#Sam-Amina

[godhasheardtruthfully]

Stay Light

Gouache & water color on paper

Sam-Amina Bailey 1445 /’23

[godhasheardtruthfully]

Sam-Amina is the Tracks of poetryfoundation.com

In the club reading poetryfoundation.com

[jennystahl]

I commissioned @newbordeaux (@arthmis) to paint my Lone Wanderer/Courier Six Sam and I am sooo so happy with the results. She used my 10 face claim inspos and all of my ideas and put them together so wonderfully 🥹 Her commissions are closed but when/if she opens them again, I HIGHLY recommend.

[traeumenvonbuechern]

🏴‍☠️ Books To Read If You Love "Our Flag Means Death" 🏴‍☠️

Can't get enough of Our Flag Means Death? Read these books!

Also, check out my list of trans books for OFMD fans here: Trans Books To Read If You Love "Our Flag Means Death"! 🏳️‍⚧️

Book titles:

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty

Tell No Tales by Sam Maggs and Kendra Wells

The Dawnhounds by Sascha Stronach

The Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels by India Holton

The Queer Principles of Kit Webb by Cat Sebastian

In Deeper Waters by F.T. Lukens

Silver in the Wood by Emily Tesh

Til Death Do Us Bard by Rose Black (comes out November 21, 2023)

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 9

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 5.5k+

Note: LMAO i wrote this at 'work' (i have a weekend job where i work as a 'supervisor' and i sit in an office and play the sims and get paid for it). THNAK YOU EVERYONE for the kindest of words. my heart is so full with everyone talking about this series.

also this chapter is a bit of a love letter to my friends at my own version of The Van. i pray they never see this but i love those guys. also also you all need to play Beerio Kart it goes so hard.

xxx

By the time I get to Ruth’s, her flat is already buzzing. It's the Tuesday crew from The Van, and a few extra people I don’t recognise.

There’s someone from the soup run — I think his name’s Leon — curled up in the armchair, nursing a can of lager and shouting advice at the screen. One of the newer volunteers, Naomi, is painting her nails on the coffee table like it’s not covered in half-eaten biscuits and empty crisp packets. And someone I don’t recognise — probably someone’s partner or flatmate — is crouched in front of the TV cabinet, trying to get the Switch working, sleeves rolled up like it's been a tough day at work.

Ruth lights up when she sees me. “Ugh, finally. We’re all sick of Quiplash. Come teach everyone Beerio Kart”

She claps her hands like a teacher calling a class to order. “Okay! Y/N is going to explain the rules for those of us who don’t know how to play… which is all of us.”

She practically shoves me onto the couch like I’m about to deliver a TED Talk.

I lean in, pointing to my fellow volunteers like a revolutionary leader. “Rule one: you can’t drink and drive. Mario world has standards. Both hands off the controller while you’re drinking.”

“Justice for Toad!” someone yells. Laughter ripples through the room.

“Two: you have to finish your beer before the race ends. Or you lose. Morally.” Everyone is now calculating their strategies.

“You can drink during countdowns, when you fall off the track, when you get shelled—”

“—when your ex texts you mid-race and ruins your whole life,” Naomi adds from the floor. More laughter. I laugh but I do not get the joke, or if there even is a joke.

So I drop into the last open spot — a beanbag wedged between Tom (a guy from Thursday nights who always brings his own gloves) and someone covered in tattoos who’s currently balancing a beer can on their head.

“Three… two… one—GO!” someone shouts, and half the room starts chugging like we’re at some sacred, chaotic communion.

To my left, Amina (who's homemade banana bread is to die for) downs her entire beer before her kart even moves. By the time she slams her can down, she’s already in 12th place, but she’s grinning. “Now I can actually drive, losers!”

Across the room, one of the quieter volunteers — Sam, I think — is casually cruising in second place until he brakes right before the finish line and sips the rest of his can like he’s got all the time in the world.

“Bold move, Sam,” someone mutters, as he finishes with one dramatic gulp and crosses the line with milliseconds to spare.

I, on the other hand, am doing what most of us are doing: swerving off Rainbow Road, nursing bruises from red shells, and sneaking sips during every crash. I’ve barely made it through half the can and I’m losing spectacularly, but Ruth keeps shouting, “You’re doing amazing, sweetie!” every time I get back on track.

There’s shouting, laughing, cans cracking open. Someone yells, “Wait, I spilled beer in my controller!” and no one stops playing. No one even really cares who’s winning. The flat smells like beer, dry shampoo, and warm energy.

My character flies off the edge of the course for the third time in one lap.

“Perfect time for a drink,” I mutter, tipping my can back.

From across the room, Ruth hollers, “THAT’S the spirit!”

It’s stupid and chaotic and none of it makes sense. But for once, I don’t feel like I’m on the outside looking in. Not even a little bit.

I'm still getting to know these people, but they’re kind. Loud in the right ways. Familiar in a way that doesn’t ask too much of me. Ruth shoots me a grin from the corner, one that says: See? Told you this would be fun.

And for a minute, it is.

Even if I've been inked and and I’ve been hit by three shells in a row.

Even if the memory of Will’s kiss — and George’s look — hovers at the edge of my mind like stormclouds threatening to crack open.

Right now, I’m here.

And I’m winning.

Sort of.

Xxx

The Uber was called, and the room still buzzed with energy. People darted around, perfecting eyeliner flicks and dabbing on last-minute lipstick. The chaos from Beerio Kart had settled into a warm, tipsy glow — everyone flushed and laughing, convinced the game had been a smashing success.

Ruth caught my eye and tilted her head, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

“So, why were you late?” she whispered, eyes sparkling.

I hesitated, cheeks heating up. “Kissing Will,” I blurted, half proud, half embarrassed.

Her eyes practically popped. “WHAT, no way! Spill the tea — I did not see that coming. I mean I did, but I was thinking in like, 3 to 6 months.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but damn, the memory of his lips was still burning a hole in my brain.

We lean in like we’re conspirators plotting something way more interesting than makeup tips.

I explain to her that George had a bunch of his friends over for pre-drinks, “So, he texts me, right?” I grin, leaning in like I’m spilling some top-secret intel. “He can see my shadows moving—and straight-up demands to be let into my room. Like, no ‘hey’ or ‘what’s up,’ just full-on ‘open this door now’ energy.”

Ruth bursts out laughing. “Oh girl, that’s borderline stalker-chic. I’m here for it.”

I roll my eyes but can’t stop smiling. “Yeah, well, it worked. Then he hits me with, ‘I’m tired of pretending I don’t like you,’ which is like, okay, chill.”

Ruth raises an eyebrow. “Ooooh, so he’s got a soft side? Didn’t know that was in his skill set.”

I shrug, trying to play it cool. “Right? And then he goes, ‘I would’ve kissed you back’—which is crazy work, so obviously he’s been talking to George.” Ruth looks unamused at that.

“But then we kiss, because, what else do you say to that? It was literally crazy. Fully like Nick-And-Jess-From-New-Girl-First-Kiss-Vibes. It was soooo unexpected but damn, electric.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. “Electric, huh? And then what? Spill.”

I laugh, cheeks warming. “Okay, so then I tell him to leave, and he pushes me against the wall and kisses me again. More like ‘can’t-help-myself’ vibes. I swear my brain took a coffee break and my lips just did their own thing.”

Ruth claps her hands softly. “Girl, that’s textbook ‘can’t resist’ behaviour. Love it.”

I’m laughing. Genuinely. Not performative or polite — real.

Then Maya—Ruth’s close friend—sits cross-legged on the floor, phone out as a mirror. She's moving her lip gloss wand with the precision of a heart surgeon. She glances up at me, wine glass wobbling in her hand. “Wait, is this Will? Like, your friend WillNE on YouTube?”

I don’t even have to wonder how she knows; Ruth’s been bragging about living with ‘influencers’ all week. I freeze just enough for Maya to catch it.

She grins, totally misreading my silence. “Sorry, I only ask ‘cause I thought he had a girlfriend.”

My stomach twists. A tiny, traitorous lurch.

“What?” I say, too casual, too fast.

Maya’s already scrolling on her phone but keeps talking. “Yeah, he’s all over this girl’s Insta. Brunette, Welsh, really pretty. Posted a pic with him at some gig last week—total boyfriend vibes. Hands-on-thigh kind of thing.”

Ruth shoots me a pointed look, but I don’t meet it. My face stays calm, but inside my heart is pounding like a drum.  

“Oh?” I say, voice thin, stretched too tight, like a balloon about to pop.

I stare into my drink, the buzz fading fast, the edges of the room blurring and going cold.

Cue the slow-motion crash in my chest. Sharp, hollow, humiliating. Will never mentioned her. Not once. And here I am, catching feelings like an idiot, clinging to every glance, every inside joke, every stupid little moment like it meant something. Like he meant something.

I thought he was a friend. That’s the worst part. He’s been inviting me everywhere, pulling me into his life like there was space for me. Making me feel like I belonged. I thought he saw me. Really saw me.

And now? Now I just feel used. Like a placeholder. Like some sad, temporary girl who was dumb enough to believe that any of it was real. That feeling creeps in, the feeling where he looks at me like some kind of charity case. Something broken he could fix to feel better about himself. A project. Nothing permanent, just a distraction dressed up as concern.

I feel like an idiot.

Stupid for letting myself want more — for a second kiss, a text that means something, anything that isn’t just some blurry grey area he gets to walk away from untouched.

I take a long sip of my drink, trying to wash the embarrassment down with cheap rosé and bravado. But it lingers, tight in my throat, prickling behind my eyes. God, I feel so naive. Like a punchline he forgot to tell me I was part of.

Maya’s already moved on, chatting about something else, blissfully unaware of the landmine she just stepped on. But my mind is miles away now — back in my bedroom, back against the door, his mouth on my neck, whispering things that now feel like lies. Or worse.

Just meaningless.

I decide I'm back to hating him again, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t want to see him. Not tonight. Not at all.

But I already know that I will.

Xxx

The club is a boiling pot of chaos — packed, sweaty, East London at its wildest. Bodies press against each other in a blur of sequins, smoke, and flashing lights. The bass doesn’t just shake the floor — it owns it — thudding through my chest with a relentless rhythm that matches the anger simmering just beneath my skin. Every beat feels like a dare, every strobe flash a spotlight on the pieces of me I’m trying to burn away.

I’m already buzzed, teetering on the edge of drunk, riding that sharp, reckless wave heartbreak always leaves behind — the kind that makes everything shimmer and sting at the same time. There’s glitter stuck to my collarbones, a smear of lipstick I don’t remember applying, and a voice in my head saying: Don’t think. Just move.

So I do.

I dance with my head thrown back, laughing too loud, drinking too fast. My arms are in the air, hair sticking to the back of my neck, spinning in circles like I can outrun the memory of his mouth on my skin. Around me, strangers cheer and twirl and grind and kiss like they’ve never been hurt. Like none of it matters. And maybe, for a moment, it doesn’t.

Someone hands me a drink — I don’t ask what it is. I just down it like it’s a potion to forget. Like it might bleach out the part of me still holding onto his name like it’s something sacred.

I’m hot, dizzy, untouchable. Or at least, I’m pretending to be. There’s something feral in me tonight — a girl made of spite and vodka and eyeliner, just daring the universe to give her another reason to self-destruct.

And under the lights, with my heart cracked wide open and every nerve on fire, I almost feel free.

Almost.

Then I see them.

George, Chris, and a few other familiar faces slice through the crowd like sharks hunting territory. I spot the two Arthurs  and Bach, who I’m pretty sure I met once, maybe? One of the group I recognise as he threw a party the first week I got to London. A couple are Sidemen members — I know that because Will’s hyped about them all the time and even showed me a video where he was in. There are others too, faces I don’t fully recognize but feel like I’ve seen somewhere—maybe on my FYP, scrolling past late at night.

How did this even happen? How do a bunch of broke volunteers and a pack of overpaid YouTubers end up in the same club in East London? It feels like a cosmic joke, like the universe just couldn’t resist putting me in the middle of some weird influencer fever dream. I’m in op-shop boots and borrowed eyeliner, and they’re in designer jackets and thousand-pound smiles, casually famous in ways I still don’t fully understand.

Basically, I feel surrounded. Like I’m the odd one in a sea of familiar strangers.

Then, my eyes lock on the girl Maya showed me earlier. Small, built, gorgeous—she moves through the crowd like she owns it, every inch the part. And yeah, she’s with Will.

George locks eyes with me — that same deer-in-headlights look I’ve seen on him before, like he wasn’t expecting me to be here, like I’m some ghost that just stepped through the smoke machine haze. But there’s something else tangled in his expression now. Something darker. Jealousy? Regret? I can’t tell.

His mouth parts slightly, like he’s about to say something — or maybe it’s just shock. He doesn’t move. Just stares across the crowd like I’ve knocked the air out of him. And maybe I have. I’m not sure what I was expecting from him — a wave? A smirk? Indifference? Anything would’ve hurt, but this uncertainty burns.

The lights flash blue, then red, then white, catching the sharp angle of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. He looks good. Stupidly good. Which only pisses me off more.

So I turn away first.

I throw my head back and laugh at something someone beside me didn’t even say, just to make sure he sees it. I let my hands slide down the arms of the person dancing with me. It's Quiet Sam. He's a bit confused, but he's also very drunk (he played Beerio Kart with shots). He smells like sweat and cheap cologne and safety. It’s petty. It’s deliberate. It’s survival.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see George shift. Like he wants to move toward me, or maybe away? Like he’s caught in the middle of two impulses and doesn’t trust either one. He raises his drink to his lips and downs half of it in one go. His hand is tight around the glass like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

There’s a beat, just one, where the crowd parts a little and there’s nothing between us. No bodies. No bass. Just silence and neon. And in that breathless, glittering pause, I see it again. Not just jealousy. Not just regret.

Longing.

And it knocks the wind out of me, because for a second, I want to reach for him too.

But then Amina grabs my hand, spinning me in a lazy circle. I let it happen. I let the moment pass. I don’t look back.

And then, Will spots me.

It happens mid-laugh — his, not mine. He’s leaning against the bar, drink in one hand, surrounded by people who probably don't even know his last name. His head’s thrown back, mouth open in that easy, effortless way that used to make my stomach flutter, fuck it still does. Then his eyes flick toward the dance floor—just casually, just a sweep—and he sees me.

He freezes.

Like a record scratch in the middle of a perfect song. Like I’ve just stepped out of a dream he thought he was still safely inside.

And to be fair, last time we spoke — what, five hours ago? — we were making out like idiots in my bedroom when all of his friends were in the next room. Breathless. Hands tangled in clothes. Him saying things like “I’m tired of pretending”, me believing them for long enough to let my guard down. He texted me after and I didn’t text back.

He has no idea I’m mad.

He has no idea.

So when he sees me now — glitter-smeared, mascara smudged, drink in hand like a weapon — he’s smiling. That same smile he wore when his mouth was on my neck. Open, stupid, happy. Like we’re still in that soft moment. Like nothing’s changed.

I make sure it shatters.

I don’t smile. I don’t wave. I don’t acknowledge him.

Instead, I tilt my head back and laugh at something that Sam says in my ear— laugh like I’m free, like nothing in the world is heavy or complicated or still haunting me. Then, without even thinking, I lean in and kiss that same guy on the cheek. Just loud enough that Will sees it. That everyone sees it. A blatant, glittering middle finger. A declaration: I’ve moved on. You were never that important.

It’s petty. It’s calculated. It’s completely unhinged.

But God, it feels good.

And when I finally glance back — just for a second, just to twist the knife — Will’s no longer smiling.

He looks confused. Hurt. Like he can’t quite compute what the hell just happened. He shifts his weight, scanning my face for any version of the girl who kissed him against a doorframe just hours ago. And he can’t find her. Because I buried her the second Maya said “girlfriend.”

He’s blinking too fast. Adjusting. You can see it all playing out behind his eyes: Did I do something? Did she regret it? Is this a joke?

And maybe I should feel bad — but I don’t. Because I did mean it. Every second of it.

And he didn’t think I deserved the truth.

Eventually, Will corners me at the bar, where neon flashes bounce off the bottles. He leans in, shouting over the bass. “You’re ignoring me!” He doesn’t let go of my gaze.

I raise my voice back, trying to sound casual but fierce: “Figured you’ve got options. Don’t let me get in the way.”

He blinks, clearly thrown. “What are you talking about?” He says loudly, confused, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t even know existed.

Before he can say more, the girl sidles up to him, shouting something I can’t quite catch over the pounding bass. She pats his back like she owns the moment, then turns and walks away, leaving him standing there like a question mark.

Will’s jaw tightens. His eyes flick away, darting to the floor, to the crowd—anywhere but me. I can almost hear the shame vibrating through the thrum of the music, mixing with the sweat and heat and everything else suffocating the room.

He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to explain, maybe to beg.

So I spin away from him, grab another drink, down half of it in one go. The sting in my chest has nothing to do with the tequila. I throw myself into the rhythm—into the chaos—trying to drown the ache in bodies and basslines. The club is heaving, sweat and light and noise pressing in on all sides.

And then it changes.

A slower song pulses through the speakers, the bass heavy and honey-thick, like it’s moving through molasses. The lights shift, casting everything in a red-blue haze. It’s still loud, but the energy has dipped into something darker, more charged.

I feel him before I see him. The heat of him at my back. His breath close to my ear, just above the music: “Let me just talk to you.”

I don’t move. Not right away. My body goes still, rigid.

And then—I turn.

And we lock eyes.

And for a second, just one suspended moment in the chaos, it’s like the entire club goes silent. Like the bass cuts out, the crowd dissolves, the song holds its breath. Just me, him, and the gravity pulling between us. His face is flushed, eyes wide, desperate and soft all at once.

I nod. Barely. But he sees it.

And he reaches for my hand.

The noise crashes back around us as we move—shoulders bumping, drinks sloshing, bodies pressing past—but it all feels distant now. He’s pulling me toward the exit, and the club peels away behind us, like a fever breaking.

Like the night’s about to change.

We slip out of the chaos of the dancefloor together and into the smokers’ area. Neither of us smokes—thank God—because I hate the smell of cigarettes. I had a boyfriend in high school who smoked, and I remember how the smell clung to everything—his clothes, his hair, even his lips. I swore back then that I’d never kiss anyone who smoked again. It was one of those teenage promises I thought I’d never break.

To be fair, most people out here are vaping instead, that sweet, artificial fog hanging in the air instead of smoke. It’s better, I guess—less harsh, less lingering—but the smell still makes me wrinkle my nose. It’s a reminder of all the times I tried to convince myself that love could change things. That people could change.

The cold night air hits my skin, sharp and real against the muffled thrum of the club behind us. Suddenly, everything feels quieter, slower—the kind of space where you can finally breathe, and maybe even say what’s been tangled up inside your chest all day.

I glance over at him, searching his face in the dim light, and wonder if he has any idea how much has shifted in these last five hours since we were tangled up, kissing, careless. Five hours since he sent that text, expecting a reply I never gave. Five hours since I decided to hold all my words inside, bottled up like a secret I wasn’t ready to share.

Here, away from the crowd, away from the noise and flashing lights, the weight of it all presses down. And maybe, just maybe, this is the moment where we either break or begin to mend.

“What's going on? Why didn’t you answer my text?” Will asks, his voice low but urgent.

I meet his eyes, steady. “I heard about your girlfriend. I’m not interested in being the sidepiece, especially for someone like you.”

He blinks, caught off guard. “Okay, ouch. Also… what girlfriend? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

I nod toward the club. “That girl in there. She’s touching you like she owns you. Maya showed me her Instagram.”

He scoffs, disbelief flashing across his face. “Becky? She’s a YouTuber like me. She touches everyone when she’s drunk.”

I fold my arms, unconvinced. “I don’t believe you.”

He looks hurt, defensive. “You’re going to believe Maya—someone you’ve never even spoken about—over me?”

“Yeah,” I say, voice flat.

He shakes his head, frustrated. “God, if you actually watched any YouTube, you’d know this.”

“Sorry, I have a real job,” I snap back. He looks at me in a way I can’t describe — hurt, maybe, or just tired of this. Of me. I don’t mean it, obviously, but I go for the kill anyway, aiming for something I know will land. “I never asked to be your little project, Will. I don’t need your charity.”

He breathes in deeply, and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, I’m going back. We can have this conversation when were both sober”

He’s true to his word. Without another glance, he turns and melts back into the smoky swirl of strawberry-ice haze, leaving me standing there with the sharp sting of unanswered questions—and a bitter taste that isn’t from a vape.

I return inside, the club swallowing me back up like nothing happened. Like I hadn’t just stood outside in a fog of strawberry vape and bad decisions, tearing into someone who maybe didn’t even deserve it.

The music has shifted — something bouncier now, unserious and sticky with synths. I find the guy with too many tattoos by the speakers, his shirt half-unbuttoned and grinning like the night owes him something. He pulls me into a lazy twirl without asking, and I let him. It feels good to move. To not think.

Leon joins us halfway through the song, clutching two drinks and somehow still managing to shimmy in time with the beat. “I lost the others,” he yells over the music. “Maya tried to get into VIP by pretending to be Dua Lipa’s cousin.”

"She’s got the eyebrows for it,” I shout, grinning.

We fall into step, hips swinging, limbs loose. At some point, Tattoo Guy tries to do a body roll and almost knocks over Leon’s drink. We’re all giggling too hard to care. Leon makes a show of pretending to sue him for emotional damages.

“My cocktail is trauma now,” he shouts, faking solemnity, holding up the sloshed glass.

“I want that on a t-shirt,” I say, and Tattoo Guy immediately offers to design it — “I’ve got a guy who prints stuff.”

The lights spin above us, dizzy-bright. The kind that make everything feel a little more alive. For a while, I let myself forget. The boys who can’t decide. The messages left on read. The city that wants to swallow me whole.

But then I catch sight of George across the club — dim corner, low lighting, the kind of shadows that swallow things. He’s kissing a girl.

At first, I think my brain’s playing tricks on me.

She looks just like me.

Same hair — dark and messy like we both ran our fingers through it too many times tonight. Same build — same height, same posture, same kind of slightly hunched shoulders that come from never being sure if you’re taking up too much space. She’s even wearing a lace top and trousers combo that looks so similar to mine it’s almost funny. Almost.

My stomach flips. Sharp. Sour. Like I’ve swallowed something that’s about to come back up.

They’re by the bar — George and this almost-me — and he’s leaning in close, hand brushing her hip like he’s done it before. She’s laughing at something he’s said, tilting her head the way I do when I’m pretending not to care. And then, just like that, he kisses her.

It’s not even a maybe. It’s a full, real kiss. Slow, certain. Like he’s trying to say something with it. Like he means it.

And all I can think is: Is that what I looked like, when it was me?

Is that the version of me he wanted? Or maybe — and this might be worse — maybe any girl who looks vaguely like me would’ve done.

Suddenly the music is too loud, the lights too bright. The sticky heat of the club clings to my skin like shame. Like rejection. Like I’ve been replaced by a mirror image who doesn’t know yet that this ends in heartbreak.

She’s laughing into his mouth like it’s easy. Like it’s nothing. Like I didn’t once sit on his bedroom floor and paint his toenails. Like he didn’t say he was glad I moved back to him and then reject me entirely.

It hits me in the throat. A weird, mirrored ache. Like watching yourself be replaced in real time — upgraded or downgraded, who knows. Just... swapped out.

I turn away so fast the room spins.

And that’s when I see Will again.

He's leaning against the bar, shoulders slouched, hair a little too perfectly messy. I make my way toward him before I’ve even decided what I’m doing. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s self-destruction. Maybe it’s both.

When he sees me, something in his jaw tenses. But I don’t give him time to speak.

I slide close to him, too close. My fingers ghost along his wrist as the music blares, low and dirty. He stiffens at first, but then his hands find my hips like muscle memory.

“I still hate you,” I whisper, eyes locked on his like it’s a dare. I don’t even know why I hate him now. Maybe I just want to. I’m angry and humiliated and wired with adrenaline, and he’s standing there looking at me like I matter. He’s probably telling the truth about Becky — I know that, deep down. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt less. I also lost count of the amount of assorted alcohol in my system hours ago. Somewhere between the cheap rosé and someone handing me a tequila shot “for vibes,” I stopped keeping track.

“I know,” he says, low and hoarse.

We dance. Or something like it.

It’s all teeth and tension, hips brushing, hands lingering where they shouldn’t. It’s not romantic. It’s not even flirty. It’s messy and desperate and soaked in the complicated residue of our back-and-forths and bad timing and too many feelings left unspoken.

When I left Ruth’s flat, I hadn’t planned on pressing my body against Will like that. I’d planned on ignoring him, on rolling my eyes and laughing with someone else, on pretending he didn’t exist. But here I am—hips swaying to a beat I can barely register, sweat slicking the small of my back, and his hands firm on my waist like he needs something to hold onto before the whole damn room spins away.

It’s messy and deliberate, our bodies in sync and out of sync all at once. I can feel the tension in his grip, the way his thumbs press a little harder when I move against him, like he thinks I might vanish if he lets go. His mouth is near my ear, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe he knows better. Maybe he knows words are useless here—too loud, too late.

I toss a look over my shoulder just to see how wrecked he looks. He does. His jaw’s tight, brows drawn together like this whole thing is hurting him in ways he doesn’t know how to name. Good. I want him wrecked. I want him to feel something other than smug certainty.

“I still hate you,” I murmur, loud enough for him to hear but soft enough to keep it intimate, like a confession sealed in bass and sweat and noise.

His grip falters just for a second, then tightens again. Like he knows this is the only version of an apology he’s going to get right now. Me—still dancing, still close, but furious and unforgiving in every breath. This is punishment. This is power.

And maybe, a little bit, it’s still wanting him.

I don’t know what I’m trying to prove. To him. To myself. To George, who’s somewhere out there kissing the ghost of me.

Will says nothing else, just moves with me. And I let him.

There’s no forgiveness in it, not really. Just rhythm and proximity and the quiet relief of being touched by someone who still feels like home, even if that home is full of cracks. We don’t speak—our bodies do all the talking. Frustration, guilt, want. It thrums between us like a second beat under the music.

I don’t know when the plan changes, but we end up sharing an Uber home. Silent, shoulder to shoulder, the air between us is thick and buzzing like static.

I don’t reach for his hand.

And he doesn’t ask me to explain.

We sit there like two halves of a broken thought, still tethered by something neither of us wants to name. Maybe pride. Maybe fear. Maybe the memory of his mouth on mine just hours ago, back when the night still felt full of promise.

Six months ago, the Uber with George to his flat was a bubble of warmth and quiet friendship — the heater cranked just right, the soft lo-fi humming through the speakers, raindrops blurring the city outside into a watercolor dream. Inside, I felt safe, like slipping back into an old jumper. The awkwardness dissolved into easy banter and the kind of comfort that only years of knowing someone can build.

Tonight’s Uber to Will’s flat couldn’t be more different. It’s too warm again, but the heat feels like a weight pressing down instead of a gentle hug. The windows are fogged, but the city beyond feels colder, more distant — the raindrops tracing lazy patterns like a slow, mocking countdown. The scent inside is less familiar: a mix of cheap air freshener and something synthetic, sterile.

There’s no easy music, no quiet laughter — just the hum of the engine and the tight knot twisting in my chest. I lean against the window, but instead of city lights bleeding into soft memories, I’m staring at shadows, wondering how I ended up here.

When the car pulls up outside his flat, neither of us moves at first. The engine hums softly, the night stretching between us.

We both get out of the Uber, the cool air hitting me like a shock after the warmth inside. I stand there for a moment, hesitant, the quiet buzzing in my ears louder than the city around us.

Then I turn toward Will’s apartment foyer, the glass doors glowing faintly in the dark.

I breathe in the echo of the night and try to figure out if stepping inside with him is power… or just another kind of surrender.

[godhasheardtruthfully]

Gods Most Mediocore Jmd. I 1445h 11/14/“23

Sam-Amina Bailey mixed media on paper (gouache, watercolor, cookie fortune)

gods most mediocre faggot

[collegetennisoriginstory]

Face claims for CT:OS characters

<See the character descriptions with the awesome character portraits drawn by @dumplingcatho here>

These face-claims are not perfect, I generally chose actors/actresses (sometimes sportspeople) with the same nationality where possible, so take these with a pinch of salt.

M!Tobin—Eli Goree

F!Tobin—Jordan Thompson (volleyball player)

M!Sam—Iain de Caestecker* *With more unruly hair—example bottom right, from some random hairstyle website

F!Sam—Rose Leslie + Sadie Sink + some version of Brittany Snow's wavy bob(?)

Guillaume—Gaspard Uliel

Geneviève—Noémie Merlant

M!Rayyan—Mena Massoud (top)* + Ahmad Magdy (bottom right)**

*I know he recently tweeted something sus about The Little Mermaid. **Before he got so rugged.

F!Rayyan—This one was really tough. Spirit of Egyptian squash player Nouran Gohar (top) + Caroline Azmi (left, middle row) + Amina Khalil (the rest) but less feminine (by several notches).

[burlveneer-music]

Amina Claudine Myers - Solace of the Mind - new album by onetime AACM member; mostly solo piano, some organ & spoken word

Recorded: October 27 & 28, 2023 Sear Sound, New York February 9, 2024 Home organ recording, New York Cover Art: Sam Winston Design: Matt Appleton Produced by Sun Chung

[sjsmith56]

Moving Day - A Private Man, Chapter 10

Summary: Bucky and Sam offer to help Tracey move in but her neighbour interferes with the move, necessitating police intervention.

Length: 4.6 K

Characters: Bucky, Tracey, Sam, Walter (creepy neighbour), Rebecca, Amina.

Warnings: Creepy neighbour, evidence of stalking.

Author notes: This chapter explores Bucky’s attempts to stay calm in the face of an attempted assault on Tracey. Not only does he have to do it for her, he has to maintain the peace to avoid negative attention on himself, a constant battle. Divider by vecteezy.com

<<Chapter 9

There was a bit of a breeze in the late August air as Bucky went out for the newspaper.  His eye was taken by a cigarette stub on the sidewalk a few feet away and he grimaced slightly.  That man was still around, still watching the house and him.  At least his stealth skills were better although his littering skills weren't.  He came back inside only this time Sam was awake, sitting up on the couch, blinking his eyes sleepily.

"Sorry," said Bucky.  "Just went for the paper.  Go back to sleep.  It's a couple of hours before we can pick up the truck."

"No, I'm awake," replied his friend.  "Wouldn't mind a coffee."

Bucky poured one for Sam, placing it on the table in the kitchen as he poured one for himself.  The two friends sat there sipping quietly, each lost in their own thoughts.

"Tracey is a lovely woman," said Sam.  "I think she's exactly what you were looking for."

"Yeah, she is.  We're so in tune with each other it's uncanny.  I keep waiting for something to pull us apart."  He grimaced slightly.  "You know me, the pessimist comes out when things are going good."

"You two have the real thing," said Sam comfortingly.  "I'm sure she'll stick with you through thick and thin."  He took another sip of coffee.  "You thinking of making it permanent someday?"

"We've talked about it."  Bucky's face was tinged pink.  "Rebecca had our mother's engagement ring.  I got it assessed and cleaned up."

"I hope it happens, really," said Sam then he sighed.  "I didn't want to say anything last night but I did go to Madripoor.  Clint came with me.  He was there during the Blip when he was on his vengeance thing so he knows it well.  Didn't find Sharon but before we left someone dropped off some pictures of CIA Director Fontaine arriving in Madripoor in a private jet before you and I ever set foot in that place.  That was before she was named director."

Bucky looked at Sam with surprise.  "Does my lawyer know?"

Sam nodded.  "I dropped copies off with him yesterday before I got here.  Rhodes has the originals in a safe place.  Have there been any more problems?"

"Rebecca's ramp is still being held up.  Should have been installed weeks ago.  There's also been a guy watching the place.  Smokes Japanese cigarettes, leaves the butts on the sidewalk.  Saw one out there this morning.  Still no settlement for me, but I never did have much hope of that happening."

Sam shook his head in sympathy.  "It's all so cloak and dagger and for what?"

"They want to be in the shadows," replied Bucky.  "No oversight, no scrutiny, no one telling them they're hypocrites for insisting the Avengers sign on to the Accords but they get an exemption."

"Someone sounds cynical this morning," said a female voice as Tracey came out the bedroom door in her robe.

Bucky extended his arm and she came to his side, allowing him to encircle her.  She bent over and kissed him on the lips.

"I'm with him on this one," said Sam, "and I'm not a cynical person.  They're up to no good."

"Was there another cigarette out there this morning?" she asked Bucky.  He looked up at her surprised.  "I've noticed them.  Our neighbours smoke in their yard and these are always stubbed out on the same spot on the sidewalk, just beyond the property line where they can see the house but you can't see them unless you leave the house."

Bucky smiled.  "I'm going to have be more careful around you if I ever get you a secret present.  You're sneakier than you look."

Tracey smiled and kissed Bucky again as Sam watched.  He really did like Tracey.  Her quiet nature was exactly what Bucky needed and she seemed to have a good understanding of PTSD, anxiety disorder and whatever other personality issues Bucky suffered from on occasion.  Being a nurse probably helped.  So did being very attractive.

"I'm going to have my shower," she said, rubbing Bucky's shoulder.  "I won't be long then I'll make us all breakfast."

Both men watched as she walked down to the hallway.  After she closed the bathroom door Bucky looked at Sam and smiled.  "I'm a lucky man."

They shared the newspaper while they drank their coffee.  By the time Tracey was done Rebecca was awake and Bucky went into the bedroom to carry her into the bathroom.  Tracey returned from dressing to help Rebecca shower then wrapped her up in a terry towel robe so she could walk to the bedroom with her walker, an exercise recommended by the physiotherapist.  Bucky began preparing breakfast then Rebecca came out of her room, walking, followed by Tracey who helped Bucky with breakfast.  They kissed again at the stove and Rebecca smiled at them.

"They have it down to a system, Sam," she said.  "They know what the other has to do and it's like a dance between them."

Tracey chuckled.  "She makes it sound complicated but it's just doing what comes next."

"I just like seeing the two of you together," said Sam.  "You bring out the best in Bucky.  He's a good man and with you it shows.  Rebecca, what will you be doing while we move Tracey in today?"

"Amina is coming for me," she said brightly.  "There's an information fair at the newcomer centre.  I'm a volunteer for it."

"No kidding?" exclaimed Sam.  "That's amazing.  What are your duties?"

"Helping to promote their volunteer program for senior outreach and care," said Rebecca proudly.  "I'm their poster girl for the good things that newcomers can offer to the community.  They even took my picture and are making a promotion from it.  It was Samira's idea.  I cherish the day Tracey got in touch with them.  So many have become dear friends."

Bucky and Tracey both looked fondly at Rebecca, knowing it was also her engaging personality that endeared her to the newcomers.  Her accepting attitude and calm frankness had benefitted everyone as she shared her life experiences with the individuals who cared for her.  It helped immensely with their own adjustment into American society.  Bucky knew that she also helped the three women who looked after her to improve their English as Amina had informed him of how much she had learned from his sister.  It's why he offered his time as well; knowing so many different languages allowed him to help several newcomer men overcome difficulties in their transitions.  He was able to assist several in applying for work, an important step in their own emotional wellbeing to be able to provide for their families. 

While the couple finished making breakfast Sam and Rebecca set the table, laughing and teasing each other gently.  Sam hovered over the older woman as she transferred from her walker to a chair.  She waved him away with an exaggerated pout.

"I'm fully capable of stepping from my walker to the chair, Sam Wilson," she declared.  "You're such a mother hen for a man."

"Just making sure that my favourite girl is seated properly.  What kind of gentleman would I be if you fell on my watch?"

"Bucky, tell him how strong I am now," said Rebecca.

"She is stronger," said Bucky.  "I had to buy a set of hand weights for her.  She was using cans of food and needed something heavier.  She's lifting a five pound weight in each hand now, doing bicep and tricep curls as part of her physiotherapy."

"We have those big elastic bands as well," she said proudly.  "I do my leg exercises with those.  I'm strong enough to get down the stairs at the front door and then my ladies can take me for a walk around the neighbourhood in the wheelchair.  We've been thinking of me using the walker on my walks as well, get used to going over bumps on the sidewalk."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Sam.  "Maybe someday you'll actually be strong enough to visit one of the blues clubs with me.  Now that Bucky is working days maybe he can come out with us as well."

"I'd like that, too," piped up Tracey.  "I've never been.  How about next time you're here we plan to do that?"

Bucky pretended to scowl but he actually liked the idea, especially if Tracey was on his arm.  They had experienced several date nights in the back yard but he was feeling more confident out in public and wanted to treat her to a real night out.  Once she was moved in it would be easier.  He pulled Tracey's chair out for her as they brought the food to the table.  Then they all served themselves and enjoyed breakfast immensely.  Just before they were finished Amina was at the door to pick up Rebecca.  She came in with Kafeel who smiled broadly when he saw Sam.

"Captain, you're here!  Are you coming to the newcomer centre again?"

"Well ...." Sam looked at Bucky who shrugged.  "We're moving Tracey into the house.  If we get done early enough I might be able to drop by, in the suit.  That's what you want, isn't it?"

"Please?" pleaded the boy.  "Mr. Bucky is there often but we've only seen you once."

Sam assured him he would make time to come over, even if it was just a quick visit.  The boy's eyes sparkled at the commitment.  Bucky carried Rebecca out to Amina's car, while Amina took her wheelchair. He kissed her goodbye, wishing her a fun day then watched as the car disappeared in the distance. When he returned to the house Sam was putting the dishes away in the dishwasher.

"Tracey is removing the bedding from your room so we can move the bedroom furniture down to the basement," said Sam.  "It will be nice to sleep in a bed down there as a guest instead of the couch."

"Once we get her moved in I'm going to submit plans to build an actual bedroom and bathroom down there," said Bucky.  "There's room and it will add to the value of the house.  There's a few guys at the dock who have done it and said they would help.  Jack from the garden centre knows some electricians and a plumber.  They'll help me with the plans."

Sam smiled broadly.  "Look at you making more friends.  I'm happy to see it."

"I realized part of my problem with people was I kept myself isolated too much, afraid they would judge me, I guess," replied Bucky.  "Instead, I found most of them were curious about me and my experiences.  They've all been pretty understanding."

It didn't take them long to move all of that bedroom furniture down and set it up while Tracey vacuumed Bucky's room to prepare it to receive her bedroom furniture.  When they were done, and she had placed the bedding in the washer she drove them to the truck rental outlet to pick up the moving truck.  She went on ahead to her apartment to get the key to the elevator from the building supervisor.  It would allow them to keep the door open so they could load up the elevator with furniture without it being used by tenants.  When Tracey got up to her floor, she unlocked her apartment and heard her neighbour, Walter, open his door.

"Hey, moving day, today?" said Walter.  "Do you need some help?"

"No, thanks Walter," said Tracey, politely.  "Bucky and Sam will be here with the truck any moment.  I'm just getting ready for them."

The thin blond man nodded his head self-consciously.  "I'm ... I'm sorry to see you move.  I always thought we had a connection, you know?"

Tracey sighed, dreading this moment.  "You were a friend, Walter, a good friend I thought.  I appreciated you feeding Alley Cat and watching my place while I was in Belize."

"You never even gave me a chance to be more," he frowned.  "I deserved that much, didn't I?"  She didn't answer and he stepped forward, making her back up into her apartment.  "You shouldn't be afraid of me."

She tried to close and lock the door but Walter pushed into it and came towards her with his hands open. With a sickening feeling Tracey saw the door close behind him. He turned and locked the deadbolt.  "Walter, please," said Tracey as she looked for something to defend herself with.  The buzzer for the building entry went off and she tried to let Bucky in but Walter pushed her away from the controls.  "Walter, please stop.  I don't want you to get hurt."

"Me get hurt?" he sputtered as her cell phone rang several times.  "That's all you've done is hurt me, ignore me, treat me like I don't matter.  Then you fall for that ... killer.  I bet you let him fuck you, like the whore you are."

Tracey shook her head at finally seeing the true nature of her neighbour.  "You're an incel," she said with disgust.  "You're as bad as my ex-husband, just seeing what you want to see."

"I see a woman I worshipped treating me like shit," said Walter, his face becoming ugly.  "I would have been so good to you, giving you lots of babies, taking care of you, making sure you never had to work."

"Is that what you think women want, Walter?" asked Tracey, hearing a sound at the apartment door and trying to distract him from noticing.  "You think we want to be kept captive in our homes, always pregnant, having a man control us?"

Before Walter could say anything more a dark shape quickly came through the door from the hallway and an arm circled Walter's shoulder pulling him away from Tracey.

"I wouldn't say anything more, Walter," said Bucky, calmly but firmly holding the man from behind. 

Sam entered from the hallway and stood in front of the man then looked back at Tracey.  "We buzzed the building supervisor when you didn't answer the door buzzer or your phone.  He gave us the master key to get in.  Said he had been getting bad vibes from this guy ever since you gave your notice.�� Police are on the way if you want to lay charges for unlawful confinement."

Walter began to whine as Bucky pulled him back into the hallway.  "I wouldn't have hurt you, Tracey.  I love you.  I worship you."

Only when Walter was out of her sight did Tracey let loose and begin to cry.  Sam put his arms around her and held her, stroking her back.  "Buck will hold him until the police get here.  The building supervisor said he made several uncomfortable comments about you.  That should interest the police."

"How did I never see it before?" she asked.  "I just thought he was awkward.  Then when he cornered me in here he began saying terrible things about me and Bucky.  That's when I realized ....  Thank God, you two were here."

They could hear the police out in the hallway and the sound of handcuffs being placed on Walter's wrists as his whines grew into shouts, begging her not to do this, not to turn her back on him.  The police must have taken Walter back into his suite as Bucky came to the door and took Tracey in his arms.  He looked at Sam and nodded knowingly.

"I saw inside his apartment," he said quietly to his friend.  "He had a shrine, was obsessed with her.  They'll be taking him for a psychiatric assessment.  One of the officers will come see her first, to swear out the official charges."  Softly he spoke to her as he caressed her hair.  "It's okay, baby.  You're alright.  You did good.  I could hear what you were saying to him and you gave me the time to get in here."

Quietly she wept and Bucky just kept whispering to her, while Sam watched sympathetically.  A knock at the open door brought an officer in to take Tracey's statement and she told him everything Walter said to her. 

"Can I see it, his shrine?" she asked.

The officer looked at Bucky and Sam, then at her and shook his head.  "I don't think that's wise.  We'll have a crew in to fully document it before they take it down.  To be honest, I'm surprised he didn't try anything before today.  It appears he may have installed cameras here in your apartment to watch you."

That set her off on another round of crying which he apologized for.  He looked at Bucky.  "You and Miss Harris weren't intimate here?"

"No, she always came over to my house," he replied.  "I've only been here a couple of times and we never ...."

"Well, it's pretty clear he has major issues which will require a psychiatric assessment.  Unfortunately, we'll need to get a crew in here to find the evidence of the cameras he installed.  I know you were here to move Miss Harris out but that will have to be put on hold while we search for evidence.  Just for a few days."

"Can I take my clothes at least?" she asked plaintively. 

The officer took a big breath.  "Let me make a call and see if we can get a forensics crew in to start there, with your closet so that you can at least have clothes to wear.  Anything else you would like to take with you?"

"Jewelry, toiletries, makeup," she answered.  "Although we were moving my bedroom suite over as it's bigger than Bucky's."

"Okay, let me see what I can arrange," he replied and he left to radio in.

The three of them sat on her living room couch, her and Bucky holding hands, waiting to see if this day would be a total bust.   Twenty minutes later the officer returned.

"A crew is on the way and they'll start on the bedroom," he said.  "If you have the moving boxes for your clothes they'll even load them for you, once they examine them to make sure he hasn't hidden anything harmful in them.  They'll try to get the bedroom suite done so you can take that back with you.  You just won't be able to be here while they're doing it.  If you give me a contact phone number they'll call when they've cleared the bedroom and the bathroom.  It's possible they could finish it tonight.  Walter's place will take longer but he'll be in custody for some time."

Bucky stood up and shook the officer's hand.  "Thank you for doing what you could," he said.  "It's been a tough day for Tracey."

"I appreciate your team coming in early," she said, trying to smile as the police officer nodded his head and returned to Walter's suite.

"Well, I guess we could always go over to the newcomer centre," said Sam.  "Looks like some time has opened up in my schedule.  Kafeel will be happy."

"We have the truck for the weekend," said Bucky.  "Perhaps the cameras will be found quickly and we can get some more help from the newcomer centre to move everything."

After returning the elevator and master key to the building supervisor, who promised to let the forensics team into Tracey's unit they drove both vehicles back to the house.  Sam geared up and took off while they took his travelling case and a change of clothes for him with them to the newcomer centre.  There were many cries of hello when the couple entered the hall, which was set up with multiple displays of all the services offered by the center.  When they finally arrived at the display for services to seniors Rebecca looked at them in surprise then she noticed that Tracey looked shaken.

"What's happened?" she asked, patting the chair next to her for Tracey to sit.

"My neighbour," began Tracey, then she choked up and buried her face in Rebecca's shoulder. 

The older woman looked up at Bucky for an explanation as she put her arm around the younger woman.  "Tracey arrived at the apartment before us and her neighbour cornered her, wouldn't let her leave or answer the door.  Turns out he's been obsessed with her for some time, may have even planted cameras in her apartment to keep her under surveillance.  The police have to find them first for evidence.  Until they do we can't move her things out.  They're trying to get it done today but they can't promise anything." 

"That's terrible," said Amina, placing her hand in Tracey's.  "I'm sure my husband and brother-in-law would help you move if they can.  Where is Mr. Sam?"

"He's on his way," smiled Bucky.  "Are the kids outside?"

Amina nodded then told Bucky to tell the organizers that Captain America would be making an appearance soon and they would announce it so everyone could go outside to see him.  He went off to find them while Rebecca and Amina comforted Tracey.  When the announcement was made Bucky wasn't surprised to see several of the women stay behind with Tracey.  He came close but Rebecca looked up at her brother.

"It's okay, we've got her," she smiled.  "There are some things that all women understand.  Go outside and be there for the kids and the others."

Self-consciously he smiled and backed away, knowing that Rebecca and the others could offer Tracey support that she needed.  Out behind the centre they watched Sam fly near and do more aerobatics in his flying suit for several minutes before landing gracefully in the middle of everyone.  Kafeel came up with his soccer ball and grinned at the winged super hero.

"How was that?" asked Sam.

"Perfect," replied the boy.  "Do you think someday I could be Captain America?"

"I don't see why not," replied Sam.  "Just because you were born in Sudan doesn't mean you can't choose to be American.  As long as you uphold all the good things that the country stands for you can be just about anything."

Kafeel's face beamed.  As Sam posed for selfies with people who had watched his display Irshad appeared at Bucky's side along with his brother Farid.  Bucky shook hands with both men.

"My wife says you may need our assistance to move Miss Harris's belongings from her apartment," he said.  "The man who violated her privacy, he has been charged?"

"Yes, he will be," said Bucky, then he shook his head.  "It's upset her greatly as she never gave him any encouragement or indication that she was interested in him."

"Some people do not respect boundaries," said Irshad.  "It has happened in our culture as well.  The sooner she is out of that place the better but you must keep an eye on her, support her, be kind to her.  You will marry her soon?"

Bucky looked at him, surprised.  "I wish to marry her, yes," he said.  "When the time is right."

Irshad nodded.  "Good, she is a good woman, a kind woman," he said.  "Many here speak well of her.  Her willingness to include many of us as valued members of the community has been noted.  Helping her move is the least we can do to repay her."

Bucky and Sam stayed for the rest of day, mingling with the visitors to the center until it was time to shut things down.  They helped fold up the tables and stacked chairs, putting them back into the storage rooms.  As they finished Bucky checked his phone but didn't find any messages from the police.  Tracey had nothing on her phone either and they prepared to leave for the house.  Rebecca was ready for a nap so Sam said he would stay in the house while she slept, answering some emails on his phone.  Bucky accompanied Tracey to a department store to buy some things for her to wear, in case her clothes were not released.  As they pulled into the parking lot Bucky's phone rang, with the call display indicating was the police officer from the apartment.  As soon as he answered it the officer asked him to take it off speaker and Bucky spoke with him, his face getting darker and darker in temperament.  When he hung up he looked straight ahead for a moment, his jaw set firmly.  Tracey noticed he was swallowing as if he was trying to find the best way to tell her something.

"Bucky," she said finally, "just spit it out.  It can't be any worse than finding out your creepy neighbour has been watching you through hidden cameras."

"Yeah, it is," he said quietly, then he took her hand in his.  "A preliminary examination of your clothing has found ejaculate residue on several articles of clothing, mostly your under garments so far.  He was masturbating and coming on your things then rinsing them off before drying them, with your blow dryer, they think.  They have to examine every piece of clothing you own.  The guy was a real sick bastard."

Tears welled up in Tracey's eyes as he gazed at her.  Holding his arms out she slid over the console and sat in his lap in the front seat of the car, bawling her eyes out.  They sat like that for some time while he held her, rubbing her back and arms.  Without comment he listened to her alternate between crying and ranting about the gross invasion of her privacy. 

"I'm not moving this weekend, am I?" she finally asked. 

"Your things aren't moving," clarified Bucky, kissing her on the side of her head.  "But you are definitely moving in.  We'll buy you several days worth of clothing.  Officer Jackson said those pieces of clothing that have been identified with his biological evidence will be kept but they will release the others as they clear them.  Sam and I will move my furniture back into the bedroom and when they've finished processing your apartment I already have volunteers willing to help move your things in.  It will get done, just not this weekend.  You don't have to go back to the apartment, ever."

Tracey gave out a big sigh then smiled at him.  "Thank you for just letting me work it out.  I was upset, and afraid that you would do something physical to him."

"I'll admit the thought crossed my mind," replied Bucky.  "But I care about you too much to add to your distress.  Right now, I just want to see to the practical side of things, get you set up to have enough clothing and toiletries to have for the week.  I'm always here for you, always."

He rubbed his thumb along her jaw line then kissed her softly.  A short time later they shopped together for underwear, clothing, and toiletries for Tracey.  She found herself feeling better about the decision to move in with Bucky, realizing what a caring man he was, even more than she had witnessed already.  A text message from Sam said that supper was well under way courtesy of him and Rebecca, if they could just pick up some beer and wine on the way home.  By the time they arrived Tracey felt much better about her life. 

The following weekend several men from the dock and the newcomer centre helped Bucky move her furniture to the house.  As an apology, the building supervisor gave her a gift certificate to go out for dinner at a nice restaurant, feeling guilty about not sharing his suspicions about Walter with her.  Her former neighbour was committed to psychiatric custody for some time before all the charges were officially laid.  When he did come to trial Tracey knew there would be a core of supportive people with her in body and spirit, with Bucky leading the way.

Chapter 11>>

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[godhasheardtruthfully]

Please remember

carl phillips, from “cortège”

[practically-an-x-man]

Souriya "Spider" Prakash-Cooper

(picrew is @potato-lord-but-not's Persona Creator, moodboard by @negative-speedforce, faceclaim is Mamoudou Athie (not pictured))

Full Name: Souriya Prakash-Cooper Pronouns: he/him (cisgender omnisexual man)

Nicknames: Spider (usual nickname), bandar (from his mom, slang term meaning "monkey" or a mischievous child) Pet Names: ??? (how do you have pet names when nobody's allowed to speak?)

Relevant Tags: #oc spider, #souriya prakash-cooper

Birthday: June 20th, 1994 Age in Chapter One: 25 (about to be 26)

Universe/Fandom: A Quiet Place, specifically Day One

Physical Traits: 6'1", with the build of a speed climber (athletic, wiry but with muscle in his shoulders, quads, and especially forearms). He has particularly large hands and a long wingspan, traits that aided his success in climbing. Of Lao, Indian, and Black American descent, he has an oval-shaped face with heavily-lidded black eyes, a wide flat nose, thick but expressive eyebrows, and a crooked smile with moderately full lips. His hair is naturally a very dark brown and between a 3B and 3C hair type, though he frequently dyes it a bright cardinal-red. It is styled as an undercut, with the top reaching down to his shoulders, though he ties it into a bun or a tight braid when he climbs. He has earlobe piercings in both ears, along with an industrial in his right ear and a septum ring in his nose.

Character Traits: Highly observant and detail-oriented, good at pattern recognition, but also a confident social butterfly who thrives around others. He's charismatic and funny, if a little eccentric, and has no problem making himself look the fool for the sake of a laugh (or for his job). He's a problem-solver by nature and good at thinking outside-the-box, though tends to struggle when said problems fall outside his skill set.

Relationships: - Family: Adhira Nanette Prakash (mother), Darius Cooper (father), Devi and Manichan "Minnie" Prakash-Cooper (sisters) - Friends: A thriving network of friends within the film business pre-apocalypse, roommates Newt and Ginger, climbing buddies "Ghost" (Jaxon), "Dart" (Sophie), and "Sparky" (DJ); post-apocalypse finds allies in Sam, Eric, Marcus (OC), and Amina (OC) - Romantic Partner: Unsure (probably Eric but I haven't sorted out the details yet-)

Additional Information: - Was born in Seattle, but moved to Los Angeles as an adult to pursue a career in foley effects - At the time of AQP:DO, he was in New York for a television project - Also was a semiprofessional speed climber, and very briefly held a world record for a 15-meter prepared climb - Regularly carries around a handheld tape recorder, and uses it to record any interesting sounds he comes across - He also tries not to tape over sounds he's already recorded (unless he absolutely has to), and has whole crates of tapes collected and labelled in his home - He understands sound extremely well and is capable of moving near-silently when he tries - a combination of his impressive body control from climbing and his innate knowledge of sound from his foley career - Has recorded the sound of the Death Angels' echolocation-clicks and uses the sound to temporarily distract them when he needs a quick escape - ^ as a whole, he chooses to imitate the creatures' noises and movements rather than attempting to remain completely silent, which is a terrifying but often effective strategy - He is a sensation-seeker and often tries to experience as many different events as he can (demolition derbies, skydiving, rage rooms, live sports and concerts, etc.) - both to collect interesting sounds and simply to enjoy the experience - His nickname, Spider, was originally given to him at his climbing gym (for his long limbs and fast, eclectic climbing style), but he later began using it in his personal life as well - ^ However, he always had himself professionally credited by his full, given name, as a credit to his parents and a refusal to Anglicanize himself for film credits - First gained his interest in foley from Bollywood films and sci-fi/horror movies, since the sound design was intriguing to him

[godhasheardtruthfully]

Still life: A Women’s Mushaf Agape

by Sam-Amina Bailey Jmd. II 1445 / 12-23

Gouache & watercolor on paper.

Inspired by Vincent Van Gogh. 12in x 9 in.

[scleracentipede]

My origins comic Cyclone just got shared by The Association of Illustrators over on Instagram and that’s wild to me!

Cyclone Issue 1 is out now and beginning the harrowing journey of twins Amina and Sam as they begin their journey to find out more about their past following the death of the their estranged mother. Little do they realise the past isn’t dead. It’s alive. And it’s hungry…

You can find it on my website here!

[moskvishacreates]

A non-exhaustive list of OCs with short summaries of each:

(present day)

Levan "Lev" Rotshtern (he/him; 🇬🇪🇧🇾): Has magic powers; WWII veteran; former Soviet supersoldier, critic of the state and reformer; was frozen for 50 years; adoptive father of Slava and Zlata.

Stanislav "Slava/Stas" Rotshtern (he/him, they/them; 🇷🇺): Got kicked out of home for being queer; older brother of Zlata; adopted son of Lev; has a prosthetic arm; works as a mechanic.

Zlata Rotshtern (she/her; 🇷🇺): Younger sister of Slava; adopted daughter of Lev; learning mechanic skills.

Pavlo Holubenko (he/him; 🇺🇦): Studying to become a chef; friend of Slava.

Augustus "Gus" Wang (he/him; 🇨🇳): Has magic powers; historian with a focus on 20th century China and the USSR; married to Minh; friend of Lev.

Tran Ngoc Minh (they/them; 🇻🇳): Sociologist; married to Gus; friend of Lev.

Zacarias "Zac" Solntsev (he/him; 🇷🇺🇦🇷): Engineering/tech expert; has a passion for green energy, particularly solar panels; boyfriend of Luna.

Luna Rosado (they/them, she/her; 🇩🇴): Has magic powers; has a passion for astronomy; also likes flowers; can draw both traditionally and digitally; girlfriend of Zac.

Miguel Rosado (he/him; 🇩🇴): Father of Luna; ex-husband of Beatriz, divorced on friendly terms; attentive and gentle.

Beatriz "Bea" Swift (she/her; 🇩🇴): Mother of Luna; ex-wife of Miguel and current wife of Ginger; loves travel and photography.

Ginger Swift (she/her; 🇦🇺): Wife of Beatriz; younger sister of Rufus; historian with a focus on Russia and the USSR; friend of Lev.

Samantha "Sam" Swift (she/her, they/them; 🇩🇴🇦🇺): Elder twin daughter of Beatriz and Ginger; playfully competitive.

Rocio Swift (she/her; 🇩🇴🇦🇺): Younger twin daughter of Beatriz and Ginger; loves nature, particularly frogs and toads.

Rufus Swift (he/him; 🇦🇺): Older brother of Ginger; husband of Stephen; bartender; sometimes does drag; shapeshifter.

Stephen E. Burns (he/him; 🇯🇲): Husband of Rufus; P.E. teacher; loves sports.

Kimberly "Kimmy" Swift-Burns (she/her; 🇯🇲🇦🇺): Daughter of Rufus and Stephen; studying history and anthropology.

Howard "Howie" Swift-Burns (he/him; 🇯🇲🇦🇺): Son of Rufus and Stephen; studying engineering/tech; likes working out.

Angelo Garrido (he/him; 🇻🇪🇵🇪): Model for a local clothing brand; friend and classmate of Howie.

Melissa "Missy" Ito (they/them; 🇯🇵🇺🇸): Journalist for a left-wing outlet; partner of Amina.

Amina Rashid (she/her; 🇸🇾): Professional photographer and translator; girlfriend of Missy; older sister of Zain.

Zain Rashid (he/him; 🇸🇾): Interested in weapons; his left eye is blind due to an injury; younger brother of Amina; friend and housemate of Harley.

Harley Fisher (they/them, ze/zir, he/him; 🇺🇸): Small live streamer with a bunny aesthetic; friend and housemate of Zain.

Andreas Marinos (he/him; 🇬🇷): Son of a human and a merperson; has water powers, magical singing and a merperson form; singer and theater performer; boyfriend of Lorenzo and Ozan.

Lorenzo D'Amore (he/him; 🇮🇹): Singer and theater performer; boyfriend of Andreas and Ozan.

Ozan Yorulmaz (he/him; 🇹🇷): Sound engineer, DJ and sometimes singer; boyfriend of Andreas and Lorenzo.

Bridget O'Carroll (she/her; 🇳🇬🇬🇧): Has healing powers; surgeon; close friend and housemate of Sabina.

Sabina Karimova (she/her; 🇷🇺): Pharmacist, works with developing and producing medication; close friend and housemate of Bridget.

(past/deceased)

Vera Rotshtern (she/her; 🇧🇾): Mother of Lev; wife of Imeda; communist revolutionary; had magic powers.

Imeda Nikoladze (he/him; 🇬🇪): Father of Lev; husband of Vera; communist revolutionary; shapeshifter.

Aleksi Minasyan (he/him; 🇦🇲🇬🇪): Closest friend of Imeda and Vera; uncle figure to Lev, helped him retain critical thinking in the face of indoctrination; biologist and medical doctor.

[historyhermann]

Star Trek: Lower Decks Season 4 Spoiler-Filled Review

Star Trek: Lower Decks is a mature animation which combines elements of the adventure, comedy, and sci-fi genres. Series creator Mike McMahan is known as a co-creator of Solar Opposites, a producer on Rick and Morty and as a consulting producer on Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. This is the ninth series in the Star Trek franchise and second Star Trek animated series after Star Trek: The Animated Series ended in 1974.

Reprinted from Pop Culture Maniacs and Wayback Machine. This was the fifty-sixth article I wrote for Pop Culture Maniacs. This post was originally published on November 30, 2023. PCM editor Jean Henegan she said she added some content "since I'm a massive Trek nerd/fan, I added a bit of context around some of the things you pointed out...and cleaned up a couple of things that weren't quite accurate...Nice piece, overall." I have incorporated those additions here. Most of the text is the same as what I submitted on November 28th.

This animated series, which has aired for three seasons, takes a different tact than previous Star Trek series. It focuses on lower-ranked officers who engage in menial labor, known as lower deckers. Others are supporting characters. Star Trek: Lower Decks focuses on Starfleet, the military and exploration division of the United Federation of Planets, in the 24th century. It is tasked with establishing contact with races across the galaxy using a ship no one cares about: the USS Cerritos.

Four lower deckers are protagonists: Beckett Mariner, Brad Boimler, D’Vana Tendi, and Sam Rutherford. They are voiced by Tawny Newsome, Jack Quaid, Noël Wells, and Eugene Cordero. Four others are recurring characters: captain of the Cerritos (Carol Freeman), first officer Jack Ransom, tactical officer Shaxs, and head medical doctor T’Ana. Dawnn Lewis, Jerry O’Connell, Fred Tatasciore, and Gillian Vigman voice these characters. All are well-known voice actors.

This series stands out because of its animation style, comedy, plot, and characters. Mariner is a big part of this. Her romantic relationships became a big part of the series, especially in the third season, when she is dating Jennifer Sh'reyan (voiced by Lauren Lapkus). Like actual relationships, they don't stay together, partially because Jennifer does not stand by her. She abandons Mariner when many on the Cerritos incorrectly think she is a traitor. Mariner is bisexual or pansexual. Previously, she dated Steve Levy. She tells Tendi, in a season two episode, that she dated "bad boys, bad girls, bad gender non-binary babes, [and] ruthless alien masterminds." She dated Amina Ramsey (voiced by Toks Olagundoye) while at Starfleet Academy. McMahan stated that "every Starfleet officer is probably at the baseline bisexual" and that there was no intention for "anybody to be strictly heteronormative or straight or cis."

Unfortunately, this is rarely explored in Star Trek: Lower Decks season 4. There are some romantic vibes between Mariner and T’Lyn (voiced by Gabrielle Ruiz), a fellow crewmember on the Cerritos (who also happens to be Vulcan), in the fourth episode. They care for each other (as much as a Vulcan can care, with their repressed emotions), especially after knives keep stabbing Mariner during the episode. In the episode after, T’Lyn calms down Mariner’s emotions after her fever causes everyone’s emotions on the Cerritos to go out of control. In another episode, Mariner enjoys being kissed by a guy. Otherwise, her development during the season revolves around her promotion to a higher rank and ramifications of that decision. Although she is still part of “lower decks,” she is now a junior grade lieutenant, which makes her uneasy.

Boimler and Rutherford get closer, especially after the fourth episode. They even solve a disagreement by dressing up as Mark Twain and talking on a simulated steamboat. Both struggle with their promotions, although in different ways than Mariner. For instance, Boimler gets his first mission as commander and attempts to do everything himself. With some prodding from T’Lyn, he ends up sacrificing himself to save everyone and is later brought back to life. Rutherford also tries to find his place on the ship following his promotion. The closeness between Boimler and Rutherford has led some to ship them together. After all, in the eighth episode, Boimler doesn’t mind taking off his pants when Rutherford asks. Presently, there are less than 20 fics shipping them. Comparably, there’s over 120 fics for the Marinler ship (Mariner and Boimler). The latter has a small chance of canonization as compared to the Rutherford/Boimler ship.

Otherwise, there are wild plotlines, whether about Betazoid “diplomats” (actually undercover intelligence officers) with a hidden agenda who almost bring the Cerritos into the neutral zone where Romulans await battle, a fake marriage between Tendi and Rutherford, or megalomaniacal A.I. – known as Badgey – trying to get revenge. In the case of the latter, the A.I. comes out of the Daystrom Institute on Earth, returning following its initial appearance in season two. In the time between the seasons, it was imprisoned in a penitentiary holding other A.I. of a similar nature.  His plans are foiled when he realizes that ultimate power is too much. The plans of two A.I., Peanut Hamper and Aegus, also fail after they realize that killing others isn’t worth it. Both commit to reforming their selves, so they aren’t evil anymore.

The depiction of A.I. in Star Trek: Lower Decks is somewhat similar to the rogue A.I. in Futurama's Season 8 Part One, or near-planet-destroyer Light Hope in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. It differs from the mixed representation in Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur and Cleopatra in Space, or more positive depictions in My Dad the Bounty Hunter, Kizuna no Allele, and Supa Team 4. This matters considering social media rumblings that some actors will not vote for the recent contract between SAG-AFTRA and the Hollywood studios due to reportedly subpar A.I. provisions [Note: The previous line was removed from the PCM version.]

Throuhgout the season, there are also scenes with spoken poetry, a bar fight (started by Mariner, naturally), and an instance of Boimler getting addicted to a Ferengi television series. There’s even a funny episode where everyone recounts their experiences about being stuck in a cave with different Starfleet officers. However, it’s the journey that Mariner takes over the course of the season that truly hits home as the season comes to a close. Following her promotion Mariner struggles to be a leader, desperate to keep bucking command. How can you be rebellious against the command structure when you are part of it? She asks herself this question, trying to determine what her purpose within Starfleet is. It isn’t until the close of the season that she truly understands who she is and why she is so hesitant to take on more responsibility.

In that episode, Captain Freeman is worried about Mariner. She’s unsure why Mariner is taking risks and trying to get herself killed. She orders Mariner’s friends to distract her. This backfires. Mariner, along with T’Lyn, Tendi, and Boimler, all teleport to a planet surface before their ship is destroyed. When they admit they are worried about her, and reveal the Captain’s order, she is unhappy. She agrees to stay with them until she slips out during the night. In the process, she bonds with a Klingon, who tells her what no one has stated directly: she’s at war with herself.

This is only part of Mariner’s attempted self-examination. It is akin to Yor Forger asking herself why she is an assassin in episode 33 of Spy x Family, lingering doubts of Teru Momijiyama / Shy in Shy about her reasons for being a hero, or Sora Harewata-ru / Cure Sky wondering why she hesitates to fight the Undergu empire in episode 42 of Soaring Sky! Pretty Cure. Mariner reveals she is partially in Starfleet to honor Sito, a friend from her time at Starfleet Academy who died a senseless death several years earlier, which makes her continue to question Starfleet’s mission. She admits that while she doesn’t hate Starfleet, she tried to get out of a promotion. She believes Starfleet should solve the puzzles of life, not start wars (which could violate the Prime Directive). As she tells the Klingon, she doesn’t want to send her friends off to die. She wants to be an ensign and nothing more.

Ma’ah (voiced by Jon Curry), the Klingon, suggests that she honor her friend, slay her enemies, and study to be better. In response, she hugs him, rather than fighting him, and says they should work together. The episode hints at her future leadership, possibly in Star Trek: Lower Decks Season 5. She rallies everyone together in a rousing speech. Unfortunately, she is kidnapped by “Nicholas” Nick Locarno (who, like Sito, previously appeared in live action in Star Trek: The Next Generation and were once again portrayed – in voice over – by their live action actors Robert Duncan McNeil – who also starred on Star Trek: Voyager – and Shannon Fill), who beams her up into a mysterious ship – a ship that has been “destroying” various species’ ships throughout the season. Thanks to her efforts, Boimler, T’Lyn, and Tendi, along with new allies, destroy a Klingon warbird. They are disappointed that Mariner isn’t aboard.

The Season 4 finale ends with a bang, as it turns out that ships “destroyed” across the galaxy have joined the renegade Nova Fleet/Squadron. It resembles the rag-tag rebel fleet in Star Wars Rebels. There’s a major difference: Nick is willing to engage in terrorism, i.e., threat or use of violence to cause panic or intimidate, especially as a method to affect political conduct, as defined in the Third Pocket Edition of Black’s Law Dictionary. Mariner easily stops this. She calls out Nick as selfish and brainless, then steals a genesis device, which can destroy planets.

Captain Freeman shows her dedication to her daughter, and to the well-being of her crew. She goes to extreme lengths to rescue Mariner. After a failed contest on her homeworld of Orion, Tendi agrees to work for her pirate sister, D’Erika (voiced by Ariel Winter), so they can get a battleship. They use the decrepit warship to smash through the barrier. It creates a hole big enough for the captain’s yacht to enter. In the process, they save Mariner. Nick is left on her ship after he tries to kill her and activates the genesis device. In a moment of clever dark humor, Nick is destroyed by the device since he can’t pay the money needed to deactivate it (since it is a Ferengi model, of course).

The episode ends with Captain Freeman not court-martialed, T’Lyn refusing to return to her previous ship, and the four protagonists come together for a party in the mess hall. While they party for a short bit, this soon ends, as Tendi feels obligated to fulfill her end of the bargain she made with D’Erika: she must return to a life of piracy alongside D’Erika. Although this depresses Rutherford, neither he, Boimler nor Mariner, stop her from leaving. Tendi prepares herself for what comes next. Undoubtedly, her story will be expanded in Star Trek: Lower Decks fifth season, which was in production as of March.

As noted earlier, queer representation was lacking in this season, as opposed to previous ones. In the past, I’ve written that the ship engineer, Andy Billups (voiced by Paul Scheer), was possibly asexual. A recent post on treksphere makes the same claims. It argues that Tendi is aromantic, Billups is an asexual icon, and points to possible asexual vibes from Spock, Data, and Odo in the Star Trek franchise – although all three characters have relationships with women at various points in their stories. Such claims are only headcanons, similar to those who believed that Page in Tron: Uprising was asexual. There are no asexual characters in the Star Trek universe, to my knowledge. As such, having a canon asexual character in Star Trek: Lower Decks, outward in their identity like Todd Chavez in Bojack Horseman, would be great.

Asexual representation in animation, and in popular culture, is slim. While Alastor in Hazbin Hotel, Lilith Clawthorne in The Owl House, Peridot in Steven Universe, or Perry the Platypus in Phineas and Ferb, are asexual, they were confirmed off-screen. The same is the case for Spongebob Squarepants and Percival "Percy" King in Epithet Erased. Some have stated that Seiji Maki in Bloom Into You and Shōko Tanimoto in The Case Files of Jeweler Richard are asexual. In a previous review, I noted this was the case for Hime Shiraki in Yuri is My Job!. I've seen social media chatter about the manga which comes to a similar conclusion.

Hopefully, Star Trek: Lower Decks fifth season expands on Mariner‘s personal relationships and her identity, and that of the other protagonists. Undoubtedly, it will retain its mature comedy and quirkiness. All the while the characters will be thrown into conflict-prone situations, a breeding ground for trauma. This is not unique. There are multiple series airing this fall featuring characters in tense and stressful situations, sometimes involving murder of human beings. This includes certain The Vexations of a Shut-In Vampire Princess and Spy x Family episodes.

Otherwise, people anonymously described their conditions at Titmouse in a largely-circulated spreadsheet about animation studios. In the spreadsheet, which has 11 entries for the aforementioned animation studio, people praise Titmouse for good pay, flexible and healthy working hours, opportunities for rapid advancement, and good management. Others criticize Titmouse for disorganization, overwork, low pay, and say it is only good for those entering the industry. Clearly, it’s a mixed bag. There are different experiences, depending on each production, if I’m understanding these entries correctly.

In my previous review of Star Trek: Lower Decks, I noted that LGBTQ+ representation is at the heart of the show. I pointed to myriad examples of such representation (and in the franchise), and note that many fan fictions for Mariner are skewed toward men. As such, I still see the interactions between Mariner and Boimler as platonic rather than romantic. I understand how people see them as the latter, shipping them as Marinler, but I see them as good friends, rather than good lovers.

In the past, this series had some of best queer representation in mature animation. Other examples include RWBY, Disenchantment, Final Space, Bojack Horseman, and Harley Quinn. In season 4 of Star Trek: Lower Decks, this was less emphasized. Even so, the series is still moving in an inclusive direction. It isn't like Star Wars: The Bad Batch. That series had "four White men and one person of color, in the main cast," as I wrote in January.

This direction is clear from the cast and crew. Tawny Newsome and Dawnn Lewis, who voice Mariner and Captain Freeman, are both Black women, like their characters. Noël Wells (voice of Tendi) is of Tunisian and Mexican descent. Eugene Cordero (voice of Rutherford) is of Filipino descent. Gabrielle Ruiz is of Mexican descent. Carlos Alazraqui is Latine. Black men such as Marcus Henderson, Phil LaMarr, and Carl Tart also voice characters. There are some White male voice actors, such as Jack Quaid, Jack McBrayer, Jerry O'Connell, Fred Tatasciore, Paul Scheer, and Paul F. Tompkins. White women like Gillian Vigman, Lauren Lapkus, Georgia King, and Jessica McKenna voice characters too. Although, they are not the majority of the main cast, they comprise much of the recurring cast.

Many of these names were familiar. For one, Newsome voiced Jessica Williams in Craig of the Creek, Quaid voiced Clark Kent / Superman in My Adventures with Superman, and Cordero voiced Jamie in Steven Universe. Lewis voiced LaBarbara Conrad in Futurama, Professor Klabrax V in Cleopatra in Space, The Chief/Tamara Fraser in Carmen Sandiego, and Fannie Granger in Spirit Riding Free. LaMarr is best known for voicing Hermes Conrad in Futurama, Virgil Hawkins / Static in Static Shock, and John Stewart / Green Lantern in Justice League, along with Sky Gunderson in Disenchantment.

Alazraquiprominently voiced Puff in The Proud Family (in the reboot/revival) and Skylar in Elena of Avalor. Winter voiced Princess Sofia Cordova for the entire Sofia the First series, in the Elena of Avalor series finale, and in Elena and the Secret of Avalor, a backdoor pilot for Elena of Avalor. Wells, O'Connell, Tataiscore, Scheer, McKenna, McBrayer, Lapkus, Tart, and Tompkins, had assorted voice roles, as well. However, this isn't counting anyone in the guest cast.

In terms of the show's music, the opening and closing themes were good, and it fits with the action. I don't recall any tracks there were necessarily memorable (apart from the opening and closing tracks). So, I'm downgrading the music score for this review. Even so, Chris Westlake did an excellent job as the series composer. The music echoes Star Trek scores in other parts of the franchise. Those who directed, wrote, storyboarded, and animated each episode, including some well-known names like Jamie Loftus, McMahan, and Grace Parra Janney, deserve plaudits for their hard work as well.

I look forward to the fifth season of Star Trek: Lower Decks. I hope that the personal identities of the main cast are explored more in the next season. I'm optimistic that Paramount executives realize the series' value. It would be devastating to have the series cancelled unceremoniously like Star Trek: Prodigy. Netflix recently nabbed that series as part of the streaming wars.

Star Trek: Lower Decks is currently streaming on Paramount+ or for purchase on PrimeVideo.

© 2023 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

[godhasheardtruthfully]

I forgive you Sam-Amina

Fyodor Dostoyevsky // Alanis Morissette