#that twig just picked up an armchair and threw it

[bumblebyaf]

felix fuckin buff

[lonelypond]

Tiger By The Tail, Chapter 5

NicoMaki, NozoEli, Love Live, 2K, 5/?

Maki and Honoka recover from filming, Eli and Nozomi go out to dinner, and Nico and Rin stay in.

Chapter 5

The video session had been manic. They always were. Honoka was now sprawled out on the music room couch, candy red uniform jacket open, tank top plastered to her torso with sweat, Maki was slumped against the wall, chugging water, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Walnut parts were scattered everywhere, Honoka reached down, grabbed a handful, and tossed the shells in Maki’s direction.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Maki raised her mug in salute.

“That was like 10 minutes.” Honoka groaned.

“You got walnut shells in my piano.”

Honoka sat up, her arms wide and pounding up and down, “That part in the middle, that was so cool, you were like” more gesturing, “And I was” Honoka made cracking nuts movements, “and they were flying everywhere, cracking in half right when you hit the keys…that was the Russian Dance, right? Eli’s gonna love it.”

“I don’t think so.” Maki closed her eyes, head back against the wall.

“Why not, it was great.” Honoka sounded peeved.

“Eli’s a trained classical ballerina, Honoka, cracking walnuts to Tchaikovsky’s masterpiece is probably not going to crack her top 10 versions.”

“You’re wrong.”

Maki sighed. “We have to clean up now.”

Honoka fake yawned and stretched her arms wide, “But I’m tired now, Maki. And I want to show Eli the video. Think she’s done with her date?”

Maki raised an eyebrow. She would not have expected Eli, who lived alone, to return here, after her date, to this house full of people who might get in the way of any after date activities. “Eli might want some privacy. I’m sure Kotori would love to see the video.”

“Oh yeah, we looked amazing.” Honoka jumped up and grabbed the phone off its stand, “I’ll send it to her.”

They had looked amazing, Maki’s snowy tuxedo and Honoka’s vivid splash of seasonal red, Honoka’s uniform trousers out of the same fabric as Maki’s. The faux bearskin hat was now ludicrously off balance on the edge of Maki’s piano. At some point, Honoka had taken it off and started tossing walnut meats in it, which is how they got into the piano.

Maki flexed her fingers. She’d spent most of the day practicing for both tonight and the more traditional program Eli had put together. Finger fatigue and no patience for picking walnut carcasses out of her piano so what she needed now was a snack. “Cookies. We need cookies.”

Honoka bounced to her feet, “We do.”

Maki grabbed the hat, shook out walnut parts, and put it on, tilting it back, decisively giddy as she remembered a plate of snickerdoodles. “We’ll clean up tomorrow.”

“YES!” Honoka fist pumped, “You’re the best, Maki. I’ll be down here right after breakfast with a broom.”

Maki tried frowning, but could barely dent the energy that made her want to tap dance across the floor, “You’d better. It’s bad enough that you invi…”

“Maki.” Honoka sounded serious.

“What?”

“You said you would stop blaming me.”

“No, I agreed to stop mentioning that I was blaming you.”

“Isn’t that the same?”

“No.” Maki tossed the hat on the couch, giddy bubble burst, “If Rin ate all the cookies, you’re making more.”

“There’s some in the freezer.”

“Good.”

###

Eli opened the door for Nozomi, who had a dark gray dress with a slightly darker pattern scattered over it. Eli had opted for a dark green turtleneck tucked into light gray trousers.

“This is a very cute little place.” Nozomi glanced around the small room, shifting her shawl.

Eli waved at the bartender, who smiled back. “Yeah, it’s very cozy. I recommend it to a lot of my clients.”

They slid into a circular back booth. “Do you bring them here yourself?”

Eli shook her head, “No. After a long day of hiking or skiing, they’re usually tired of my jokes. I only have 5.”

Nozomi brushed Eli’s arm as she took off her shawl, staying close, “I’m sure that’s not true. You seem charm.”

Eli laughed, “I am charmed. By you.”

Nozomi tilted her head and her next comment was in Japanese, “Perhaps I meant you are charming. Do verb tense hints come with dinner? And is there a quiz with a prize for excellence? I am only motivated by reward.”

Eli’s grin broadened and she continued the conversation at Nozomi’s speed, “My apologies, Nozomi-san. I could not resist the word play. And you can have any reward you want.”

Nozomi arched an eyebrow, smiling at the waitress but waving away the menu, “That is a very generous offer, Eli. Aren’t you worried about what I might demand?”

Eli shrugged, opening a menu and placing it between them, “No. I might be intrigued.”

“Possibly you should be worried.” Nozomi’s hand brushed Eli’s.

Nozomi sensed nervousness as the seemingly bold Eli concentrated on the menu, speaking without making eye contact, “You seem like a holiday gift in a lonely winter so I just intend to be grateful for the brightness.”

Nozomi smiled. “And what does the local tour guide recommend?”

“Seafood, always seafood.” Eli paused, “There are vegan and vegetarian options though…”

Nozomi glanced at the menu, then caught Eli’s eye. “Local specialties are fine. Everything I’ve seen looks tasty.”

A blush. Nozomi was starting to feel confident. Eli might be adpt at teaching skiing to groups, but perhaps Nozomi could provide private tutoring on other sports after dessert.

###

Nico was restless. Her siblings were sleeping in Japan so no video chatting with them. There was nothing in this rustic kitchen that Nico wanted to eat or cook. This was not Nico’s house so she was not going to clean. And she had already added Nico Ni songs to all of Maki’s playlists, for which she would obviously be thanked for once Maki realized how much they had been improved. So Nico was watching Terrace House because at least it felt a little like home.

Rin came bounding through the kitchen, talking as she chewed. “Hey, Nico, these cookies are great!”

Nico shook her head and pulled the blanket Maki had given her closer.

“What you watching?” Rin jumped over the back of the couch.

“Terrace House.”

“Nah, Nico. We’re in America. Watch American.” Rin grabbed the remote and slid next to Nico. “There’s some show with truckers or ice fishers or something.”

“Nico is getting tips from the models.” Nico reclaimed the remote.

“Hey, good idea. Is this an episode with photo shoots or something?”

Nico shrugged, “Nico doesn’t know.” Then Nico pointed the remote at Rin. “When are we starting the shoot tomorrow? No one told Nico the schedule.”

“We’re not!” Rin threw a pillow in the air, “It’s amazing. Umi actually said I can sleep in. She texted me.” Rin showed Nico her phone.

“Why do you have a picture with that fan person as your wallpaper?”

“Because Kayo-chin’s the cutest.” Rin threw herself back against the arm of the couch, hugging the pillow and grinning.

“Kayo-chin?”

Rin shrugged, “Cute nickname for the cutest girl.”

“Where is she?” Nico had spent all of dinner answering very detailed questions and then Rin had dragged the fan girl upstairs to show the girl the bunk bed she was going to get. Nozomi had decided to move into Umi’s room and Umi, ever gallant, had agreed not to strand a compatriot in a lonely hotel.

“Kayo-chin wanted to take a bath and a nap.” Rin yawned and leaned back against the pillow, “Ayase-san wore her out. They ice skated all afternoon. You’d be worn out too.”

“Nico is in excellent shape.”

“Cold makes it harder.” Rin considered tossing the pillow but Nico’s glare deflected the impulse.

Nico didn’t reply, her attention returning to the three women having a chat in the girls’ bedroom. One of the women was upset by how a male resident was treating her and getting support in her distress. Nico decided the two women would have been better off with each other, but nobody decided to be gay or bi. Some poor suckers actually seem to like being het. Nico snorted. Why in the world wouldn’t you want legs and curves and fire and someone who looked pretty and felt soft and sweet bright breathy whisperings ....Nico shook her head. She needed urban stimulation. Or a job to do. Too much quiet and daydreaming about improbable…A door slam and clamoring voices interrupted her thoughts.

“Hey, Maki, race you to the cookies.”

“Honoka, it is literally 5 feet away.”

“Ha! I won.” A pause and some opening and closing noises, then grief…”The cookies are gone.”

Rin leaned over the back of the couch and shouted, “I ate them.”

Another opening noise and then Honoka, sounding apologetic, “Sorry, Maki, there’s none in the freezer either. I can make some from scratch.”

“That’s all right,” Maki came into the room, jacket over her arm, shirt half unbuttoned and mostly untucked, chunky gray wool socks with a red toe cap looking silly with her creamy white tuxedo pants. Seeing Nico and Rin on the couch, she nodded a greeting and curled herself into an armchair by the fire, box of frosted wheat cereal in hand, “Cereal will do. What’re you watching?”

“Terrace House.” Rin grumped, “I told Nico we should watch American.”

Maki considered Nico, and then crunched a handful of cereal, “This is okay. The location is really pretty in this season. Makes me want to snowboard. And Tsubasa’s dad’s restaurant is great.”

Nico clucked her tongue and pulled her phone out, typing rapidly.

“Nico is always on social media.” Rin stated proudly, “Make sure you follow her. She can get you a lot of TWIG fans. Do you have an account for this place?”

“No.” Maki had one personal, very private TWIG account and it was locked.

Honoka bounced into the rocking chair with a bag of chips. “That’s a great idea. What’ll we call it? Cabin in The Woods?”

“That was a horror movie.” Maki crunched another handful of cereal.

Nico snorted, seemingly amused. Maki frowned.

Nico pointed at Maki, “Number.”

“What?”

“Your number.” Nico pointed to her phone.

“You are not posting my number on social media.”

Nico rolled her eyes, “No. Send list. Nico needs... “ Nico’s English ran dry and she waved in the direction of the kitchen, “Eats.”

“There’s ‘eats’.” Maki countered.

“I did a grocery store run yesterday. Everything’s stocked.” Honoka was rocking back and forth.

“No.” Nico was insistent.

Maki got up, leaned over Nico, who avoided staring down Maki’s cleavage by turning aside as the redhead reached for Nico’s phone, “Let me see….miso, bonito flakes, shoyu, sesame seeds, wakame…” Maki frowned.

“Proper breakfast.” Nico stated.

“I like cereal.” Maki insisted.

“Nico’s cooking is for...” a frown, Nico grabbed her phone back and typed quickly, then pronounced slowly, “appreciative tongue.”

“You mean palette.” Maki corrected automatically.

“Like painting?”

“No, Honoka.” Maki stared at the unyielding Nico for a minute, then slid back to her chair and cereal crunching, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Arigato.” Nico bowed her head.

“Why do they even bother with him?” Maki grumbled, as she watched the on screen shenanigans.

“Baka.” Nico decided.

“Truth.” Maki offered Rin the cereal box, Rin grabbed a handful, Nico looked horrified.

“Baka.”

“You already said that.” Maki pointed out.

“Nico meant you.”

“Huh?” Maki grunted.

“Use bowls.” Nico ordered.

“Why?” Rin and Maki echoed.

“Germs?”

“I washed my hands.” Rin defended.

“It’s my food.”

 Nico shoved Rin. “You’re both worse than Cotaro.”

“Who’s Cotaro?” Maki asked.

“My little brother.”

Maki hugged the cereal box.

“He’s not here, taking your...feed.”

“Feed is for animals.” Maki stated.

“Nico knows.”

Maki snarled, grabbed another handful and crunched loudly. Nico shook her head and turned back to the screen leaving Maki to glare. Terrace House; they had a system. How did they get random housemates to get along? And sometimes even go out on cute dates. Winter was a great season for cute dates. The ice skating date this season had been super adorable. But what Maki got instead of cute dates was people harassing her food choices. She frowned at Nico, who caught the expression, smirked and stuck out her tongue. Terrace House wasn’t like this, Maki thought. Those people almost made sense. Nico made none.

A/N: I hope everyone is staying safe.

[jedwashere]

A Billion Years Away - Chapter Six

Living With My Despair

***

I hail from the darker side

For all my life I’ve been besieged.

You’d be scared living with my despair,

And if you could feel the things I am able to feel.

***

Jallistra.

Jallistra approached the guest quarters: happily, she saw a gold-jacketed Andorian zhen security officer standing outside his quarters, clearly not threatened in any way.

“Captain!” she said, standing to attention. 

“At ease, Ensign,” Jallistra said, smiling. “I came to speak with our guest.” She paused, looking at the door. “Any trouble?” 

“No, no trouble, ma’am,” the Ensign said, frowning slightly in confusion. “Not a peep.”

“Good to know,” Jallistra said, nodding. She took a breath. “I’m going to speak with him.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the Ensign said, tapping the door control. The door opened with a soft swish, and Jallistra stepped through.

Lorca was sat on the bed, reading a multi-purpose PADD with a frown. He looked up briefly as Jallistra entered, but didn’t say anything, instead returning his attention to his PADD.

“Mr Lorca,” she said, inclining her head. 

“Still running with that one, are we?” Lorca said, smirking without looking up. “Nice to know.” 

Jallistra rolled her eyes. “Well, until you want me to start calling you ‘Emperor’… ” 

His smirk faded. “No.” He sighed. “Well, I’d invite you to sit down, but it’s your ship, so I figure you can do whatever you want.” 

“Nice to know,” Jallistra said blandly, taking a seat on one of the armchairs. “So: how are you liking the 26th century?”

Lorca chuckled, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “Well, the drinks are terrible, everyone I cared about is dead, I’m gonna be in prison soon, and I have nothing whatsoever left to live for.” He put the PADD down. “So under the circumstances, I like it just fine. Can’t wait to see what fancy stuff you’ve done to the prisons. Are the beds as comfy?”

Jallistra let out a breath. “Well. That’s…”

She trailed off awkwardly, uncertain what to say. In lieu of her speaking, Lorca stood, walking over to the replicator.

“Something alcoholic,” he said.

“Please specify,” the computer said dryly. 

“I dunno, whiskey,” Lorca said. “Single malt.”

A moment later, there was a whirring as the whiskey came into existence. Jallistra watched Lorca pick the glass up and drain it, wincing as he did so.

“Terrible,” he said, putting the glass back. “Please tell me there’s something better than this out there, still.”

“There’s plenty of places to get drunk, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jallistra replied, keeping her tone neutral.

Lorca just laughed at that. “Well, thank God for small mercies.”

Jallistra didn’t reply to that, and after a moment he just sighed.

“Want a coffee?” he asked. 

She shook her head, and he smiled, before turning back to the radiator.

“Coffee,” he said, “strong, black, cooled enough to drink straight away.”

A moment later, he took a cup of coffee from the replicator and took a sip, before letting out a contented sigh. 

“That’s good,” he said after a moment. “At least something is round here.”

He sat down opposite her, and took another sip from his coffee, his expression somewhere between melancholy and morbid humour. Jallistra nodded slowly, not looking at him.

“So, I have to ask,” she began after a moment. “Your  ‘Terran Empire’ was supposed to be racist, xenophobic…”

“All that and more,” Lorca said, his tone and expression both perfectly neutral. 

How can he be so… nonchalant about it? Jallistra thought, taking a breath to calm herself. 

“You look shocked,” he cut in, smirking again. “You have read up on us, haven’t you?”

“Reading and encountering are two different things,” she said quietly.

He laughed again, but this time there was a tone of derision to it that made Jallistra feel… uneasy. 

“That much is definitely true,” he said. “I read all about the Federation from the few Defiant files I’d been allowed to see. But it was really difficult to make the adjustment when I was actually here.”

“I can imagine,” Jallistra said stiffly. She leaned forward. “So: you hate me, right? An alien in a ‘fleet uniform.”

He snorted at that. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Jallistra blinked. “Excuse me?”

“If I were some anti-alien bastard you could just toss in a pigeonhole as a ‘bad guy’,” he clarified, smiling coldly. “Make it nice and easy, then, wouldn’t it? I’d just be some bad person, not worth your time.”

“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out.

“My first officer in your universe was a Kelpien,” Lorca retorted, scowling. “We eat those. Well, we did in my time.” At Jallistra’s stricken expression, he held up both hands placatingly. “I never did - couldn’t stand the smell.”

Jallistra felt her gorge rise. “I… hadn’t read that.”

“Your reports must have left that bit out,” Lorca said, not hastily. “Can’t say I blame ‘em.” He paused. “My point is, despite that… cultural difference, I got on just fine with Saru. He was a good XO.” He leant back and looked at the ceiling. “When you've gotta work with the equivalent of a farm animal without arousing suspicions, you learn to let go of your prejudices.”

“Do you?” Jallistra countered, narrowing her eyes. “There’s a very big difference between not acting on those prejudices and not having them.”

Lorca rolled his head back down, meeting her gaze. “You want me to tell you that your alien-ness disgusts me? Is that it? Would that be what I’m meant to be to you?”

Jallistra’s nostrils flared. “It would be in keeping.”

“In keeping with the Empire, maybe,” Lorca said, scowling at her, “but not with me. Sure, I was a bit anti-alien - everyone in my universe was, at the time. But I saw the benefits of keeping them around, too.” His expression softened. “When you get your life saved by them, when you have to force yourself to trust ‘em… well, then they’re just people. Weird-looking people, but I reckon humans look pretty weird to them, too.”

Jallistra let out a breath. “I suppose you do. To some.”

“Well, I know the smell of humans seriously pisses Vulcans off,” Lorca said with a laugh. “I had a Vulcan prisoner once. Rather than stick him in the agoniser, we just pumped a room full of concentrated sweat odour. Made him puke his guts out after eighteen hours of it.”

Jallistra swallowed. “Lovely, I’m sure.”

Lorca’s smile faded. “Well. It was… it was funny. At the time.”

Jallistra crowned at the hesitation in his voice. Was that shame she heard in his voice? Was that even possible for him?

Nothing is as simple as it seems, she reminded herself again.

“I was wondering,” she said after a moment. “About how you were able to fit in.”

He gave her a scornful look. “‘Fit in’?”

“To Starfleet,” Jallistra clarified, clasping her hands in front of her and staring studiously at them. “To our Starfleet.”

“Ah.” He nodded, smiling again. “Must be surprising to you.”

“A little,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Starfleet back then was a different beast: much more militant and varied. But it was still Starfleet. How did you… I mean…”

She trailed off, feeling oddly self-conscious about the unflattering way that sounded. She almost laughed at the irony: she was worried about offending a man who was, by any logical and sane standard, clearly neither. 

“How did a man from a place like the Terran Empire manage to fit into your perfect ‘Fleet?” Lorca finished for her. She nodded, and he chuckled. “Hell if I know. Maybe I’m lucky. Maybe I was the kind of man your universe needed. Or maybe people were more willing to let my ‘bad behaviour’ slide when lives were on the line.” He sighed. “God knows. All I know is, it worked. For a while.”

“For a while?” Jallistra repeated. 

“There were slips,” Lorca admitted. “Your crews… they run on loyalty. Not fear. For a while… the first few days on Discovery, maybe more… I didn’t twig that.”

“And?” Jallistra asked.

“And, then I did,” Lorca continued. “Sort of.” He paused. “It was a skill I’d… I’d never quite had to use. Inspiring loyalty, not fear.” He laughed aloud, a desperate, almost deranged sound. “Believe it or not, I actually did inspire it where I’m from. Accidentally. Maybe because I didn’t use the agoniser for every misdemeanour, didn’t kill for every failure. Maybe that was enough, where I’m from.”

“But not here,” Jallistra guessed.

“No, not here,” he confirmed, smiling sadly. “Here, I got fear, apathy, contempt. I got loyalty, in the end, did my best to… I guess, be there for my crew…”

Jallistra’s mind recalled the report from Michael Burnham about the mission to rescue Ambassador Sarek. Her writing had been dry - very Vulcan - but in between the lines had been a respect, even admiration, for Lorca and his willingnes to help. A sharp contrast to the cold, almost angry tone that had been in the later reports.

“…but obviously,” Lorca continued as Jallistra thought, “it wasn’t enough. Not enough for them to trust me.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Jallistra wondered whether he was was thinking of the circumstances regarding his ‘death’. Reading the reports from Owosekun, Detmer, Burnham, she remembered the tone of betrayal. Only now did she realise that it might have been a betrayal both ways. How might he have felt?

The same kind of betrayal, she thought, frowning. How strange, that someone who lived in a world of no loyalty came to expect it.

“People betray each other in your Empire,” she said, trying to be gentle. Judging by the sudden furious glare he threw her, she hadn’t been gentle enough. “It’s a documented fact.” 

“That’s the Empire,” Lorca said harshly. “You betray your superiors and they betray you. You expect it. But I… here…” He sighed, the anger draining from his face. “I gave something, here. I tried. I really did.”

“You were always planning to go back,” Jallistra said, frowning. “Weren’t you?” 

Lorca laughed. “If I’d always planned to go back… well, no, that’s a lie. I planned to. Not quite when I did. I would have preferred to give the Klingons a bloody nose properly before I left.” His smile faded. “But events forced my hand.” 

He said nothing more, instead looking oddly contemplative. After a moment, Jallistra took a deep breath.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do in our time?” she asked.

Lorca laughed at that. “What I’m going to do in your time? Seriously?”

Jallistra frowned. “You haven’t thought about it?” 

“You mean apart from serving time in a penal facility?” Lorca asked, his smile fading.

Jallistra winced at that, her thoughts briefly travelling to facility 4028 and its ilk, wondering whether Lorca might really end up somewhere like that unforgiving place. Jallistra herself had only been once, to deliver a dangerous Android prisoner. 

“Yes,” she said quietly.

Lorca chuckled. “Then no.” He grimaced. “Even before you showed up and figured me out immediately - on which, I suppose I should congratulate you -”

Jallistra said nothing.

“- I was stuck,” he admitted, a frown settling onto his face. “What is there? My Empire’s gone or changed or whatever. The Federation won’t have me, not after two and a half centuries and, y’know, the whole treason thing…”

“There are always possibilities,” Jallistra said, smiling tiredly.

Lorca just snorted. “Now that sounds like a fortune cookie.”

That rang a bell. Jallistra’s smile widened incrementally.

“A fortune cookie, huh?” she said. She stood, walking over to the replicator. “Computer: Two fortune cookies. Random fortune, any database.”

“Working,” the computer said. A moment later, two fortune cookies materialised. 

“Sounds just like it did back in my day,” Lorca said idly as Jallistra passed him one of the cookies.

“Some things never change,” Jallistra told him.

“And some things,” Lorca retorted, “do.” 

He broke open the cookie, before removing the fortune and looking at it. Jallistra opened hers, and smirked.

“Tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she said, looking up at Lorca, who was staring at his with a neutral expression.

He held it up. “‘A cynic is only a frustrated optimist’.” 

Even as he said it, he sounded cynical, and Jallistra chuckled. She held up her own.

“Prospects cloudy,” she said, her tone deadpan. “Check back later.”

There was a momentary silence, and then the pair of them started to laugh, long and hard laughs that carried more weight than mere amusement. After a couple of minutes, it died down, and Jallistra sighed.

“I don’t know what to make of you, Captain,” she said, deliberately using the rank. He met her gaze, a small smile on his face as she continued. “But it’s not my job to try. Tell you what.” She motioned to the door. “Promise not to try and escape, and I’ll give you a tour of the Enterprise.”

Lorca finished his coffee and grinned. “I always wanted a look at one of the Connies, back in the day. I guess this isn’t quite that class though.”

Thinking over the specs of an old Constitution-class versus her own Enterprise, Jallistra couldn’t help but grin. “Not quite. We’re a lot bigger, for a start.”

“I’ll be happy to hear more about it,” Lorca said, smiling back at her. 

Jallistra paused, thinking for a moment, before looking at the discarded uniform jacket on one of the chairs. “You might want to put that on.” 

He looked back at it. “I don’t think so. It’s not my uniform.”

A funny thought occurred to Jallistra, and she smiled, before walking over to the replicator.

“Computer,” she said, “one Starfleet Captain’s duty uniform, circa 2256, standard fleet, UESPA registry. Authorisation Jallistra, Three Six Beta Upsilon.”

A moment passed, and then a blue jumpsuit appeared in the replicator, neatly folded. Jallistra retrieved it and placed it on the table in front of Lorca, who was staring at it with wide eyes. 

“That,” Jallistra said, “was your uniform, Captain Lorca. And until someone in authority tells me otherwise, it still is.”

Lorca picked the jacket up, holding it in his hands. The golden metallic decorations glimmered in the soft light of the room, and the blue was a rich, deep one. 

“Looks different in this light,” he said quietly. 

“You’re different,” Jallistra pointed out.

He smiled at her. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the light.” 

He slipped the jacket on over his black undershirt: the effect of the blue jacket over the black trousers was at once jarring and yet strangely fitting. He zipped the jacket up (and for a moment, Jallistra marvelled at the old-fashioned zip, possibly the last time one had been used in a Federation Starfleet uniform), and smiled.

“Ready when you are,” he said. 

Jallistra motioned to the door. “After you.”

***

Lorca.

The first stop was the bridge: the nerve centre of a starship. Lorca had to admit to a certain curiosity about just how much bridge design would have changed in two and a half centuries (not to mention interface design, tech design…). 

When the door to the turbolift opened, the first thing he noted was how spacious it was. Discovery’s bridge had been large, but it had a certain sparse functionality to the bare plating and dark lighting. This room, by contrast, was big, bright, carpeted and comfortable.

Like walking into a flying hotel, Lorca thought, resisting the urge to snort. 

“Captain Lorca,” a voice said. 

An Andorian officer stood: he wore the same red uniform Jallistra did, minus the white detailing (which Lorca presumed to be the same ‘Captain’s only’ detailing as was on his gold-shouldered blue jacket). 

Lorca nodded. “Hello there, Commander…?”

“Hy’ron Thenn,” the Andorian said, holding out a hand. “First Officer of the Enterprise.”

“It’s a good ship,” Lorca said, looking around. He winced slightly at the brightness. “Very smartly presented.”

“A smart presentation is the first step to a well-run ship,” Thenn said, nodding once. He gave Lorca a smile. “And I insist, as XO, on the ship being well-run.”

“Mr Thenn is probably the most disciplined officer on this ship,” Jallistra put in from behind Lorca. “Which is helpful, because I’m not so much.” 

Thenn drew himself up. “You are a perfectly disciplined Captain, Captain.”

“Not as much as you,” Jallistra said, winking at him. Thenn sniffed. 

Lorca chuckled. “You two should go into comedy.”

“Oh yes, that’d be a wonderful retirement,” Jallistra laughed, as Thenn gave a mock-scowl that was too exaggerated even for an Andorian.

Jallistra looked around, smiling.

“What do you think?” she asked Lorca. 

“Like I said,” he replied, smiling. “Well presented.” He looked around at the configuration of the bridge itself. “Unusual configuration. For my time, anyway.”

“Ah, yes,” Jallistra said, moving to her chair and sitting down. “I guess I like feeling like my officers can turn and look at me, voice their opinions.” She looked up at Lorca and smirked. “Let me guess. Not your preferred style?” 

It wasn’t, but Lorca didn’t see any need to say that. Jallistra had been kinder to him than he had expected (or expected from the rest of Starfleet, when they finally got to the starbase she’d mentioned). Insulting her style seemed the wrong kind of petty.

“Everyone Captains their ship their own way,” he said, smiling. 

“You go your way and I’ll go mine,” Jallistra nodded. “That seems more than fair to me.”

Lorca nodded, smiling as Jallistra stood.

“Well, Captain,” she said, “I think we should go visit the -”

“Captain Jallistra,” the Officer at the Ops station - a woman in a gold operations jacket - said, tapping away at her console. “We have detected an anomaly on our current flight path.”

Jallistra frowned. With an apologetic glance at Lorca, she went over to the Ops station, leaning over her officer’s shoulder.

“Anything similar on record, Maria?” she asked.

“A few things, Captain,” the Ops officer - Maria? - said. “It closely matches -”

She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence. With a sound like thunder and a rush of flame and sparks, the bridge exploded. 

***

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Christmas Tradition (Ginny Weasley x Luna Lovegood)

AN: A lil’ short for my best friend @hie-mal Sorry if I butchered it, my love.

Summary: It's Luna's first Christmas stay with the Weasley's - as Ginny's girlfriend, that is.

  Masterlist

 It was Christmas at the Burrow. Molly was busy cooking with the aid of her eldest children and husband. Most of the prep was done earlier that morning but somehow she’d been delayed by a few hours. Lunch at half three was a common Christmas thing that the Weasley’s had informed their guests and planned their rotas accordingly.

Occasionally, Molly glanced out the window to check on her kids and was rewarded for her concern with a snowball. On the odd occasion, it would just be snow, sprinkling itself across the picturesque countryside and refilling the holes in the ground made by the Weasley’s and their friends. A fully-fledged snowball war had broken out and Fred & George were nailing everyone else. Well, almost everyone else.

Ginny had counteracted her twin brother’s charmed snowballs with an army of snowman defending her area whilst she and Luna made two piles of their own ammunition. They were chatting about their plans for the rest of the school year whilst balling up the snow onto their assigned toboggans. When their piles were large and bountiful, Luna charmed her pile to create covering fire at the others.

“Nice one, Luna,” Ginny grinned, pecking her girlfriend’s cold cheek before they both slid around their snowman who were taking the hits intended for them. The pair slipped around the others and charmed the rest of the snowballs to attack their friend from behind their walls of defence.

“We surrender!” Ron shouted through a mouthful of snow. Harry raised his gloved hand that had snow stuck to it, waving it like a white flag.

“Yes! We have taken you prisoner!” Ginny jeered with her tongue out.

“Yes, and now they can help us win the rest of the snowball fight,” Luna cheered with her.

“Exactly! We’re gonna destroy them!” Ginny roared, slightly scaring her brother and her brother’s friend. Luna however seemed to thrive on this exhilaration; she was now skipping over to find Hermione and annihilate her, tossing a snowball into the air and catching it before launching it across the garden. A squeal emitted from amongst the blizzard; Luna’s snowball clearly found its mark. Now they weren’t sure about who they were scared of more.

“Yeah! That’s my girlfriend!” hollered Ginny as she threw another snowball. George let out a shriek as he was pelted from behind. Fred attempted to use a defence spell but his wand was knocked away somewhere into the snow.

Muffled yells that resembled someone conceding defeat and Ginny and Luna crowed at their victory. The group hurried indoors to warm up but, since Ginny and Luna had avoided being hit by snowballs, they shed their coats and shoes then took a seat on the armchair to have some alone time before everyone swarmed on the tree for presents.

    Leaning back in her chair, Ginny watched Arthur fumble about which present to give to Fred and which one to give to George – it was like tradition. Another thing that was tradition was watching everyone open their presents one by one. She was itching to open one misshapen package from her plus one who was currently sat on her lap in a jumper made by Molly. It was a royal blue colour with a bronze L in the centre – “for house pride”.

After Harry took forever to sift through his Quidditch Cleaning Supply Kit, Ginny launched herself at the present. Luna was thanking her stars that the present was on the floor next to them instead under the tree at the opposite side of the room or else she would’ve ended up beside the hypothetical present.

Ginny unwrapped her present. A box of Bolandi’s Exquisite Crystallised Pineapple fell into her lap  - well, Luna’s lap - along with something else. She picked it up. It was a Nargle charm, identical to Luna’s – down to the Butterbeer cork. The beads were red and gold alternating instead of blue; clearly Molly and Luna had co-ordinated their presents behind her back.

“Thank you, Luna,” Ginny put it on straight away, untucking her long red hair from under the cord. She wrapped her arms around Luna and hugged her tightly.

“You’re welcome, Ginny,” The blonde responded in her usual dreamy tone then pressed as kiss on the redhead’s crown, “I’m glad you like it.”

“I love it,” Ginny affirmed with another quick kiss. Luna seemed satisfied with this.

“I really like the tissue paper you got me. I’m definitely going to make some mascot hats with it. Perhaps you could help me,” She clasped the craft supplies to her chest.

“Absolutely,” Ginny grinned, ignoring her father’s not-so-subtle mumble about how cute she was being with Luna. Thank god Molly shouted for everyone to sit up for lunch – even if it was closer to dinner time at this point.

Luna got along with Arthur like a house on fire. While Ginny didn’t completely understand what they were talking about, she was smitten with Luna’s face, lit up like their Christmas tree as she gushed about Wrackspurts and headphones.

Staying in the kitchen to help Ron wash up, she kept an eye on her partner in the living room. She was still wearing her bright pink paper hat at a jaunty angle. It matched the earrings she was given by Hermione. She looked absolutely adorable.

“Ginny, you’re spilling water on the floor,” Ron nodded to the dribbling bubbles.

“You’re spilling water,” Ginny splashed her brother and somehow that was a stellar finishing blow that left Ron without a response. Quickly giving the rest of the dishes a final once-over, Ginny abandoned the task and went to make sure that her room was clean-ish one more time. It was perfectly adequate.

A pair of arms appeared around her waist; she turned to see Luna. Ginny was about to speak when she heard something above her head. A branch of mistletoe sprouted from above their heads, audibly stretching out its twigs and sprouting leaves and tiny white berries.

“Nargles?” Ginny looked down at Luna who was still staring at the mistletoe.

“Can’t be, we’re wearing our charms,” She replied, “Must be something else.”

Ginny then spotted Fred & George in the mirror on the landing wall; Fred was pointing his wand at the mistletoe. They both gave thumbs up then slinked back down to grab some leftovers. This was loads better than the “if you hurt my sister, we’ll hurt you” talk.

“Must be,” Ginny looked back at Luna, “Come on then, it’s tradition.”

Luna stood on her tiptoes and pressed her cool lips against Ginny’s for a few seconds before pulling away. Her hat was knocked in front of her eyes.

“Your brother and Harry are watching,” She said with a smile and a light pink dusting her cheeks. Ginny shot around with a fierce glare and Ron tugged Harry away from the banisters to his room.

Lifting her hat up, Luna leaned over and kissed Ginny again, “Thank you for inviting me to Christmas with you.”

“Thank you for coming, love.”

[thecloserlook]

This past week, we reached Spring Break, and boy did we need it. On top of the normal reading assignments, lectures, and weekly tests, the guys have been adding in message preparations and preaching practices. We had decided a month ago that, instead of the long trek to PA, we would keep our driving more local, and opted for a quick visit to my favorite southern locale, my Grandmother's farm in Toccoa, GA. Toccoa holds a very dear place in my heart. I have visited, for a week to ten days at a time, at least once a year. I vividly remember the long car trips, stopping for lunch and dinner, passing the huge Georgia peach (that looked like a butt), spotting Currahee Mountain (knowing we were close!), and waking up from a restless sleep to make sure I didn't miss seeing her house approach. I remember opening the van door and the dogs would run to my feet (my grandparents had several different strays come and live with them over the years). I remember Grandmom and Granddad greeting us, helping us inside, and the short fifteen minute conversation before everyone dispersed into their various bedrooms (five spread out in an eight-room house, accompanied by three full bathrooms). I have memories of Granddad making bows and arrows from bamboo and wooden dowels. The year we constructed a teepee. Biking on mountain trails. Swimming down the cold river at Sliding Rock. Gorging at the Dillard House. Playing football in the valley. Riding the horses in the pasture across the street. Swinging lazily on the "front" back porch. The assembly line at meal times (for creamed corn, Brunswick stew, cole slaw, and cold sweet tea). Learning from Grandmom in the kitchen or in the garden. Spending time (sometimes begrudgingly) with Granddad in the shop. Hiking. Playing card games. Building puzzles. Wrestling. Exploring. Feeding the animals. Hymns on Sunday. It feels like half of my life is there, in bits and pieces, perfectly preserved every time I go back and visit. But the purpose of this blog post is to introduce someone who has come to help define me. She is who I want to be in so many ways. As I have grown older, I have tried to be more intentional in asking her questions, getting to know her, and learn from her years of experience. I feel like I scratch the surface in every conversation, but never full peel back the layers that make her whole. So many years of life and love and loss are stretched across her face and visible in her hands. And yet she is a woman of few words. So I have been trying to make sure I ask the right questions. (Margaret) Faye Farmer is a talented woman. She has a mind for mathematics and science. She has an incredible memory, and an ever increasing capacity to learn. She is scrappy, but has the quintessential southern charm. She is tough without being rough. If she has an opinion, she offers it softly, as a suggestion. You must press her to get her to talk about herself. She is honest and direct, and not afraid to say "I don't know" or "I don't want to say." Here are some things I learned about my Grandmother in this last trip to Toccoa; things that inspire me and challenge me, and I hope paint a small portrait of the woman we all love so dearly. 1) Her home is a haven for others. My Grandmother's home was not originally hers. It belonged to her mother-in-law. When it became clear that they could not manage the property, she agreed to move in with them and help care for them with my Granddad. And in time, they inherited the property. She made someone else's home her own, purely because they needed her help, giving her own house to her daughter. Faye worked alongside her mother in law, honoring her place as the mistress of the house Now, she has two of her own children living with her, helping her to care for the property. Instead of holding onto her rights or seeking to remain autonomous, she has sought to share this place freely. That includes giving up her room, her habits, sometimes her own things, to accommodate those around her. She does not live a life as someone entitled. She knows she has something to offer, and she offers it willingly. She would rather change and acclimate than put her foot down and demand things her way. And she doesn't do it with a grudge. She genuinely learns how to be happy with the "new." Her home is a vehicle for her to care for others. For a few years, for a month at a time, she would bring her mother from Gastonia to Toccoa to live with her while she succumbed to Alzheimer's. She has hosted families and friends who need a place to stay. And her home isn't just a haven to people. Every single house pet they have ever owned there showed up one day and decided to stay. Penny (a terrier mix), who mated with a beagle down the road and gave birth to Shadow and Midnight. Smokey, who was a German Shepard/lab mix. Jumper (who was a nasty little dog to everyone but Grandmom). And she told me that thirteen different cats have found their home on her farm over the years (current ones being Buster and Cissy). My Grandmother has lived many places. But she will readily say that a house is just that, until you fill it with people and use it to care for others. Then, it becomes a home. 2) She honors the heritage she has been given, without idolizing her possessions. Faye inherited a house and furniture that wasn't hers, but had been loved and valued by generations before her. And she took loving care of everything she was bestowed. The vegetable garden my great-grandmother slaved over (even up to the months before her passing) still give produce today. The lawns and flower gardens are tirelessly weeded and maintained. The cast iron skillets and mixing bowls still sizzle and clang with use. Sometimes, even when things partially break, she continues to use them, because to throw them away is a waste (she used an old rolling pin with only one handle for years until my uncle found a brand new one sitting in a box in the back room). She closes her eyes and sighs if she sees things get tossed in the trash because they have a dent or a scratch. She works slowly and meticulously, with loving hands that deftly clean or prune or cook. But she doesn't see these heirlooms as treasures on earth. They are still just "things." She isn't upset that things are thrown away because of sentimentality. She just hates seeing things wasted or devalued because they aren't "new." She said "I was upset at first when my kids started clearing out the house. Agnes (my great-grandmother) would not have liked so much stuff being thrown away. When you live through the depression, you don't just get rid of things because they are old or used. But now that it's done, I really am glad. I do think we had too much stuff, and we certainly weren't going to use it all. But when they got started, I did hide some things that I didn't want them to find and get rid of. Just a few things, you know." Don't worry Grandmom. I won't give away your secret hiding place stash. 3) She thinks little of herself; she doesn't think of herself as impressive, and she doesn't think of herself often. My grandmother grew up on a farm owned by her uncles. She had to pull water up from the well every day. She had to help her mother wash her clothes on Mondays in a boiling pot of water, and then hang it on lines and chicken wire to dry. Her first dog was named Tiny, and one day he got lost on a walk. When he came back, it bit her and started doing strange things, and they realized he had rabies. Everyone in her family needed 21 shots EACH in the hip, once a day. On Christmas, they would go to church for a special service, and get a small goody bag with some peppermints, an apple, and an orange (rare treats). She never had a birthday party until after she was married, when a friend at church discovered this and threw one for her. But even after that they have been few and far between. She worked as a teacher for a few years after graduating college, but her favorite job was working at her cousin's Nursery, selling plants and tending to the store. She met my grandfather on a blind date, set up by his cousin, who was a mutual friend of theirs. And she told my grandfather when they married that she would change her political party if he changed religions. I share this because I find her life to be quite interesting. Every memory she has is like a historical novel. What she endured, how she lived, what she considers "normal," it is all fascinating. And yet, she doesn't sit in an armchair and drone about the past like it's a lecture. Sometimes she will see something that sparks her memory, and she will chuckle to herself, and that's it. It's only when pressed (usually by one of us) that she opens the window into her past. If you were to stop her ten times throughout the day, and ask her what she is thinking about, ten out of ten she is thinking of some task that needs to be done, or some person who she needs to check in on. It's like she keeps her past in a drawer, and sometimes, while looking for something else, she will open it by accident, and smile as she remembers the contents, but then close it quickly and move on. It's not that her past is painful. She just lives in the moment she has been given. She loves showing me old photo albums of myself, or my family, but not of her own life growing up (what few pictures there are). She doesn't force anyone to think about her or remember her. If she wants to talk to you, she will call you herself. Or write you a letter. But she doesn't wallow in self-pity when people don't keep up. She lives her life simply, and makes sure she is someone who is easy to please and appease. 4) She is a hard worker. My Grandmother rises early. She makes breakfast and does chores almost automatically. She cares for the animals who find their way to her. She walks all over the property, her skilled eye noticing new weeds to pull or fallen twigs pick up or new bamboo shoots clip. She volunteers at the food bank once a week. She drives an elderly woman to church every Sunday. She sings in the choir and volunteers monthly to make food for the church potluck after services. She collects aluminum and rubber for recycling yards and drives. She checks in on her neighbors. No project is beneath her. No chore is too hard for her. Where physical limitations step in, she asks for help, but that's only after she has tried it first herself. She wants to have an equal share of the work as she gets older, not be relegated to the armchair for observation. She thinks about others. Every year that we have visited, she has slaved over the mountain of dishes, planned the meals, gotten us blankets or towels before we knew we needed them, ironed our clothes out of the laundry, or pulled out the games or activities we enjoy. Her mind is running almost as fast as her body is working, and even as she gets older, her drive to work hard for others remains as strong as ever. 5) She is an example of biblical femininity. No one who looks at my Grandmother would call her "weak." No one can say she has a "weak mind." In fact, she has watched her own mother and sister forget who she is as their minds erode with Alzheimer's, while she remains sharp as a tac. She has lived with relatives who grow old and die in her house. She has seen family move away. She has watched her church struggle to grow in numbers. She was the one who found her husband had peacefully passed, while resting during a day working outside (on someone else's property, no less). She is an example of a strong woman, carrying itself in a meek body. She thrives in her home. When she has had to, she worked outside the home for income. When she was able to, she stayed home with her kids to raise them and care for them. She isn't out to prove herself to anyone. She isn't out to make a name for her own accomplishments. She works with skill, effectiveness, and timeliness in her responsibilities. She is dependable. She is compassionate. She is generous. She is long suffering. She loves the Lord, and communes with him every day. And everything she does flows out of the knowledge that her life is not her own. It is an instrument. She is capable of many things, and has done many things, but her name is not the one heralded at the gates. No, she would rather work behind the scenes, a sweeper of the floor in the house of the Lord. She is content with being "made nothing" so He can be made great. I love you, Grandmom. And I can't wait to see the storehouse in Heaven that the Lord is preparing for you as your reward for serving him.