering after the service when she heard someone talking to David. She sat, eavesdropping.

“Oh I just know your parents were so proud of you, David. Your mother told me just last week about how you were running for class president, right? I can’t imagine you’ll still run. Oh you are? Yes, it is what they would have wanted. Where’s your sister? Still skipping class every day? Your mother was very worried about her, you know.” Great Aunt Ingrid lowered her voice. “Is it true they were out looking for her when they got into the accident?”

It wasn’t. Emma heard David’s firm No from her spot on the stairs, but the damage had already been done.

She packed a bag, only the essentials, and ran out the back door.

She reached the docks and stood, staring out on the water, unsure of what to do next. Her stupid phone kept buzzing in her pocket and she finally ripped it out, staring at the screen.

32 New Text Messages 15 Missed Calls

8 Voice Messages

All from David.

Shit.

D: Emma, where did you go?

D: I heard you on the stairs when I was talking to Aunt Ingrid. D: Where’s your necklace from Mom? I saw it on the nightstand this morning.

D: Did you run away?

D: Emma, please answer me. D: Emma, I can’t do this alone.

The last one finally got her.

She sighed, upset with herself for getting so carried away, for being so selfish. She was so embarrassed now, with the adrenaline leaving her system, and so tired.

E: Let me know when everyone’s gone.

It took three hours before she finally got the text.

D: Come home, Emma. Please.

She’d expected David to yell at her, to tell her how much he’d worried and to blame her for causing him more stress.

He just hugged her, cradling the back of her head in his right hand.

It was the first time his armor had come down. The first time Emma had realized that maybe, just maybe, her brother wasn’t handling this as well as she’d suspected. She thought about all the planning he’d done for the funeral and realized, apparently too late, that he’d probably been trying to avoid thinking about what had happened; trying to avoid thinking about the fact that their parents were gone, and they weren’t coming back.

“You can’t leave me like that, Emma. It’s just you and me now.”

She nodded against his shoulder.

“Just you and me.”

-------------

Four Years Later

“You’re… you’re moving out?” Emma asked, hoping her brother wouldn’t notice the slight crack in her voice at the end of the question.

“Just down the street,” David assured her. “It’s just… Emma, it’s time. We’ve been together for a while, it’s the next logical step.”

Emma loved her brother, and she was so happy that he was in love, but she just really didn’t want things to change. They were barely eighteen, had just gotten their own place together (Granny’s Inn had been nice, if a bit cramped, and this was an actual adult apartment) a year ago, and now… it was already ending?

She sniffed once and nodded.

“Okay,” she said.

“Emma, we can talk about this. I know it’s a lot…” David tried to catch her eye but she looked away.

“Nothing to talk about. I’m sure you and Kathryn are meant to be.”

--

A week later, Emma was helping David move into his fancy new one-bedroom apartment with its in-unit laundry and brand new appliances. She didn’t want to help, didn’t want to move things along any more quickly than they were already moving. But David was still her brother, and she did want to spend as much time with him as possible.

So she was helping.

They were driving in David’s truck on their last trip of the day when a small brown and white pitbull suddenly ran into the middle of the road. David swerved and missed her, barely coming to a stop before hitting a tree.

“What the hell was that?” Emma checked herself for any injuries but she didn’t feel anything out of place. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” David answered, but he sounded far away, like he was only half listening. Emma turned towards him and found him staring directly at the pitbull, who was still standing directly in the middle of the street as though she hadn’t just been nearly run over by a pickup truck. The dog was staring right back at David.

And then she ran.

David scrambled out of the car to chase after her and Emma followed as soon as her brain caught up to what was going on: this was David’s dog.

Emma had long since given up on finding her own dog, and her brother claimed he had as well. They’d made it this far without them, and David had a perfectly fine love life, soulmate or otherwise, so what did it matter? But Emma knew, despite the fact that he’d stopped talking to her about it ages ago, that David still hoped for a dog one day. Was her brother a hopeless romantic or total sap? It depended on Emma’s mood.

Dogs appeared in your life as if they’d been there all along, and they essentially became a fifth limb, always attached to you, an extension of your arm. There were rumors that long ago, long before Emma was born, dogs were just pets like cats or lizards or birds, and that their lifespan was much shorter. There were some stories, even, about people who couldn’t own dogs because they’d developed an allergy, which had never even make sense to Emma, who happened to be allergic to cats.

At any rate, it was hard for Emma to believe that there had ever been a time when dogs weren’t commonplace, when you needed permission to bring them to restaurants or stores or coffee shops. Perhaps those were just stories that had been passed down for so long that they’d lost any element of the truth.

The fact of the matter was that humans depended on dogs so much, even back then, that evolution (or magic or fate or whatever explanation you chose to believe) took over. Emma had only known a life that included seeing dogs at every turn. Their lifespans matched their human’s, and they served a much more important purpose than other animals in the world.

Dogs appeared in someone’s life when it was time. There was no other explanation, and it wasn’t something easily researchable. So people just walked along, dog-less, until they finally came across a dog on a walk, or they appeared at the person’s door, or they just came together in some other way. Everyone’s story was different, but the end result was the same: the dog chose the human. There were no loose dogs running around, so if you came across one, it was meant to be yours.

Emma followed David as he chased the dog into the woods just beside the road. It wasn’t a long run, but it was confusing (all the trees looked the same) and sweaty (Maine in the middle of August will do that). But finally, David’s dog led them to… another dog.

The other dog was also a pitbull, but he was bigger than the female who’d led them here. He was all black, save for a small white stripe down the center of his chest.

He was beautiful.

He was also trapped.

He didn’t make any noise, clearly not wanting to draw any attention to the trouble he was in. His front left leg was stuck under a pile of rocks. It looked like maybe he’d been digging a hole and the rocks had fallen on him, but Emma couldn’t be sure.

“Emma,” David whispered, bringing her back to the situation at hand. “These dogs are… they have to be…”

“David, not now. He’s stuck. Help me get him loose.”

The two of them moved rock after rock until finally the dog’s limb was freed. But Emma could see it was too late. He tried to move it, but he couldn’t put any weight on the leg. He looked at Emma, and he finally let out one long, low whine.

“We’ve gotta get him to the vet,” Emma said, scooping him up in her arms. He was heavier than she’d anticipated, and the walk back out of the woods wasn’t easy, but they made it to the truck - all four of them - in one piece.

While there were certainly vets in town with more experience than Ruby Lucas, there was no one the Nolans trusted more than the Lucas women. Ruby’s grandmother had taken them in after their parents’ accident, allowing the twins to stay together in their hometown. Ruby was already grown up and out of the house by the time the Nolans had moved in at fourteen, but she’d still become a pseudo-sibling. She’d gotten David his first job, cleaning kennels at the clinic, and there was no doubt that she was the person they’d be taking their dogs to for the rest of their lives.

“It’s probably best to amputate. There’s not much we can do for it, and he’ll be much more comfortable without dragging it around.”

Emma was surprised at the pang she felt in her chest.

“He’ll um… he’ll be okay, though? After?” Emma asked, and David reached over and put a calming hand on her shoulder. The other dog sat at his feet, poised and beautiful. Ready for anything.

“Yes, Emma.” Ruby smiled gently. “Is he… he’s yours then?”

“I guess so,” Emma breathed. “I didn’t… I don’t… We just found them.” She motioned between both dogs.

“That’s how it goes,” Ruby said with a smile. Her own dog, Toto, lingered in the back of the room, calmly watching her owner care for Emma’s new charge. Emma watched Toto for a moment, wondering at the connection that must be present between canine and human, before her attention returned quickly to the dog in front of her, staring up at her meaningfully.

“Okay, then let’s do it.”

Emma brought Rascal home a week later. The missing limb didn’t seem to bother him, and he was absolutely incredible. He seemed to know her habits already, waking up with her (or jumping on her when she overslept, which was more often than not), waiting patiently for head scratches and treats instead of begging, and he even slept right on top of her freezing cold feet at night.

It helped having him around when she missed David, and Emma couldn’t help but wonder if the fates (or whoever controlled this whole dog thing) had put Rascal in her path right when she needed him most: right when she was about to be alone for the first time.

Of course, David’s dog was not a fan of Kathryn. He’d named the dog Princess, because of her graceful, even regal, way of entering a room, but the truth was that she was just as playful and messy as Rascal. And Kathryn kept a clean house, one that didn’t include dirty pawprints on the couch from playing outside.

It took a while for reality to set in. Kathryn had found a dog, too, and named him Dodger. And while Dodger was athletic and handsome like David believed himself to be, he was also either too dumb or too stubborn, refusing to listen to anyone but Kathryn. And even that was iffy. David and Kathryn tried to keep the romance alive, but soon they began fighting over small things, like David leaving dirty dishes in the sink or the proper way to hang the toilet paper roll. Princess didn’t seem to like Kathryn, which didn’t help matters, and Dodger was completely indifferent towards David.

Over time, the small fights evolved into larger ones, and they realized they simply weren’t happy together. It became obvious that soulmates were soulmates for a reason, and they just weren’t it.

In David’s absence, Emma had even ventured down the dark path of romance and come out the other side just a little more broken than she already was.

When it was all over and David was moved back in, he pulled Emma into a hug, and they promised each other again the same thing they had at fourteen.

“It’s just you and me, David.”

“Just you and me.”

A low whine and a short growl sounded by their feet.

Emma sighed.

“Okay, just all four of us, then. Sheesh.”

[adorkablephil]

Fic: The Roles We Play (11/11)

Title: The Roles We Play Summary: Dan Howell and Phil Lester work together as voice actors for BBC radio dramas in the late 1930s, but slowly begin to develop “inappropriate” feelings for each other Rating: G Word Count: 4,146 (this chapter) Tags: Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Historical AU, 1930s, BBC, Radio, Actors AU, Slow Burn, Love Letters, Past Character Death, Grief, Angst Author’s Note: This fic was inspired by the @phanfichallenge 20k History Challenge. A bazillion thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, India! I’m sorry for the long delay—blame my surgery and its complications. But we are finally done!

Also on AO3

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[ All Chapters Masterlist ]

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Chapter 11: Kathleen

19 March 2001

Marcus left to pick up some takeaway biryani from a nearby Indian place while Kathleen continued going through her great-uncle Dan’s box of mementos. Her great-uncle. Even Marcus, who wasn’t related to him, called him “Uncle Dan.” She tried it on. “Uncle Dan,” she said out loud to the empty flat, and it felt right. She smiled.

When Marcus returned with their biryani, they sat at the small table and ate together while talking about their own spouses and children, taking a break from the emotionally loaded topic of their great-uncles’ relationship and families’ reactions.

Marcus had a rather silly sense of humor and Kathleen found herself laughing several times almost against her will. Her own parents and grandparents had always been fairly serious, some of them also quite religious, and she herself had found that her husband George brought a welcome lightness to her life that she had never realized she needed until after she’d met him. She’d never noticed that humor was lacking from her life until she found it in George.

Nodding while chewing, Marcus gestured with his fork as if asking her to wait for him to speak. After he’d swallowed, he commented, “Uncle Dan often said the same thing about Uncle Phil. Though Uncle Dan had his own sense of humor, you know. Just not as … obvious as Uncle Phil’s. Uncle Phil was a little … unusual. He got a bit more eccentric with age, but Uncle Dan just always laughed and said he’d never known someone could make him so happy.” Marcus smiled and added, “I know Uncle Phil felt the same way, even though he didn’t say it as often, in front of other people anyway.”

Kathleen was curious. “Uncle Phil didn’t…”

Shaking his head, Marcus explained immediately, “He loved Uncle Dan with his whole heart. He just expressed himself more by reaching out to hold his hand, or to touch his shoulder. Uncle Phil was a very … private person. They both were. I don’t think anyone outside the family really knew they were in love. And even with us, Uncle Phil still loved … quietly. No less deeply, but less openly. Uncle Dan was more open with his emotions.”

Kathleen laughed. “Well, he didn’t get that from the rest of the family!”

“That the impression I always got,” Marcus admitted, with a less jovial tone.

Kathleen looked down at her biryani and took another contemplative bite.

******

While Marcus went to look for some sign of his great-uncle’s mementos among the jumble of belongings in a particularly disorganized closet, Kathleen continued working her way through Uncle Dan’s shoebox of memories.

There were a great many devoted love letters over the next few years, as both men had apparently served much of the length of the war. Kathleen began to feel a bit uncomfortable with this voyeuristic look at intimate words that had not been meant for anyone but the two men, but she continued to read, not wanting to miss any of the other information about their lives. Not when this was the only way she could know them.

There were even some worried, loving letters from Kathryn Lester, Phil’s mother, and it was one of these that made Kathleen stop with her hand pressed to her trembling lips.

-

2 July 1944

My dear boy,

The Red Cross located our address among your things and wrote to tell us that you have been injured and that you must spend some significant time recovering from a serious leg wound. Why did you not write to us yourself? Surely you know how much we care for you, how I, in particular, fret for your safety just as I worry for my own sons. In fact, you are truly one of my sons, and I demand that you come to me immediately so that I may nurse you myself, rather than leaving such an intimate task to strangers who do not love you as we do.

I beseech you to come home to us, dearest, and let us help you become whole again.

With the greatest affection, Kathryn Lester, whom I hope you will call Mother

-

Kathleen looked up from the letter in her hands when she heard Marcus’s footsteps. “Uncle Dan … he was seriously wounded in World War II?”

Marcus dusted himself off as if he’d been excavating an archaeological site rather than simply going through two old men’s junk closet. He sat down at the table with her and reached out a friendly hand. Kathleen set the letter down on the table and took Marcus’s hand, squeezing tightly.

“Why didn’t he come home?”

Marcus gave her hand a returning squeeze and said gently, “He did.”

Kathleen nodded in sad understanding. “Did they even … did he …” She cleared her throat and let go of Marcus’s hand with a grateful pat. “Did they even contact his parents first?”

“I’m not sure,” Marcus admitted. “No one ever talked about it, and I got the impression it was a difficult topic. I don’t know if he even had any ‘next of kin’ officially listed in his records. It might have just been chance that they found our family’s contact information with his things.”

He patted her hand gently and said, “I’m going to continue sorting through the closet. I’m gathering a pile of things to be thrown out, a pile of things to go to charity, and a smaller pile of things we can look through together when you’re done with the letters.”

Kathleen nodded wordlessly and carefully folded the letter, returning it to its envelope. Knowing he was giving her space to recover her composure, she gave him a watery smile and then returned her attention to the shoebox as he walked away.

-

15 August 1944

My true and only love,

Mother has written to me that you have been wounded and are to convalesce with her at our home. I wish with all my heart that I could race to your side to offer you whatever solace my presence might afford, but you know that my duty will not allow it. I trust that Mother will tend to you as lovingly as I myself would, for she knows how dear you are to me. Also, you must know by now how much my family esteems and cares for you for your own sake, and not only for mine. How could they not love you? How could anyone not?

I will return to you as soon as may be, and we shall be together once more and never again parted.

Most devotedly and forever yours, Philip

-

8 May 1945

My dearest love,

I write this letter in haste, for today victory has been declared in Europe and the War is truly over! My regiment leaves forthwith and my heart soars with the knowledge that I shall soon hold you in my arms again. If only I could fly directly to your side on eagle’s wings! But for now I must arrange my pack for our imminent departure for home. Home! You are my only true home, and I now return to you with the happiest, most grateful of hearts. I race against this letter to you and hope that I may be upon the doorstep even before its arrival.

Await me, dearest. I come to you!

In loving and most joyous haste, Yours always, Philip

-

Kathleen imagined the scene. Dan, perhaps in a wheelchair, sitting in front of the family home—which she imagined as being quite grand—when a car pulled up and that tall, slim young man emerged, still in his handsome uniform, his hair slicked back beneath his cap. She imagined their eyes meeting for the first time in years, years during which each had feared not only for his own life in battle but also for the life of the other. She imagined the smiles dawning on both their faces as Phil walked slowly toward the man he loved, and then more quickly until they were in each other’s arms. She wondered if they had wept.

She thought they probably had.

******

When she heard Marcus returning to the kitchen, Kathleen was sitting with her chin in her hand, gazing out the window at the garden.

“Is everything all right?” he asked with some apparent concern.

She turned to look at him and smiled softly. “I just read the letter when Philip was returning home, and I couldn’t help imagining how happy they must have been to see each other again after so long. It made me think of my own husband, how much I would miss him if we were apart for years, never knowing if we would see each other again.” She felt a bit choked up, but it wasn’t sadness she felt. “I’m so glad they made it back to each other safely.”

“They did,” Marcus affirmed.

She turned to look up at him and leaned to stretch her aching back. “I’m dead on my feet. These last few letters have left me wrung out like wet laundry, and I just want to go home and see my family. Would you mind if we leave the rest until tomorrow? Or later, if tomorrow doesn’t work for you.”

“I can come tomorrow in the evening,” Marcus replied. “Feel free to look through their other things if you finish with the letters before I arrive.”

Kathleen nodded, tidying up the papers on the table before sliding her bag onto her shoulder and saying goodbye to Marcus. She just wanted to get home to feel her husband’s arms around her.

******

20 March 2001

There weren’t any significant letters after that in the box, which made sense when Kathleen thought about it. Why would they need to write letters if they were always together? She found the deed to this house, bought in August of 1945, along with numerous birthday and holiday cards from various family members and, sadly, a black-bordered piece of elegant parchment announcing a commemorative gathering to celebrate the life of Kathryn Eleanor Lester.

The box also contained a great number of children’s drawings and scribbled household notes. One sticky note, the adhesive having long lost its ability to stick, said simply, “Don’t forget.” Kathleen wondered what the note had referred to and what had made it important enough to keep, but soon discovered that Uncle Dan had apparently kept a great many seemingly mundane notes and reminders written in Phil’s distinctive handwriting. Even grocery lists had apparently seemed important enough to save, if they were written by a beloved hand. Kathleen smiled at her great-uncle’s apparent sentimentality.

She also found a number of thank-you cards for gifts they’d given jointly, along with a few letters asking one or the other of them to be godfather to a child, some from members of the Lester family and some from names she did not recognize.

When Marcus arrived in the evening, she was still going through the shoebox, since she’d been with her children until late afternoon.

“You said they were very introverted and private,” she said to Marcus, forgetting to even greet him, so lost in thought was she.

Marcus nodded, “Oh, they were. Not very fond of crowds, those two.”

Kathleen gestured at the shoebox. “Then how did so many people care about them so deeply? It is obvious that a lot of people loved them very much.”

He smiled. “They just had that effect on people.”

Kathleen found herself once again wishing that she’d gotten the chance to know them both.

“I have a confession to make,” Marcus said hesitantly. “When I found Uncle Dan … he had something in his hands, and I took it. I was afraid that his family might … well … might throw it away … or otherwise not respect Uncle Dan’s wishes. When he knew he didn’t have much time left, he told me he wished to be buried with it.”

Kathleen gazed at Marcus with somber curiosity. What was this object that was so important to her great-uncle? “What did you take?” she asked, doing her best to make sure that no accusation sounded in her words.

Marcus reached into his bag and pulled out a battered, dirty envelope. He held it in his own hands for a moment before reluctantly handing it to Kathleen. She carefully opened the envelope and pulled out a yellowed piece of paper, smooth and worn from years of frequent handling. It was a letter in the familiar handwriting. Before she began reading, Marcus explained quietly, “He took it with him everywhere. It went with him to the war, and it went with him to the army hospital, and it never left his side for decades. I did not want his family to see it as … shameful … I did not want them to discard it as so much rubbish.” Kathleen nodded seriously and turned her eyes to the letter.

-

11 August 1939

My most beloved Daniel,

I do love you. I love you most ardently, and these feelings are not new. I, too, have gazed at you with longing in my heart and wished that I might hold you close, but I did not believe you would welcome such attentions, and so I hid my emotions as best I could.

I hide them no longer. I do love you. I love you with every beat of my heart, every breath of my lungs.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Never doubt it.

Most devotedly yours, Philip

-

Kathleen wiped tears from her eyes and cheeks, then glanced around in search of a tissue. In the end, she went into the kitchen and blew her nose inelegantly on a piece of kitchen roll. She came back to the dining room table and looked Marcus in the eye. “I absolutely promise that this will be buried with him,” she choked out with conviction. “If Grandpa Howell gives me any problems about it, I will tell him he’ll never see me or his great-grandchildren again. Uncle Dan will be buried with this letter. I swear it.”

Marcus nodded gratefully, eyeing the letter in her hands with obvious reluctance to part with something so important and personal.

Kathleen held it out to him. “Would you like to keep it. Perhaps … bring it to the funeral yourself?”

His face melancholy, he replied, “I don’t think I would be welcome there. We’ll hold our own service for their … their other family, and for their friends. That letter belongs to your uncle, and so you should keep it. Just … please do make sure that he has it close to his heart in death as he did so long in life.”

“He will,” Kathleen promised, tucking the letter carefully into her bag. “I’m almost done with the shoebox, so I can come help you with the rest soon. Any sign of a box of mementos belonging to your uncle?”

“Not yet,” Marcus admitted. “The open areas are all quite tidy, but the closets are another story altogether. Uncle Dan cared a great deal about what he called ‘aesthetics,’ so I’m guessing he was in charge of the attractively tidy main areas. Perhaps Uncle Phil took care of the closets.” He and Kathleen both laughed.

Kathleen gestured at the nearly empty shoebox and asked, “Mind if I finish up here before joining you in your more adventurous task?” Marcus just grinned and nodded, then headed back down the hallway.

Only a few papers remained, and Kathleen suddenly realized that she’d been reading the papers in chronological order. If items had been placed in the box as time went by, shouldn’t the most recent letters and papers have been on the top?

Then, she pictured her great-uncle sitting at this table where she’d found the shoebox, pictured his wrinkled hands carefully removing each precious memory from the box and reliving them one by one before returning everything to the box again, now in reverse order. So these last few papers would have been the most recent ones, giving her a glimpse into the man she had so narrowly missed getting to meet. If only she had known…

Nothing really caught her eye, mostly just more household notes and a letter or two from friends whose names she didn’t recognize, until she caught sight of a sticky note recent enough that it still adhered to the paper beneath it. “Don’t forget Kathleen’s birthday!” it read in that familiar handwriting.

Kathleen’s birthday had been only two months ago, and the thought that this man, this amazing Philip Lester, had known of her existence, had even known the date of her birthday and had cared enough about her that he did not want her forgotten … she burst into tears, sobbing more than she had at any other item in the box.

Philip Lester, the man she might once have been able to call Uncle Phil, had known her and loved her without ever even meeting her. He had probably known her children’s birthdays as well, had probably wished a thousand times that he could sign his name alongside Dan’s when cards were sent to her and her family.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, weeping quietly with her face in her hands, until she heard Marcus come back into the room and hesitate in the doorway. She quickly dried her face as best she could and turned to smile at him.

“You said that you would be holding a service for Uncle Dan yourselves?”

Marcus nodded. “A service for the both of them, really. We didn’t want to upset Uncle Dan with a service for Uncle Phil when he was so … broken. We were waiting for the right time.” He smiled sadly. “It seems like the right time now.”

“Would you…” Kathleen hesitated, not wanting to be presumptuous. “Do you think anyone would mind a few gate-crashers?”

Marcus tilted his head in confusion. “Gate-crashers?”

Kathleen cleared her throat and forged ahead. “If we would be welcome … I mean, if it wouldn’t seem inappropriate … do you think anyone would mind if my family and I came to the service? Just my husband and my children and me.”

Marcus looked stunned. “You would want to do that?”

Kathleen gestured down at the papers in front of her. “Well, I feel like I know them a bit now, you know? And … well … love them a bit, too, even if I was never lucky enough to meet them.” She hesitated. “It may be too late for that now, I may have missed my chance … but it isn’t too late for me, and my children, to get to know the family we never knew we had.”

Marcus shifted slightly, standing up a bit straighter. “I think we would all like that very much,” he said stiffly, as if holding in strong emotion. “Very much indeed.”

Kathleen carefully placed the letters back into the shoebox and replaced the lid, letting her hand rest reverently upon it. “If you’re sure we would be welcome…”

Marcus smiled, there in the kitchen where their great-uncles had made so many memories together. He visibly relaxed as he walked forward and rested a few fingers on the shoebox beside her hand. “There’s no question,” he assured her gently. “As you said, you’re family.”

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Chapter Eight

Raise You Like A Phoenix.

***

Wearing our vintage misery,

No, I think it looked a little better on me,

I’m gonna change you like a remix,

Then I’ll raise you like a Phoenix.

***

U.S.S. Enterprise, on approach to Starbase 93.

Jallistra.

Watching the starbase on the viewscreen on the bridge filled Jallistra with relief, which was surprising, considering everything it represented. Sitting next to her was Thenn, who was scowling more than usual.

“Cheer up, Exec,” she said with a smile. “We got the bastards.”

“You mean we tricked them into leaving,” Thenn replied. “I wish I’d had the chance to get them back for this.”

He motioned to his antenna, which was still shorter than his other antenna, even with the accelerated regrowth that the Doctors had triggered.

“You still might, if we learn anything useful from the data Lorca tricked them into sending us,” Jallistra pointed out.

“Hm,” Thenn grunted, frowning.

“Coming into docking range,” West put in from his station. “Dock control has taken over.”

“Good,” Jallistra said, smiling. “Let's enjoy the ride, people. I think we’ve earned it.”

There were a fair few murmurs of agreement from around the bridge, and even Maria Doe smiled softly, in that mimicking way some Actualised did.

“Something about this still bothers me,” Thenn said quietly after a moment.

“What’s that, Exec?” Jallistra asked, looking at him.

“Lorca,” Thenn said. “How did he know Terran ‘Fleet regulations?”

Jallistra sighed. That was going to be a fun conversation, when she finally got around to having it. “I’ll tell you when we’ve dropped him off.” She gave him a smile. “Don’t want to risk some Admiral getting annoyed at me, after all.”

“Hm,” Thenn grunted again.

***

Lorca.

Dressed in the uniform Laurien had brought for him back on Erlös, Gabriel Lorca was drinking. He had almost nothing to pack, except the old blue uniform Jallistra - Alyn - had given him (which he’d packed more out of respect to the fact that it would have been rude to leave it here: besides, it was probably the most thoughtful gift he’d ever received). And so he found himself with yet another glass of the whiskey the replicator had spat out. Vile as it was, he felt like he needed it - he doubted prisoners would get many chances to drink anything alcoholic at all, even this swill.

Well, he thought, raising his glass, here’s to whatever this shitty future holds.

There came a chime at his door. He sighed, downing his drink in one.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened, and Jallistra stepped in. She smiled.

“Gabriel,” she said. “We’re coming up to Starbase 93 now.”

“Ah,” Lorca said with a smile. “My stop, right?”

“So it would seem,” Jallistra said. She sat on a chair opposite him. “I never got the opportunity to thank you for saving the ship.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lorca said, smirking. Jallistra gave him a withering glare, but the corners of her mouth turned up. “But you don’t need to thank me. It was nice to have people doing what I told ‘em to again.”

“I don’t think that was all of it, though, was it?” Jallistra asked him, her mouth still quirking into a smile. “You had some other motive.”

“Did I?” Lorca asked.

Alyn shook her head. “You like playing enigmatic, don’t you?”

“I prefer the word ‘mysterious’,” Lorca replied.

“I can tell,” Jallistra said with a derisive snort. “You dissemble, you answer questions with questions, and you act like you’ve got a big secret.”

“To be fair,” Lorca pointed out, “up until a few days ago - from my perspective, anyway - I did have a big secret.”

“Not anymore,” Jallistra replied. “You don’t have to hide anything.”

Lorca snorted, folding his arms. “I’m going to a prison cell, so -”

“Not necessarily,” Jallistra said. “There’s a whole host of things they might choose for you instead.”

Lorca scoffed. “Sure. They might get me telling ‘em what toilets were like in the distant past.”

Jallistra sighed. “You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t believe you can. There really are always possibilities.”

“I’m sure,” Lorca said dismissively.

Jallistra sighed. “Well, look. Whatever happens to you, I’m glad to have met you.” She smiled again. “Believe it or not, it’s helped me examine a few of my prejudices.”

“Oh, really?” Lorca said, raising both eyebrows. “What prejudices would those be?”

“About you,” Jallistra replied. “The world you came from, the people it makes. I think… I think that for anyone from my world to judge you by our standards… that’s our privilege showing.”

“Your privilege showing, huh?” Lorca repeated, chuckling. “That’s… certainly a unique way of looking at it.”

“It’s true,” Jallistra insisted. She leant forward. “Tell me something honestly: did you trust anyone in your world?”

One person, he thought almost immediately, but he didn’t say that. She was gone, after all.

“Exactly,” Jallistra said. “Paranoia, fear, hatred, that’s all there is in your world. And love, trust…”

“They go from being the things you look for to the things you never expect,” Lorca interrupted, his expression turning wistful, “and they’re all the more precious for it.”

Jallistra smiled, nodding in agreement. “That’s right.”

Lorca smiled, a real, genuine smile. Though he’d never sought it out, always preferring to dissemble in his universe and having had no choice but to do the same on Discovery, it was somehow nice to be, on some level, understood now.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Captain Jallistra,” he said, rising and extending his hand.

She mirrored his action, grasping his hand firmly. “And you, Captain Lorca.”

***

Waiting rooms never changed. Lorca didn’t know whether he found that comforting or not, but after the first hour or so, he figured ‘not’. After the second hour, he was irritated, and by the time the third had rolled around, he was debating with himself whether getting stabbed by Georgiou was preferable.

The only positive to this room was that it had a window to the interior of the space dock. There were all sorts of ships floating about. Some of them, he had to admit, were ugly - pointy things that had lost all semblance of the saucer-neck-nacelles design that Starfleet kept doing variations of. Others were more beautiful - he caught sight of the Enterprise herself, and found himself marvelling at the way the basic design echoed the Constitution classes of yore whilst still bringing something sleek and fresh to the configuration.

Unfortunately, Gabriel Lorca had never had the patience to be a shipspotter. After a little while, even the amusement of noting the changes in ship design in two and a half centuries had grown thin.

“Gabriel Lorca?” a voice asked.

Lorca turned in his seat, catching sight of a woman in a mostly black Starfleet uniform. The shoulders of the uniform jacket were white, and there was a scarlet stripe across the shoulders directly beneath the white panels. She was roughly Gabriel’s age (or physical age, at least), with short, neat hair and a wry smile on her face. Her rank insignia consisted of five golden pips across the shoulder.

“Hello there,” he said, rising. “I take it you’re the person I’m waiting for.”

“Lizbeth Hayne, Commodore,” the woman replied, extending her hand. “Apologies for the wait. Even in the 26th century, you would not believe the damn paperwork.”

Lorca took her hand: her grip was firm, with a steel that he found refreshing.

“Good to meet you, Commodore,” he said, with a smirk. “Provisionally.”

“Provisionally good?” Hayne said, quirking her eyebrow, her smile widening.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve got planned for me,” Lorca pointed out, folding his arms.

“True enough,” Hayne said, mirroring his posture. “I suppose that depends which Gabriel Lorca you are.”

Lorca quirked his eyebrows up. “You don’t know?”

She smiled, before lowering her arms, taking a small, boxxy device from her belt and scanning him.

“I do now,” she said, smiling at him. “So tell me: just what is it like to travel using mushrooms?”

Lorca blinked. “You mean you don’t have that now?”

“No,” Hayne said, chuckling. “The displacement-activated spore hub drive was never implemented fleet-wide.” She paused, thinking her next words over carefully. “Too many… issues.”

“Huh.” Turns out Mr Stamets was a failed fungus expert after all. “Surprising.”

Hayne just smiled. “So. If you’d like to follow me: some Starfleet officers have… questions to ask you.”

“Figured as much,” Lorca said, sighing. “May have cheated him for two hundred years but everyone pays the piper in the end, right?”

She still just smiled, and walked off, leaving Lorca to follow.

***

There were three Admirals and Hayne. One of the Admirals was an irritable looking Vulcan whose expression reminded Lorca so much of Terral that he would have been tempted to ask if they were related if they actually looked anything alike. The one in the centre was an Andorian man with a permanent scowl etched onto his face. The last was a woman with pale skin, brown eyes, greying hair and the barest hint of what might have been Klingon forehead ridges.

“Captain Gabriel Lorca,” this woman began. “Late of the starship U.S.S. Discovery. Is this correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorca replied easily.

“And also an imposter from the so-called ‘Mirror’ universe,” the Vulcan added.

“Now, now,” the woman admonished. “Captain Lorca has the right to know who’s presiding over his trial.”

I think I had the right to know this was a trial, Lorca thought, his eyebrows meeting his hairline.

“I am Va’kor Shon,” the Andorian said without preamble. “Starfleet tactical.”

“Kathryn Paris, exploration and science,” the woman at the far end said.

“Admiral Shunak,” the Vulcan added tersely. “Operations.”

“Nice to know,” Lorca said. “I suppose you all know who I am.”

“Flippancy will not serve you, Mr Lorca,” Shunak said. Lorca felt his smirk drop from his face like a stone. “Impersonating a Starfleet officer is a very serious offence. Even given the length of time it has been, you may be facing a severe sentence.”

Lorca nodded once. Jail cell it is, then. “I understand, Admiral.”

“I hope that you do,” Shunak said, almost frowning. “We have a few questions regarding your actions as the commanding officer of the U.S.S. Discovery.”

Lorca nodded again. “I figured you would, sir.” Always best to be politik. Might just strip me of my rank if I play my cards right. “I’ll answer your questions as best I can.”

“Let’s begin with the obvious,” Shon began. “When did you take your counterpart’s place?”

“Immediately before the destruction of the U.S.S. Buran, Admiral,” Lorca replied at once. He cast his mind back, thinking of the confusion - finding himself in an unfamiliar uniform, surrounded by people who at once were and were not his officers. “There were three Klingon vessels surrounding the ship and boarding it. I was… confused. Uncertain.”

“You were the one who ordered the Buran to self-destruct?” Paris asked.

“I did, ma’am,” Lorca confirmed tersely.

He frowned, remembering the cacophony of shouting, phaser fire and other chaos around him. He looked at one hand, and for a moment he thought it had blood on it. He closed his eyes.

“Captain, what do we do?!”

“Engineering reports multiple boarders, sir, they can’t hold out!”

“The XO is down!”

“They overran our checkpoints at Deck Four!”

“What do we do?! WHAT DO WE DO?!”

“Why?” Shunak asked, and Lorca opened his eyes, surprised to find them watering ever so slightly. “To conceal that you were not the Captain they knew?”

“No, Admiral,” Lorca said honestly, scowling. He brought a hand up to wipe his left eye, staring at the tear absently. Didn’t know I had any left for the Buran. “I didn’t have time to consider that. I was beamed back to the Buran during a stressful situation.” Understatement, Gabriel. “I just did the best I could.”

Shon leant forward. “Did the crew not realise that you weren’t their Captain?”

Lorca laughed out loud. Shunak raised an eyebrow and even Paris looked less-than-impressed, but at that moment Lorca didn’t really care.

“By the time I beamed aboard,” he said, speaking slowly and carefully, “the one hundred and forty man crew of the Buran had been reduced to sixty five. There were over a hundred Klingons aboard, fighting my crew…” He trailed off, sighing. “Fighting the crew deck by deck.” He swallowed. “There was no time for them to make that judgement. And anything I did that seemed out of the ordinary probably slipped by them due to the situation.”

“And so you decided to destroy them to prevent that from happening?” Shunak suggested.

“I decided to destroy the Buran because it was the best out of a pretty piss-poor selection of options,” Lorca corrected, not caring that his curse elicited a wince from Paris or another raised eyebrow from Shunak. “I appraised the tactical situation. I reasoned that there was no escape. And so I decided to self-destruct the ship.”

“But you didn’t allow the crew to escape to the escape pods,” Paris put in. She picked up a PADD and went over some of its contents. “According to your own report, you were the only one to escape.”

Lorca nodded. “That’s correct, Admiral. Standard Imperial policy. A commanding officer must always survive to account for his failures.” He swallowed, remembering more than a few times that he’d accounted for failures in the field. He still had the scars from one or two moments. “I tried to get other members of the crew on the pod with me, but the Klingons were all over the ship. They…” He sighed. “They didn’t make it to the pod.”

“You expect us to believe,” Shon put in, “that the only reason you survived was because you expected to be punished and actively sought that punishment.”

Lorca narrowed his eyes at the Andorian: the same look that used to terrify the junior officers on Discovery. “With the greatest of respect, Admiral, I accounted for all of this when I gave my report to Starfleet back in 2256.”

Shon seemed unaffected by the glare. Instead, he gave a small, vicious smile. “With the greatest of respect, Mr Lorca, you were lying then and for all we know you’re lying now.”

“Then pump me full of Veritrax 12 and get the truth out of me, Admiral,” Lorca snapped. “I didn’t lie then when I told the inquiry board I had no choice but to destroy that ship. I consider it a mercy that I killed those officers, rather than let them be captured.”

Paris took a breath and let it out loudly enough that all the eyes on the room turned to her. She smiled at Lorca.

“Let’s discuss something else,” she said calmly. “I would like to know how long you planned to return to your dimension.”

Lorca nodded slowly. “Truth be told, it was only when I started studying the navigational data from the spore jumps that I started considering it.” Shon snorted derisively, and Lorca threw him a glare. “Up until then, Admirals, I didn’t see how I could return.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Shon asked.

“The offer of pumping me full of Veritrax stands, Admiral,” Lorca said icily.

“So you were content to live your counterpart’s life?” Paris asked diplomatically.

“I was content to be commanding a starship in a war, in the sort of situation that I felt I excelled at, Admiral,” Lorca replied stiffly. “I’ve always prided myself on doing a damn good job, whether as an officer of the Terran Starfleet or as a Captain in your Starfleet.”

“And no one suspected that you were not your counterpart?” Shunak asked.

“Thinking a man’s suddenly turned into a completely different man who looks just like the man he was isn’t exactly high on anyone’s thought processes,” Lorca pointed out with a smirk. At the deadpan expressions on the three Admiral’s faces, his smirk disappeared. “Or at least, it wasn’t then. Everyone my counterpart knew just assumed it was the war. Most of the people he’d been close with were on the Buran anyway.”

“Convenient for you, Mr Lorca,” Shon said.

“Not the most convenient thing, sir,” Lorca replied blithely. “Actually, the most convenient thing was how similar I found my counterpart and I to be.”

“Come again, Mr Lorca?” Shunak said.

Lorca gave him the most condescending smile he dared. “To wit, Admiral, I read my counterpart’s logs and found that I didn’t disagree with the vast majority of his decisions, when I matched them to the context of the rules and regs he followed. He was a maverick, a risk-taker, he developed similar relationships with several officers to me - notably Ellen Landry, who’d served with him before transferring to Discovery as chief security officer. We also had similar tastes in things like drinks, food habits… fortune cookies.”

At Shunak and Shon’s blank expressions, Admiral Paris chuckled. “An ancient Earth confection - a baked one, with a piece of paper hidden within that contains a ‘fortune’, supposedly meant to inform you about future happenings or advise on your current situations.”

I’ve never heard anyone make a fortune cookie sound boring before, Lorca thought glibly.

“I can see how superficial similarities might make your impersonation easier,” Shunak said stiffly. “One wonders if your motivations were similarly alike.”

“My counterpart and I shared a desire to do a damn good job, sir,” Lorca replied, smirking again. “I figured, ‘why not try and make a good thing out of a bad situation?’”

“Your service record aboard Discovery is certainly testament to an aptitude for wartime duty,” Paris said evenly. She picked up her PADD again. “Corvan II, Benzar, the Gagarin, Pahvo…” She paused. “Some of your orders have been a source of some debate in the leadup to this hearing.”

“Is that so?” Lorca asked, his eyebrows once again meeting his hairline.

Shunak picked up his own PADD and looked through its contents. “During the engagement where the Gagarin was destroyed, you ordered Lieutenant Keyla Detmer to place the Discovery between the Klingon attackers and the Gagarin.”

Lorca nodded again: he remembered that moment well. Detmer’s slight hesitation, Rhys’ less than stellar reaction time, Owosekun’s panicked cries as the shields went lower and lower…

“Why?” Shon asked. “Why risk your ship and your crew? By then, surely you must have known you could return to your own reality.”

He had, in point of fact: he had gone through his calculations, determined how long it would take to figure out a perfect roadmap back to his home dimension… so why, then, had he risked everything on an engagement that, surely, he knew was doomed?

“Was T’shen Kovil your friend?” Shon continued.

That was a joke, and Lorca gave a rueful smile. I never even knew the man. T’shen Kovil had been some unremarkable man, obviously skilled enough to get a Shepard-class Starship to command, but clearly not impressive enough to be on anyone’s radar.

“I risked my ship,” he finally said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “because it was the right thing to do. Because it was the only way I could see to protect the Gagarin. Because the Gagarin was full of Starfleet brothers and sisters, whether they were my Starfleet or not.” And they were: they didn’t wear the badge of the Empire, but they fought for what they believed in. They were my brothers and sisters. “I would have died to protect any of them.”

He let that sentiment sink in, and noted with no small satisfaction that Paris and Shon both looked - there was no other word for it - impressed.

“Very well, Mr Lorca,” Shunak said after a moment, and Lorca sighed inwardly at the impassive tone of voice. “Shall we continue?”

***

Lizbeth Hayne.

“The Gagarin was full of Starfleet brothers and sisters, whether they were my Starfleet or not.”

Had he known he was echoing Michael Burnham, Gabriel Lorca might have rephrased his sentiment, but perhaps it was just as well for him that he hadn’t known and hadn’t rephrased. The emotive language had no sway on Shunak, but Shon and Paris had both been impressed enough to vote against him… and in favour of Hayne’s preference.

“You’re sure that he won’t bolt?” Shon asked as a final parting from Hayne’s office.

“I’m not sure about anything, Admiral,” Hayne replied evenly. “But that just means I’m prepared for everything.”

Shon left it there, walking out of the room without another word, and leaving just Kathryn Paris and Hayne alone in the latter’s office. Paris let out a whistle.

“Well, he’s certainly… interesting,” the Admiral said, leaning on the desk. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I picked nothing,” Hayne said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I didn’t even know which Lorca we’d get.”

“Bull,” Paris snorted. “You knew we’d get this one. Captain Lorca of the Buran was never going to magically appear after centuries.”

“Neither was Lorca of Discovery,” Hayne retorted, though privately she agreed. Their universe’s own Lorca had vanished forever, most likely blown to pieces along with the I.S.S. Buran in the Mirror Universe. “And yet.”

“And yet,” Paris agreed, sighing. “I have to say, off the record, I am still very dubious about all of this.”

“I know what you mean,” Hayne said, smirking. “Here’s a man who commanded a Federation starship, saved Federation lives, and then betrayed her crew and risked their lives so he could lead a coup.” She paused, before tapping a control on her computer. “I want you to watch this.”

She brought up a picture: Gabriel Lorca, his face covered in blood, a smile on his face.

“Saru. It's good to see you,” he said, seeming to stare out at the two women. “I'm glad I got a chance to say good-bye to you, and the rest of the crew. I want you to know that my admiration for you was and is sincere.” Paris quirked her eyebrows at that. “When I look at you, I see the formidable unit of soldiers that I sculpted. If I thought for a second that any of you were capable of relinquishing this cult-like devotion to the Federation, I'd enlist your skills today.”

“We are not interested in your sentiments,” a new voice said, but Hayne cut it off before it could continue.

“They felt betrayed,” Paris said quietly. “Who can blame them?”

“It reads like that from their reports, too,” Hayne said quietly. “What do you think of what he said?”

“Which part?” Paris replied, smiling wryly. “‘Cult-like devotion’ is an accusation plenty of people throw at Starfleet officers.”

“And sometimes, history proves them right,” Hayne reminded her. “I’m more interested in his expression of admiration.”

“You mean, was it genuine?” Paris asked. Hayne nodded, and Paris took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Honestly, barring a mind meld or a Betazoid, I don’t think we’ll ever know. Maybe it was. Maybe it was manipulation. We can’t be sure yet.” She smiled. “We could always do as he suggested and pump him full of Veritrax.”

Paris snorted. “I might take you up on that.” She paused. “So. When are you going to tell him?”

“In an hour, once Alpha-32 arrives,” Hayne said. “She says she’s looking forward to meeting him.”

“In as much as an Artie can look forward to anything,” Paris said derisively. She held up her hands in an apologetic gesture as Hayne turned a stern expression on her. “I know, I know, they don’t like ‘Artie’…”

“I’m surprised at you, using outdated terminology like that,” Hayne said honestly.

“Says the woman planning on employing an outdated officer,” Paris pointed out. “Anyway, some habits die hard.”

“We’d better hope some of Lorca’s habits die easier,” Hayne said with a smirk. “Or we’re gonna be straight up screwed.”

***

Lorca.

At some point, Lorca knew, he would go insane in this Goddamn waiting room. He was at least partially sure it was a tactic designed to wear him down.

Clever, he thought absently.

He had taken to reading up more on history with his PADD. Alien races were an interesting one - there were a few first contacts the Federation had made that were of no surprise to him, such as the Bajorans and Cardassians, but there were some names he didn’t know. He was about to click on ‘The Borg’ when the door to the waiting room opened, and Hayne stepped through, smiling.

“Captain Lorca,” she said, smiling. “I hope the wait hasn’t been too excruciating this time.”

He simply smiled: no sense letting on how frustrated he was.

“Just been catching up on history,” he said, brandishing the PADD. “Pretty interesting stuff.”

“That’s good to hear,” Hayne said. She took a breath, letting the anticipation build for a moment in a way Lorca might almost admire. “I’ve been speaking with the Admirals, and they’ve agreed to go with my recommendation for your fate.”

Lorca quirked his lips in an almost-smirk. “Which is?”

“That you be given a command and put to use,” Hayne replied, smiling. “Suffice it to say, Captain, there are no ‘free rides’ in our fleet.”

Lorca almost laughed at that, the echo of his own words to Michael so long ago tickling him, at least until he remembered Michael’s last expression.

“You’ve got practical skills,” Hayne continued, not noticing or caring about his thoughts, “and we intend to put them to good use.”

Lorca blinked, surprised. “My ‘skills’ are two centuries out of date.”

“Space hasn’t magically stopped being space, Captain,” Hayne said, folding her arms. “We’re not asking a sailor to fly a starship, we’re asking a Captain to be a Captain.”

Lorca digested that for a moment. “What ship?”

Hayne smiled. “An old Exeter-class ship they were going to decommission, at least before I made a case to keep her on. Based loosely on the Constitution-class you’d be familiar with. We can have her optimised for your preferences - even pick a new name for her, if you like.”

Now that all sounded very enticing. “What’s the catch?”

“Reporting to me, doing the missions I tell you, and letting me pick the majority of your crew,” Hayne said at once, still smiling. “But you’ll find me a lenient taskmaster with a lot of ‘fly without portfolio’ missions on my books for a Captain that puts me in a good mood, and I don’t pick dud officers.”

Lorca nodded slowly. He preferred picking his own crew - always had - but he could sacrifice that for now if it meant some measure of freedom.

“I assume it’s this or a penal colony,” he said flippantly.

“I happen to know that Admiral Shunak was sizing up a lovely cell in New Zealand,” Hayne said glibly. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Not at all, Commodore,” Lorca said with a grin. “I’ll take the command.”

“Excellent,” Hayne said. “One more thing: I’ve a candidate for your XO that I think you’ll want to meet before you see your ship.”

Lorca folded his arms. “Alright?”

Hayne smiled, before tapping her combadge. “Commander Alpha-32, please come in.”

A moment later, a woman entered the waiting room. She wore the same red uniform Commander Thenn had on Enterprise, with three shiny gold pips pinned to her collar. Her skin was dark, with neatly combed, nearly-black hair. She had a neutral expression on her face as she came to stand in front of Lorca, her hands folded crisply behind her back.

“Captain Lorca, sir,” she said, her tone formal and polite. “It is good to finally meet you.”

Lorca’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at the officer in astonishment.

She was the spitting image of Michael Burnham.

***

A:N: Yeah, this was a plot twist I couldn’t resist.

[mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes]

Love Me Like You Do: 2

Summary: Cordelia loves working for Josh Brolin. He’s kind, generous and a great boss. She feels like a part of the family. Her dating life, on the other hand, sucks. She’s about to give up when Josh and his wife, Kathryn, take matters into their own hands. 

Word Count: 2026

Warnings: Swearing, Smut eventually.

A/N: I’m on a roll with these parts, I’m just sayin. Lemme know what you think! Shout out to @daddycable-pool for helping me edit these parts! <3

Previous Chapter

I turned towards my full-length mirror and gave myself yet another look over. I still couldn’t believe that I was going through with this. It was absurd, going on a blind date that my boss had set up at an expensive, high-class restaurant. I wasn’t the kind of person that dined at restaurants that served wine that cost more than my rent or wearing a dress that would have cost me an entire paycheck if Josh hadn’t insisted I use his credit card to ‘get something nice’, as he put it.

As I looked myself over, I did have to admit that I looked good. The dress was a beautiful floor length burgundy, with a slit on the right that reached mid-thigh. The top dipped low, showing off a tasteful amount of cleavage and the halter top straps left my upper back exposed. The black heels I was wearing were simple and not too high, making my legs look pretty damn good. I was never one for excessive makeup, so I kept to that. Foundation, a bit of eyeliner and mascara, and my lips painted the same color as the dress. I lightly curled my hair so it fell in soft waves down my back and as I turned and checked my appearance once more, I felt…. elegant and beautiful. I took a deep, steadying breath.

“You can do this. It’s just a date. Everything’s going to be fine,” I said to myself, gathering my clutch and keys before heading to my car.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” I muttered under my breath as I stood in front of the restaurant. It was beautiful and entirely too fancy for my liking. I felt like I stuck out like a sore thumb. Like all these people could tell that I was just a personal assistant, that I wasn’t filthy rich like the rest of them, and that I didn’t really belong. I mentally shook my head. Get it together, Cordelia. They don’t know you. They’re not even paying you any attention. Head high, back straight, let’s go.

After my mental preparation, I walked through the doors of the restaurant, my head held high. The hostess smiled warmly at me as I approached.

“Good evening and welcome. Do you have a reservation?” she asked politely.

“Yes, it should be under the name Brolin,” I said, waiting as she looked down at her book, scanning the names.

“Ah, yes, a table for two, correct?” she asked. I nodded and she grabbed two menus and smiled. “If you’ll follow me, ma’am,” And so, I did.

She led me through the restaurant and to my surprise, into a smaller, private room in the back. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, Josh would give us a private room. It was actually quite beautiful. It was dim, giving it a romantic and comfortable feel, and one wall was entirely windows, giving a beautiful view of the city. A small, intimate table was set up, beautiful glassware adorning it and a small vase with half a dozen roses sat in the center. There were two seats, and I noticed that my date had not yet arrived.

“Here you are, ma’am,” the hostess said, placing the menus down and motioning for me to sit. I pulled out the chair facing away from the door and thanked her. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said, earning another smile before she walked away. I let loose a heavy sigh, crossing my legs under the table. There was calming classical music playing in the background and I smiled softly, letting the music relax me. My phone dinged, signaling a text message and I rolled my eyes, knowing who it was before I even looked.

Josh: Don’t have too much fun 😉

I fought the urge to stick my tongue out at the inanimate object. Instead, I turned my phone off, shoving it back in my clutch, a small smile tugging at my lips. I glanced around the room again before picking up the glass of water and the wine list, taking a sip as I looked over the selection. I nearly choked on my water as I looked at the prices.

“Fucking hell,” I cursed, putting the list back down like it had burned me.

“Such colorful language coming from a lady,” A deep, accented voice said to my left. I yelped, jumping slightly, my face heating up in embarrassment.

“Jesus, cough or something next time. I about had a heart attack,” I jokingly scolded as I put my hand on my chest as if it would help calm my racing heart. A chuckle was all I got in response and I finally looked up at my date for the evening. I don’t know how it was possible, but my heart raced, even more, when I realized that I was face to face with Benicio del Toro. I sat there, frozen as he smiled and reached down to take my left hand in his.

“It seems I’m your date for this evening. My name is Benicio.” He said, bringing my hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. I swallowed nervously and took a breath to steady my racing heart.

“Cordelia. It’s nice to meet you,” I said, my voice far steadier than I felt. He smiled even wider, letting go of my hand and taking the seat across from me.

“That’s a beautiful name. Not something you hear very often.”

“My mother wanted something different. It means ‘heart of the sea’. She was a marine biologist and loved the ocean more than anything. Plus, she always told me that I had a spirit as wild, untamable and as strong as the ocean. Which was her fancy way of saying I was a pain in the ass,” I rambled, stopping when I realized that I’d just said entirely too much at once. He laughed and my mouth dried at the sight. It was beautiful. His eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched slightly when he laughed and it had to be the most glorious thing I’d ever seen.

“Well, I look forward to getting to know you to see if that’s true,” He said playfully and I couldn’t help but giggle. “I apologize for being late. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” I shook my head.

“I got here a few minutes ago,” I told him as he reached for the wine list.

“Do you prefer red or white?” he asked as his eyes skimmed the selection. My face burned as I recalled the prices. There was no way I could afford anything on that list.

“Uh-I’m not particularly picky,” I stammered and he glanced up at me. He noticed my red face and smiled softly.

“Red it is then. It will go well with pretty much everything on the menu,” He said matter-of-factly. All I could do was nod and pick up the menu, nearly choking at the prices there too.

“So, Cordelia,” He said, placing the wine list on the table. “How do you know Josh?”

“I’m his personal assistant. I answer his emails, coordinate his press tours and appearances, and anything else he or Kathryn need,” I said, glancing up from my menu to meet his intense stare. His dark eyes were piercing and he watched me with such intensity that my whole body tingled. My skin felt too tight and my blood seemed to warm as his eyes traced over my face, lingering on my lips slightly. I shifted in my seat, trying to subtly rub my thighs together to relieve the sudden ache between them.

“How long have you worked for him?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew what his attention was doing to me.

“Five long years,” I said jokingly earning a chuckle from him.

“How is it that we’ve never met? I’ve worked with Josh numerous times in the last five years, and yet I’m certain I’ve never seen you before,” His gaze roamed my face, then flickered to my chest and back up. I was going to pass out. Benicio del Toro was eating me alive with his eyes and my entire body hummed in response. Pull it together, Cori.

“I like to be behind the scenes. When I first started working for him, I went with him one day while he was working on Gangster Squad. I’d only been working for him for about a month at that point. He immediately introduced me to Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone and I was so nervous and excited that I nearly passed out. He, of course, thought it was hilarious. Haven’t been to a set since,” I couldn’t help but giggle when Benicio laughed, genuinely laughed, and the sound was like music to my ears.

“I’m sure he means well,” He said, a smile still gracing his face.

“I know he does. He just likes to fuck with me. But he gets it right back so it’s not so bad,” I said smugly, smiling as I thought back to the many times we’d had prank offs. “He desperately tried to get me to go to the Sicario set. Threatened to drag me at one point. He didn’t win that battle, but he tried his hardest.”

“And why didn’t you want to go to the Sicario set?” he asked, leaning forward with his forearms on the table. He was close enough that I could smell his cologne, a woodsy, leathery smell mixed with a scent that was distinctly him. My head swam, the smell damn near intoxicating. I swallowed thickly, my mouth suddenly very dry.

“I-I’m- I mean-,” I stammered and his smirk only grew. “Fine, I’m a fan, ok? And Josh knows that. I wouldn’t go to either Sicario set, so clearly the rational thing is to set me up on a date with one of my favorite actors, just so he can have the satisfaction of me making a complete idiot out of myself,” I said in one breath, my face hot with embarrassment. Benicio watched me, that stupid sexy smirk on his face still.

“You think Josh set us up to embarrass you?” he asked after a moment and I shrugged, casting my gaze down at my plate. This is absolutely mortifying, and he’s a dead man when he gets back. My eyes snapped up when he stood, sliding his chair so it was directly next to me, then sat back down. He took both of my hands in his and my heart pounded in my chest. He was so close that I felt like I was high, my head swimming and my entire body humming at his proximity.

“I don’t think you’re making an idiot out of yourself. I find it quite cute, if I’m being honest,” My cheeks burned at that. “And if he’s messing with anyone, it’s me.”

“What?” I asked in disbelief.

“You’re young. I don’t know what he was thinking, setting up someone as beautiful as you with an old man like me,” He said, a smile tugging at his lips and I breathed a laugh, looking down at my hands in his. “I don’t care what his reasons were for setting us up. You’re funny, apparently very stubborn, and you’re…stunning. I’d like to continue the date if you’re up for it.”

I searched his face for any signs that he was lying and found none. God, he was even more beautiful up close. I studied him for a moment, taking in his slightly disheveled but somehow perfect hair, the neatly trimmed goatee, the faintest hint of stubble on the rest of his face, and his eyes. They were hypnotizing and dark and just as heart-achingly beautiful as the rest of him.

“I’d love to,” I whispered finally and the answering smile I received made my breath hitch. He kissed my hand once more before picking up his menu, keeping his seat close enough to me that our thighs touched under the table. I let loose a shaky breath. I was in some deep shit already.

Next Chapter

@daddycable-pool @taneleertivan-thecollector @this-is-mysuperwholockd-design @nat-1-2

[lilacmoon83]

Clarity

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 14: Sparks Fly, Pt 1

David winced, as Snow helped him gently put his shirt on and then began buttoning it. He smiled at her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She looked up at him and their lips met in a passionate kiss. Snow mewled into his kiss, as she slipped her arms around his neck. He cradled her head and moved his lips over hers, deepening their kiss and she felt her knees almost give out. He usually had that effect on her, but always held her up and kept her from falling. Their bliss was interrupted by someone clearing their throat and she was almost lightheaded, in a good way, as their lips parted.

"I have your discharge papers," Whale said sourly.

"Thanks," David said, not even hiding his smugness, as Snow cuddled against him.

"You'll want to keep the bandage on the wound for a few days. You can bathe, but be careful not to get it too wet for a while. The stitches are dissolvable, so you won't need to come back unless you notice any swelling or the pain doesn't subside within a week or so," he advised, as he scribbled on David's chart.

"Did you change his emergency contact information?" Snow asked, as he looked up.

"Yes...the nurse took care of that," he replied, as he watched him kiss her hair.

"Anything else?" David asked.

"No...you're free to go, but I hope you know that you need to refrain from any vigorous activity for a while until that wound heals a bit," Whale replied. David smirked.

"Yeah...you'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said, as they walked out of the room, arms around each other, and headed for the elevator.

"He doesn't look happy about you possibly disobeying his orders," she mentioned, as they got into the elevator.

"Yeah...that's not why he's pissed," David said.

"Why do you say that?" she asked, as the elevator door closed.

"He's pissed because you're with me and not him," he replied. But she shook her head, as she hooked her hand on his elbow.

"I doubt that...Whale has a reputation. I was just another notch on his bedpost," she said sourly.

"I'm sure that's what he tells people, which infuriates me, but I don't think so," he replied. She cocked her head to the side.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I know what it's like to be with you. It's not something you forget and it's not something you want to lose...ever," he replied simply, which made her blush.

"Charming…" she murmured, as she leaned her head against his arm. He could still give her butterflies in her stomach. He smiled and kissed her tenderly, as the elevator door opened into the first floor lobby of the hospital. People gawked at them, as they walked toward the exit, arms around each other, but neither noticed.

"Let's go home…" he whispered to her. She smiled.

"Let's...but you know we really can't do anything yet," she whispered back. He smirked.

"I've had worse than this and we managed," he reminded her. She grinned.

"We did...didn't we?" she realized, as they hurried to her car.

~*~

Neal rolled over in bed and found Tamara's side empty. She wasn't far though, as she came back into the room with coffee and donuts.

"Morning…I went to that little bakery down the street. The bagels didn't look at all like New York bagels though, so I opted for the donuts," she replied. He smirked.

"Yeah...you're not going to find good bagels here," he said, as he took a sip of the coffee and checked his phone. He smiled, as he saw texts from Henry.

"So...when do I get to meet your son?" she asked.

"Uh...well, he's in school right now, but maybe we can meet him after. His adoptive mom is doing her best to keep him away from us, but Dad says he's going to file an emergency injunction this morning," Neal replied.

"For what exactly?" she asked.

"Well...the custody battle might take months and will get ugly. He thinks it's unfair that Emma and I don't even have visitation in the interim, so he's going to argue before the judge today," he replied.

"That's great...you better get cleaned up and I hope you'll let me go with you," she said.

"Sure…" he replied, as he saw her reading the paper.

"If you're looking for Pulitzer type journalism in that paper...you're going to be disappointed," he warned with a snort.

"Yeah, most of it is pretty bland, but there is one story here that is fascinating. By August W. Booth," she said. He paused on his way to the bathroom at that and took the paper from her.

"What? Do you know him?" she asked, as he skimmed the story.

"Uh no...just sounds like a new guy," he lied.

"Do you really think the Mayor and this other woman lied and forged a marriage certificate for a comatose patient to keep him away from this other woman...Mary Margaret? It sounds like daytime soap opera stuff," she scoffed.

"It does...but Mary Margaret was Henry's teacher, until Regina got her fired. Henry loves her and she and David are really good people. Regina on the other hand...the woman we're going to be fighting in court, is as vengeful as they come," Neal replied.

"I wonder what Mary Margaret did to piss Regina off so much," Tamara asked curiously.

"I don't know...but I guarantee it was nothing that warrants anything she's done," he said, as he went into the bathroom to clean up. Tamara smirked and kept reading. She dialed a number.

"There's an event coming up...it's called Miner's Day. It looks like a big deal and most of the town will be gathered in one place," she reported, before hanging up and she went back to waiting on Neal.

~*~

Regina stormed into the courthouse and into Albert Spencer's office. She slapped the court papers down on his desk and looked at him.

"Care to tell me how the hell you're allowing this to happen?" she hissed, as he looked at the order.

"Contrary to popular belief and much to my own dismay, I don't control everything that goes on in the judicial system in this town," he said.

"Mr. Gold filed the correct paperwork and now a Judge will hear the case," he added.

"Then you had better be good at what you do and convince the Judge to rule in my favor," she hissed.

"I will do my best, but that's only part of your problem," Spencer replied.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"I was about to send the courier over with the order, but since you're here, I'll serve you myself," he replied, as he handed another order to her.

"What is this?" she asked, as she looked through it.

"Mr. Gold has filed an emergency injunction on behalf of your son's biological parents," he explained. Her eyes widened.

"On custody?" she asked. He nodded.

"He's arguing that they should be granted some sort of visitation in the interim before the custody proceedings begin," he replied.

"This is unacceptable! He is my son!" she shouted.

"He is theirs too, unfortunately and the father didn't know about him. I don't think I have to tell you that biological parents carry a lot of weight in the courts," he said.

"Then you had better fix this! Talk to the Judge and make sure he knows what is in it for him if he does the right thing and rules in my favor," she replied.

"Don't you think I tried that already?" he asked irritably.

"What did he say?" she asked.

"He won't even take my call. His assistant said that he had taken Mr. Gold's suggestion and sequestered himself until the hearing this afternoon. Looks like he is more afraid of Gold than of us," he replied. She clenched her teeth.

"For now…" she fumed. If she ended up having to share custody of Henry with Emma and Neal...then she would have to take drastic measures.

~*~

The curtain was pulled around the bed and the blinds were closed to squelch the daylight, as they made good use of their alone time. Despite his tender wound, they had indeed managed to satisfy their need for intimacy. Clothes were scattered around the bedroom and they were bare, entwined together. She was straddled across him, as he was gently propped up on the pillows, joined as one, moving gently together. Lips met again and again, with moans and mewls escaping now and then, as a vocal declaration of their pleasure. She collapsed gently beside him and rested her head against his chest, as they came down and caught their breath.

"Told you we'd manage," he murmured to her, before pressing a kiss to her hair. She smiled up at him.

"You did...and I think that was a little more than managing," she said, in a dreamy tone, as they cuddled.

"Then I was on my game," he said, with a chuckle.

"You're never not on your game, my love...but now I'm starving," she replied.

"Me too...I'm on the pancakes," he said, as he got up and slipped into a pair of sleep pants.

"You're supposed to be resting," she said, as she sat up and pulled the sheet over her unclothed body.

"I can handle making us some pancakes," he said, as he pecked her on the lips. She smiled and watched him go into the kitchen, before she fished his shirt from the floor and her underwear. She went to the door and picked up the rolled newspaper that was there and brought it inside, before setting it on the table. She started some coffee and then sat down at the table, while he mixed the batter.

"Oh my God…" she said, as he looked up at her.

"What is it?" he asked.

"This story...someone wrote a story about us," she replied. He rolled his eyes.

"Great...more lies about our torrid "affair"," he complained.

"No, it's not that...someone wrote a story about how Regina and Kathryn came up with a phony marriage certificate to keep us apart, because of Regina's hatred of me," she replied.

"That sounds pretty close to the truth...so what's it doing in that newspaper?" he asked, as he read the byline.

"August W. Booth?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I have no idea who that is...or who he was back in our land. But I think we need to meet him," she replied. He nodded.

"Agreed. Just another adventure for us," he said, as he kissed her cheek. She smiled and went to pour the coffee, while he made the pancakes.

~*~

Kathryn didn't at all like the stares she was receiving that morning, as she walked into the diner. She tried to ignore the whispers and looks, as she approached the counter. Was Regina right? Had Mary Margaret helped facilitate this story to get the attention and hatred off her? It had certainly seemed to work by the cold look Granny was giving her.

"Can...can I get a cappuccino to go?" she asked.

"Coming right up," Granny replied. So she was still serving her, which hopefully meant she wasn't sure whether to believe the story or not.

"Thanks," Kathryn said, as she placed the cup in front of her.

"Don't thank me...I'm still serving you, because I know how intimidating the Mayor is, but you didn't have to go along with it," Granny replied.

"I...I didn't. That article is a lie. David was my husband," Kathryn argued.

"That reporter says the marriage license was forged. He says he had it authenticated and it came back as a forgery," Granny said, citing the article.

"Well...he's lying! Mary Margaret is a tramp and she stole my husband," Kathryn replied, as she grabbed her cup and stormed out of the diner. Regina was right...and she was going to confront the little homewrecker herself...

[moon--melon]

ADWM - Further Analysis - (More Questions and Theories)

I rewatched "A Date with Markiplier", and it just got me thinking again.

Here, I'll simply be going over some unanswered questions of mine, and suggesting interesting theories (please note that the majority of this post is simply unorganized observations. There's not just one point to this). This post gets pretty long, so click "Keep Reading" and hop aboard! Enjoy.

@markiplier @mayor-damien-protection-squad​ @colonel-william-protection-army

ADWM = "A Date with Markiplier"

WKM = "Who Killed Markiplier?"

(Y/N) = "Your Name" (the self-insertion character in ADWM)

DA = "District Attorney" (the self-insertion character in WKM)

We have a lot to cover here, so let's just start with the basics. Let's go over some theories and questions that will be discussed in this post.

-The Mark we see in ADWM is the same Mark we see in WKM.

-The Chef and the Butler in WKM are the Chef and the Waiter in ADWM.

-The (Y/N) in ADWM is NOT the same (Y/N) in WKM.

-Why does Dark and Wilford recognize the viewer?

-Why does Mark act so weird when we first meet up at the date?

So let's start off with the first theory: Actor/Asshole Mark (from WKM) is the exact same Mark we see in ADWM.

This theory is very easy to agree with, but nonetheless, I've gathered some proof. (Bolded sentences will be summaries of the paragraphs)

-He used to be a great and famous actor. In the Meta Ending, it is shown that these series of videos are all just an act, and Mark is actually a huge asshole to his TV/movie crew (that covers both the asshole, and actor aspect of the Mark from WKM). At 0:39, Mark says: "I use to be somebody. Maybe not something good, but I was somebody---who worked on great projects!". This quote implies that, while he was disliked, he was still a great actor who worked on "great projects". Later on in the video, he reiterates by saying: "I used to be somebody... I used to be a star---". Lastly, in "ROMANCE" and "THE DARK MARK", he said that he considered himself to be a "patron of the arts". All of these are clear evidence that he used to be a rich and famous actor, which is EXACTLY what he was in WKM.

-Money is a big thing for him. He clearly doesn't have much of it, and he's very greedy either way. Obviously in the beginning, he loses his wallet, and you either have to pay, or suffer the consequences when you don't pay. Later on in the video "DON'T ATTACK", it's discovered that Mark DID actually have his wallet! Although, If you DO pay, Mark offers to buy snacks for the show, ...but he awkwardly clears his throat and walks away, implying that he..."misplaced" his wallet. AND FINALLY! When he proposes and you say "NO", he awkwardly confesses to the ordained Elvis-impressionist that he couldn't afford anything anyway. If you need any more evidence that Mark is a cheapskate, just watch the "PBJ Blues" ending, where the narrator LITERALLY calls him a "cheap date" (Well, he implies it with sarcasm). Clearly, Mark is trying to save as much money as possible. Meaning, he's lost his fame and fortune, and he's still greedy. (He's not even willing to buy a simple snack for his date!).

-Mark's an absolute asshole. I only have one piece of evidence for this, (because his overall greediness and his demeanor in the Meta Ending take care of the rest) In the "PAY" video, Mark reaches to the Waiter's hand, holds it gently, AND KISSES HIS OWN HAND---NOT THE WAITER'S HAND! What a self-loving douchebag! That poor waiter. A very sad bonjour... (I'm not even fucking kidding. Re-watch it. I was fucking rolling when I realized. It's genius).

Now onto the ONE thing that could possibly ruin this theory:

-This Mark supposedly has kids. Yep! In the Meta Ending, Kathryn tells Mark that his kids had called him. This is a very glaring detail, especially considering I don't imagine WKM Mark ever having kids in the future, or just ever desiring kids in general.

I am very willing to completely disregard this detail though. Keep note that ADWM was made before WKM was even thought up of, so this could easily be just a throw-away gag that has no meaning whatsoever---just a joke. (And yeah, I guess you COULD say that maybe he DID have kids, and he just doesn't care about them). (I was also going to add the fact that this Mark said he had some years left of parole, but I realized that doesn't mean he's not the Mark from WKM).

The second theory/topic is: the Chef and the Butler from WKM is the Chef and the Waiter in ADWM.

Truthfully, I have no "evidence" for this per say... But, I DO have a little theory that could work with the canon.

After successfully escaping the Markiplier Manor, Benjamin (the butler) and the Chef were out of jobs. Over the many (MANY) years after the events that took place at the mansion, they worked at various different restaurants, with the chef cooking, and the butler now serving as a waiter. Eventually, they mke their own business together, and they now have a restaurant of their very own: the restaurant we see in ADWM. Over all of these years, the Chef just goes haywire---even more than he previously was (converting to full-on cannibalism). And yes, I know Mark confirmed that they hate each other, but I theorize that they only stick together because they know each other, and they work well together.

Third topic is the different (Y/N)'s in ADWM and WKM.

Many fans suggest that these two are the same, but I'm pretty confident that they're not. The biggest reason as to why people say this, is because of the fact that Dark and Wilford actually recognize the viewer in ADWM (more on that later). But! I have a piece of CANON evidence that completely debunks that theory: Mark made it very clear that the DA in WKM is permanently stuck in the manor. Dark trapped them in the upside-down with no means of escape, ESPECIALLY after he shattered the mirror. So, there's just no way that these two characters are the same! There HAS to be another explanation as to why Dark and Wilford recognize (Y/N), ...which leads me to our next topic:

WHY does Dark and Wilford recognize the viewer in ADWM?!

This seems like such a strange detail! After thinking about it for a long time, I finally came to the conclusion that it means absolutely nothing, and Mark was just trying to show a connection between the viewer and his two most infamous characters. But after re-watching ADWM for the fourth time, something just told me that it actually DOES mean something more. The video SO GREATLY emphasizes the fact that they know the viewer.

In "THE DARK MARK", Darkiplier greets us by infamously saying "Did you miss me? ... I missed you ... very much". He then goes on talking about the viewer fondly, as if he really does know them. He says "and then...he [Mark] had the gall to not invite me to his little adventure with you".

In "MORE?" (also known as the True End), Wilford says: "GOOD EVENING! ...YOU...How are you doing?". Now, you COULD argue that Wilford just calls us "you" because he simply doesn't know our name, but no no no... I don't see it that way. The way that he talks and annunciates the word "you", and even the way he asks "how are you doing?", comes off as very familiar. It even has a kind of awkward sense to it (y'know when you come across people you know, but you feel awkward when saying hi, or too awkward to say hi). Will hesitates, and he emphasizes his words, rather than just greeting a stranger like normal. If he didn't know you, he'd just immediately and quickly say his greeting! He even squints his eyes at the viewer, as if he's trying to recognize them. And also, who the fuck asks a random stranger "how are you doing?"? That very question implies a sense of familiarity. And AFTER he greets you, he says "I don't have you scheduled for an interview just yet", that CLEARLY shows that he already knows about you! Especially since he didn't expect your arrival in his...weird...spinning clock dimension: "I don't even know why you're here...".

So...what does this mean? Honestly, I have no clue. Someone (forgive me for forgetting exactly who), suggested that over the decades of being stuck in the mansion, the DA's form gradually deteriorated and split up, shattering just like the mirror. And thus, bits of their soul leaked from the mansion and got reborn into the (Y/N) we see in ADWM, ...and possibly even the van videos (and yes, I also mean the (Y/N) in "Don't Remember"). This is a very interesting theory... because it explains the familiarity between the (Y/N) and Dark and Wilford.

Now onto the question that irks me the most. Why does ADWM Mark act so weirdly when he first meets the viewer?!

This question confuses me the most, because Markiplier makes it seem like SUCH AN IMPORTANT DETAIL! It's literally mentioned the FIRST SECONDS of the video!

For some reason, in ADWM, Mark doesn't know us, but he admits that he oddly recognizes us. After gifting the viewer with a rose, the FIRST thing he says is "You look so familiar... Have we met?". Now tell me, who the fuck says that ON A DATE? Now don't try and bullshit me by saying "Oh! Maybe it's a blind date!". No no no, we know for a fact that it's NOT a blind date, because in the video option titled "ROMANCE", Mark says: "Good idea! Ya know, I always thought you to be a patron of the arts like myself and ... I always respected that about you...". (What? So NOW he knows us? NOW he's acting like he's known us for a long time?!) "...I'm so glad you asked me out on this date. Or---was it me that asked you?---Ah, never know". HUH? Wanna run that by me again? Ahg, but anyway! The fact that one of THEM set up the date, and not a friend, shows that it's not a blind date at all! So why is the Mark character acting like he has short-term memory?

Haha, do you understand why this makes me so frustrated?? It's really only because Mark mentions it so many times, which makes me think it's important. Mark wouldn't just include and repeat a detail like this if it didn't mean something, ESPECIALLY when Dark and Wilford ALSO recognize the viewer.

Now, here's two things that could potentially explain, and ruin, this:

-The weird acting and inconsistent writing is purposeful, so it can work with the Meta Ending. If this is the case, then that's just brilliant work on Mark's part. In the Meta Ending, the Mark character treats this whole shoot as a joke. He says "Now I'm working on this bullshit" and "--can you imagine this script?! This bullshit script! What kind of plot-hole filled, clichéd, written script is this?", he then goes on to explain how completely ridiculous the show/movie is. So obviously, he didn't write it. This could explain why the Mark character doesn't know who his own date is, but then later on, he's known them for long enough to correctly guess that they're into romantic plays. The script (in the video's universe) is just a shitty script.

-Mark was just referencing the fact that the viewer is a fan of his, so they know each other from a creator-subscriber standpoint, and Dark and Wilford know the viewer because they know the fans have watched videos that included them. This explanation further emphasizes the self-insertion aspect of these videos. It literally puts someone who watches a lot of Markiplier, in a date with Markiplier! So the Mark character knows the viewer literally only because he knows they watch his videos.

While I want neither of these explanations to be true, they make a lot of sense, and they're actually very clever when you think about how Mark scripted the video. So, bravo if one (or even both) of these are true.

Clearly, "A Date with Markiplier" and "Who Killed Markiplier?" were both so amazing that I'm S T I L L thinking about it, and I'm S T I L L coming up with new theories for them. Mark's sketches, skits, and big projects have always been my favorite content of his, and they always will be. Let's Play's are enjoyable to watch for relaxation and a good chuckle, but Mark's skilled acting and clever script-writing never fails to be immersive, hilarious, and exciting. I truly hope he strives to make more scripted sketches in the future, by himself, and with friends.

Thank you so much for reading my long-ass post :) <3

I hope you enjoyed, and I hope it got you thinking!

[chatting-leaves]

Thursday September 20th: Part 1 of 2

Genre: Personal. Very thinly veiled fiction.

The last time September 20th was on a Thursday, I woke up feeling very optimistic. That morning was to be the first morning of a new job assignment I had taken from a small staffing agency, my first work in nearly three months. Eight months earlier, my wife and I had moved to the northern suburbs of Boston, her home, after she had complained of feelings of homesickness and ennui and she felt she had nothing to lose by going back home. While in theory neither she - or even myself, who had been out of work prior - had nothing to lose, in practice we had everything to lose.

On that morning, I awoke in the guest bedroom of her grandparents house, our residence since we had moved as a means of having some place to stay at the outset. Instead, our lives had become what I would refer to as a “sadistic game of Wack-a-Mole” in which our employment statuses varied - first I had a contract position, then she finally got a relevant job four months after our arrival, then my position expired - and kept us from getting a place of our own. When this job arrived, I was told that it was a “sure thing” by the woman at the hiring agency; that while it was at the outset for only one month, there was “a very, very good chance” that it would become a permanent position and that my new employer, a semiconductor startup, was “a very strong operation that liked [my] background.” Over the ensuing eight months, we had become a bit more cynical, a little more than a bit chubbier, and a lot more worn down from having had little privacy for most of our first year of marriage and we were wanting to get a place of our own. After a shower and breakfast, I packed some snacks and a lunch and made my way out the door, walking down our residential street with signs for the upcoming elections littering our street, a byproduct of sorts of toxic political culture. Amidst the signs before reaching the main road came another form of litter echoing an alarming trend, discarded syringes and needle covers left by those abusing injectable drugs such as heroin. At the main road, I waited for a bus into Boston and upon boarding then weaved through an assortment of working class areas that could be seen by some more exclusionary types as the epitome of the stereotype of the “Townie”: rarely traveled, insular, working class, yet also a bit elitist in terms of town status and their defence of local sports teams. This commute is something I had done too many times to count when I had previously worked and on other days when I had taken a day off to ward off cabin fever and to try to have some semblance of the life we had left prior in a compact, accessible neighborhood of Washington, DC where everything I needed was either within walking distance or accessible by copious amounts of transit. We worked out way into Boston, eventually reaching the notorious highway of Route 1, through the twists of the post-industrial Chelsea before what some called Boston’s “other Green Monster”, the Tobin Bridge. At that time, it was a hunk of vaguely green metal pockmarked with copious amounts of rust where we sat stopped as the morning rush meandered its way through the toll booths to be waved through en route to our eventual arrival. After that point, I went through a similarly meandering journey via subway - Green Line to the historical Park Street, then Red Line to the bustling South Station, then a transfer to a confused mode known as the Silver Line, a mode often derided as a “bus that acts like a train” which would bring me to the front door of the building where I was to work. In my two weeks of waiting for this job, a period which my start date had been postponed twice as I was originally to have started the Thursday prior, I had never made the decision to do a dry run to see how this commute would have worked out and once the bus dropped me off I was a bit in shock at the scale of where I was working. I had known that it was in a relatively isolated of the South Boston Waterfront - or the “Seaport District” in modern marketing lingo - but the mass of the buildings once used as warehouses seemed a bit stunning as I tried to find exactly where to go in the linear maze I had fallen upon.

Having a few minutes to kill before my shift, I made my way to a restroom to give a final check of how I looked to make sure I made an excellent first impression. While the email I had received stated that business casual was the code, I decided to side with a pair of suit pants and a nice sweater I owned with a green and red argyle pattern. This choice was giving deference to the weather that morning, unseasonably cool and a harbinger of the coming autumn set to start officially the next day. I then made it upstairs to find an office full of people mainly in t-shirts and jeans, typical for a technology startup but I always liked being one better as to set a good example. After asking for the woman who was to be my boss, Kathryn, I was given the terse word that she was in a meeting and that I should wait a few minutes. Once she returned, someone spoke with her and then brought her my way. Without given any sort of greeting or salutations, Kathryn went immediately to business.

“Can you put together those three chairs?,” Kathryn said gesturing to three unopened boxes. “I’ll give you 30 minutes to an hour to do so. The sooner you finish these, the better because we need these chairs.” I responded affirmatively but withheld the truth - that I had never put office furniture together in my life and that the job description furnished to me had mentioned nothing of the sort. I will gladly say that I am a team player and will go above and beyond the call of duty, the description had been given had a lot of phone calls, emails, editing correspondence such as press releases, nothing of the sort about light furniture assembly. Not wanting to show weakness or failure, I spent the better part of the next hour trying to put together said chairs and succeeded in doing so. After finishing, Kathryn barked another order at me.

“Can you make some construction paper footballs for the football watch party on Sunday?” I had been told at the outset that the entire office had a Fantasy Football league and that they often had day-long watch parties during the NFL season. This Sunday made things convenient as the Patriots were playing in the night game, viewed nationwide and one of a handful of games each week seen all around the world. As with furniture assembly, arts and crafts was never one of my strong points yet once again I did what I needed to do even if it was well outside my job description. While doing my best to get these assembled, both via creation and by writing the names of employees and other guests on them, I started to feel some doubts about the job as twice they had given me duties well beyond what I had prepared myself for; in fact, in assembling the furniture I had started to sweat as I obviously had not dressed for such a task. When done, Kathryn directed me to a computer and left a copy of their corporate compliance handbook with some notes attached.

“We’ve had to update our policy on bringing dogs into the office. Can you edit this in? Here’s your login,” she said while also giving me a piece of paper with a username - my name, last name heavily mangled - and temporary password. After helping myself to some complimentary pretzels and a soda, a hallmark of a startup leaving free food and drink for their employees, I tried to log in only to find the username the had created for me did not work and after multiple tries brought the matter to Kathryn who claimed that she would have it sorted out during my lunch later that day. Logging me into a guest account, I made all the edits that I had been given as well as doing some general copy editing as there were some typographical and grammatical errors lingering in the bowels of that handbook. At around 12:30, two-and-a-half hours into a six-and-a-half hour shift, I was given a request.

“Can you go to lunch?,” Kathryn asked.

“It’s a little early to take my lunch, I was going to hold off until I was completely done working on this,” I responded, knowing that I liked to take my lunch closer to the mid-point of my shift to break up the day easier.

“I really want you to take it now,” Kathryn fired back.

“Okay. I brought a lunch in with me which I put in the fridge. Let me just go get it since I don’t need anything else,” I continued.

“I really need you to leave for lunch. There’s an Au Bon Pain two buildings over. I’m sure you can get there, eat, and get back in a half hour. Your work can wait,” Kathryn insisted.

Under protest, I relented and took the walk over to Au Bon Pain, a bakery cafe with the typical assortment of salads, sandwiches, baked goods, and the like. While walking, I realized that “two buildings over” was a good five minute walk given the massive scale of each building and upon arriving I discovered that this literally was the only viable lunch spot for a pretty large community of workers as there were no other establishments open at that time. Not being a fan of salad and not wanting to hold up the line, I ended up deciding on a container of lobster macaroni and cheese from a small self-serve bar and a baguette as it was the easiest option to get, eat, and run back. This lunch set me back about $10, not much to the established people there but for someone who had not worked in three months was a relatively large sum as by that point I was not even getting unemployment due to a conflict that surfaced right before taking this job. As I ate, I wondered if my being forced out of the office had a ulterior motive to it such as ending the assignment; a prior non-temporary job I had did this to set up a meeting to let me go due to having less resources to support my position than originally thought. “Surely a job would not let someone go after only two hours,” I thought as I finished my lunch and made a mad dash back to to the office. Upon returning, I found a slip of paper with my fixed username and a temporary password. Once again, it did not work and once again Kathryn put me back on a guest account to finish editing the handbook then to add some more names to a mailing list they maintained. By 2:30 that afternoon, I had exhausted all of the work I was given only to find that she was in a meeting and the only advice given to me was to “wait for her”. For the next half hour, I sat and waited while trying to not play with my charging phone, my fear being that had I done so it would be used as just cause to end the assignment. Upon Kathryn’s return, she came with news.

“I think they fixed your username,” she said. Once again, I tried only to find that the username in the system still did not exist. After a couple of minutes, she ended up relenting.

“You can go home now if you want,” she offered. “We really don’t have anything else left here and we can just start fresh on Monday.” Going into this, both she and the agency knew that I had a standing commitment that required I not work on the 21st - we had plans to go to Vermont for our first anniversary.

“Are you sure I’ll be here on Monday,” I asked.

“Yes. As much as today seemed rocky we really will need the help starting next week,” Kathryn concluded. I went to get most of my stuff but I felt confident to leave my lunch - a package of frozen pizza bites - in the freezer for the weekend. After that, I went to catch a bus home, about an hour later reaching my front door before the afternoon rush intensified. As optimistic as my departure that day was, I couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that something might be slightly awry given what had transpired. While packing my clothes for the imminent vacation, I wondered what would happen when the agency inevitably called to see how my first day was and mulled giving them a preemptive all to get it over and done with.

Little did I know what was set to transpire.

[sharpnothashtag]

The Good Ship CrushWay, Chapter 14

Scene: Conference Room, Picard, KJ, Bev, Geordi, Data, Worf, and DeAnna are all there.

KJ: In the basement, where we can only assume Mayble was hiding when she sent the distress signal, we found extremely concentrated levels of Lyantrium. Picard: Can you be more specific?  What do you mean by “extremely high”? Data: A normal concentration of Lyantirum in well-traveled space is about 100 parts per million.  What we found in that basement was 10,000 parts per million.  It is relatively surprising Commander Janeway and Dr. Crusher were not staring into the face of a Lyantirum wormhole. Picard: I’m grateful they weren’t.  What would cause that kind of Lyantirum buildup? KJ: My theory is a weapon of sorts--one harvests the Lyantirum, calculates the exact coordinates to place the Lyantirum, and then shoots.   Geordi: But the Borg have to know that Lyantirum is a very unstable way of traveling. KJ: My guess is they don’t care.  They must use the Lyantirum wormhole as a means to travel TO somewhere.  Since the Borg never retreat, they do not need an escape route.  The wormhole does not have to be stable for any longer than it takes for them to get from Point A to Point B. Worf: Is there any way to predict where they are going to use it next so that we may have a tactical advantage against them? Geordi: If I am looking at these schematics correctly, no.  We can try to build that weapon ourselves by cleaning up the mess that they left here, but that’s about it. Worf: Why did they come to that basement? Bev: The family would put up the least amount of a struggle if they caught them off guard, but the Borg don’t really care about that, do they? KJ: My crew member, Seven, is the biggest stickler for efficiency and time management I have ever seen.  If there were a way save time, the Borg would take it. Picard: If they came directly to the basement, how did Mayble send the distress signal? KJ: I think she was out playing.  I think they all were outside, and then the Borg came from inside their houses. Worf: The family room was torn apart, but it did not look like a struggle.  It looked like there were intruders that sabotaged everything important to the family. KJ: That brings me to the next point: this is the Borg, but there is something wrong.  These Borg are angry.  Picard: Why do you say that? KJ: I have seen Borg destruction before.  It’s cold...empty.  It served a purpose.  This did not.  The faces of all the families in the pictures were slashed: the portraits torn apart with bare hands. Picard: Data, will you do a bit of research on the families?  Maybe we can find some connection between them and the Borg...maybe find an enemy that could have been assimilated. Data: I have already checked.  The families were all human, and they have a common ancestry. Picard: And that is? Data: They are all French, Captain. DeAnna: Why go after the French, Data? Data: I do not know, Counselor.   DeAnna: What was the purpose of the colony? Data: They were there for archaeological study.  The ruins on Jouret IV have fascinated many for some time now, but this group was the first to decide to actually study them in great detail. Picard: I was looking forward to getting to see them while we were in the vicinity.  These are all confusing findings, but I know we can piece something together.  Commander, you and Data should study all the known Borg attacks--see if there was any other time when the Borg displayed such anger.  Geordi, you should prepare more advanced schematics of this Lyantirum weapon--see if you can find a way to predict where they are going to strike next by digging deeper into how to build this weapon.  Divert any of the necessary crew from Engineering.  Dismissed. (everyone gets up to go except Worf and DeAnna, who exchange glances, nod, and approach Picard.) Worf: Captain, DeAnna and I would like to have a word with you. Picard: Certainly. DeAnna: Don’t you think it’s odd that they HAPPEN to be going after French archaeologists? Picard: I was trying to believe that was a coincidence. Worf: Do not be a fool, Captain.  You are an important man, and the Borg would have a great advantage on the Federation if you were to be assimilated. DeAnna: What Worf really means is...well...we’re worried.  And we want to protect you in the best way we know how. Picard: And that is? Worf: Please allow me to be your personal security detail.  I can stand watch over you at all times. Picard: Worf, you will need to rest occasionally. Worf: I can sleep in your quarters when you sleep. Picard: I certainly appreciate the gesture, but just posting someone at my door is plenty. Worf: Their weapon is precise enough to get into someone’s room; how can we be sure they will not get to you while we are standing watch outside? Picard: Mr. Worf, you may accompany me every second of every day until we have cleared up this mess, but I will not allow you to sleep with me.  That is the end of this discussion. DeAnna: (grabbing Worf’s arm and trying to reassure him that he did try) Thank you, Captain. Picard: Now.  Is there anything else? DeAnna: I did want to ask you one more thing. Picard: Yes? DeAnna: Would you preside over our wedding? Picard: (smiling) Of course. DeAnna: We are still working out the details...I’m not sure there’s ever been a Klingon-Betazoid wedding. Picard: Nor will there ever be again. Worf: What is important is that my heart beats only for this woman (looks lovingly at DeAnna).  And I want the whole universe to know it. Picard: And know it they shall.  Now, I have some studying of my own to do.  DeAnna, go help Kathryn and Data research the Borg attacks.  Worf, I suppose you’re going to stay here with me? Worf: Yes, sir. Picard: DeAnna, you’re dismissed.

The holodeck, Bev and KJ’s nightly walk.

KJ: (jogging, carrying coats) I’m here!   Bev: It took you long enough. KJ: I’m sorry!  I got caught up--Wolf 359 took a lot of debate on the anger issue. Bev: Fair enough.  What’ll it be tonight, m’lady? KJ: There’s a spot in Finland we haven’t tried yet.  I brought coats so we won’t get too cold. Bev: Great idea.  (pushes the buttons. door opens, Bev gestures.) After you. KJ: (smiles, nods) Thank you. (KJ enters, Bev follows.  The room is transformed into a mountain in Finland where the Northern Lights are out and in full force.  Both are silenced immediately as this natural miracle dances around them. They walk in silence for a moment.) KJ: There’s something about this that just makes everything make sense. Bev: Yeah?  Why are the Borg so angry, then? KJ: (rolls her eyes) That’s not what I mean.  I mean...everything is in its place. Bev: I know what you mean.  These programs are how I survived after Jack died. KJ: How long ago was that? Bev: 11 years.  It was an away mission...Jean-Luc had to tell Wesley that his dad died a hero, but all Wesley heard was that his hero was dead.  He’s 16 now, and he still struggles with it some days. KJ: I lost my father at a young age, too.  Growing up without a father figure is very difficult, and I can understand what he’s going through. Bev: Jack used to say if something ever happened to him that I shouldn’t feel guilty when I moved on. KJ: And how do you feel?  When you do date, that is. Bev: I haven’t dated anyone.  It’s been 11 years, and I am just now getting to the point where I might be able to. (They stop and sit on a rock near the top of the mountain.) You mean the world to me, Kate.  You’re my best friend. KJ: You’re mine, too, Bev. Bev: If you got assimilated, I’m not sure how long I would last. KJ: ...Bev, you’re not talking about-- Bev: I’ve lost a lot in my life, Kate.  My parents, my husband...I couldn’t live if I lost you, too.  (KJ hugs her close.) My grandmother gave me that copy of Frankenstein after my parents died.  I read it then, and I realized that everyone questions why they’re here, and that it’s okay to do that. KJ: You know, when I first read it, I realized that there’s no hurt that can’t be overcome. Bev: How exactly did you come to that? KJ: At the end of the book when the narrator meets the monster for the first time, he is definitely startled at first, but after a minute or two, he collects himself and invites the monster in. In life, I’ve found that if I sit with my demons, they aren’t as scary, and they don’t have as much control over my life. And, sometimes my demons are just as misunderstood as I am. Bev: Promise me something, Kate. KJ: Yeah? Bev: Promise me you’re going to do all you can to help me sit down with my demons.  I’m not usually open about my depression...only Jean-Luc and DeAnna really know. KJ: I’m not going anywhere, Bev.  Nothing can take me away from you.  I love you. (looks at Bev and wipes away a tear from her eye)

Bev takes KJ’s face in her hands and kisses her.  Bev’s tongue strokes the roof of KJ’s mouth slowly.  KJ returns the favor. Bev lays her down on the rock and unbuttons her coat.

KJ: Beverly, are you sure you want this? Bev: (stroking KJ’s hair) More than anything in the entire universe. (Bev unbuttons the coat, and then unbuttons her own.  She lays down with KJ and uses her coat as a blanket.  They hold each other for a while.) KJ: I’m getting kind of cold.  Do you want to take this back to my place? Bev: That’s enough for now.  We both need some rest. KJ: I guess so.  I just thought-- Bev: I know.  And I do want that...just not tonight. (KJ nods, and they share their last kiss for the evening.) I’ll see you tomorrow morning? KJ: Of course.  Sleep well, Bev. Bev: Sleep well, Kate.