#actually quite distressing being a Geordie but here we are

[torch-the-throne]

[meredoubt]

BA discussion.

It works very well as a horror piece.

It does make me rue the YouTube thing, tho, because I feel like the characters as presented in the audio make a lot more sense (obviously....heavily edited contentwise) in the actual Imperium arc. Like, as a sidestory. We check in with, a three minute update here or there. A background horror. Maybe get Regulus involved to take over where Vega was in canon, etc.

A gruesome turn for the two of them.

Ivan's storyline was always deeply distressing (and weirdly uncomfortably muddled, with the Vega thing) but I admit I do love it in canon, as someone who finds deeply devoted characters to be (unfortunately) extremely comforting. I like yanderes and obsessive/jealous types for various reasons, but I'm always aware of how dangerous and creepy they are. Like my broken brain likes it because My Personality Is Broken, but I'm not foolish, u know, i've got...well, a head on my shoulders and it's the safety of fiction. You can explore that. But I appreciate that Erik feels comfortable enough to turn the mirror around on those darker stories, you know? Ask the audience why it wants this story. I feel like this is actually more directed than, say, the Geordi/Cutie stuff, and I'm wondering if he's playing with that here to figure out what he wants to do there.

Anyway. Ironically I was so excited for an Ivan comeback (my creepy freak!), but between the subject matter and the Listener being the monster, I can only be clinical about it. There's nothing...BA for me, if you will, which is good. Props to Erik's acting in all other audios now tho because it really shows what a rough headspace that has to be to write for.

And it made me realize that the reason I like these characters (the awful ones, the obsessed jealous possesive types) is specifically that they are TOO interested. Consent is actually key to the whole appeal for me, largely that they are one might say overly enthusiastic with their own. It probably says a lot about my self-esteem that that's actually quite freeing lmao but here we are.

[starship-imzadi]

S1 E1 Encounter at Farpoint: parts 1 & 2

I'm going to just start by saying I love TNG, but that doesn't mean it isn't painful to watch at times. The first season has a lot of painful moments.

The opening shot of the Enterprise is very clearly and brightly lit from beneath...what is the light source supposed to be?

Troi's hair is so ridiculous it's only surpassed by her dialogue. And oh how painful her dialogue is. Props to Marnia for sticking with it.

Data clearly needs access to the urban dictionary.

This two part episode does a lot for establishing the TNG world. Gene Roddenberry is known for being a progressive but often he, or the writers, seem to get in their own way. Q as a tool for testing that progressiveness is very important if imperfect. As a product of the show himself, he fails in many respects to be properly progressive in his own right.

Notice Troi is in uniform, but with short sleeves and a short skirt. By contrast Tasha has trousers and long sleeves like the men, all of which seem to be one piece suits. In engineering you can see one man also dressed in short sleeves and skirt around 11:00 and one in the hall around 14:00.

I'm curious what a "printout message" is. It sounds analog but I'm not sure how that manifests. I certainly don't remember hearing it used ever again.

The pacing for this feels quite slow and the saucer separation is reminiscent of Star Trek The Motion Picture and all of their special effects "showing off".

Tasha wants a fight so bad.

Troi actually get to do something with communications!

I wonder what the "frozen" stuff is.... It makes me think of old Hollywood asbestos snow

I know Patrick has done a lot of Shakespearean theatre but are we really suposed to believe the first "classic" quote uttered by a progressive egalitarian society is from a white male?

Riker without a beard is so uptight. Riker does some dumb stuff in this show, BUT I also really like him (I'll point out why as I go). Okay, so every character is a synthetic construct built by the opinions and ideas of writers, producers, costumers, directors, the show runner, other creatives, and ultimately the actor who portrays that character. So, there's a lot of opportunities for inconsistencies or poor development (I know that a pessimistic perspective.) I appreciate subtly in writing but at the same time I'm not looking to explain away poor writing or creative choices either.

An issue I have with Roddenberry's vision for the future is how synthetic everything is. Half of the props look like they're made of plastic and most of the costumes look like polyester.

The video they show Riker makes me wonder how was it recorded, and edited, and why is it so uninformative?

Data says the saucer section will be there in 51 minutes but then two minutes later tells Picard they've arrived.

I've seen a quote attributed to Patrick Stewart saying "Jonathan Frakes couldn't manually dock a bicycle." The real question is why make Riker dock the saucer section manually?

Riker: permission to speak candidly sir

Picard: always

"I don't feel comfortable with children"

Geordi is in constant pain from his visor. What an odd detail to include. I think it's mentioned only once more in "Loud as a Whisper".

Data exists as a character to fill the spot of Spock. In philosophical terms they are perhaps the reciprocal of each other, one wishing to avoid his humanity the other wishing to embrace it. Despite being a beloved character, Bones has a prejudice against Vulcans he's not to shy about showing, often references physical difference he's uncomfortable with like green blood and pointed ears. It is fitting to note he treats Data with a similar "skepticism". He even calls Data "boy" which is reminiscent of racist terminology used against black men in the southern United States. In TNG season 2 Dr. Pulaski feels to me to be very much like Bones in her demeanor and proves to share the same prejudices against Data.

It's admirable that Worf admits his mistake and his desire to learn from it.

The fish is the Captain's ready room really completes the image of the entire Enterprise being decorated like a doctor's office in the 90's. Even the carpet on the floor fits.

IMZADI!!! Sorry, it's my weakness (no one will ship them harder than Marina and Jonathan and I'll happily be a crew member on that ship)

But honestly, this is awkward. Picard introduces them and they just stare at each other....not.... blinking. (As they talk telepathically) which I think the writers forget is a thing after this episode.

"I consider it important for my key officers to know each other's abilities"....that almost sounds suggestive.

Riker's movement to kneel next to Troi when she experiences emotional distress is one of the first specific moments to note of what might be called "emotional physicality". The blocking allows Jonathan to be in frame but opposite Patrick for dialogue exchange but emotionally it allows Riker the character to be in a closer, supportive place for Troi. Troi and Riker's initial meeting is one of shock, they know each other and seeing each other is significant but we don't really know if that's good or bad. Riker's movement here shows that beyond the shock of seeing each other the emotional reaction he has is one of concern and affection.

This ensign is totally flirting with Riker and ....Riker doesn't flirt back. Not sure if Riker just wasn't comfortable yet or if the writers hadn't developed that part of his character yet.

So...if the holodeck makes stuff like a food replicator...what are the people made of? (I guess more on that with Moriarty).

I know a lot of people dislike Wesley but... let's be fair, the writers didn't do him any favours.

I'm not really sure why Troi suggested she go with Riker to look around but it certainly gave him the opportunity to reject her.

I just noticed Troi's painted nails.

Marina is really giving a performance above and beyond everyone else in this episode. And it's sweet that Riker goes to comfort her.

Oooo! Picard and Crusher....also, mama Crusher going to bat for Wesley is important.

Of the Enterprise crew, Tasha and Troi have definitely displayed the most emotion of anyone in this episode set.

I'm not really sure how Riker is supposed to have impressed Q...

Hurray for the space jellyfish

Some of the camera work in this episode is just weird...

Engage!

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU

also on ff.net and ao3

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal , @kat2609 , @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  @ab-normality, @andiirivera, @fangirl-till-it-hurts, @onceuponaprincessworld , @natascha-remi-ronin and whoever else asks me.

A/N: Yep. It’s been forever. And to add insult to injury, this is only Part 1 of 2. But umm... yay content?

***

SOS. My boss is wearing a powdered wig, and a guy in US flag speedos and nothing else just spilled punch down my dress. ES

What's this? A damsel in distress? Sounds like a perfect opportunity for a certain bearded gentleman to swoop in. One with cocktail knowledge and combat experience. Where is dear Rambo tonight? KJ

Don't call him that. And he's in Belfast, doing research. You know, like academics are supposed to do? ES

Ah, yes. Research. I've heard of it. KJ

That's it? No daring rescue plan? We have a code T here. ES

Code T? KJ

T for Transparent. As in, my dress. From being soaked through with punch by that asshole. Am I painting a clear enough picture? ES

I assure you, the image is extremely vivid. You might've led with that. Where is this damnable affair taking place, again? KJ

***

Emma

It wasn't that Emma was ashamed of where she came from. Not exactly. Recent election results aside, she had to acknowledge she hadn't ended up teaching American History by accident. Even when her country frustrated her, you had to admit, it was never boring. It was just...

She'd never been a foreigner before. Not really. A week in Cabo. That time Mary Margaret had forced her to third-wheel on a couple's ski trip to the Laurentians. Because that wasn't awkward at all.

But if she'd thought her American-ness would be a novelty in Scotland, she'd been seriously deluding herself.

Between the onset of summer vacation, the Instagram-worthy architecture and the enduring appeal of Jamie Fraser, there had never been more Americans in Edinburgh than there were at that moment. The Outlander Effect, they were calling it.

And Emma couldn't exactly miss them. They were everywhere, and not just herding en masse down the Royal Mile. On the bus. Crowding into the Jinglin' Geordie on Open Mic Night. Talking group assignments in the Starbucks line. Hell, a lot of her own students came equipped with homegrown accents, her class allowing their studies to mesh seamlessly with the syllabus back home.

Most encounters were pretty jarring. Like listening to your own voice played back on a recording.

Do I really sound like that?

She hoped not.

Did it really take me that long to figure out it isn't pronounced Edin-burg?

No comment.

Do I really have trouble translating common anglicisms?

Only sometimes.

Usually when they came out of the mouth of someone like Will Scarlet, and she couldn't tell if he was using some highly localized Derbyshire dialect, or if he was just fucking with her.

Sure, Killian tried a little too hard to sound like some kind of dashing 17th-century buccaneer most of the time, but at least it was still recognizable as a form of English. With Will though, she could never really be sure.

Still, after nearly a year, she liked to think she had a handle on things. She could order a 'Laphroaig' without completely mangling it, and knew enough to keep an umbrella on her person at all times. And if and when her cravings for American snack foods struck, they were being plenty satisfied by her local Sainsbury's, who kept one shelf fully stocked with all of the Twinkies, Peanut Butter Cups, and Lucky Charms a girl could ever wish for.

So when her Head of Department was looking for volunteers for their annual Fourth of July barbecue, Emma had to admit she did try to get out of it.

It was her own fault, really. It was summer. She should've been sunning it up in the Algarve with the rest of her colleagues, day drinking, and returning her skin tone to a less deathly pallor. Instead, she was the sucker who'd been roped into teaching Summer School classes to a revolving door of international students, who were keen to let some of the school's reputation rub off on them, without the three or four year commitment. Every three weeks a new lot arrived, and Emma's life descended into Groundhog Day as she repeated her lectures anew, reliving the same debates and excuses on a constant loop.

So she only had herself to blame when the department head went looking for warm bodies, that hers was the only one still lingering in the corridors.

"Great!" her boss said, clapping her hands together. "Don't forget to wear something festive!"

Festive.

There was no way this wasn't going to be a disaster.

***

The damsel in distress line might've rankled her, but she had to hand it to the guy, he came through.

Fifteen minutes after she'd barricaded herself in the bathroom after The Fruit Punch Incident she was summoned curbside, arms still determinedly crossed over her chest, to where a black cab sat idling, an incorrigible Englishman leaning against it holding up a leather holdall.

"Does Elsa know you went through her closet?" she asked, eyeing the bag.

"Who do you think paid for the cab?" he grinned.

Emma really needed to send that woman a fruit basket or something. Did people still do that? Send fruit baskets? Elsa would know. She probably went to one of those fancy Swiss finishing schools, where you learned shit like that.

The bag even smelled expensive as Killian handed it over, his eyes dropping for the first time to properly take in her ruined outfit, and lingering.

"Don't even say it," she warned, as he fought to suppress a grin.

She was never wearing a white sundress again. Ever.

"If anyone could pull it off..." he began, but a warning finger cut him off.

The picture of innocence, he raised his hands and stepped away. Which was precisely the moment Emma realized they were not, in fact, alone.

"In a spot of bother, milady?" came the cheerful greeting from the figure still wedged into the backseat of the cab, waving at her.

Robin. Attractive single Dad Robin, with the Oxbridge accent, criminal mastermind father, and good sense to keep his eyes averted.

"What the hell?" Emma hissed under her breath, whacking Killian in the shoulder. "Are we charging admission for my humiliations now?"

"Easy, lass," he said, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him. "I was out with Robin when you texted. I was hardly going to leave him on his own, now was I? Not very good form."

She glanced back to where Robin sat, whistling to himself, then back to Killian. "Oh, so now you're the honorable one?"

"What's this?" he scoffed. "An attack on my character? And after I've orchestrated such a dashing rescue? A fair maiden in distress and I'm on the spot."

The indignation would've been a little easier to swallow if his grin hadn't been quite so… wolfish.

"Yeah, right," Emma said with a roll of her eyes. "Like this isn't making it into your column."

He didn't deny it. He didn't need to. Just offered her a clumsy wink, and motioned to the building before them.

"One good turn deserves another, don't you think?" he suggested, and Emma's stomach dropped. "How does one merit an invitation to an exclusive gathering of expatriates, exactly? Do they check passports at the door? Make you recite the Pledge of Allegiance?"

He held his prosthetic over his heart, and affixed a solemn expression.

"Wrong hand, asshole," she said, grabbing his wrist and tugging his hand back down by his side.

"Probably for the best," Killian shrugged. "I confess I don't actually know the words. Does the School of Rock version count?"

"You seriously want to go up there? You know they're celebrating their independence from the English, right?"

"I'm a journalist, Swan. An arbiter of truth. Would you really deny me the materials I need to make an honest living?"

"You're a hack," Emma grumbled, clutching the bag of clothes to her chest.

"Aye, that I am," Killian agreed, dropping his voice at least an octave. "But a rather dashing one, don't you think?"

So this is how Killian Jones got what he wanted. The ol' razzle dazzle.

It wasn't entirely ineffective. With a huff of annoyance, Emma walked over to lean by the window of the cab. "What do you say, Robin? Want to see my countrymen cut loose and fight about politics?"

He tilted his head, considering her offer. "Do you really put marshmallows in your sweet potatoes?"

"Different holiday. But yeah, we do."

"Alright then," he said, gathering up his belongings where they were strewn across the back seat. "I'll be there presently."

Rapping her knuckles against the side of the cab, she turned back to Killian, who was looking unbearably pleased with himself. Even more than usual.

"Lead the way, lass" he declared, with an exaggerated bow.

"It's a little too late to play at being the gentleman, don't you think?" Emma pointed out.

"Oh?" he asked, his gaze unnervingly direct. "And why is that, Swan?"

If he was trying for intimidation, then he really didn't know Emma well enough. Instead, she simply turned to lead the way back up the stairs to the front stoop, bag swinging by her side. "I'm just saying…" she replied in a sing-song voice. "A gentleman wouldn't have looked."

***

When Emma pictured a Fourth of July barbecue, she pictured hot dogs, hyperactive neighborhood kids with water pistols, and sunshine. The Edinburgh version was something very different.

For one thing, it was not a family affair. For another, she doubted you could even really call it a barbecue, when there was no grill in sight. And unfortunately, for Emma, the party was still in full swing when she returned after her costume change, all of her dreams for a quick getaway evaporating along with the last of the punch.

If anything, the numbers had swelled with a sea of Uncle Sams and Lady Liberties spilling out into the garden, wine glasses in hand. If Emma hadn't already realized the gross pay disparity between educators and administrators, the garden would've really sealed it.

You couldn't swing a Heriot Row townhouse on Emma's salary. Hell, you couldn't even swing a Heriot Row parking space on Emma's salary. Yet somehow, the university muckety-muck who'd been bullied into hosting this little soiree didn't seem to have that problem.

At least the booze was free.

Emma looked longingly over at the refreshments table, but gave it a wide berth. The last thing she needed to do was ruin her borrowed sweater. It was a little on the tight side, but she did appreciate its fuzzy warmth. Even as she wondered if Killian had purposefully picked out the preppiest sweater he could find, or if she was just cursed.

"Hey," came a call from her left. It was a guy in a Captain America outfit, with none of Chris Evan's dimensions. "Ivanka, right?"

Emma looked down at herself, wondering if that was the name of the designer. "I'm sorry?"

"You're dressed as Ivanka Trump, right? Nice."

He was gone before she could deny it, and she glanced back to the gilded mirror in the hallway in alarm. With her hair recently straightened, she had to admit to a passing resemblance. If you squinted.

Oh god.

She had to find the boys and get them out of here, before she was pilloried as a Republican infiltrator.

She scanned the crowd, but the only person in a leather jacket she saw was channeling Maverick from Top Gun. Frustrated, she headed out into the garden, where she spotted Robin, cornered amongst the shrubberies by a very determined looking woman in a Wonder Woman costume.

Was Wonder Woman even American, technically?

Whatever the debates on her true origin, Emma had to admit the woman pulled off the look, even if the cleavage spilling out from the neckline of the outfit was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen. She was fully fixated on Robin, her fingers trailing up and down his arm, laughing at one of his anecdotes.

As she walked by she shot him a questioning look, in case he needed an assist, but he just gave a wink, and started in on a new story.

Hot Single Dad Robin still had it. And something told her he wouldn't be up for any plan that involved cutting out with her early.

Heaving a sigh, she liberated a Coors Light from an icebox and took another turn around the garden.

"Ivanka?" Another woman asked, her look practically accusatory.

"Elle Woods," Emma blurted out. The sweater was baby blue, not pink, but it was the best she could come up with on the fly.

Hurrying away from that interaction, she rounded a pillar and finally came upon her quarry, sitting alone on a bench beside a gurgling water feature.

"And here I thought you'd be the life of the party," Emma said, snagging the space beside him. She gestured towards where Robin was getting half his face mauled off by Wonder Woman. "Was every other member of the Justice League taken?"

She was rewarded with the ghost of a smile, but his gaze was still fixed ahead, not really seeing, as he rolled an unopened bottle of Budweiser between his fingers.

"You okay?" Emma asked, taking the bottle from his hand and removing the cap with a well-placed tap against the side of the bench.

"Where'd you learn that little trick?" he asked, ignoring her question as he accepted the open bottle.

"A bus shelter in Framingham, Massachusetts." It was more detail than he was expecting, and she nearly laughed at the sudden brightness in his eyes. "It was my first beer. You kind of remember stuff like that."

"You has your first beer in a bus shelter in Framingham Massachusetts?" He repeated it back, like there was something especially weird about that.

"Yeah. I was 14, and in between foster homes. Stole a six pack from the Stop and Shop after the clerk told me off for browsing the magazines. And then some old army vet at the bus shelter showed me how to take the cap off against the side of a trash can."

He furrowed his brows. "You're trying to get me to open up by revealing things about yourself. Which you never do."

"Maybe," Emma offered, taking a swig of her beer. "Is it working?"

He took a long sip on his own bottle, made a face, and then settled it back into his lap. "You mentioned a brush with the law, as a teenager. I'm assuming that wasn't for underage drinking at bus stops?"

Emma grimaced. "Not so much. Possession of stolen goods, with intent to sell. I got lucky. The watch I had on me was worth just shy of $500. They knocked it down to a misdemeanor and I got probation."

"You stole a watch?"

"No, my skeezy boyfriend stole a case of watches. I just happened to be wearing one when he called the cops to frame me while he took off to Canada with the rest."

"When he what?! Please tell me this wanker is dead in a ditch somewhere." Emma had to admit, she didn't mind his tone. Like he might go out and finish the job, if need be.

Emma shrugged, picking at the label on her bottle. "Probably. I never saw him again after that."

"So that explains it," Killian huffed.

"Explains what?" Emma asked, preparing to get defensive.

"Your Walsh fellow's appeal. I'm guessing he wasn't the larcenous type?"

Oh. Not even remotely.

"Yeah, he was the kind of guy who washed out his jars before he put them in the recycling. He was kind of the anti-Neal."

"That was his name? Neal?"

"Neal Cassidy," Emma sighed. "And yes, like the writer. He had it changed when he was 18 as a Fuck You to his Dad."

"Well, he sounds like a right tosser."

Emma snorted. "Yeah, pretty much."

"And not all that clever, if he thought losing you for a case of watches was an even trade."

That had Emma looking up, sarcastic retort on the tip of her tongue. But instead of making fun, Killian's expression was deadly serious, eyes meeting hers directly. Like he actually meant it. Emma's gaze flicked back to the label on her beer, nearly entirely peeled away by this stage, and fought to keep her face level.

"You think so?" she asked, her words coming out less jokingly than she intended.

"I do."

It was the answer that had her looking back up again, a frown forming. "Killian, I-"

"You're worth at least two cases," he added. "Maybe three. I mean, what are we talking here? Cartier? Rolex?" His eyebrow was raised again in that familiar roguish way.

Emma let out a breath, and extinguished the tiny flame that burned somewhere inside her stomach. Friends, she reminded herself. They were friends.

"You're hilarious," Emma replied deadpan. "And if we're going to continue sharing, I really need something stronger than this," she said, tipping back her head and draining the last of her bottle.

"When I was looking for extra chairs earlier, I think I saw a wet bar in the study. Fancy a dram?" Killian asked, rising to his feet.

"Oh, so you're journalistic snooping does come in handy sometimes?"

"More than sometimes," he said with a grin that would fell a lesser beast. And suddenly Emma wasn't so sure the flame was truly out.

Later, she still couldn't recall whether he'd held out a hand to take her empty bottle, or to help her up. All she knew, was as they moved from the garden back to the party proper, she had Killian's hand in hers.

***

Reasons Not To Push Killian Jones Up Against The Nearest Wall And Have Your Way With Him:

1. Hello, work event. Have some goddamn professionalism.

2. You're wearing Elsa's clothes. Don't make this weird.

3. You like him, and never talking to him again would suck.

4. He would definitely allude to it in his column, and you would have to emigrate. Again.

5. Graham. Oh, fuck. Graham.

***

The upstairs study was everything you'd expect from an overpaid university administrator. Soft red leather furnishings. Framed certificates covering an entire wall. A solid oak desk that could, hypothetically, bear the weight of two people at once.

And, oh yeah, the promised wet bar.

Emma was not, nor had she ever been, a cheater. And even if she and Graham were still only in the "getting to know you" phase of tentative texts and PG-13 cocktail hours, she knew betraying that would still be a shitty thing to do.

So when Killian offered her the glass of whisky, she didn't do what she wanted to do, which was down the lot and drag him towards her by the collar. Instead, she sat on the red leather couch as far from him as possible, and held the glass in front of her like a shield.

"Reminds me of your jacket," he said with a smile, letting his hand glide against the upholstery. Emma's skin still tingled from where his hand had gripped hers, so unused to foreign contact.

She took a gulp of her drink, and let it burn down her esophagus in penance for her crimes. Only once she'd regained sufficient control of her hormones did she speak.

"So, are you going to tell me what's been up with you?

"Up with me?" Killian replied, his oh-so-innocent look oh-so-unconvincing. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know," Emma said, rolling her eyes heavenward. "The sudden phone emergencies. The brooding. The black eye. You've been different lately. Kind of… subdued, for you."

In answer, Killian drained what was left of his glass, and turned to face her. "Perceptive, aren't you, Swan?" He didn't sound happy about the fact.

Emma shrugged, taking another sip. "You can't kid a kidder."

He considered that, finger tapping absently against the side of his glass. "Perhaps not. Very well then. The truth: The magazine is broke."

It wasn't what Emma had been expecting. What had she been expecting? A secret drug habit? Abusive new girlfriend? Fight Club?

"Broke?" she repeated.

"Utterly. But instead of accepting the inevitable, and bowing out gracefully, my brother, well-intentioned idiot that he is, decided to take what was left in the coffers and make a few wagers."

Emma's heart sank into her stomach. "He didn't."

"Oh, he did. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, apparently. Lost the lot. Bloody prat. Thought he'd come back a conquering hero. Instead he's having to dip into his own savings to keep the whole operation afloat until he can find a way to pay back his bookie."

That explained the black eye.

"And no one knows about this? Don't you have accountants or something?"

"There is a fellow, Tim, who's been covering for him. Let him take out the entire balance in the first place, didn't he? So now he feels equally culpable. So there's Liam. Tim. Me. And now you."

"Elsa doesn't know?"

"Not in so many words. She isn't bloody stupid though. He's been decidedly distracted on the homefront. Probably thinks he's having a mid-life crisis or an affair or something stupid. Would be easier to just tell her, but the problem is, he knows if she finds out about it she'll feel obligated to help."

"Well, that would be a good thing, right? No more, uhhh…" Emma waved a hand over her eye.

"Well, when Elsa's parents died, they left her a good deal of money. Most of it went towards the house, and setting up her sister in New York, but there's enough left to get Weaver off his back. Problem is, my brother's pride would never let him accept it. And then there's the matter of Elsa's aunt."

"Elsa's aunt?"

"She owns the magazine. And let's just say, she's not quite as err… understanding as Elsa can be. If she gets word of it, there'll be criminal charges."

"Fuck."

"Fuck,' he agreed, leaning forward in his chair to pour himself another whisky.

"And you've just been carrying this all around on your shoulders for what? Months?"

"But what magnificent shoulders, wouldn't you say, Swan?" The grin was almost leering, but not in a good way. More in a defense mechanism kind of way.

"Don't do that," Emma chided, leaning over to smooth the wrinkle above his brows with her fingers. "Just be you."

"And how is that?" He asked, with a look of such genuine curiosity that her hand paused somewhere in the region of his jaw.

"Same as me," Emma shrugged. "A little fucked up. A little scared."

She leaned forward then, and placed a kiss on that same spot above his brow.

Maybe it wasn't where she'd wanted to kiss him five minutes ago, but it felt right. She heard him inhale sharply underneath her, but she didn't immediately break contact. Not until his face relaxed, and his arms came up to wrap around her waist.

She let her head fall onto his shoulder, and his on hers, breathing each other in. Comfortable fucking silence.

Only when her phone started chirping in her pocket did she pull away at last, steadying herself on his shoulders. "You're going to be okay, Killian Jones. You and your fucked up family."

The grin was wry, but it was real.

"You going to get that?" he asked, ducking his chin down to where they were practically intertwined. Probably best not to add vibration to the mix.

She fished the phone out of her pocket, and checked the caller ID.

August.

He never called. He sent ten page letters typed up on his pretentious vintage typewriter, but he never called.

With a look of apology, she peeled herself off of Killian's lap, and hit accept.

"August? Is someone dead?"

"Em! Where are you?" Wherever he was, he sounded cheerful. And just a little bit drunk. Well, it was the Fourth of July.

"Where am I? I'm in Scotland, where I'm supposed to be. How much have you had to drink?"

"Nooo," he corrected, words slurring a little. "I mean, where right now? Someone in your department told me you were at this party. But no one remembers seeing you. Are you here?"

Emma's stomach lurched. "Party? You mean, in Edinburgh?"

"Of course, in Edinburgh! The party I'm at, it's at… hang on," his words muffled as he conferred with nearby partygoers, "17 Heriot Row?"

Oh. Fucking. Fuck. Fucking August and his fucking surprises.

"I'll be five minutes. Stay right where you are."

Feeling the color drain from her face, she ended the call, and tucked her phone back into the pocket of her borrowed jeans. "We need to get downstairs. I need to-" She looked around for a mirror, but there were none in the vicinity. Of course.

"Lass?" He had her by the elbow, holding her still. "What has you all a-flutter?"

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. "You remember I mentioned my friend August?"

"Knee still creaks when it rains, August?" The boy did have superior recall. "Novelist August?"

"Yeah. Anyway, he's downstairs."

[calliecat93]

ST: TNG Watchthrough Episodes 13-16

Angel One: So... sadly one holdover from TOS at least so far is sexism. Not as badly, but it’s still VERY much present. The three leading ladies have all been put in s*xual/romantic relations at least once (though tbf they ALL are still very capable of their jobs so they got that right), off-handed remarks that rub me the wrong way, and then we have this episode. Now this COULD have been good such as going into the dangers of radical feminism (it exists, don’t pretend that it doesn’t) and showing what true feminism/equality should be against a sexist matriarchy that demeans/sexualizes men. Allow the women to show what feminism truly should be and maybe even open the men’s eyes to how demeaned and humiliated women can be treated when they are subjected to the same treatment. But we don’t. Crusher is allowed to be an awesome doctor which yes good, but Troi and Yar while competent are no more important than usual nor do any of the women (Crusher aside) truly drive the plot. Any demeaning treatment that men get especially equate to nothing (admittedly Riker just owning it is kind of nice, but still). The pieces were there, but not properly connected and thus all the pieces are scattered and confused. We also have Riker being FAR too much of a Kirk clone here. It has some bright spots with Geordi being a competent leader and again, Crusher is an awesome doctor who was just fantastic here. But otherwise had this done things properly, ot could have been bold for the time and imo the message of radical femenism is needed more than ever. The episode Equal Fighte from The Powerpuff Girls is an excellent wpisode showing the dangers and having strong women who are also positive role models lead the plot and deliver the message. But they failed here and I am FAR less forgiving of this than I am with TOS because we knew better by this point. 2/5.

11001001: More Holodeck shenanigans, yippee! It was... okay. Nothing great, but nothing terrible. I was excited about Holodeck enhancements... but all it did was create a woman to distract Riker and Picard. Which they go on and on about how more advanced she is to the other times but not only did we only have one other Holodeck episode, but she’s REALLY not that different from the holograms in that episode aside form her learning faster. The Binars manner of speech also got old VERY quickly. But otherwise there’s nothing particularly bad. Wesley is able to be smart without making the adults look like idiots, I liked Picard and Riker’s interactions and they felt like a genuine Captain and First Officer standing together, and the Binars actual motivation and reasons for taking the Enterprise instead of being another evil alien species was nice. Also the musicals core was really good, which can be said for every episode thus far. It’s a decent episode with some nice points, but otherwise unremarkable with not enough moments to justify a higher rating than what I’m giving the initial watchthrough. 2.5/5.

Too Short a Season: Ah aging, it happens to all of us one way or another. Apparently this episode got mixed reviews because of the make-up and overacting... but I actually liked this one quite a bit. Maybe Jameson got too much focus over the cast, but I don’t think that either the story or the theme were bad at all. This could just be because I’ve recently seen someone who is getting older express distress over becoming old, but I did feel empathetic towards Jameson. He was old, fragile, and deteriorating, and such a state is gut-wrenching to both the individual and the one caring for them forced to watch it, helpless to do anything. In some ways it’s tragic especially when Jameson dies in a manner much more brutal than a natural one from old age. But he also did all this without thinking of his wife and her thoughts, grew more arrogant the younger that he got, and brought his ultimate fate onto himself because of his irrationality. There’s a theme of age and youth here, and shows how de-aging/trying to cheat death will end badly for you. It makes me think a lot about events like my grandmother dying while just deteriorating and my grandfather having a hard time dealing with it. Maybe that’s why this hit me so much, IDK. But that made me feel especially bad for Annie who is helpless as her husband dies and her final moments with him made me teary eyed. It’s not a perfect episode with some of the acting being a little off, but otherwise I really liked this one! Also I couldn’t help but think of McCoy, who is still kicking in his 130’s as the pilot demonstrated, getting an offer for de-aging... and him just giving them all two middle fingers, delivering a MAJOR tirade/rant about all the medical and ethical violations such a treatment would cause in the wrong hands (and BOY does he know that it would be too easily abused), and the mental image just made me smile so big XD. 4/5.

When the Bough Breaks: Child kidnapping! Ho boy! So we have a society kidnap children, including Wesley, in hopes of saving their dying society. Needless to say, this is a HORRIBLE thing to do. I was fully expecting to be annoyed at this episode since... well an episode with mostly kids int his kind of show is VERY easy to do wrong. TOS’ And The Children Shall lead, while I admit I was probably too harsh and it does have some merits that I’ll try to give whenever I do a full review, is still my least favorite episode at least in part due to the kids. Fortunately, this one is fairly tolerable. Whatever I feel about how Wesley is often portrayed, he is intelligent and Wil Wheaton is a good actor. In a situation like this, Wesley can be competent and intelligent especially since he’s trying to both save himself and younger children. It helps make him look noble and brave despite being a naive kid who can grow into a capable Starfleet officer one day without making the actual adults look incompetent in comparison. Also major props to Dr. Crusher for keeping her head and still being a competent officer and badass doctor despite having every reason to go ballistic/panicked after her son’s kidnapping. God I love her~! I feel bad for the people who clealry want children to love as their own... but it sitlld oens’tjustify their God awful actions and they got off super easy . While not as bad as I was expecting, the episode overall was just okay. Nothing great, nothing bad, and nothing remarkable enough to justify the final ranking. But it was otherwise fine and helped me like Wesley more, so that was nice. Oh and Picard being awkward with children was hilarious and cute especially at the end, haha! 3/5.

Sorry I put this on hold until the weekend again. Half was due to other stuff, the other half was due to... well, my mom was a TNG fan. She works at home, but her days are very busy aside from the weekends. So I have been trying to hold it off so that we can both watch it together. My way of making up for the 20+ years of refusing to do so until now, haha. I’ll try to speed it up with the upcoming week since we’re nearing the end of the season. While the season is still meh, the cast is really growing on me and there are some bright spots still that help with character and wanting to keep watching despite the story quality. Which since I know it gets real good int he later seasons, is encouraging. Easter is tomorrow and we are expecting company (just two people, no risks of virus or anything) so IDK if I’ll make it to TNG tomorrow, but I’ll try my best. If not, I will force myself to resume Monday.