#its also very reminiscent of tos
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"The New Voyages" review
This one is actually a collection of short stories by fan authors, which makes the stories seem more like episodes of the series. It has also the distinct honor of being introduced by Roddenberry and most members of the cast. The stories are generally well-written and in character.
Some spoilers ahead:
Ni Var (by Claire Gabriel; intro by Nimoy) takes the plot of "The Enemy Within", but applied to Spock and the division between his Vulcan rational part, and his human emotional part. Besides the fact that I'm not sure such division works at that biological level, the two Spocks aren't all that different really. And it's not a very novel concept, specially right after a similar plot in previous book "Spock must die". But bonus points for Kirk giving the middle finger to his own reflection.
Intersection Point (by Juanita Coulson; intro by Doohan) is one of the best stories. The Enterprise is seriously crippled while navigating through an anomaly cloud, which is quickly contracting and threatens to crush the entire ship. Anyone who enters the cloud to retrieve a crucial component of the ship, is mentally destroyed by its eldritch qualities. Great tension and difficult choices.
The Enchanted Pool (by Marcia Ericson; intro by Nichols) is an attempt to write a fairy tale with Spock thrown in the middle for good measure. A bit of purple prose, and doesn't quite work. The resolution of the mistery is ingenous, even when convoluted.
Visit to a Weird Planet Revisited (by Ruth Berman; intro by Barrett) is actually the other half of a fanfic (Visit to a Weird Planet, not published here) where Kirk, Spock and Bones end up in the real world, right in the studio where they're filming Star Trek. Here instead, we follow the actors, who appear in the Enterprise and have to improvise to avert a danger. The other story was more fun, since Kirk and co. are more clumsy and hilarious in our world (being even "attacked" by fans), while the actors are just slightly less competent than their counterparts.
The Face on the Barroom Floor (by Eleanor Arnason and Ruth Berman; intro by Takei) is a really fun story. Kirk gets into a fight in a bar while in shore leave, is detained, teams up with a ratty thief, and crashes a party, while his crew search for him frantically. In the line of TOS best comedy-adventure episodes.
The Hunting (by Doris Beetem; intro by the editors) is a bit "meh". Spock goes into a Vulcan ritual which requires to mind-meld with a wild beast, and McCoy accompanies him. When Spock goes wild in the process, the good doctor has to hunt him and give him back his sanity. There could have been a more homoerotic fight between them, as in "Amok Time".
The Winged Dreamers (by Jennifer Guttridge; intro by Kelley) is another high point. The Enterprise crew falls under the influence of some creatures that make their fantasies seem real. So real that people can actually die if imagining the wrong thing. Spock is less affected, but slowly begins to hallucinate too, and the triumvirate fall into paranoia as neither they (nor the reader) can tell what's real and what's not anymore.
Mind-Sifter (by Shirley Maiewski; intro by Shatner) drags a bit at the beginning, when Kirk wakes up in a sanatory, his mind almost destroyed. It gets more interesting once Spock and McCoy start a quest to search for him. Great interactions between these two, reminiscent of "The Tholian Web".
After the eight stories there's still a little poem about Spock and Leila.
Spirk Meter: 10/10*. Not all stories are equally slashy, but the parts which do, are slashy in spades.
Ni Var has Kirk worrying about Spock all the time, and "human Spock" wondering if what he feels for the Captain is friendship... or love (something which happens too in one of Roddenberry's story concepts for a movie, around this time).
Intersection Point has a clear parallel between the anguish of a female crewmember, after a man (obviously her boyfriend) loses his mind in the anomaly, and Kirk agonizing once Spock has to enter the same anomaly.
The Enchanted Pool, where Spock refuses to kiss a beautiful female time and time again. Even when the woman assures him it's the only way to break a spell and escape. Even when Spock is doing far more dangerous things ALL THE TIME to solve problems. Of course, he considers the kiss a total waste of time once it doesn't work.
The Face on the Barroom Floor: Kirk is invited to a bar by McCoy and Sulu, who have found three women to pass the time, one for each. What does Kirk do? He gets out the bar two seconds later, puts on a samurai costume, and goes instead to a bar full of muscular, rowdy men, to get thrashed by them. Of course.
The Winged Dreamers has Spock wishing to stay on a planet with Kirk, just the two of them, for ever and ever. McCoy totally gets what's going on.
And I thought that Mind-Sifter would be about the love between a (quite unproffesional) nurse, and her mentally unstable patient, Kirk. But oh man, where do I even begin!? For starters, we have Kirk using his mind link with Spock to cry for help, across the galaxy and several centuries. And later he's concerned about how much can Spock read into his mind. Then we have McCoy informing the nurse that no, Kirk can't stay with her, because his love is his career and his... (trails off, having said too much). Gallant Spock carries an unconscious Kirk in his arms, and tells the nurse that, no matter how much she loves him, Kirk DOES NOT love her back (bitch!). If that wasn't enough, there's a lenghty conversation at the end, where Kirk almost melts in love and appreciation for Spock, and the Vulcan blushes at his own emotional display.
*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.
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Foundation (Into The Gray Chpt. 5)
Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)
Pairings: Sierra Six x Reader, Courtland Gentry x Reader, Sierra Six x You, Courtland Gentry x You
Type: Multi-Chap
Parts of your memories felt like lies, other parts blurring together or not there at all. Faces and voices, names –you hardly remembered your own some days, but you entertained that it was because you had been filed down to a what instead of a who your entire life. Sometimes, you stopped just long enough to think about it, sort through what was real and what wasn’t. More often than not, you ended up with more things being on the fake end, some aspects of your life balancing precariously between the two.
Six was not a victim of prejudice like you were, defined by what he did in the present only. He was moral, and loyal–two things that you didn’t think you were. After all, you’d slept with men that you knew you’d have to kill–blank faces and printed names on a manila folder. You never regretted it, and it wasn’t something that you laid awake thinking about. They weren’t good men, and you’d do it again as many times as you had to.
Lloyd hadn’t been a good man, but you hadn’t killed him. There was something about that; having it mean something, and having a choice. It felt like that semblance of a choice was taken away like most things in your life, except that you didn’t think that you would have done it.
But now you also didn’t have the opportunity to know for sure.
Your eyes rested calmly on Six, his tense and strong outline the most profound thing in the darkened space. A gun was aimed between your eyes, the hand that gripped it steady and practiced from years worth of contracts against people who hadn’t earned the hesitation that you had. His finger didn’t rest on the trigger, but hovered beside it. He hadn’t yet made his choice, but that could change within a fraction of a second.
“You didn’t,” you’d said softly as you toed off your shoes by the door and traversed further into the house, careful against waking Claire. His eyes followed your every move, every languid stride, noticeably taking a step to the left to cut you off from where Claire’s room was. That didn’t stop your curious meander around the edges of the space in all of its emptiness and lack of any expressive or original personality. It was very reminiscent of your own space in some ways.
“Forget to lock anything, I mean.” You clarified before he could answer, picking up an old record– The Yes Album by Yes–before setting it back down on the shelf, more neatly in between a few other records that you didn’t recognize. You didn’t look at him, not at first, too focused on your own natural curiosity about a space you’d mapped, but had yet to test the complete accuracy of. “I can’t read your mind, just your face.”
“I don’t actually have to have to talk to have a conversation with you, do I?”
You hadn’t said anything in response—and only then did you give him that warm, soft smile. It was the heart of that double-edged sword that you did so well. You read people, not because you had to—that part didn’t matter to complete a mission. It wasn’t about violence and calculation.
Not all the time.
You liked people just fine, and you liked Six, some part of him expressing something to you that he was someone that could be likable, but the rarity was you expressing it. You’d consider that much a privilege to whoever ended up on the receiving end of it.
“I thought for someone as smart as you, you wouldn’t try to settle.” You mused, taking another sweeping glance around the house. You didn’t have time to appreciate its simple architecture, but you appreciated the concept. “I’m assuming that after you grabbed Claire, you tried to move closer to your origins.”
Six’s expression changed, while to him may have been indiscernible, to you , you knew that you’d hit close to home. “How much do you know about me?” He asked, cautious, afraid to give away much else; anything else–he’d already given away more than he meant to.
“Nothing,” you said simply with a vague shrug of your shoulders. “Like everyone else. That’s why I think this particular move was very intelligent on your part.”
He glanced behind him, quick, then looked back at you just as quickly. You saw his urge to back up and peek through the blinds, to search for anyone else, but he didn’t take his eyes off you. He was smart. As smart as you gave him credit for. “Am I surrounded?”
You quirked a smile at one edge of your lips, tilting your head. “Just you and me.”
Six remained wary. “And who are you?”
You told him your name, matter-of-factly.
“Are you here to kill me, because if you know anything about me, you know they’re not paying you enough to do this.” He scrutinized your expression, and you didn’t think there was anything on your face that he could decipher from it, nothing that you didn’t want him to see. “But something about you tells me that it won’t make a difference.”
“I’ve been throwing Carmichael off your scent, but now I’m going to need you to come in.”
“What if I say no?”
You didn’t watch where his finger lingered by the trigger, twitching between a lethal decision, but you saw it out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t shoot you for the sake of keeping Claire asleep, if subjecting her to more carnage could be avoided. You hadn’t proved yourself an outright threat, either. Not yet.
“If you say no,” you shrugged again, less subtle. “Then you’re right. It won’t make a difference.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because I’m not here for Claire, and you’re very attached to her.”
“You wouldn’t get very far if you were.” He answered, blunt.
“Oh, I know that.” You smiled. Your feet had lingered at the border between the living room and the kitchen, then you finally crossed from tile to plush carpet directly into his space. Only then did his finger move to the trigger, and you raised your hands, turning them around so that he could see you weren’t armed. “Just like I know that you would rather shoot your way out of a problem.”
“I’d rather not shoot you at all if I don’t have to.”
“That would be your first mistake.”
One of the many things that you’d learned while studying Six were a few of his mannerisms, his quirks, the subtle little movements telling you whether or not he would be a threat. He wouldn’t. Not unless you attacked him first–he fought honorably one-on-one–and not until you proved a threat to Claire. With that knowledge, you pursued him.
Six retreated as you persisted. Your feet were in tow with his own, nearly stepping on his toes with every backward stride that he made across the living room. His back hit the opposite wall, and you were there, looking up at the slope of his chin and the way he tilted his head up to get away from you. Your own head pivoted to the side, eyes narrowing in a casual curiosity.
“Your morality is going to get you killed.” You chided, even with the muzzle of his pistol pressed against your temple.
“It hasn’t yet. I try to be optimistic.” He huffed.
There was hardly an inch of space between the two of you, chests nearly brushing, voices lowered to a whisper as though sharing a secret in a crowded room. Secrets were the only thing that the two of you had, things that you both hid well from a world that you were no longer a part of. Ideas of domesticity and something akin to normal were lost to the both of you, and you believed that maybe, they always had been.
“ Optimistic .” You mused aloud with a smile, shaping the unfamiliar word over in your mouth. “For you, or for Claire? It’s been a while since her last incident, and I know that you don’t want to break that streak.” You leaned up, rising onto your tip-toes, your voice a low silkiness that you were sure made him tense, rippled goosebumps along the flesh of his biceps and his throat where he swallowed.
But you knew that somewhere, you’d hit a chord, a harmonious tune that only spoke the harshness of the truth. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t thought of already, his own insecurities spilling from your mouth in the only place they’d been able to consider a home since Six’s breakout from the hospital–the result had been bloody carnage, special forces wiped out by one injured man.
Six’s skill and morality were a strong and weak point that bounced off one another like two charges at the receiving ends of a battery. Both dependent on the situation, but held steadfast to his value that some people in the world deserved to die. Six may have been something akin to a machine in the past, taking orders and following the demands of his master, but his self-preservation for someone else’s sake and his complete refusal of orders if something immoral happened to get in the way of him and his goal would be his downfall.
Eventually, if not right now.
“Is that what you know?”
“I know that even Dani Miranda wanted to use Claire against you.” You didn’t blink as you listed off the familiar set of names. “Denny Carmichael. Donald Fitzroy. Lloyd Hansen.” You shrugged. “They’re all two sides of the same coin. With Claire involved, that’s one fight you won’t ever win.”
Six looked down at you, but his was an easy gaze that you met with equal force. In the silence that neither of you disturbed, you heard the steady pitter-patter of rain off the roof, the storm sweeping in too late. You’d already proved to be an unstoppable force on your own, the tension in the room too thick to cut through, and yet comfortable all the same.
“And whose side are you on?” He asked, quiet.
“Nobody’s.” You answered, and somehow that was still the truth even in the few months spent in the service of the CIA. Your loyalty never belonged to them, and you’d come from a different set of rules. “Not anymore.”
In the beginning, you supposed that you owed Lloyd, but you couldn’t owe somebody that was dead. You were more practical, and had no intentions of preserving his memory, or living in his name. You didn’t end up a pawn to the CIA because they wanted you to. You were with the CIA because your intentions happened to lie within the realm of their convenience.
“So a friend, then?”
“Is that what you want me to be?” You raised your eyebrows. “Because you’re in the wrong business for that.”
“I’m not in that business anymore.”
You almost laughed at the irony–the both of you still very much a part of that business. It was what you knew best, cozy fairytale endings and white picket fences far outside your reach. You had to give him credit for trying, but you knew that he was in the same mindset that you were–a life like that was never meant for people like you, tools like you.
And it was terrifying. Caring about people. You’d learned not to.
You nodded, only once. “That’s right. You’re in the business of menial labor.” You clicked your tongue. “And you’re terrible at it.”
Six snorted.
Down the hall, the tired shuffling of feet over carpet split between the two of you, the small crack in the door opening wider. “Six?” The voice of a young girl– Claire –called out into the darkness of the house, the only light from the lamp illuminating both of your shadows across the wall, and hers, growing closer, a small blob spreading wide into a silhouette.
The two of you didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
You glanced at him, but he was no longer looking at you. His raging focus was on the hallway, a concern taking to a placid expression. You started to move away, and the barrel of his gun began to lower, but there was another sound too. A quiet shuffling at first until the source of the new noise became clear, a plethora of footsteps in rapid sync, the sound of a hiss as something smashed through the window behind you.
Gas.
All sound was suddenly muted, a dense mirage crawling over the enclosed space. Claire’s further calls drowned in your ears, as well as the sound of sudden gunfire–the embrace of death did not come from a swift bullet to the head as you expected. Six was shoving you to the floor, glass shattering overhead from the windows that had been behind you moments earlier. You thought that you heard him grunt, a sudden string of scarlet running down the crown of your head.
But not from you.
His weight was off of you within seconds, the loud thumping of combat boots and rushed orders signaling the arrival of the CIA–Carmichael was closer than you’d thought. You moved to your knees and crawled the length of the living room, the flurry of bodies nothing but distorted movement in your peripherals. You didn’t go for Six and finish the job for yourself, and you didn’t go for the exit as you should have.
You went for the hallway. For Claire.
She’d backed away at the sudden invasion of smoke, the scene becoming too much of a familiarity for her to start crying, to start screaming. She called Six’s name and backed toward her room. When she saw you, she pivoted back on her heel to run, but you were on your feet and grabbing her arm before she made much distance, yanking her back in the direction that she was already going.
“What are you doing? Let go !” She hissed, her nails digging deep arcs into your arm with violent, terrified desperation.
You yanked her into her room and slammed the door shut, ignoring the ache that split down your forearm. You were sure that if you’d looked, you were probably bleeding. She continued backing away, backing into a corner, instinctively moving for the window.
“Did Six give you directions to a safehouse in cases like this?” You said as you retrieved a backpack by the bed, shoving anything inside that looked relevant plus a few things that you’d quickly noted as sentimental. Through the dark, most things were guesswork, vague outlines of familiar objects, but you were suddenly working against the clock–more akin to a ticking time bomb, you supposed given the circumstances.
“ What ?”
“A safehouse? Like a–”
“I know what a safehouse is.” She scowled.
You didn’t bite back at the retort. “Okay. You’re going to go there. I’ll find you when I need you.” You’d turned–unable to gradually lose your patience because at the moment you didn’t have any–shoving the backpack into her arms, shuffling her back a few steps. Her bewildered eyes followed you as you moved to lift the window up. It stuck, but with a few forceful tugs, it finally gave way. You were immediately met with an onslaught of rain, the sandy terrain morphing into a muddy sludge sliding downward around the edges of the house.
Claire was looking at the door, at the commotion happening just on the other side.
They were coming .
“ Claire .” You said, and she jumped and turned toward you, eyes wide. Dark tendrils of hair stuck to her sweat soaked face, her shoulders rising and falling in rapid succession. Her eyes flicked warily to the door, then back to you.
“Who are you? What’s… What’s happening to Six? Are they going to hurt him?”
You ignored her, standing in front of her, looking directly into her terrified eyes as you spoke just to make sure that she understood. “You’re going to stick to the right side of the house, head toward the crest of the hill, then go where you need to go. Understand?”
“Are–are you one of Six’s friends?”
You didn’t possess the moral compass that advised you to lie in order to comfort a kid. There wasn’t any point, seeing as you were certain that she already knew the answer. “No. I’m not.”
“Okay.” Claire nodded numbly, swallowing the tears that she desperately tried to keep at bay. Her arms tightened around the backpack, growing progressively more unsure. Her feet had slid into ratty tennis shoes, absent of any socks. She was smart. Between the gunfire and the yelling from what was likely a similar group of people that had taken you, she knew which was the more obvious option in her case. She didn’t run for Six even though you could tell she wanted to. “Is he gonna be okay?”
“He’ll be fine.”
She didn’t believe you, but in that regard, you hadn’t lied. Instead, she turned, and only when she’d turned away did the tears begin to fall as she lifted herself out the window. You listened for the sound of her tennis shoes landing in the sludge, the squeaking slide as she narrowly avoided falling, then the rapid, clumsy steps as she retreated.
Once her footsteps faded into the background of the storm, you followed her out, however when your feet touched the sludge with more grace, you ran in the opposite direction.
#sierra six#the gray man fanfiction#courtland gentry#fanfiction#the gray man (2022)#sierra six x y/n#sierra six/reader#sierra six x you#sierra six x reader#the gray man
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A Note On... Frogun and Coins
Frogun is a 3D platforming game by Molegato! Save your parents (and coincidentally find some treasure) through these crazy ruins!
First off, I am astounded by the number of people (in the Steam reviews) who absolutely hate the controls and the checkpoint usage. I can understand their gripes from the "precise platforming that the controls don't accommodate" but damn. I've had my fair share of frustrating moments, for sure. Frogun is definitely a difficult and (for me, mildly) frustrating time because of the later levels. However, it definitely does not detract from its experience.
In terms of controls, my issue was that at certain angles (too angled/obtuse) and distances (way too close or too high) and timings, the grapple simply does not work. The reticle would say you can grapple, but you'd still be too high to connect, so the grapple just goes right over. Sometimes it should've and sometimes it shouldn't have. Either way, I got through this pretty awesome game just fine.
The biggest issue with the game is while 100%-ing it. In which case, you need to be good enough to perform the platforming skips. And once you know the basics, you don't even need to do the more difficult ones. But most of all, you need to farm 30,000+ coins after you've beaten all the levels. It was at that number for me since I'd only completed each level 2-3 times for the medals. It's an absolutely insane 4 hour grind where you only collect 360 coins per run on one kind of annoying level.
Setting grievances aside, the game is pretty great. The art style and music feels very retro, reminiscent of my days of playing Mario 64 at the dentist's office when I was a kid. Or more recently, it felt similar to playing Here Comes Niko at the end of last year. I do absolutely love the choices I have for hats too. My go-tos were the froggy hood and the red box that I don't know the name of.
The level design is pretty interesting for the most part. There are, of course, a lot of areas where it was frustrating for the same reasons I stated above. But overall, it does a nice job of easing you into the mechanics before it gets too hard. As well, when you're used to the basics, it always adds a new thing for you to pay attention to.
Surprisingly, where this game really shines is the boss battles. They started off super simple, but by the end, the boss battles were my favourite thing and got me super excited for the boss rushes. Which were also surprisingly enjoyable given their difficulty.
As a platformer, Frogun isn't for everyone. But if you love this style of game, definitely give it a shot.
As always,
Enjoy gaming!
#game review#video games#gaming#a note on...#ink reviews#Frogun#it was super surprising to me to find out all the negative reviews were for those reasons
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like i hope his deal is all money no stake 😭 and like long-term business decision wise i just don't know. i feel like this is gonna loose him a lot of his audience and they're gonna stay gone after a year, two years or whatever on kick
YEAH like genuinely i think the founding principles of kick (re "FUCK TWITCH BARELY ANY TOS DO WHAT YOU WANT AND MAKE HELLA CASH") draw in a viewerbase thats more reminiscent of 2014 xbox live lobbies than dteams viewerbase (aka: homophobic teenage boys who just want to watch porn and see numbers go up) and i think its gonna alienate a LOT of his viewerbase as a result. like i started getting more involved in the dteam BECAUSE it was a space in the gaming community that wasnt full of people who were going to oust me for being a fag and going to a site that was founded on that sort of stuff (also obligatory statement that Rumble is a MUCH more alt-right streaming platform its just that the Face Of Kick is like. adin ross and trainwrecks which is. still not very good) and this move just seems like. a Bad One for community but a good one for business?
but yeah i really hope its a nonexclusive contract and he can dip whenever because i feel like this is 1. a bad PR move 2. a bad move for the community he's curated and 3. just isnt sustainable like i have a gut feeling that in a year or two if kick becomes an actual significant platform that challenges twitch (which was its mission statement but so far hasnt really done anything except give banned streamers a home + sign xqc) theyre not going to have the resources to give every single streamer that lucrative rev split thats their main draw for creators. if it seems to good to be true, it probably is.
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SNW: Strange New Worlds
Spoiler warning: there will be some.
Following the events of Discovery season 2, Captain Pike heads back to the Enterprise for his own spin-off. We start with a cute little scene of an alien species making first contact, wearing sharp-looking military uniforms with awesome light-up lapels.
My rank is aquamarine and you will address me as such.
As the scene changes, we get a glimpse of some really classic costumes from The Day the Earth Stood Still – apparently one of Captain Pike’s favourites, as he’s watching it while making pancakes and contemplating the horrifying nature of his own doomed existence in an immutable tapestry of fate.
…The movie helps.
Yes, still reeling from having witnessed his own gruesome future, Chris has retreated to his cabin in Montana and adopted the aesthetic of “comfy dad.”
The beard has some potential, though.
Then, without any warning, he cleans up and gets on a horse in a snowstorm, looking like this:
Okay, yes, I’m team beard. 100%.
The viewer suddenly remembers they are writing a blog about fashion, and remembers to pay attention just in time for Admiral April to show up in a shuttle and Starfleet’s latest winter line, complete with gloves and an extra-long jacket.
It’s nice, but I prefer the winter 2154 men’s collection.
They argue about whose jacket is cooler.
Look at this thing. I look amazing.
I think it’s mostly the horse.
Finally, they agree both jackets are good, and Pike will return to the Enterprise. Meanwhile, Spock is on a date.
I love how Vulcan formalwear is so… pointy.
With all the tact of a wild sehlat, Spock comments on how T’Pring is wearing “ritual mating colours,” though it’s hard to tell what those are with how orange everything is on Vulcan. Or maybe the mating colour is orange. That would be convenient.
I’ll bet he hasn’t even noticed her double-decker bun.
Despite the bluntness of Spock’s observation, it IS a great look, with sparkly fabric and interesting cutouts on both the front and back. T’Pring is also a master of accessorizing, and wears swirly gold earrings and a matching gold ring in the shape of a sun.
There’s another accessory inside the box, but it’s probably not important.
Somehow, being an oblivious dingus doesn’t prevent our boy from getting intimate with his new fiancée, and we get to see what Vulcan lingerie looks like! Unlike its lacy human counterpart, Vulcan “date underwear” appears to be geometric and metallic. On the other hand, the sheer cover-up that covers nothing is a well-known garment in human apparel.
I’m not sure I see the logic in this piece of clothing.
Aboard the Enterprise, we are greeted by transporter chief Kyle, who is actually surprisingly well-established in canon and not just some guy named Kyle, which I definitely didn’t assume for a very long time. *cough*
His uniform is an interesting style, and the colour blocking feels a bit reminiscent of 90s Trek uniforms. He wears a shiny metal badge with his department insignia, similar to the ones we saw in Discovery, in contrast to the simple metallic patches sewn onto the uniforms in TOS.
Friggin’ Kyle.
Most of the bridge crew, on the other hand, wear the solid colour TOS-style uniforms. Right away, we can see they’ve been updated with modern, almost athleticwear fabrics, and have a more severe v-neck.
Spock approves of severity in one’s appearance.
Notably, the rank bands at the cuffs are now coloured to match the uniform, not just standard gold across the board.
Another neat feature is that the upper shoulder/top of sleeve part of these uniforms has a tiny pattern matching the wearer’s department. These symbols are the same as those on their badges, in most cases.
Starburst pattern indicates command.
Spiral pattern indicates operations. Withering glare indicates disdain.
Later, in sick bay, we are introduced to two more legacy TOS characters, Dr. M’Benga and Nurse Chapel. Now, before I get to Nurse Chapel and lose my ability to form cohesive thoughts, let’s look at the good Doctor’s outfit.
The look of a man who’s about to get more lines than the original character ever did.
It’s a lighter blue than other sciences uniforms we’ve seen, closer to the shade used for all medical and science crew in the original series. It also features an interesting front closure, and appears to have a pattern of medical crosses on top of the sleeves/shoulders.
Look, if there’s one guy on the ship who outranks the captain, he gets a special uniform.
Nurse Chapel, on the other hand, gets this absolutely killer white jumpsuit, featuring the same silver bands at the wrist, a zipper down the front, and pockets(!). This is, by far, my favourite uniform variant in Strange New Worlds, and it couldn’t be worn by a better character.
Oh my god she’s so cool. Is she looking this way?
You can also see the same pattern of medical crosses… on the uh…
oh my god I think she looked at me
I would be sick every day of my life on this starship.
Our guys need to go down to the planet, which means it’s time for disguises! Pike gets a slick black suit, chief of security La’an gets a gorgeous copper jacket, and Spock gets a military-style uniform.
With little shorts.
*chef’s kiss*
I want to focus on La’an’s outfit, which we get to see a little more of as she executes a quick-thinking plan. I love the burgundy tights matching the dress, and of course I’m a fan of the metallic fabric studded with something shiny and metal at the lapels.
I’m a simple Trekkie. Sparkly = good.
So it’s a bit of a shame when they mercilessly beat up a bunch of doctors and steal* their clothes. I do enjoy the construction of these outfits, though, with the high collar and flap closure.
*Okay, they didn’t steal their clothes, they had the ship create replicas of their clothes and beam them down. But that kinda just seems like sci-fi hand-waving because they didn’t want to explain finding three perfectly tailored uniforms. Or have La’an beat up enough doctors to find clothes that fit.
She would, though.
We get a great shot of the full coat, as well as Uhura’s skant, when one of the aliens gets loose aboard Enterprise and they become friends in a turbolift. Note Uhura’s unique rectangular badge, as well.
First time riding the elevator in an alien spaceship?
We also get to see the aliens’ security uniforms in a gorgeous dark teal, complemented by brass-adorned holsters and little tie shields, which are apparently a thing here. I guess neckties are universal, though.
Just like many species develop two arms and eyes, many evolve the half windsor naturally.
The alien president is on top of her brand as well, with an absolutely fierce suit dress in merlot.
That’s ready to go right on the propaganda!
She even comes back in a later scene with a different outfit in the same colour, which tells me this is for sure a woman who has her shit together enough to run a planet.
I can’t even get my socks to match this well.
Before we close out the episode, Admiral April returns with a new jacket, which Pike has to admit is very good.
The badge even has laurels. Okay, you win.
I’m starting to suspect these new-Trek articles are going to be slightly longer.
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Asks about tumblr/twitter situation not special interest adjacent
Alright apologies for the defensiveness, im a veteran witness of tumblr dramas of all sorts having been in this site since 2013 so its like that old guy farmer who always has a shotgun at hand to ward off any danger kek. The tangential rant was just concept association, I still think it’s purely coincidental though (elaborating a bit below)
The community labels were implemented without any terms of service changes before shit went down on twitter though, it was a matter of discussion why there was a discrepancy even
A friend speculated the rollout of terms of service changes would be gradual and so far he was right on that one (speculated it to be much like you’re saying here, progressing more or less based on reception) first the labels to pitch the idea to the general populace then the first shift on changing the TOS. you’re right tumblr is still a dwindling strange site so I can completely see them using this opportunistically to attract user base from here on so who knows maybe it was not coincidental But I think this first rollout was planned to happen now, and the twitter thing happened to coincide and tumblr was like well shit, we can use this Situation!
Even attracting new users though issues remain because
Of this ^^^^ above. Even with what you say anon, “just mildly” feels like being generous lol. Tumblr will unleash full fury on whoever they deem an acceptable target, and when they do theres no slur or intimidation tactic or even IRL event thats going too far (a couple superwholock dramas that leaked into actual irl con incidents come to mind) I think the tone of the violence is the different thing but tumblr and 4chan are nests for terminal online-ness. Artists who focus on fan merch and fanfic writers may be able to carve a niche but normies… never hahaha
In this respect tumblr is very old web-reminiscent which by itself is something I actually like about it and I hope it doesn’t get sanitised (if it does, to a minimal degree) Sure it’s ridiculous and inaccessible to the new user and an eyesore and a point of many a discourse I remember, but it helps indie people really personalise their brand and from the isolated teenager lens it permits a vast array of self expression.
I agree with you that it can get egregious and it definitely does not help the mainstream access though HAHA. To me its an endearing cringe at this point though I think tumblr really benefits from branding itself as an alt site, not as a mainstream social media joint
Reddit is egregious for non UI related reasons though. im not a fan
I agree!! I think the facetiousness is to not be too evident to the massive corpos like apple so they can get away with more, but it has the effect of also being unclear to the user base : ( tumblr should have addressed the problem in a more targeted way, banning it all outright was both ineffective and ended up financially fucking the site over and its still recovering
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okay the universal translator fucking up and the crew speaking multiple different languages may be one of my favorite things to happen in anything star trek
#I LOVE IT#not only is it hilarious#its also very reminiscent of tos#m#an obol for charon#dis#dsc#st#disco bloggin
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Changes
Summary: harry returns home
Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst
Word Count: 1418 words
Based on: Changes by Cam!!
___
Home.
The rush of feelings where warmth overflowed through his chest, coursing through his forearms and leaving a tingling feeling from his fingertips. It was almost unexplainable, the way his shoulders slouch in a relaxed manner and breath of relief exhaled from his lungs.
Harry tapped his fingers gently against the curved slope of the leather steering wheel, head bopping along to the quiet thrum of the radio. The tinted glass windows of his black Range Rover were rolled three quarters down. Slight gusts of wind blew through the open vehicle, shifting his trimmed curls along his creased forehead.
As a child, Harry learned to memorize the roads of the small town. There wasn’t much to it, really. A few main roads, lots of dirt roads and neighbourhood properties that made up his whole childhood. Before leaving for the X-Factor, a feat that would soon change his life, Harry made a promise to himself to never forget where he came from. Who he was a boy who made it to the big city--living out dreams.
He was lucky. There wasn’t much to do in his town. His first job was at a corner store a couple of blocks down and school was only adjacent to the park he walked through every school morning. Things were very much routine-like and it only took a certain threshold for Harry to search for a way out. A chance to make a name for himself. To achieve something that was solely his own; where he could look back at a ripe age and smile as he reflects on the accomplishments accoladed to his name.
Yet as he drove past the swaying river, he couldn’t help want to return over and over again. Despite the constant reminder of his friends and colleagues stating that he seemed too out of reach, too big of a superstar to return to an old town road. Harry’s classmates didn’t know him anymore and he wasn’t exactly familiar with them either.
It was a bittersweet realization. The fragile innocence of hoping that nothing will change upon his return was stupidly absurd because as he shared drinks--cheap wine--with his old friends, the blank space of curiosity filtered its way in and out of conversations. There were things that Harry was surprised to find out. People who passed away, friends who left and never looked back as he did. Some had children while others continued with their cruel gossip of the new neighbour moving down the road.
It was familiar, yet different.
But one thing that stayed the same was the feeling of happiness buzzing through his body. The sight of the rushing water swaying down the river reminded him of joyful memories. His teen years of falling in love and letting it go. Leaving, but never forgetting.
Y/N.
While he travelled the world with the band, Harry’s mind kept reminiscing the memories he shared with Y/N. They were only teenagers when they began a relationship that ended quicker than they lasted. She had big dreams and Harry was set on following his dream.
Y/N was the person the helped stay grounded when times were chaotic. The fans mobbing him wherever he went, disrespecting his privacy. He felt as though he was stripped naked of who he was. And although it was the vulnerability that connected him to his fans, it didn’t sit right for him to have everything out in the open. All of Harry’s life, he had to be careful of what he said, what he did, who he was seen with in order to protect him and others around him.
She was the sunset at the end of a long day. The breath of fresh air every morning. The river was where they shared their last kiss. It was also the location of a promise that hung on a bated breath because it was a difficult one to keep. How were two lovers supposed to return to each other when the world was seemingly against them?
How were Harry and Y/N supposed to fall in love again when they were each falling in love with somebody else? And even with those obstacles, there was no stopping the quiet force of determination pulling them to each other, as if they were meant to be.
Between breaks, Harry came home to see Y/N and his family. He excused the aching feeling of his chest as homesickness; something about the identical pavement and familiar roadways. But Harry knew deep down that the reason was a complete and utter lie.
He came to accept that he was falling in love with Y/N in the back seat of his car. Empty as a small town can be, his car parked in a barren parking lot as she giggled in between words, trying to conclude the story that Harry had lost focus on. Harry swore that everything was in slow-motion during that time.
Y/N’s lips leisurely parted as she spoke. Her mouth sifting into a smile, cheeks perched high on her face. Harry’s head was resting on her lap, jostling once in a while when she got too excited. He could see the way the wind from the shafted windows blew through her hair, causing her to pause and tuck the strands behind her ear. Y/N looked down as she did so, right into his eyes.
Harry never minded eye-contact. But when Y/N locked her gaze on him; his heart stopped in his chest. There was a stutter in the organ’s thumping and only returned when Y/N gracefully smoothed the ruffled curls away from his forehead. He felt like he was the most important thing to her at that moment.
That was the moment Harry knew that he was in love. Right there, at the back seat of his car. His heart was fluttering every which way at the sight of the beauty above him. The mundane feeling of loneliness of being in an empty parking lot was non-existent; not when Y/N was metaphorically wrapping him up in a warm embrace. He willingly gave her his heart as if there was no chance that it will break when Harry knew that many things could go wrong because of who he was.
But Y/N didn’t mind and neither did he.
It was a battle of accepting and accommodating every little thing in order to understand each other because not one second passes where they weren’t different than the last. The minuscule change in judgment paves the way to misunderstandings and lost communication. However, nothing really changes until everything does.
Harry pursed his lips into a puckered whistle, pulling into the driveway of his home. Inside the house contained his family that he missed dearly. The pitched tune swirled in his ears as he grabbed the items from the trunk, grunting a few times from the heavyweight of the jug of milk. Closing the back of the car, a loud slam echoed through the quiet neighbourhood.
He walked up the clean pathway of his home, fingertips gripping the paper handles of the grocery bags. With one hand, Harry locked his car with the fob. Then, he inserted the key inside the keyhole. Still whistling, twisted the doorknob, entered the cozy home and closed the door behind him. resting the bags beside him on the wooden floor, he toed off his boots just in time for the shrill squeal of his daughter Cleo calling his name.
“Daddy!” Harry’s tiny daughter wobbled her chubby legs one in front of the other in the entryway. Her slightly fast pace painting a smile on his face and lighting up his eyes at the sight.
He took a knee, stretching his arms out to invite Cleo in a welcome hug. Her squeaky giggles filled his ears as Harry stood tall with his daughter in his arms, spinning their bodies around.
“You’re home!”
Harry nodded, “Yes, I am,” He booped her button nose with his index finger. He was too enthralled with his mini-me to notice Y/N leaning against the doorway, a fond look on her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s Mumma?”
Cleo pointed towards the direction of the kitchen, to which Harry finally noticed the woman watching the pair with a satisfied look on her face.
“I see I’ve been replaced,” Y/N joked, walking over when Harry signalled her to come closer.
He chuckled breathily from his previous actions, “Not possible, love,”
____
a cute dad!Harry piece ☺️
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#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles x reader#harry styles writing#harry styles blurb#harry styles fanfic
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Bandroid for Dummies
Based on combing through the #bandroid tag, thanks to: @theleakypen, @zylaa, @iamwestiec, @scarlettohairdye, @paintchipblue, @lesbianjinzixuan, @shadaras and @garage-bandroid, @drumbotlovebot, @bandroidfandroid
Summary:
“Bandroid” is a live-action TV show featuring the adventures of a 5-man band, including their robot/android drummer Drumbot. There are currently 5 seasons. The special effects are very basic, reminiscent of Star Trek TOS. Though in Season 1 it started out with such plots as trying to get small time gigs and “The Battle of the Bands” arc, later seasons include more and more dramatic spy-thriller-like adventures, including an entire time-travel arc. The show went on a hiatus between Seasons 2 and 3, when during which, “Bandroid: The Animated Series” aired, filling in some of the time skips in Seasons 1 & 2.
Notable episodes include:
“Bet Your Bottom” – where producer Zhu Ming has to fix Drumbot when it’s glitching right before a performance
“Arnarson is Not the Arsonist” (Season 2) where Jon and Paul went into hiding and Jesse had to figure out how to clear Jon’s name, causing a rift between Jesse and Jon
The Time Travel Arc, where Paul and Drumbot go to 2000BCE with the help of Professor Hayashi
“May You Please” – a May Wen-centric episode with much keytar drama. Fans posit that there may have been two sets of hands on the keytar, fuelling a May/Jesse ship
“Drumbot Alone” – a two-part episode where Drumbot leaves the band behind temporarily to develop and grow as its own individual. Notable for the hilarious mini-golf scene and the lady who mistook Drumbot for her dog walker
The band consists of:
Jon Arnarson (he/him) – the gay lead singer, who writes soulful and inspiring lyrics
Paul Ahmed (he/him) – the guitarist, Jon’s platonic life partner, and the most popular person to ship with the main character, Drumbot
Bailey Kane (she/her) – the bisexual bass player, center of fan's "Get Bailey a girlfriend" campaign
Drumbot (it/it) – the drummer, an undercover android hiding from the government. It traveled the universe for 500 years before crash-landing on earth in the 1600s and has the sum total of human knowledge downloaded into its neural net – Drumbot is played by a 35 year old woman in a costume
Jesse Washington (they/them) – (seasons 1 & 2 and the animated series) the ace, nonbinary keytarist – played by a nonbinary actor who uses xie/xem/xir pronouns.
May Wen (she/her) – (seasons 3, 4 & 5) keytarist
Other characters include:
Zhu Ming (she/her) – the band’s producer who pointed Jon and Paul to the storage unit where Drumbot was in season 1 – played by an in-demand actor with many other commitments, so only appears intermittently.
Vivian Wen – (season 4) May’s sibling, a genderfluid antagonist character
Eolus – an android
Professor Hayashi – The person who helped with the time travel shenanigans in season (5?)
Babylonian Fig Seller – during the Babylonian time travel arc, the Fig Seller teaches Drumbot how to identify ripe, unspoiled produce – sings a duet with Drumbot before Drumbot returns to the present time. The duet later becomes the band’s song “Tower of Babel”
Jodie McKee – shows up in the Battle of the Bands Arc, member of a rival band who had chemistry with Bailey
The Spirit of Music – not a character per se, but a palpable presence throughout the show when the band is performing
Some Song Titles:
“Binary Heart” – the band’s most famous song, also the name of their first album, they played this song during the season 1 finale while the government agents were converging on the stage
“Tower of Babel” – a song developed during the Babylonian Time Travel Arc
“Vanilla Chinchilla” – inspired by Bailey’s chinchilla adventure in season 3
“Baby broke my circuits” – a song simultaneously heartbreaking & an awesome dance tune
“The hemoelectric slide” – a darkwave remix of the electric slide
“Reuse recycle” – a very sad song
“Beep You’re It”
“Motherboard Motherboard”
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star trek themes ranked by how much i personally enjoy them
tng: its classy its brassy its exciting it makes me want to run around in circles and kick things and whenever i hear it i become an overenthusiastic middle school band conductor. top notch nothing can top it sorry.
tas: literally this fucks so hard? its so groovy im so into it. the only reason its not number one is i could never cry to it but i would cry to the tng theme under the right circumstances
lwd: YEAH BABY! its reminiscent enough of other star trek themes that you know immediately its star trek, but its unique enough that you also know immediately its lwd. it’s bright, its peppy, love it.
tos: i mean its classic, the orchestrals are great, it evokes the sense of wonder and curiosity that star trek’s all about. but the vocal track from seasons 2&3 scared the shit out of me the first time i heard them
voy: this is a very good song, do not get me wrong on this, from a purely song perspective this might be my favorite one. it sounds like a movie soundtrack song that plays at the end of the movie and you recognize it from the start and it makes you emo about how much the characters have grown. but its not quite the kind of song that makes me go “oh fuck yeah its star trek time baby fuck yeah star trek!!!!!!!!” which is what a theme song should be
dsc: this one is also very pretty, and i consider it more of a /theme/ song than voyagers however its ranked lower bc its like. not unique. except for the little homages to the tos theme (which i actually do enjoy cause im a nostalgic bitch) it just sounds like the opening to every third bbc mystery show my mom watches
ds9: i’m gonna get crucified for this but its boring. they added a stronger backbeat in the later seasons which helped but like it’s the elevator music of star trek themes sorry. every single time it plays i zone out.
pic: this is a lullaby and makes me think about the opposite of star trek
ent: oh my fucking god.
(all themes hyperlinked to the show name for your convenience)
#i dare not main tag this bc i dont want to get real hate from the people i Know are out there#also to be fair to enterprise. im basing this on the original version#the later seasons remix belongs between voy and dsc#its SO much better with the backbeat
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The Lunewell Saga - Natura: Chapter 2
Can also be read on ao3 by clicking here
First part is here (:
Third part is here
Book Sumary:
Zarifa Birch, an antique shop worker with an unusual past, has made a home for herself in the sleepy town of Lunewell. Though the shop she works at is not exactly ordinary, with cryptid items and odd occurrences, she has managed to carve the normal life she always desperately wished for out of it.
However, all that comes crumbling down, as a woman from Zarifa’s past throws everything into chaos. Faced with unimaginable horrors, seemingly unsolvable mysteries, and returning repressed feelings and memories, Zarifa along with her coworkers, must find a way to return the balance- and escape the cruel hands of death in this eldritch horror mystery
Chapter 2:
At 03:45 in the morning, under a night sky covered in a thick blanket of storm clouds, Zarifa was woken, not by any natural phenomena, or by her antique alarm clock, but by the sound of her phone screeching out what was effectively deafening trumpets. Though this had never happened before, Zarifa knew instantly what it was, and threw off her warm, cotton duvet immediately.
Grant, who frankly was the only one who had anything even close to technology related competence, had wired up an alarm system in the shop not too long ago, and connected it to Zarifa’s phone. He had also, of course, been the one to design the hideous sound. As she gripped her phone with a speed that almost made it go smashing to the ground, she turned it on to see that the alarm of Thorn’s Antiques had, in fact, just gone off.
She rubbed her temples, shivering slightly. Neither the room nor the outside world were particularly warm, with a chilly wind seeping on through the wall and around the room. Her bed was a haven of heat, and a place that could soothe the ever-growing, tired ache in her bones, and her entire body protested when she turned on her heels and began walking towards the closet, shuddering.
Zarifa threw on clothes at an impressive haste; a warm turtleneck and a pair of jeans that were just the slightest bit too small, then snatched her phone and purse, and put on her necklace, before rushing out the door.
She wasn’t all that worried about the robbery, not really. While they were an antique shop, they didn’t have anything really valuable, at least not that she was aware of.
Besides, if anything of value truly had been stolen, there was pretty much only one culprit, and lucky for them, Zarifa knew exactly where to go should that be the case.
No, her haste came not from a place of fear of the robber, or worry over the supply, but from Valour’s reaction. Valour, though usually apathetic, had an overprotectiveness of the shop, and any damage to it, might lead to the new rising of a mass murderer. The butterfly over her turtleneck saw one last glimpse of the light, before it was covered in a thick, black coat, and slipped outside into the shadowy night.
The breeze was particularly strong, fiery trees not so much swaying in the wind as almost being knocked down by it. Zarifa pulled her coat tighter, shivering as a cracking whip of gust slammed her face. The stars above, usually visible in the dimly lit dirt paths, were shielded behind towering, puffed-up storm clouds, almost menacing in their own way.
She walked onto the pavement, passing her small and worn car parked outside the small cottage. She debated on taking it, before deciding it really wasn’t worth it. Lunewell was so small anyway, and the shop hidden in the far corner was but a ten-minute walk. Though driving should technically have been faster, navigating her way around the roads and towards Lune Lake, where the shop lay, would take just as long as walking there. Even after living there for five years, Zarifa still found the roads and paths an absolute maze, like the village was purposefully trying to trap its inhabitants.
As she rounded a corner, and headed towards what had become a very small street of other local shops and one bar, a wave of newly baked pastries broke through the ozone-scented air, sending yet another hard hit of a gust that pushed her back ever so slightly. She didn’t mind the wind though, as her tight expression morphed into a delighted smile and her body became infinitely more aware of how long it has been since she’d eaten.
Zarifa relished in the smell for just a little longer, though she kept her pace up, before she froze in place at the edge of a lamppost light. Mr. and Mrs. Carr, both bundled up in striped, hand-knit scarves, were walking towards the bakery hand in hand, clearly preparing to open for the day. Zarifa stood almost inhumanly still in place, as though the Carrs were hunting predators and she was their prey, her breathing having grown shallower and tighter.
Taking a step back further into the shadows, she hoped the light was poor enough and their eyes old enough that she would slip under their senses. Or, at least, that was the plan, until her feet knocked against an empty can on the ground, sending a rattling sound that resonated through the street.
Their heads snapped up, landing first on the can that had rolled into the light, and then on Zarifa herself, who was still holding her breath, even her heartbeat muted. Mrs. Carr, who had never particularly liked Zarifa for whatever reason, gave a wave and a slightly tight smile as her greyed hair blew haphazardly around her head.
Her husband turned to see what she was looking at, lighting up when he saw Zarifa, who had edged herself into the event horizon of visibility. “Zarifa!” he greeted enthusiastically, but quietly, “Hello dear. What are you doing out here at this hour?”
Zarifa rubbed the back of her neck, shuffling further forward. “Good morning Mrs. Carr, Mr. Carr-”
“As I’ve said before, just Harold’s fine love.”
“Apologies,” Zarifa said, hands moving from her neck to the gold that hung around it. “I’m not in the best mindset right now,” Mr. Carr sounded an ‘Oh?’, as Mrs. Carr headed inside slightly huffy, “you see, the alarm for Thorn’s Antiques just went off.”
Mr. Carr’s eyebrows shot up in concern, wrinkles bunched on his ever-balding forehead. “That’s dreadful,” he exclaimed, “not the kind of thing you’d expect to happen ‘round here. You better be off, Lilly and I’ll drop by with some of the baked goods later in the day.”
“Oh, that’s very generous but you don’t have to,” Zarifa reassured in a slight panicky tone, “no point in dragging you two into this mess.”
“Nonsense,” he said, “everyone needs some baked goods in situations like this. Besides, I’m sure that young lad of yours with the glasses - Graham? Brant? - would be very appreciative.”
“If you’re positively sure it isn’t an inconvenience, that would be lovely,” Zarifa said, finishing it off with a warm if anxious smile. Any lingering silence was broken by the sound of Mrs. Carr calling for her husband and co-worker in a way fit for a dictator. Mr. Carr turned towards the door
“Yes, I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted, back, a stark contrast to the gentle lull of his tone before. “I believe my wife needs me. We’ll stop by later. Good luck!”
Zarifa took off like a jetfighter, sprinting away with a wave and footsteps that bounced into the streets. At her speed, it wasn’t long before she was no longer landing on cobbled streets but on overgrown dirt paths covered in damp leaves. The shop, a small stoney thing with dirty windows that practically looked abandoned, came into view, and her eyes moved to the door, which was in fact left just the slightest bit open.
Sliding inside, she closed the door behind her, though the shop remained equally cold. It looked almost eerie at this time, the furniture remnant of old times, empty and abandoned, a few vases smashed on the floor from where someone had been in a rush, and a stillness so quiet that it was deafening to her ears.
Picking up a blue floral patterned shard, she continued onwards, keeping her footsteps as light as a ghost. Well, as light as a ghost that could not sneak past a deaf person, but she digressed. Pushing open the door to the back, wincing as the door hinges made a shrieking creek, reminiscent of a whining child, she made her way in.
The employees’ lounge looked, as she had expected, fine. Everything was exactly as they had left it, slightly disjointed, except for Bruin’s desk that had been organised meticulously. She began heading for the downstairs, to see if any of the inventory had been stolen, when she heard a muffled thud from upstairs, releasing the pressured silence in her ear and exchanging it with dread.
Thud, thud, thud , multiple slamming sounds, equally light, equally muffled, radiated from upstairs. She could track the being’s every movement from the sound alone, see the continuous patterns of thuds make their way through the upstairs rooms. Her eyes trailed them vigorously, pupils jumpy, as she tightened the grip on the shard. The fact that it dug into her hand, almost piercing through her thin bicoloured skin, didn’t register.
The shop yet again went quiet, though any illusion of silence was broken by Zarifa’s hammering heart. She glanced around the room, gaze going to the cellar where she could take her hiding, to the second exit, and back up to Valour’s personal floor. She looked up, waiting for any more signs of life, before snailing sneakily up the stairs with the shard held out in front of her.
The steps, normal stairs instead of the never ending spiral leading to the basement, stayed as silent as herself throughout the ascent, as though they themselves were afraid of the intruder above. Zarifa tipped-toed up them, the yellow stained walls that the stairs were encased in almost suffocatingly tight, and ever closing in.
At the top of the carpeted steps sat a black door crested in a slightly lighter shade, with a pair of Bobby pins stuck in the lock. It was the only entrance Zarifa had never taken in the shop, looming above her and guarding a floor that even so much as seeing would lead to great punishment.
It was too dark to peek into the room, and there was no sound but her own swallowing and the wind that had picked up outside. She took another step up, and reached for the handle as though it was shatterable glass. With a prayer directed more towards the cosmic force of luck rather than anything specific, she gave one push of the door.
Luck, it seemed, was on her side, as the hinges opened without the slightest squeak. She took the final stairs up, giving one last glance to where she came from, and stepped inside what was effectively Valour’s house.
Even through the fog of darkness, she could see the layer of dust, and the sheer amount of things thrown astray on the floor. Outlines of books with unreadable titles spilling over the carpet, sheets of aged papers crumbled into what she assumed had once been a paper bin, and antique knick-knacks placed in tall piles, disfigured by the low lighting.
At first glance, it seemed disorganised, but as her eyes adjusted more to the lightless room, it became clear that similar items were bundled together, and that there was some kind of system. She just hadn’t quite figured out what that system was.
Looking away from the silhouettes of mess that seemed ever-shifting, she turned her eyes downward, looking at where a path had been cleared. Whether it had always been there, or whether the dear intruder had made it, she was unsure about. She walked across it like a minefield, eyes trained on the ground and not looking at the piles which were getting higher as she went along and spilling further towards her.
She stopped at a hallway, leading in two different directions, which was deserted compared to the room she had just arrived in, only containing a painting, a few near empty shelves, and a drawer. Though equally riddled with swirling, sand-like dust, it felt cleaner, and had a little bit of light poking through a curtained roof window. It shone on the portrait hanging large and proud above the wooden desk, enough so that she could see the illuminated face of a younger Valour with colour still in her hair and a rather androgynous person she couldn’t quite recognise. They invoked the same familiar feeling she had felt yesterday, albei more distant.
She took a step closer, staring intently. The person, a sickly pale figure with light brown hair and odd, pink, heart shaped sunglasses, was almost entrancing, to the point she had barely realised just how close her hand was to the canvas.
The trance was broken not by the touch of the oil canvas, but by a sound that Zarifa, when asked at a later point, could only have described as bounding . It was the sound of a constrictor wrapping around its prey, of tight ropes encircling a wrist, of becoming trapped and helpless.
A flash of light blue light, ever so faint and ever so quick that one couldn’t be scolded for mistaking it with a hallucination, appeared in the corner of her eye. Her head snapped towards one of the doors, hair on her arms rising, as she made her ways towards the source.
From the outside door, she could hear whatever was making that sound wrap further, deeper, and for a second, her mind cleared. She considered walking out; walking safely home, telling Valour that she couldn’t find anything stolen, and not getting involved. Letting this, whatever this was, live its life or death peacefully.
After all, was that not why she had come to find herself here in the shop in the first place? Was that not why Grant, Bruin, or even to an extent Valour herself had found themselves in this antique shop? To escape a past of unexplainable events, whilst simultaneously saving others from having the same brush with the eldritch, the unexplainable? To, for even just a split second, live in the illusion of normalcy, the lie that nothing had ever been wrong?
Zarifa turned on her heels, sneaking past the portrait of Valour and Heart-Glasses, which almost seemed to be judging her choice. Valour wouldn’t have turned away, which perhaps explained the scars and bruises. She couldn’t, however, bring herself to care, as her ever growing frantic footsteps made their way down the hall.
Now, what must be understood for the following sequence of events to make sense, is that Zarifa, deep down, was one thing; caring. She sees her fellow employees as great friends, always up to help or let them take breaks, she handles her books with delicate strokes and gloves hands, and she is always up to help.
Whether Zarifa’s caring nature always outshined her cowardice and self preservation is debatable, and a subject she preferred not to dwell on. However, in the word always , lies a hidden, implied one; sometimes.
Like when Zarifa, halfway down the hallway, heard a cry and groan of pain that was so distinctly Lottie , that she would have recognised it even if her ears got chopped off. As though someone had a pressed a button, she turned right back around, sprinted with loud thuds, and pushed the door with a speed that almost broke a whole in the wall. She stood panting in the doorway, all fear evaporated into a feeling that was not quite protectiveness, not quite caring, not quite pity, and not quite anger, before the muddled emotion transformed back into fear as her eyes landed on the strawberry blonde.
Lottie sat on the floor, legs dug into by long vines dressed in a barrier of thorns, arms tightly pressed against her body in a twisted bend that no human should have been able to achieve, and a streaming, jet black smoke arising from the leaf engraved ornate box in front of her and travelling right into her deep green eyes. Zarifa moved towards her and the box without even thinking, making her jerk, digging the thorns even deeper into her skin. “Don’t… to-touch a thing,” Lottie commanded, voice unbelievably hoarse, as though she had been shouting for hours, and Scottish accent more intense.
“I can’t sit by and watch… whatever’s happening!” Zarifa shouted frantically, panic stirring in her. She crouched down to the floor, even as Lottie made a sound of protest. “How can I stop this?”
“Y-you can get the fuck out,” Lottie managed to gasp out meeting her eyes. Her brows were stern, but her expressive emerald eyes were scrunched and her face was in a grimace that drew at Zarifa’s heart strings like a wound bow. All the while, the black smoke from the box-
The box. Of course. If she just closed it, Lottie would, theoretically, be fine. She began reaching for the moonlight-reflecting gold leaf, one of the only items visible in the otherwise almost pitch black room. She stopped as she heard her name called desperately from beside her, followed by a string of curses.
“Don’t touch it!” Lottie pleaded with a tone laced in anger, voice teetering on the edge of death, “Just get out of here, butterfly!” And oh, if her heart didn’t skip at that slip-up, “Don’t want to…” she gasped again, not quite managing to bite down another whimper, “d-drag you into this shit again.”
Zarifa looked at Lottie, her pained glare, the arms that looked like they had been put on backwards, and the pierced legs. She took a breath; “I’m sorry,” she said, and before Lottie could say so much as a word, she snapped the lid shut with a snap that hit like an atom bomb.
As soon as the bomb landed, everything went quiet. Zarifa moved quickly, as Lottie fell limp into her chest like a stuffless ragdoll, arms clicking back into the place with an audible sound, and eyes fluttering open to give one last angered, intense stare before shutting. The smoke, escaping Lottie’s eyes in a violent manner, balled itself up into the center of the room, the thorns vanishing and joining it to create a rotating, black and dark green, spiral-patterned sphere.
Keeping a close eye on the orb, she scrambled further backwards, pulling Lottie along with her. Her mind raced as she scanned the thing, trying desperately to decipher what it was, what it could possibly be. Though she wanted to leave the room, to drag Lottie and herself outside and never enter again, her eyes were entranced in the beautiful, indescribable spiral. It was, Zarifa thought grimly, a bit like the train incident all over again. Or the summer camp, for that matter, but she preferred to keep a lock on those memories.
The orb continued spiralling, room still quiet except for Zarifa’s heavy breathing, and the wind outside. It was then that she saw something in the spirals, something beyond the mist of black. She squinted, though in the light and with the colour it was hard to see much of anything except the swirling pattern. She began leaning in ever closer, though recoiled almost instantly as soon as the orb came to life.
A hand, pink and fleshy and clearly human, pushed against the pattern, stretching the orb to translucency like a tight latex glove. It pushed against the swirls, followed by another, then three hands, then 10 hands, and then an uncountable number. Everywhere you looked where skin covered fingers, all trying to break the barrier that had slowly stopped swirling.
Though they pushed and pushed, hands clawing with the ferocity of a starving lion, pounding with all the force of a hurricane, the barrier refused to move, just stretching to expose the arms further up. It had gotten to the point where Zarifa could clearly see knobbly elbows bending robotically, aimlessly through the cover. She regarded the arms from where she sat, eyes trailing their every movement, before she turned over, head still on them, and took a single, crawling movement towards the door.
All the hands stopped pushing, falling limp into the orb as though their strings had been cut. They were dragged back jerkily into the core, pulled out of sight as quickly as they had appeared. Zarifa held her breath watching the orb move towards her and out of the moonlight, the colours fading to nothing but a monochrome silhouette, and the shape morphing into something reminiscent of a bald human, albeit with arms just the slightest bit too long. She could not see its face, or any details on its body, even as it took an unsteady tumble towards her.
When Zarifa was twenty-one, and visiting Lunewell for the first time since the train incident, a seventeen year old girl, younger than herself, but already the owner of a shop, named Valour Thorn had taught her a very important lesson; When faced with the unexplainable, always close your eyes. At that time, Zarifa had yet to see what that would do. After all, simply ignoring danger when it was so close seemed like a sure fire way to get yourself killed, but a method of saviour.
Now, however, faced with an ever-approaching, vaguely human-shaped blob, staggering towards her like a drunken man with a concussion, she realised that situations like this could only have two outcomes, and closed her eyes. She kept her breath and body stiff, even if she knew she had already been spotted by the sound of bagged, wet meat slapping against the ground. The sound stopped completely mere inches in front of her, and everything went quiet, on what could very well have been the last moment of her life.
A breath, muffled as though it was coming through fabric, though no less warm and moist than what would have expected, blew against her cheek. It sounded strained, as though it’s lungs were thick as needles, but the breathing was rhythmic and distinctly alive. The breath inched closer, warming by the second as she squeezed her deep brown eyes tighter, mind caught in a loop of prayers to all the gods she could think off.
Lottie, who had previously been nestled comfortably against Zarifa’s jacket, let out a slightly pained groan. Her heart stopped, as she felt the creature's breath pan over her face, and towards where the pigtailed girl rested. In a flurry of movements that made Zarifa flinch violently against the wall, she felt the weight of Lotie lifted off her in one sharp movement. A dazed whimper once again admitted it from her, but it sounded distant compared to the one that had been right against Zarifa’s ear.
She desperately wished to open her eyes, to see what was happening, to make even a singular heroic movement to save Lottie, but she stayed in her prey position; paralysed and blind. It was a grim but realistic reminder that she had and would never be a saviour, nor a survivor, just lucky. Regardless of prior experiences, she was no more competent or threatening than a shot deer.
The squishy sound returned, just as the warmth where the creature had poised left her neck. There was a distinct dragging sound on the floor, a sharp leather and zippers scrapping on wood, as the wet splotches rounded around her. She still didn’t dare open her eyes, until the footsteps and dragging vanished.
As the house and flat quiet, her eyes opened slowly, the lids still recovering from the glued fear. She glanced down to her hands, and realised that somewhere along the way, they had reached up to grip the necklace, which she squeezed as she took a shuddering, shallow breath. She reminded herself that both she and Lottie would be okay, that they’d both been through far worse, but the comfort only resonated on a surface level.
Looking around the dark room, she noticed the outline of a light switch right by the door, which stood more ajar than she had previously thought. With a final, semi-deep breath, she flicked it on. The room burst harshly into a bright yellow lamp, her eyes burning at the harsh contrast. She blinked rapidly, trying to blink away the tears that at first came from brightness, but as her vision cleared, came from a true realisation of what had just happened.
In the light, it became clear that this tiny room was a study. There was a dust laden desk with old, leather-bound journals, a desk light with a shattered bulb, and a computer just slightly more modern than the one downstairs, a corkboard with images connected by different coloured strings that looked like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream, and lots of shelves populated with antiques and books. However, Zarifa was not so much focusing on the small glimpse into Valour’s elusive personal life, as the floor where the encounter happened.
Splattered across the planks were puddles of a black, tar-like liquid, intertwined with small specks of blood. The ornate box itself had at some point been knocked over, tilted on its side, spreading a few small, thin sheets of ancient looking paper out. Zarifa gently made her way over, stepping past the puddles with a scrunched up nose, before reaching the papers. She didn’t pick it up, nor touch it, instead tilting her head to read what the dull, brown ink said.
To whom it may concern…
In this letter lies the seal, which I fear must not be opened till The Dawn. If the time is not right, you must close this box, and ignore this. Do not read onwards, or you will bring upon yourself the cruelest of fates.
In a worst case scenario, if the seal has been unsealed before The Dawn, if doors ideally locked stand open, you must be prepared to make a key.
A key is forged by fragments of Touched sanity eating a sight of one that Sees, dipped in water oh-so divine. Once the key has begun, the fragments must sew themselves between the fabric, letting all webbed light shine on them. As they are blessed by the minute, and after the final step of-
Zarifa’s eyes widened, turning the page frantically looking for the continuation of where the text had been ripped off. She glanced around the room, looked once again inside the box, only to find it an empty chasm. With a shaky breath, she wiped away her tears, determaimly, and pulled up her phone.
Zarifa furrowed her brows as the time, reading precisely 06:00, appeared onto the screen. Had it really been two hours already? Nevertheless, she decided to ignore it for now, opening up her contacts, and quickly clicking the one person who she knew would already be up at such an early hour.
“Hey Grant? I need you and Bruin to come in as soon as possible. We have a slight… situation on our hands.”
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"The Price of the Phoenix" review
These are the naked voyages of naked Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise...
Published in 1977, and written by Marshak & Culbreath (editors of The New Voyages collection of short stories).
I had already read some books by these same authors, and their hyperbolic, hyper-emotional writing is present here as well. There's something really awkward about their writing, and a lot of times I found myself re-reading passages, because I had no idea what was going on. To quote McCoy at one point: "Spock, will you speak English?"
There's too much introspection, description of feelings and discourses for my taste. Also, the authors often use the characters to voice their own philosophical ideas, and their theories about alpha males, whether it fits the character or not. Overall, I don't think the novel felt very Trek-like, or that the characters were "right" (Spock, in particular).
The book is sufficiently weird to be worth the reading, though. According to the authors, it was personally approved by Roddenberry. It's also notorious for being quite dark and violent for TOS standards, and for having Kirk completely naked half the time. Which means, this is Roddenberry-sanctioned smut, no less.
Some spoilers under the cut.
The plot is very simple and straightforward. The Enterprise is visiting a rogue planet ruled by the giant Omne, who offers refuge for bandits all over the galaxy. The Romulan Commander (from The Enterprise Incident) is also there, negotiating with Omne.
Kirk is presumed dead during an accident on the planet, but Omne reveals to Spock and the Commander that he has conquered death through a process to clone a person, with all his thoughts and memories intact. He offers a new, shiny Kirk clone, in exchange of Spock betraying the Federation, and the support from the Romulan Empire (the prize for the Commander would be keeping both Kirk and Spock for herself, after their betrayal).
Things change once they discover that the original Kirk actually survived and is locked inside a subterranean labyrinth. Then Spock, the Commander and clone-Kirk storm the complex to rescue him, while getting into plenty of fist fights against Omne.
There's something reminiscent of Westerns in the one-on-one duels, and the general badass attitudes. It's probably intentional, given the Wild West motifs throughout the book.
Spock dresses and talks like Clint Eastwood, which is... great. The Romulan Commander is also a total badass, and I liked her better in this novel than in the series episode.
As counterpart, we have the scantily clothed Kirk clone, who's pretty cute and vulnerable, and develops a moving romance with the Commander. The love story, for once, has a happy ending. I liked them as a couple.
Omne, the supreme alpha male, dressed in a black jumpsuit with a holster for his revolver, is an entertaining villain. Suitably obnoxious in his invincibility. I was a bit confused about his real motivations, though.
To summarize, even if I didn't particularly enjoy reading this novel, it was entertaining in its own crazy way.
Also, Spock receives a kick in his groin. Consider that.
Spirk Meter: 11/10*. Yup. This novel is slashier than the series or movies ever were. Spock is willing to risk everything to save Kirk, even betraying the Federation. But that's not it. Things like that happened several times in the series, and it's the whole plot of the third movie. There are, however, a couple scenes that are the reason for this high rating.
One happens when Spock mind melds with a totally naked Kirk clone. They move "surprisingly close" to each other, and there's an undeniably eroticism in the descriptions of Kirk being "warm" and "open" to Spock's touch. Not enough? Well, Spock also creates a bond with him, to monitor his movements.
Another scene happens when Kirk (the original one) undresses Spock to treat his wounds. Of course, it goes without saying that Kirk's naked while doing so (because Omne treated his wounds previously, and didn't care to give him clothes).
So yeah, Kirk gets to bounce his stuff around a lot, as the cheerful alpha male he is.
One could argue that the fight in Amok Time surpasses this, since the sexual motif is explicit there. However, I think that the scenes from the book read as more erotic than anything Kirk has done with Spock (or any woman) in the series.
On another side of things, Omne's total obsession with Kirk is quite telling. One moment he's beating him to a pulp, and the next he's tenderly treating his wounds, and planning for them to spend a thousand years together in their bunker. If clone Kirk and the Commander is the main love story, it's obvious that Kirk and Omne are intended as a dark, twisted counterpart for that.
The great loser in all this is McCoy, who despite being the doctor, never got to treat any naked Kirk. He calls him gorgeous, though, and manages to touch his scars a bit while he's dressing. But I guess McCoy wasn't alpha enough for the authors. Sorry, Bones.
*A 10 in this scale is the most obvious spirk moments in TOS. Think of the back massage, "You make me believe in miracles", or "Amok Time" for example.
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Hi Sine! I love your fics 💞 And I have a question, which comic runs inspired your characterisation of Tony and Steve the most? 😊
Aww, thank you, anon! And thank you for asking!
I think for Steve my primary influence has to be Mark Waid’s Cap runs -- the first more than the second, mostly because the second was so short, but also the miniseries he’s written, like Man Out of Time. I feel like with Steve characterizations there’s a continuum and at one end there’s early-canon ToS/early v1 Stan Lee (and Jack Kirby and so on...) Cap, where Steve is honestly kind of corny and is really all about Saving The Day and he is basically made up entirely of stirring speeches and undiagnosed PTSD, with very few other character notes. I mean, I enjoy it, but it’s not really complex. And then at the other end of the continuum there’s something like Brubaker’s run, which is deeply serious and emotional and also grimdark and shows us a Steve who doesn’t really seem to be happy, and that’s not really what I want from Cap comics either. For me Waid’s work hits perfectly in the middle of that. He has a very... classic... take on Cap, reminiscent for me of the best earlier runs (like Stern/Byrne or DeMatteis), but he has this trick he does where he somehow makes Steve perfectly sincere and earnest and you’d think it would come off as corny but it somehow goes right through corny and into earnest. I read Waid’s Cap (say, Cap #700) and I feel like I viscerally understand why people follow this guy, and what it’s like for him to believe in his country and its people even if his country is not always perfect. This is a feeling I think Steve ought to inspire in people; I think that’s the point of Steve. And I really think Waid nails it.
My answer for Tony isn’t really as simple, because I feel like Steve as a character is much more consistent than Tony is, and ToS-era Tony and, say, DoS-era Tony are in many ways very, very different, and I try to make the characters fit whatever era I am writing them in -- I just think that takes a little more work with Tony than with Steve. But if I had to pick a “default” Tony I would probably pick Busiek’s Iron Man run, because I think v3 gave us a really, really good Tony, where he was kind and generous and he was just... an actual hero, and people liked him, and I feel like that’s been missing a lot in IM runs these days. I also often have Denny O’Neil’s run in mind even if I’m not writing a story focusing on Tony’s drinking; I feel like it was a really meaningful experience that really shaped Tony’s character from there on out, because, I mean, it’s a story about a rich guy who loses literally everything he has and builds himself back up. And I think with a character like Tony it’s easy to assume that he doesn’t understand what it’s like to have nothing -- and sure, yeah, his experience isn’t comparable to, say, growing up in poverty, but he has definitely been there, remembers exactly what it’s like, and is doing everything he can to help people out.
I’m not claiming that I’m as good as any of these writers, or anything, just that I keep them in mind when I am writing fanfiction.
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April 3: 2x13 Obsession
Okay, trying this again! My live-blog thoughts from watching Obsession last night. I didn’t remember this ep very well, and I was a little uncertain about it going in. But ultimately I think it was a really solid Kirk episode and a really solid triumvirate episode.
How many times as hard as rock is this mineral you’re looking for? Let’s be precise. (Aka how Spock flirts.)
I’m really into the sets and special effects today. This big rock that is obviously Styrofoam. The ominous cloud of smoke.
Set phasers to disrupter-b? I feel like he just made that up.
Oh no, three red shirts set out on their own! I feel like this one is pretty smart, though.
Leslie!!! RIP my favorite extra.
“Something that can’t possibly exist… but does anyway.” That’s it, that’s the show.
Well Kirk’s obsession is obvious right away. That’s good. We’re getting right to the point.
They have to meet up with another ship in order to transport perishable vaccines!! I know from first-hand experience that that is very important! Get it together Kirk. Admitting straight out, “I’m okay with some other people dying so I can further investigate the monster” is not a good look on him.
Also I feel like TOS often confuses “cure” and “vaccine” (as in Miri) but even if these are actually vaccines, they could still save lives urgently!
McCoy’s autopsy report: uh, just look at their faces??
The Yorktown, the Farragut… someone on the AOS team loved this episode apparently. (I remembered that the Farragut was Kirk’s first assignment but I did not remember the Yorktown.)
Interesting that the creature smells of honey because “rotting honey” was the smell that indicated the presence of Area X in the Southern Reach.
Some gratuitous touching.
When Garrovick Jr. first showed up, the shot was so ominous and dramatic that I legitimately thought that the creature was a shape-shifter and that was him lol.
Is this another episode where Kirk sees himself in a promising young man and then proceeds to judge him incredibly harshly as a way of judging his own past self? I think it might be!
Garrovick looks like he’s sitting in front of a green screen during this interrogation. Honestly, the colors in this episode are really going off in general! I can see how this would be fun to watch on a new color tv.
“Go to your room! You’re grounded!”
“Put it in your report, Spock!” I really wish we’d seen AOS Kirk do that. Like, fighting with reports and regulations is one of my favorite parts of TOS but we only saw AOS Spock use that as a weapon and it was made to show what a stick in the mud he was but like… they all do it! And AOS Kirk should have too.
And now a scene where Spock and McCoy gossip about Spock’s boyfriend.
I honestly love McCoy and Spock scenes. They have such a great rapport… the respect is not even grudging, it’s clearly there, but they make it more palatable to themselves by adding in some barbs and little digs at each other. But it’s still McCoy that Spock goes to when he needs advice or even, as he says here, just someone to bounce an idea off of, and McCoy is there to listen to him.
Oh, Spock definitely understands obsession.
Kirk’s quarters are looking very purple today.
Mccoy is trying to wax poetic and Kirk just wants him to get to the point.
Time to lie down in an Emo Fashion again.
Not to be nitpicky, but if the creature killed 200 people on the Farragut, and that was half the crew… wouldn’t the Farragut be a lot bigger than the Enterprise? I don’t think that’s right. Also, not to be even more nitpicky, but how did they finally get away from it? Did it get on their ship? If it killed all the people on the surface, could they not have just… stopped hanging out on the surface?
Anyway. McCoy is such a good best friend.
Garrovick was Kirk’s Pike.
Oh no, bringing in the big guns: the boyfriend. A blue shirt conspiracy.
Spock sounds like he’s in one of those HR training videos. Like, he’s attempting to sound conversational while still blatantly quoting from the Starfleet Handbook.
“Why are we delayin’ here?” Heavy Southern drawl.
They really are ganging up on him.
Intuition is a command prerogative.
I love how Bones says “We’re not ganging up on you” after a long scene where they gang up on him.
Oh no, the creature’s on the move! Just straight up floating through space. Cool cool cool.
Kirk’s so distracted by the creature that he’s not even looking at Spock’s ass.
Another bad day for Scotty.
I like Chapel but honestly, imagine Rand in this scene with Garrovick… I miss her.
Garrovick, what an idiot. Throwing shit and hitting switches across the room.
I legit don’t understand how the creature moves in space. Or what this has to do with gravity… which doesn’t exist in space.
Monster hunt, monster hunt!
Spock is agreeing with Kirk now, about the creature’s intelligence.
Whatever is going on with the vents in this ship, it seems like maybe they’re not the most well made.
“Let’s just nuke it.” That’s always a good idea.
Spock is trying so hard to make Kirk feel better. Even calling him “Jim”—which he used to do almost every episode and now rarely does anymore.
Lol, now he’s off to try the exact same thing with Garrovick. “If Jim won’t let me comfort him, perhaps this other irrational human will.”
“Garrovick, let me explain your own thoughts and feelings to you. I’m an expert on humans, you know. I’m around them all the time.”
“I know you want to be emo, but could you please just listen to me??” The absolute transparency with which he’s trying to be helpful.
Kindness actually isn’t an emotion… it’s a choice. Spock really will call anything a human emotion in order to avoid having to deal with it.
I'm sorry but he SNAPS THE KNOB OFF, goes "eh," throws it away, and then tries to stop the gas coming through the vent with his HANDS? How did Sarek raise this boy?
Garrovick is so Dramatic. A true Kirk protégé.
The creature tried to eat Spock and Spock didn’t taste so good.
"I'm asking for your military appraisal of the techniques used against the creature." Professor Kirk coming out.
Poor creature was lost, I guess. Just wants to go home.
And SPAWN. That word just gives me flashbacks tbqh…
Kirk and Spock having their usual ‘who will sacrifice himself first’ – off.
Realistically it should be neither the XO NOR the Captain but this is a tv show.
I do remember this part. Carrying that weird little device down to the planet. It is very aesthetically pleasing. I kind of want it for my apartment, to display as like a modern art sculpture. Minus the bomb
Mmm, a delicious snack for the creature. Yum. Got that gross green blood taste out of its mouth.
LMAO at Garrovick trying to be all heroic, knock Kirk out, and become the sacrifice. You thought!!
Spock and Scotty at the controls so you know how serious the transporter situation is.
McCoy versus the transporter again.
"It was my cross-circuiting to B that recovered them." Yes, Spock saved his space husband, he saved the day, and we should all acknowledge it.
Aw, that’s sweet, Kirk volunteering to reminisce with Garrovick about his father.
The end! I ended up enjoying it a lot overall. We gotta stop having episodes where Kirk is questioned or learns lessons though lol. I want my unabashedly heroic captain! Still no matter what he is always a hero in the end. And as I said, really great triumvirate ep with good individual characterizations, and scenes with each part of the triangle together.
If the Farragut incident was 11 years before this, and, as established in the last ep, Kirk is 34, that means he was 23 at the time. Pretty young to be a lieutenant imo. He was also a lieutenant at the time he was teaching Gary Mitchell at the Academy, which I’m going to personally headcanon, starting now, was right after Garrovick’s death. He returns to San Francisco, takes a year or a semester off to teach, and meets Gary.
Next up is Wolf in the Fold, a rare Scotty-centric episode.
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Since I’d gotten a few asks asking about my continuation of the story.... I wrote a little more. I combined ideas for 2 different things into one long addition. Taking place after they get the Captain of the Guard back from Terapi Island and exploring more of the backstory I gave him and Cass.
Also I gave him a name.
[Part 1] [Part 2]
Memories
Corona… A sickening saccharine symbol of corruption and greed. Where the every-man is tricked into believing their king cares for their needs and wants what is best for them. Where they are forced to love their ruler or face the consequences. Where anyone who dares shine a light on that ruler’s misdeeds is vilified and cast out.
Cassandra had seen it before. Seen it and stood by to let it happen. She’d been a part of the problem as much as anyone, hadn’t she? She had defended the beliefs of their king, had charged into battle in his name. Never realizing then how the system that cared so little for her had been exploiting her for its own gain.
She stood at the forest’s edge, looking out over those vibrant hills to where the castle towers stood proud against the sky. Those towers she once called home… And she would again soon. Once she cleared out all of the obsolete leaders and established a new order. One where people like herself could finally thrive.
But first…. She had a stop to make.
--
“Captain, I know this must be hard for you… Coming back without Cass..” Princess Rapunzel put a hand on the man’s shoulder as their balloon carried them across the sky and away from Terapi Island. The world beneath them peaceful despite what has happened. Blissfully unaware of the rising darkness. “But we’ll figure this out. We’ll stop Cass before anything else bad can happen. We’ll talk some sense into her-”
“Cassandra has never been the ‘do as she’s told’ type.” The captain spoke at last. His first words for the entire journey back to Corona. And he said them with a sorrowful laugh as he recalled his child. The fondness of a father in his eyes. “Even when I first found her she was a fighter.”
Rapunzel pulled back her hand slowly, glancing over to Eugene with a shared knowing look. This was the first time anyone had ever spoken of the day Cassandra was adopted. There had always been some understanding that they didn’t need to know.. It never mattered where she came from.. Until now, at least.
“I always assumed Cass got that from you.” Eugene moved to the Captain’s other side, leaning on the edge of the balloon’s basket. “No offense, but you seem like a dad with a lot of rules.”
The captain laughed brighter, looking sidelong at the former thief, “Haha- No, no. Cassandra was always a brave girl.. I just taught her to be brave for the right reasons. Why, when I first met her, I was amazed at the strength this sweet, little thing was hiding.”
A smile curled Rapunzel’s lip as she watched the Captain talk about his daughter. Her best friend before all this happened. It was a side of Cass’ life that the Princess had never gotten to know in the past. It wasn’t Cassandra’s style to reminisce like this. In fact, there were few things Rapunzel knew about her childhood at all.
“Captain.” She began, putting her petite hand over his as she smiled warmly up at him. “Would you… tell us that story?”
There was a pause, a thoughtful silence that hung in the air like their balloon. The Captain of the Guard hummed, his eyes locked on the horizon in contemplation… But soon enough he looked at the Princess and returned her smile.
“I’d be happy to.”
--
It was a dark and stormy night. Weren’t they always when something bad was doomed to happen to an innocent person? Lightning flashed and thunder boomed in the skies of Corona. Rain fell heavily on rooftops, cooling them from the harsh beating of the summer sun just hours before. Out in the streets bakers stowed their bread carts and women ran with their aprons held over their heads to keep themselves dry. But in short time the stone roads were empty.
The rain had a way of lulling Corona to sleep. The kingdom always seemed to fall with the sun. Soon enough the citizens were tucked in their beds to the rattling lullaby of the rain. All except the royal guards of course… And one curly haired little girl.
Cassandra stood tip-toed on her mattress, fingers curled around the high windowsill to pull herself over it. Her olive green eyes peeked out through the rain spattered glass at the kingdom beyond. At the castle she could always see from the orphanage windows. She wondered if everyone in the kingdom could see it from their houses or if she was just one of the lucky ones.
Beyond the rain and fog, Cassandra could see familiar armored shapes. A recognizable crest of a helmet she’d seen almost every day since she was brought to this place. A Guard on Patrol. It was raining cats and dogs but he was still out doing his job. The guards must have been really good people. They protected Corona even if it meant they had to get wet. Cassandra was only five and a quarter , but she already knew… She wanted to be just like them when she was big.
There was something else familiar about those Uniforms, too… Something she felt like she should remember but couldn’t.
The little girl let go of the window and dropped backward onto her bed to sit atop the covers. Around her the sparse other children slept comfortably. Dreaming of the parents they someday hoped to have. Or maybe of the parents they once had. In the next room, the director of the orphanage had drifted off, embracing a bottle of ‘mead’. Cassandra didn’t know what mead was, but she figured it was something that made grownups sleepy. The director drank it only after the children went to sleep. Nothing ever woke her in the middle of the night.
A sudden racket made Cassandra jump with a start. A thumping clatter like wood rattling against wood. The girl hopped up once more to look out the window. She could see that same guard as before but he was moving much faster. Frantic as he spoke to another guard before splitting off to run separately down the dark Corona alleys. But there was no one else in sight.
Then the sound came again. But, if there was no one outside, that sound had to come from inside. Cassandra climbed out of bed slowly and quietly. She reached under her bunk to pull out a wooden sword she’d won from one of the boys in a wrestling match. She held it high the way she’d seen the Guards do as she treaded carefully toward the hallway.
When she rounded the corner, she couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t very far with all the lanterns out. But there was a flickering of orange fire light from beneath the crack of the door of the director’s room. Cassandra walked toward that light on tip-toe, planning to pass it and go to the kitchen… But then she noticed a shadow crossing that orange light from inside the room. The shape of legs carrying a person back and forth.
Was the director actually still awake? Were they the one making noise?
Cassandra lowered herself to the floor to lay on her belly. With her hands pressed to the old floorboards she did her best to look under the door. What she saw almost made her gasp loudly, but she put a hand over her mouth to silence herself.
There was a stranger in there! A big ugly one. Looking through the director’s things while they slept! Taking her jewelry and coins and putting them in a bag. The child watched in horror as this person- this criminal- uncovered the safe where the director kept all the money she used to take care of the children.
He was gonna take the money for the kids!
Not on Cassandra’s watch, he wasn’t.
In moments she was back on her feet, sword in hand. She scurried quickly and quietly away and toward the kitchen where she’d originally heard the noise coming from. When she got there, she found the window left wide open, rain pouring in from the outside. Ew, and he’d tracked mud in from outside.
Think, Cassandra, think. What would a Guard do? A guard would keep the bad guy from escaping! The lock on the safe will only keep him busy for so long.
She ran to the window and jumped up to grab it and pull it closed.
As Cassandra climbed down she set her hand in something really GROSS! A bucket of cooking grease the director sometimes used to cook. It made her hands all slippery. Yuck! … Wait a second. She could use this. If only she also had some… string!
In the corner was a roll of thick twine used for preparing roasts. It wasn’t cuffs but it would do in a pinch. And to a child it was as good as rope.
Cassandra gathered her items and hurried back down the hall. She could hear the groaning of the safe’s iron door as this thief managed to finally break into it. All without the director stirring an inch. Not wasting any time, the little girl turned over the grease bucket and let it slop out down the hallway. It was thick and goopy, but it covered enough of the floor that there was no way this crook wasn’t going to step in it. Then, Cassandra took a length of the twine and strung it across the hallway a few inches from the ground. She’d seen the boys in the orphanage trip each other like this all the time. Hopefully it also worked on grown ups.
When the door began to open Cassandra ran behind it and hid against the wall. She held her breath as this larger person came into view, carrying a sack of things that didn’t belong to him. He didn’t even consider looking down at where she hid. He probably didn’t think anyone was awake. And why would he worry about a KID catching him?
He was about to learn to be worried.
Outside, the guards were searching the alleys high and low. They’d spotted him. A serial robber who had robbed five families in a week. Taken everything of value they owned in the dead of night. But he’d vanished from under their noses somehow.
Dammit!
Was this how the new Captain of the Guard was to be known? As the man who took over and couldn’t even catch a common thief? He was better than this… But he needed to prove that as the new captain he would take care of the people’s best interests while also fulfilling the will of his king. He inherited this position after a great tragedy. His first year as captain had been nothing but struggles.
Captain Roland wiped the rain from his face as he glowered through the fog. His crossbow hung in his hands, relaxed. His boots creaked as he crept quietly behind the businesses and homes of Corona. His eyes, piercing and narrow, flicked high and low.. He was getting closer. He could feel it.
The sole of his boot slipped against the wet stone and he looked down. Muddy footprints. Headed down a second alley and behind the orphanage. He followed the steps and found they led to a window. Shut. But he could see the mud trail ended inside.
Gods… No. Roland shuddered to think about a criminal breaking into a building full of children. Children who had already lost so much.
The Captain tried to yank the window open to pursue the criminal inside. But it must have latched when it was shut. It wouldn’t budge. And the captain wasn’t about to break the window of an orphanage.
Instead he ran as fast as he could around to the front door. He took the handle in his hands and pulled. Locked. Of course it was. He rattled the door, he hammered his fist against the hard wood.
“Open up! This is the Captain of the Guard!”
There was.. Some kind of sound inside. Then the smallest of footsteps drawing near to the door. He raised his crossbow as he heard the lock click. He was prepared for anything when that door opened… Everything but a curly haired little girl. She was smiling up at him so brightly. His crossbow lowered immediately as he glanced around. There was no one else, just this child.
“You’re finally here!” she grinned, bouncing on her little legs before grabbing him by the hand to pull him inside. “C’mon, c’mon!”
Roland followed, hunched over with his hand in hers. He looked about as this child led him towards a back hallway. Nothing looked damaged. He could see children peeking out of their bedrooms, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Woken up by whatever had happened. Same as the director who seemed far less coherent. And then… the Captain found his criminal.
Laid out on the floor, feet tied together. He was covered in what looked like… lard. And it appeared that he’d slipped in it quite a bit while trying to make his get away. Beside him his bag of stolen goods was spilled across the floor. Everything that was taken from the Orphanage and more. The man himself… was unconscious. Out cold from what looked like a blow to the head from a wooden toy sword. He was going to have a bump, but he’d be fine.
“I made sure he didn’t get away. All by myself!” The little girl proudly boasted before moving around the Captain to push on his legs from behind. Urging him on, “Now you can arrest him!”
Roland was… impressed! He’d never seen a child stand up to a criminal like this and come out unscathed. It would have been so much easier for her to hide and wait for an adult to show up. The Captain would have shown up regardless… But it might have been too late if she hadn’t acted like she did.
“You did very well, little one.” He praised, kneeling down and putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “And you’re not hurt?”
“Nuh-uh.” She shook her head, her mess of dark curls bouncing.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. This was one special kid.
“You acted very bravely tonight.. What’s your name?”
“Cassandra.”
The corner’s of Roland’s eyes wrinkled as he warmly smiled down at her. He held out a hand to the child. Her small hand landed in his, gripping his fingers tightly as they shook hands.
“Thank you for your help... Cassandra.”
--
Rubble.
All that remained was rubble.
No one had even come to claim the land in the twenty years since Cassandra and her Mother left it. It wasn’t rich enough soil, or a big enough plot for anyone to want it. They hadn’t even bothered to clean up the mess.
Fractions of walls remained of what once was a farmhouse. Cass’ farmhouse. The home she had forgotten. The home she knew before her mother was given no choice but to leave her at an orphanage. In the hopes that someone, anyone, would find her and be able to afford to give the child a better life. A happier life.
Where her mother went after that… Cass wasn’t sure she’d ever know.
But someone had found her, just like Mother planned, hadn’t they? At least one of their dreams came true.
Cass could vividly remember each visit he made to get to know her. She remembered the moment he walked back through those doors to tell her she was going to be living with him from now on. At the moment she never wanted anything more in her whole life… Because she’d made herself forget the life she’d had before… She never even realized she was adopted by the newest leader of the guards that chose their king’s orders over her mother… The people responsible for the way her life turned out.
Cass scowled and stomped at an old plank of wood, breaking it into splinters. She kicked the remains aside then paused at what she found beneath.. A little wooden cup. Somehow it survived the fire and all these years in the elements..
The woman bent to pick it up, holding it in her armored palm. It was so tiny compared to how it once looked in a four year old’s hands.
She stood in somber silence, her eyes prickling with tears she stubbornly refused to share.
Without a word, Cass walked to what remained of her mother’s old dinner table. The cup was set at its center neatly and then… Cass picked one of the purple wildflowers that had overtaken the homestead. Grown healthy and strong in the ashes of her life…The only good thing to come out of this mess...
Cass left the flower and the cup in the center of the table….
And left to finally fulfill her destiny.
#rapunzel's tangled adventure#tangled the series#Cassandra#the captain of the#season 3 minus gothel#my art#fanfic
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Confessions of the Fox, Jordy Rosenberg
Rating: Great Read
Genre: Historical, Literary
Representation:
-Trans man protagonist(s)
-Intersex protagonist(s)
Trigger warnings: Murder, state violence, police, execution, graphic injury, surgery (graphic), slavery (not in scene), child abuse, self harm, plague
Note: Not YA; features very graphic sexuality
I gasped in delight when I realized, several pages into Confessions of the Fox, what I was reading. I had known beforehand that I was picking up a historical fiction story about the infamous 18th century London thief Jack Sheppard reimagined as a transgender man. What delighted me was the frame story, which is what truly makes the novel something special.
The fictional Dr. Voss is a historian of the 18th century at an unnamed university; he stumbles across an old manuscript at his university library’s book sale, and the student running the sale gives it to him for free. This manuscript touts itself as an extant narrative about Jack Sheppard, previously undiscovered. Voss throws himself into the work of transcribing the document, increasingly fascinated as he discovers that this narrative is alone in several claims it makes about Jack and the characters of his life. First, that Jack is transgender and intersex, and second, that his lover, Elizabeth Lyon (Bess) is Southeast Asian, identifying herself as “Lascar” on her father’s side.
The enormity of this manuscript’s discovery is not lost on Voss’s university, who, holding Voss’s job hostage, demand he editorialize the manuscript so that it can be copyrighted and sold via partnership with a pharmaceutical company purporting to sell “organic” Testosterone. Voss is transgender himself, and while the university doesn’t outright admit that they want his mark on the manuscript for that reason, it is implied.
Thus, Confessions of the Fox becomes two stories in one: the tale of Jack Sheppard and Bess, their jailbreaks, heists, love affair, and run-ins with pirates, mollies, and mutineers; but also the tale told through Dr. Voss’s footnotes on the manuscript, a convincing facsimile of academic commentary. That is, until Voss starts connecting the manuscript to his own life, going “rogue” as he realizes that the manuscript is not what he had first believed it to be (but no spoilers).
The framing, reminiscent of The Princess Bride, is convincing, well-executed, but not so entrenched in research as to be a slog. In fact, I enjoyed the footnotes more than the Jack Sheppard story. Voss’s ruminations on the manuscript, on transgender life in the 18th century, on real documents, such as Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, and real historical events, such as the draining of the Fens, make this novel something really special.
The Jack Sheppard story itself, meanwhile, is straightforward, well-written in its own right, but needs the scaffolding of Voss’s footnotes in order to stand. I was somewhat disappointed by the shape of the plot, which unfolded all at once at the end. There was little space for Jack or Bess to be more than reactive as the plot happened around them. The main reason for the disruption of the pacing was probably the slow on-ramp; Jack’s transition and how it is accomplished takes up the lion’s share of the beginning of the novel, only then moving into the plot with Jonathan Wild and the mutineers, which by comparison, moves much too quickly.
However, issues of pacing that would have made another novel unpleasant to read were ameliorated by the frame story’s focus on the active discoveries about the text Voss shares with the reader as the novel progresses. The slow unravelling of Voss’s revelations about the manuscript, and his conflict with the university over it, keep the reader’s interest even while the “manuscript” itself drags or moves too quickly in parts.
I cannot recommend Confessions of the Fox enough, although there are parts that are very graphic, and might ruin someone else’s reading. Though I wouldn’t necessarily list this as a trigger warning, discerning readers may want to be aware beforehand of the astounding prevalence of urine in the equally prevalent and graphic sexuality of the Jack Sheppard manuscript. Confessions of the Fox is very squarely adult fiction, with little room to be enjoyed as a crossover with YA audiences. I would even go so far to say that Confessions of the Fox has toed the line over into erotic fiction, though it has happily managed to secure its seat as a critical darling anyway, perhaps by nature of its literary qualities and truly thoughtful musings on gender, academia, capitalism, the over-policing of marginalized communities, and most of all, questions of who is permitted to author history, and who must be content to editorialize.
For more from Jordy Rosenberg, visit his website here.
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