#and a well meaning security ensign

[bumblingbabooshka]

I need every non-Human Star Trek character to start talking about their countries and hometowns NOW!! Tuvok definitely roots for his local sports team internally even though they suck and are horrible. He's gonna watch the game and he's gonna be frustrated with their performance every time.

Vulcans posting shit like this ☝️is commonplace in my mind

[litcityblues]

'Diplomatic Immunity' --A Review

I know it's actually May, but a new year means that I am continuing ahead on the Honorverse Saga and now I'm dipping back into the Vorkosigan Saga as well with the 13th Book in the Series, Diplomatic Immunity.

The book opens with Miles and Ekaterin on their honeymoon, wrapping up an extensive tour of various galactic sites before heading back to Barrayar just in time to open the replicators and welcome their two new children to the world. This being the Vorkosigan Saga and Miles being a (relatively) new Imperial Auditor, they naturally get diverted to deal with a diplomatic crisis in Quaddiespace.

Quaddies- if you are not familiar with the series are genetically modified humans who traded out their legs for a second set of arms so they could live and move more easily in a zero gravity work environment (Falling Free, which Is set 200 years before the start of the main series is sort of their origin story-- I'll get to that eventually, I promise.). Anyway, as it turns out, a convoy of Komarran Merchant ships is prevented from leaving Graf Station thanks to the somewhat reckless behavior of their Barrayaran military escorts, and to top that mess off, a Barrayaran security officer is missing, presumed murdered and another Ensign has deserted: for love.

Miles and Ekaterin arrive and Miles begins the process of untangling the diplomatic mess, only to be reunited with an old friend: his former Dendarii colleague, the Betan hermaphrodite Bel Thorne (last seen in Mirror Dance or possibly Memory I think-- no longer with the Dendarii, but still working with Imperial Security.) Bel is happy to see Miles, but hints that they would like to be released from Imperial Service so they can settle down with Nicol (a Quaddie musician Miles met earlier in the series while in Jackson's Whole-- in 'Labyrinth') and Bel tells Miles that there is something strange about the missing security officer, but they can't quite figure out what it is.

In short order, Miles discovers that he's in the middle of a plot by a renegade Cetagandan Ba to kidnap what turns out to be an entire cargo of embryos stolen directly from the Star Creche itself that it hijacked near Rho Ceta. Miles instantly realizes that this spells big trouble and a potential war between Barrayar and Cetaganda-- but before he can put a stop to it himself both he and Bel are infected with the same highly lethal bioweapons that was used to murder the missing Barrayarn security officer and nearly die, but manage to reach the nearest Cetagandan world just in time. They cure both him and Bel- though not without both suffering some permanent side effects and he returns the embryos to Cetaganda, averting a war and managing to make it home with Ekaterin in time to meet their new children.

I switched from snagging these on Audible to getting them off Kindle around about Memory I think and that was, oddly enough, the perfect time in the series to do that because as Miles transitions away from the Dendarii and into the role of Imperial Auditor-- I don't want to say the quality of the writing improves, because that's not true, it's always been good-- let's just say that the series matures with its character and the writing reflects that.

Diplomatic Immunity might be the first in the series that has so many callbacks to prior volumes. I don't think you have to read other books in the series to understand this-- McMaster Bujold has always been good at providing context for readers, even if it's only a sentence or two-- but it does add an extra dollop of charm as you get to meet characters from prior novels. I don't know if we're scheduled to see Bel Thorne again in future novels, but if not, then I think this is a nice, (relatively) happy ending for them and I like that. I also enjoyed the fact that this tied back to the events that happened in Cetaganda quite nicely as well-- for all the talk of the war with Cetaganda and how it hangs over a lot of the Barryaran experience, this is only the third time that Miles has tangled with them directly.

(Also, am I the only one who thought that Dubauer being called Dubauer was going to be a callback to Shards of Honor?)

I saw a recent Reddit post proclaiming McMaster Bujold as 'the most underrated writer' in SF/F and while the comments were quick to point out that she's got plenty of Hugos and Nebulas that would indicate that she's very rated and appreciated and has commercial success to boot, I would characterize her as perhaps 'the most discoverable' writer in SF/F? At 74, her output is not what it was at the height of her run in the late 80s, and early 90s and I know damn well that if I had found these books as a kid, I would have eaten them up instantly. Finding them now, in adulthood-- I can't tell you just how happy these books make me and how much I love these characters, and how I desperately wish someone who treasures these books would work up a screen adaptation because they are RIPE for the taking.

Overall: Excellent, enjoyable, delightful, charming, a great addition to the series and I ran right through this book because I just didn't want to put it down. My Grade: **** out of ****

[ihatecoconut]

Second - Chapter 3

S01 E07 - The Andorian Incident

There’s something about the security team – about his security team – that invites a certain level of warmth, that gently pushes past the walls he’s built up around himself and asks him to laugh with them, share in their amusement. It’s different from the way Tucker has been trying to work his way around those walls; determination, a refusal to be brushed off and an unrelenting positive attitude that Malcolm sometimes finds slightly grating. The man is nice, but he can be a lot.

And he finds himself drawn to the armoury after his shifts.

They’re all sat on the floor when he walks in - well, not all of them, the night shifters are still asleep - and they all have a phaser in their laps, most of them half dismantled, and a variety of tools strewn around the floor, clearly abandoned when they were deemed useless. 

Rogers is on her feet immediately, appearing at his side. “Lieutenant.”

“Ensign,” he greets in return, “what is going on here?”

She looks between him and the knot of people on the floor, something like trepidation in her eyes. “We’re practicing replacing the power cells in the phasers, sir.”

The members of the team, aware of his presence, hold up their own phasers, as if to demonstrate both their progress and to prove that Rogers is telling the truth. He bites back a smile. 

“Why?”

 The slight uncertainty is back in her eyes. “Well, sir, I thought it would be worth practising. So we’ll be able to do it in a hurry if we need to.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fair enough.”

One of the team, at the back of the room, lets out a loud, frustrated noise before he can say anything else. It’s Yılmaz, he thinks, already noted for not having the greatest skills with the ship’s technology. 

“Why are these screws so fucking tiny?”

There’s general laughter around the room in response. 

“Oh yeah,” Foster responds, “that’s why you’re struggling, just like the wall panel already being damaged is why it exploded yesterday.”

Reed glances over at Rogers, raises an eyebrow again, a silent request for an explanation. 

“Yeah, he managed to hit a wall panel, and it dented slightly and sparked.” She glances up briefly to meet his eyes. “I reported it to engineering, they said there’s no major damage or anything.”

“Hit with a phaser?”

“With his shoulder,” Mack interjects, he’s sitting almost at their feet, leaning back on his hands to look up at the two of them, and his phaser is whole again, “we have no idea how he did it.”

“OK then.”

Rogers nods. She’s still not meeting his eye, and he’s fairly certain that the power cells shouldn’t ever need replacing, so… "Is this some new training exercise I wasn't informed about?"

She squirms slightly under his gaze. “I mean…”

“She’s running out of things for us to do.” Di Dio says, an oddly fond look in his eyes when he looks at Rogers. Paternal, maybe. 

Di Dio is one of the few members of the team that Malcolm can’t quite get a read on; he’s ex-air force, dishonorably discharged for reasons that aren’t stated in his file, but he worked his way back up through Starfleet’s ranks, and is, by all accounts, overqualified for his position. He has experience as an officer, more than Malcolm himself has, and yet confined to the rank of crewman, ranking below him and below Rogers despite their age differences. 

Rogers winces at his words. “Yes, that’s… I am running out of things for them to do, sir.”

He nods, quietly, glancing around the room again. The rest of the team, the ones who hadn’t noticed when walked in, are aware of him now, and most of them have stopped their movements, watching him patiently. 

"We’ve run out of walls to inspect, sir." Foster jokes. “And I think Gaeta’s cleaned her locker about three times today alone, not to mention the rest of the week.”

Gaeta throws a loose screw at his head. It bounces neatly off his nose, and rolls almost straight back to her. “Shut up. I’m bored.”

Reed glances around the group again, most of them nod in response to Gaeta’s statement. 

"You’d think an armory would have more to do." Di Dio says, his eyes on Reed as he speaks, careful, as if he’s watching for Malcolm’s reaction. 

He can’t say much to help with that, in all honestly their first few weeks in space have been quiet, almost ominously so, with the main action they’d seen being the malfunctions that had happened when they were near the Xyrillian ship about a week prior. And, of course, the utterly bizarre situation that had been a pregnant Commander Tucker, but neither of those had really required the security team to do anything. 

"Well," he says carefully, watching the reactions of the team, "the captain wants to stop off at a Vulcan monastery soon, P'Jem, it's called, so maybe that'll give us something to do." 

"I'm not sure there's going to be much use for us at a monastery, sir," Rogers says, a brief amount of scorn in her voice at the idea before she stamps back down on it, "if anything, that's more likely to interest the... language people."

"Linguists?" He offers.

"Yes. Linguists."

She's probably right. The Vulcans may not be particularly fond of humans, but there's no way that they'll be starting any sort of firefight with them. 

"Well, maybe they'll at least let us off the ship for a bit." He counters. "Fresh air."

Rogers eyes him dubiously. "Yes sir." 

He smiles, it’s a slightly strained movement, but she doesn’t seem to pick up on it, her attention already moving back to the rest of the team, even as she stays stood by his side. There isn’t really a gap between them, Zabel is sat almost directly at his feet, but it feels like there’s a chasm there, unbridged. Carefully, he steps back, turning towards the door. 

“You’re leaving? Sir?” It’s Di Dio again, those strangely-knowledgeable eyes back on him. 

He’s asking a genuine question, no teasing in his voice, and for a moment, Malcolm considers staying, considers sitting down on the floor with his team and following through on Rogers’ attempt at a training session. But laughter sounds from across the room, Gaeta is leaning forward, one of her fingers tangled around some of Foster’s red hair, and the uncertainty creeps back in. He doesn’t have a place here, doesn’t have a right to force his way in to the space that junior officers have carved out for themselves. 

Besides, Rogers has already turned away, crouching down with the others, her back turned to him. It feels like a dismissal, even if he’s the one who outranks everyone else, it feels like she’s expecting him to leave. 

He clears his throat. "I need to get back to the bridge."

Di Dio frowns slightly, seemingly not quite believing, but nods, shifting back into the group with only one quick glance back at Malcolm. 

Reed swallows, gives a quick nod to the few members of the team that are still looking in his direction and steps away, leaving behind the warmth of the room and the laughter that follows. His shift is already over, but still, he walks toward the bridge.

*

The message from Archer comes through hours later - too many hours that they’ve spent out of contact with the ship’s two senior officers - and it’s both a relief and an additional source of tension. This should have been a routine stop, shouldn’t have needed the security team at all, and yet he’s heading directly for the armoury, stepping in with purpose and finding all the security team present: nights are handing back over to days, giving them a rundown of the nothing that had happened in the previous 12 hours. 

“Lieutenant.” Again, Rogers appears at his side almost instantly. “Have you…?”

He nods, “We’ve re-gained contact with the Captain.”

His voice attracts everyone’s attention instantly, his team snapping into focus, silent, listening and prepared. 

“Ensign, put together an away team. We’re needed planetside.”

Rogers blinks but recovers quickly, her attention turning back to the team and he can almost see the connections she’s making in her head as she calls out names: Wolfe, because she is from a desert environment, Mack for his proficiency with explosives, Kowalski for his build, and Cho and Sinclair to round out the small group. 

He lingers for a moment, watching them separate out into those who are going and those who will remain, before turning away, he can prepare in his own quarters, he doesn’t need to infringe on their space in the locker room. 

“You’re really choosing him to come on this mission?” Kowalski is asking when Reed enters the room again. It’s a clearly teasing tone, so he lets it be. 

“Oh, come on, I’m a good member of the team and I’ve made no mistakes in training!” 

“Not in training, no,” the same person takes up, laughter in her voice - Zabel, Reed identifies her - “but I don’t think anyone else managed to salute the captain with their left hand on our first day.”

There’s general spluttering from the poor man - Sinclair, apparently - and Reed hides a smile, keeping his back to the team. 

“Suit up, come on,” Rogers calls, but there’s laughter in her voice as well.

He comes over, pushing down on the smile. “Alright, basic plan: we go down, set explosives, ideally to scare rather than kill or injure, keep phasers set to stun unless it’s absolutely necessary.” 

There are nods and murmurs of agreement. Even the members Rogers hasn’t chosen to join them are hanging out in their locker room. 

“Good. Leftie, you can take point this time.”

“Sir!” the man objects. 

Reed turns back, the smile that he was suppressing threatening to burst through. “You have a problem with taking point, Crewman?”

Rogers snickers beside him. 

“Not with taking point, sir, no.”

“Good. Reconvene at the transporter with weapons, please.” 

He hears the laughter from the rest of the team start as he finishes the sentence, catches Rogers’ eye and sees a slightly unreadable expression, clearly she hadn’t quite realised he had a sense of humour, and hears it burst out entirely as he turns the corner. 

Sinclair groans, “Do not call me that, je-yay-sus.”

“Oh, no, Leftie,” Di Dio says, “you’re stuck with that now, that’s how callsigns work.”

*

The halls in P’Jem are cool, a stark contrast to the desert surroundings. As a group, they advance along the stone corridors - Sinclair at the front, closely followed by Rogers, the others in the middle and then Reed at the back, accompanied by Kowalski. Despite their careful movements, their footsteps echo against the polished floors. The scent of incense lingers in the air, a reminder of the monastery’s purpose, a reminder of the peace that ought to be there. 

Sinclair signals for the team to halt, pressing against the nearest wall as he listens. There’s movement ahead, faint but unmistakable. He exchanges a look with Rogers, Reed watches them both adjust their holds on their phasers, tension in the lines of their shoulders. A part of him regrets the set-up he decided on, wants to be the one at the front. He swallows. He trusts the team, he needs to trust them, and he needs to be watching their backs. 

They keep moving forward. 

The silence is almost unbearable, an oppressive force pressing in on them from every direction, only interrupted by them and… something else, the faintest scuff of a boot, a flicker of movement in the shadows, the sound of someone exhaling too sharply. Something that moves too fast to be one of the monks. Rogers and Sinclair barely have time to stop the group before the first shot rings through the air.

It shatters the silence of the moment, and both of them jump back, one of them manages to fire off a response as everyone pushes into the walls, keeping out of the line of fire. For a moment, it’s silent again, just the sounds of ragged, human, breathing filling the space. 

“Got’em.” Sinclair whispers, leaning just far enough out to see the body. 

Reed taps Kowalski on the shoulder as he moves past, letting him hold the rear, and joins Rogers and Sinclair at the front. He’s right, he did manage to hit the person, an alien, one who is visibly alien, blue skin and antenna. 

“Anyone seen one’a those before?” Mack asks, leaning around Rogers’ shoulder to look. 

There are general mumbles of dissent. 

“Keep moving.” Reed whispers into the silence. “Set the explosives.” 

They keep moving. He returns to the back. 

The silence remains unbearable, moving along with them like a second presence, unseen but pressing against their backs. Every so often, Sinclair gestures for the group to pause, listening, before waving them on again and Malcolm feels his heart almost stop with the group each time, waiting for another shot to come at them. It doesn’t come. 

Mack is the first to whisper into the quiet, his voice barely above a breath. “Feels too easy.”

“Not complaining,” Rogers murmurs back, keeping her eyes on the corridor ahead as she moves.

They’re both right, and it makes something uncomfortable creep up Malcolm’s spine, almost like goosebumps. 

They continue forward, sweeping each room as they pass. It all looks untouched. The soft glow of the monastery's lanterns flicker along the walls, throwing long shadows. Everything is still. It’s almost enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, things really are going smoothly.

Rogers kneels, carefully placing the first charge. Her movements are methodical, practiced, but Reed can see the tension in her shoulders. Mack and Kowalski spread out, covering their exits, Cho stays at his side, and Sinclair scans the hallway ahead. The dim light flickers slightly, casting elongated shadows along the walls.

Reed watches Rogers as she works. She glances up at him briefly, meeting his gaze. A quick nod. So far, so good.

He should have left her on the ship.

The thought comes unbidden, tightening in his chest. She’s his second, she’s the one who the team needs to step up should anything happen to him. Silently, he curses himself, curses himself for allowing them all to get complacent in the quiet weeks that started their mission. It’s too late to change it now, too late to send her back up, and… everything has gone well so far, only one hostile encounter. Maybe he’s worrying for nothing. 

Rogers nods again, carefully moving past the charge she just set to rejoin Sinclair. Malcolm lets himself breathe out. 

“Kee–”

And then it happens. A sudden burst of movement. A shadow that wasn’t there before.

Two shots ring out in quick succession, before they’ve had time to react, the first catches Rogers’ shoulder, leaving a deep, searing wound that Malcolm can see bleeding even with the distance between them. It’s deep enough to scar, but she just grits her teeth, inhales sharply as she brings her phaser up to return fire. 

The second hits Sinclair in the chest. 

As if the world around them slows for a moment, Malcolm watches him stumble back, bring up a hand - his left hand - to the wound, and then fall, hitting the ground with a startling loud noise. 

There’s no time for anyone to react, the hostile is still firing, as if unaware that he’s hit one of them, or maybe hoping to take advantage of their shock. At the front, Mack steps up into his place, he and Rogers firing back automatically, their training taking over. One of them must hit him, because the shots stop and the oppressive silence presses back in, filling the space that Sinclair had been occupying. 

“Lieutenant?” Kowalski murmurs. 

It’s less a question and more a prompt,but it’s Rogers that responds to it, dropping to her knees next to Sinclair, shaking fingers pressing into the side of his neck. Mack moves with her, stays at her side, phaser ready, but his hands are shaking too.

She looks up after a moment, eyes wide, uncertain and suddenly so, so young. “He’s dead.”

None of them move for a moment, Malcolm feels more than he sees Cho bring a hand up to her mouth. 

There’s more movement further down the corridor and everyone’s heads snap around to look in the direction it came from. 

“We keep moving.” He says, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. 

Kowalski pushes to the front, moving toward Sinclair’s body. His hands tighten into fists as he kneels, reaching out as if to lift him.

Malcolm stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “No.”

The team look up at him with varying levels of disbelief and he has to fight to keep his voice steady. 

“No time. We come back for him later.”

No one disagrees, they know that the mission comes first - even Sinclair knew that - but Kowalski runs a hand through the man’s hair and Rogers gently pushes his eyelids shut before they stand. He lets them have that, a tiny moment to try and come to terms with it. 

And no one says it, but the way they all glance at the prepared explosive tells Malcolm that they know what he knows - if they detonate that, there will be nothing to come back for. 

He takes Sinclair’s place at the front, sends Rogers to take his position at the back. It should have been him to take that hit, and he won’t make the same mistake again. 

*

They don’t even get thanked, in the end, the Vulcan monks barely acknowledge their presence, too caught up in their own actions, in what has been revealed. Archer is talking on their way back, Malcolm can hear the sound of his voice, talking about diplomatic consequences, about Vulcan relations, right and wrong and where they stand, but the only thing he can focus on is the image of Rogers and Kowalski bent over Sinclair’s body.

On the shuttlepod, they squeeze together at the back, let Archer, Tucker, and T’Pol crowd the front, direct them back to the ship, their voices filling the air.

He watches Rogers watch their commanding officers, watches her realise that they have no idea the security team has just lost a member, watches her realise that they haven’t even asked, and presses their knees together as if that can help take some of the weight that he knows is settling on her shoulders.

Maybe Archer says something about a debrief, and maybe he agrees to it, he’s not sure. But he is sure that he needs to be there when the news is broken - or maybe that’s just him reasoning with himself, trying to justify the pull he feels to move with the others, back to the armoury.

There’s a shift in the air when the five of them enter, the feeling of eyes sweeping over the empty space where another person should be.

“Where’s Noah?” Someone asks, Reed isn’t quite present enough in his body to note who, but he does hear the defeat in the way they ask, as if they already know the answer.

He should have taken point. He should have been the one to take that hit. Around him, the team is sinking to the ground, sitting down where they stand.

The silence that follows is different from the one in the monastery. That had been tense, waiting, the precursor to action. This is something else. This is final. Heavy. Defeated. The weight of it settles over them all, pressing down into their bones. No one speaks, because there is nothing to say.

He pulls himself away at some point, doesn’t remember making the choice, just finds himself walking towards the Captain’s ready room, not quite prepared to debrief. He sits, listens, answers when spoken to, but the words barely register. The surprise on Archer’s face when he informs them of Sinclair’s death manages to push through the haze that surrounds him, noted with a hint of angry, ironic humour. Trip’s expression falters just slightly before smoothing over again, but it’s the Subcommander’s reaction that he appreciates, the way her eyes flick briefly to the floor, the almost imperceptible clench of her hands where they’re linked behind her back. He doesn’t remember the rest of the meeting. 

Later, he finds himself in the mess hall. Rogers is there, surrounded by the rest of the security team. It’s clear they’ve broken the news to the night shift—the weight of it hangs over them, settling into their shoulders, making their usual presence feel smaller.

She meets his eyes across the room. There’s a silent invitation there, a quiet plea for him to join them. For just a second, he considers it. Then, from the other side of the room, Trip calls his name.

His feet follow the noise automatically.

Just before he turns away, he catches the hint of defeat in Rogers’ eyes. Guilt coils tight in his chest. He should sit with them, should acknowledge what they've lost together. But he doesn’t. Because if he does, if he lets himself feel it now, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep moving. 

Around them, the ship moves as it always does—crew members pass by, voices chatter, engineers argue over minor malfunctions. The normalcy is almost unbearable, an insult to the weight pressing down on him. He wants to stop someone, shake them, demand to know how they can carry on like nothing happened. But he doesn’t. Because this is how it works. One person gone, and the ship keeps moving. The normal hum of life aboard Enterprise continues, unshaken, as if nothing has changed. As if the security team haven’t just had part of them yanked away like it's nothing.

[aquarterpastfour]

Title: the reprogramming of an expendable asset [1/7]

fandom: Star Trek Voyager

Event: Voyager Week, Day 1,

Prompt: Favorite Episode

Summary: Seska chooses a different path. Some things change as a result.

Asset maintains perfect recall in high stress training situations

Sometimes rigging secure lines to the outside was impossible, which meant Seska had to venture off the Val Jean on some backwater colony to find her contact, usually Holtat (who also wore the face of a Bajoran), to pass along information.

Because he was a paranoid fish, he forbade her from bringing anything that could be reprogrammed to listen in. Which meant they had to do this the old fashioned way. Fine. She’d trained for this and ranked in the top percentile.

“Coordinates,” she said quickly, smiling the way flirtatious women at bars were expected to. No one in this miserable hole was looking her way, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching.

Holtat was an idiot, a nepotism agent tied to a high ranking committee leader somewhere. Probably a liability of a son, one whose father hoped he died in the line of duty instead of warping himself into a sun — at least there was value in the first. Seska had never looked into it (had never been ordered to look into it); she just fed him information about Chakotay’s infuriating band of malcontents and hoped he lived long enough to relay it to his contact.

He smiled back, looking like a man incapable of landing a woman at a bar more reputable than this, “Ready.”

As she carefully recalled the exact coordinates within Sector 04-70, or the Badlands according to a people who couldn’t help naming everything after something else, Seska hoped this pissant had the ability to remember more than seven digits at a time. If she was going to die in that spacial hellscape, she wanted to go out knowing the Empire would find whatever particles remained of her corpse.

Year Of Hell | Day 47

Harry’s puzzles were little more than memory recall exercises, packaged in the language of a young man who had never really considered the benefits of clever word play. Yet, it was a serviceable pass at keeping Torres’ mind off her injuries as well as her not inconsiderable wrath off of Seska.

Six hours was a long time to spend in a stalled turbolift with a woman who could barely tolerate her on a good day. Especially when today was not a good day.

They hadn’t had one of those in over a month.

“He’s talking about the Phoenix,” she muttered idly, eyes on the doors’ seal (again), “the fuselage Zefram Cochrane strapped a warp core to and called a space ship. How that maniac survived the flight is a mystery to me.”

Torres huffed — annoyed laughter, the only kind of laughter she ever managed— “They teach you that at espionage boot camp, instead of how not to get caught?”

It wasn’t a very good joke, but Seska rewarded the effort with a wry chuckle.

She’d long given up trying to match the half-Klingon’s anger, now that nothing would ever convince the engineer they were kindred spirits. Not since the delicate ridges on Seska’s nose had given way to the prominent forehead arch and brow crests.

“They not teach you about Terran history at the academy?” Seska shot back, no real bite to it, although she’d never really lose her edge entirely. Before, before, she might have ended the sentence with a snide little, ‘or was it on the syllabus only after you dropped out’, but Seska was little more than a dropout herself these days.

The spite had left her too, ten thousand light years ago, replaced with the uncomfortable but keen wish to stop fighting.

“Want to give it a try?” Harry asked.

The ensign liked her nearly as little as all the rest, but he worshiped at the heel of his captain, and his captain always took the diplomatic approach with their Cardassian interloper.

“I want,” she grunted, trying for the dozenth time to pry open the doors and failing, “to get out of this tomb before the air scrubbers fail and we asphyxiate.”

With the right leverage she could pry open the doors, but the leverage wasn’t right.

Seska slipped —heat and sweat making her hands slick — and sank to the floor in frustration. She could force them to listen to her recite pi to the thousandth digit, but then she’d have to recite pi to the thousandth digit.

“Fine. It’s a probe, Terran, twentieth-century—“

Of course — because of course she did— Seven of Nine chose that moment to pry open the doors.

“Voyager,” the imperious blonde said.

…

Every part of her ached from the violent turbolift stall —nose, fingertips, toes, diaphragm, neck. It made her uneven on her feet as Seska walked toward the jefferies tube on deck eleven, her bruised everything ignored for the sake of the task at hand.

Her body might be weak, but her mind was as sharp as ever.

“I am capable of repairing the EPS relay on my own,” Seven stated.

“You’ve said so twice already.”

Seska grit her teeth and grunted as she pushed debris out of their way. She could let the other woman go first, use her considerably enhanced strength to free up the path, and really? Why wasn’t she? Pride was a distant memory. Pre-Krenim, pre-this morning.

“You are slowing me down.”

“Then move ahead of me and carry your own weight. I’m not taking lead for my own satisfaction.”

She didn’t dislike the ex-Borg, at least, not nearly as much as Torres did. The Starfleet members of this crew hated the Borg more than they hated Cardassians, which meant Seska’s social standing had risen precipitously since the other woman’s arrival. This alone made her happy the captain had dragged the drone kicking and screaming back to individuality.

Seven gave her the best approximation of Commander Tuvok’s raised brow but did what she was told. That extra cyborg strength got them to the jefferies tube hatch in no time.

It’s what they saw on the other side of it that gave Seska pause.

“Seven, wait.”

The impossible woman was already climbing in to look at the live munition embedded in the bulkhead. Seska felt herself tap her combadge — at that moment, her brain felt like it was separate from her body. In training she’d been informed that this was a survival mechanism — and report their findings to the bridge. All the while, her eyes were trained on the strange, orange glowing pulsations as she followed Seven in.

“Tuvok is on his way,” Seska said, when what she really meant is that they should put as many interior hulls between them and the torpedo as they could. Especially after what happened to deck five.

She wanted to beam it into space. She wanted to…

Seska tilted her head, and the gentle hum from the monstrous thing that played with time just so it could kill more efficiently tickled something half-buried under years of useless memories. An image, a voice, an instruction surfaced — a recollection so out of place that she wasn’t sure it was real.

Yet, it was attached to a familiar kind face, one of the only that smiled at her on this damned ship no matter how cruel she was in return. An unsure fondness came to her and then left her feeling cold again.

“We’re leaving!”

Seska began pushing at a reluctant Seven. The ex-drone was as relenting as the turbolift doors had been.

“I can scan the torpedo to determine the temporal variance-”

Too many people had let Seven get away with her reckless endangerment of herself and others. Seska didn’t have time for it. She grabbed her tricorder, calibrated it to the frequency she’d long ago determined would cause the drone an almighty headache, and slammed it against Seven’s ocular implant.

Seven’s howl of pain was ignored as Seska leveraged herself in the small space to employ several brutal but efficient kicks to the other woman’s side. It forced Seven to clutch her head with one hand and crawl for the hatch.

Seska would demand forgiveness later; the captain would never let it go if she let her pet drone blow herself up.

Besides, the frequency was 1.47 microseconds. Hadn’t Kes told them this months ago, weeks before she’d left? Hadn’t she warned them about the Krenim?

Why had they all forgotten?

[los-ninos-tortugas]

Still collecting my thoughts, but im kinda obsessed with the idea of the turtles living to maybe see at least early TOS

And I'm still thinking more about that too.

*drinks shot* imagine if they did have multi-century long life spans tho?

They'd get to see a lot of stuff (insert relevant events from ENT, DISCO, and SNW here) and they'd probably venture off planet eventually.

I can see Mikey being an ambassador, especially during the early days of the federation and by the time of the TOS era he'd be very well known throughout the alpha quadrant. I think there could be a really interesting adventure where Kirk's Enterprise has to escort him somewhere and everyone's all like "we will protect you with our lives Ambassador," and he's just like, "Aw that's cute, you think you're here to protect me?"

If Raph isn't doing something directly involved with Starfleet security then I feel like he and Leo are kinda just like the Federation's cool retired uncles and they just do a lot of planet hopping. Maybe everyonce in a while they give a talk or a seminar about leadership or something but I think they more than anyone want to just chill out, which also means by law they constantly get dragged into shenanigans against their will and it always fall to the nearest hapless starfleet vessel to come bail them out. It's all very lowstakes but very inconvenient. Kirk probably has a story from when he was still an ensign and his ship got sent to go pick up the famous Hamato brothers.

Donnie is directly involved with Starfleet but it's like having your really intimidating grandpa hanging around aaaaaallllll the time. Cuz Cochrane just mysteriously disappeared one day but his old lab partner is still kickin around and he's literally the co-inventor of warp flight (for earth) and he will not stop backseat driving. No one is even actually sure what his title is because he's definitely not an admiral but he's been around so long no one is going to question him. (he has no official rank or title, when Starfleet was founded he just showed up and no one has been able to get him to stop hanging around for the past century but also he keeps improving the starships so they're not really eager to kick him out either). In this version all Starfleet ships come with an option for a male or female voice, the female voice obviously is still Majel Baret's voice but the male version is just Shelldon, Donnie is a very proud father.

Now the boys are very long lived but unfortunately the same can't be said of their human companions, but they of course still keep up with all of their descendants and they're all still considered a part of the Hamato family. If I were less sleepy I would maybe try to flesh out what Ensigns O'Neil and Jones could be like but that's gonna have to be a story for another day.

[instantkeen]

I'm thirsty for Esuka content, so here is a non plot related excerpt from a fanfiction I'm working on during my downtime at work. I stress it is still in the draft phase and needs more editing, but I'm looking to put myself out there more this year.

*******************************************************

She heard his mouth open, but before a sound could come out, shook her head and cut in, “No, it’ll have to wait. My assignment takes president.”

She heard him exhale heavily, disappointed. After a beat, he inhaled “Yeah, the missing marines, your flock mentioned it.” He said, pointing to her ship.

Isuka closed her eyes and took in an impatient breath, deciding to let the “flock” joke go today. “Does “confidential” mean nothing to them.” She placed her hands on her hips and found Ace’s eyes again, “Well, if anything, I hope they mentioned that the situation is potentially life or death, so I really need to focus.” She turned her back to the flame user and raised the binoculars back to her face. “I’d love for today to be the day I finally put you in sea prism cuffs, Portagas, but my hands are tied.”

Isuka sat, binoculars still at her eyes, waiting for the sounds of departure. She felt her back begin to tense as silent seconds ticked by.

“I can feel you staring. I meant what I said about focusing. Time for you to go ba….HEY!”

Before she could process what was happening, the bottom of Isuka’s rowboat disappeared from beneath her, and she was being lifted onto the Striker. “FIRE FIST PUT ME DOWN” The Ensign yelled towards seemingly deaf ears, as she was deposited onto the flame powered vessel that was somehow already making its way towards the island.

Isuka attempted to turn around and pound the man’s chest, but the arm that secured her back to his torso was like a vice grip. “YOU BETTER TURN AROUND RIGHT NOW IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU!” He was ignoring her. The red head stomped down hard on his booted foot, growling loudly in frustration when it went straight through to the ground.

Ace laughed jovially, “What’s good for me” He said loudly to be heard over the speedboat, “is to help you finish up here so we can find out if you’ll make good on your threat to put me in cuffs.”

The Nailer took a few measured calming breaths. From what she knew about the Spade Pirate’s captain, arguing with him was going to get her absolutely nowhere. He decided he was tagging along, and that was that. At the very least, she could use his much faster vessel to her advantage. Sighing loudly, she wondered how she was going to explain this in her incident report.

The Ensign certainly never lied when composing reports, however the number of details she had felt the need to omit or be intentionally vague on were ramping up quickly as of late. The guilt that came after each debriefing with Vice Admiral Draw was getting difficult to swallow.

Ace, likely sensing the resignation in her posture, loosened his grip around her arms so she could free them, his steady hand instead finding a home around her small waist. Isuka unconsciously leaned into the warmth of his body, a stark contrast to the biting wind hitting her face. She gripped his forearm to get his attention, “Let’s do a lap around the island, and I’ll give you a quick rundown.”

The right side of her face was suddenly much warmer than her left as the captain bent his head down and placed his mouth near her ear. “Sorry, can’t hear you when you talk away from me.” She could hear the cheeky smile on his face.

Isuka’s body betrayed her yet again, responding with a weakness in her knees and an infuristingly increasing familiar ache. The marine immediately began rationalizing; she was a 20-year-old woman, and the Fire Fist was a roguishly attractive male who never wore a shirt. Having THAT physiological response was an uncontrollable inevitability. 

‘Well, if he’s trying to get a reaction out of me, he’s going to be disappointed.’ The Ensign thought to herself as she attempted to swallow down her feelings. She pushed his chin gently off her shoulder and turned her face towards his ear, repeating herself in her best attempt at a measured tone. Her stomach clenching at each unintentional brush of her lips to his skin.

The striker came to a stop. Ace breathed in deeply through his nose and loosened his grip again, taking a half step backward.__________

[worldcatlas]

DS9: Emissary (Part 2)

Read part 1 here. This is the last article wrapping up two-part episodes, which will be in a single article from here on out. Thank you for reading!

Part two of Deep Space 9’s pilot episode opens in Ops, giving us several lovely close-ups of Major Kira’s uniform, including her Bajoran-style comm badge and belt. The badge appears to be made of a brassy metal material, and is in the shape of the Bajoran logo, much like its Starfleet counterpart. The belt, in a deep burgundy colour that matches her uniform, has a texture that suggests reptilian leather (or, perhaps, a replicated substitute). We can also see in this early episode that Kira’s makeup originally included a slight brow ridge, like Ensign Ro.

I guess they still have cosmetic surgery in the 24th century.

Odo beams into Ops to join the team, briefly giving us a full head-to-toe view of the goo he has shaped into a brownish-beige Bajoran uniform. My favourite part are the Uggs boots. Do all the Bajoran uniforms come with little booties? They’re not particularly intimidating for the Chief of Security, although they do look like they’d be great for someone on their feet all day.

Fighting crime in comfort.

We can also see in this scene that the costume department has decided to flare out the lapels on the Starfleet uniforms; I actually don’t remember if this trend continues into future episodes of DS9, but the same uniforms lay flat on Voyager (which hadn’t yet premiered at this point), so we’ll check back in on that. It’s an interesting styling choice, and kind of makes Bashir and O’Brien look like they’re hitting the club after work.

I mean, I guess I don’t know that they aren’t…

Inside the wormhole, Sisko converses with the locals through his memories, and we see the aliens speak to him through various characters. Among them are Locutus in his full Borg makeup and Kai Opaka in elaborate Bajoran religious garb. We saw Opaka in this outfit in part 1, although it looks like they may have draped the outermost layer differently here.

It’s hard to tell what’s changed through the Memory Haze™.

The aliens also take on the appearance of the Chicago Cubs in old-timey uniforms – worn by fictional holodeck characters – and Sisko’s former crew in a TNG-era look. The baseball uniforms will show up again in Deep Space 9, but I suspect the Starfleet uniforms are recycled directly from The Next Generation, giving them a nice on-screen send-off before retirement.

These are all core memories for Sisko.

Back on the station, we get a better look at Major Kira’s Bajoran earring as she jumps on a subspace call with her #1 fan, Gul Dukat. The jewelry is made of a silver metal, with lower and upper pieces connected by a fine chain.

It channels her pagh, as well as six stations of FM radio.

Dukat, of course, shows up wearing the same thing Cardassians always wear, made out of old recycled tires.

It’s actually very eco-friendly.

Going back to Benjamin, we finally get some new costumes as Sisko finds himself snuggling his dead wife. Well, one of the aliens inhabiting the memory of his dead wife. They’re dressed for a lovely picnic in the park, Ben in a striped jewel tone shirt, Jennifer in an elegant pink dress.

Does this human look good on me?

We can see that the fabric on the top section of Sisko’s shirt has been pleated and pressed flat before being sewn, a trick that seems to be used a lot in Star Trek to create more exotic and visually interesting looks from regular Earth textiles. In this case, it complements the fabric’s vertical stripes nicely. The shirt also has a geometric neckline with a notch in front, giving just a little flirty peek of chest. As we zoom out, we can see it has been paired with an extremely high-waisted pair of olive green pants. From this angle, we can also see that Jennifer’s silky-looking dress tapers at the waist, and has been paired with matching tights and shoes. It’s an adorable look somewhere between “prom queen” and “dance recital.”

This is what it looks like when you can just beam to a picnic site instead of hiking.

In a scene that’s no doubt just as pleasing to our Commander, we next see him in the memory of a holodeck baseball game, wearing a baseball mitt and cap, while an alien inhabits the image of his son (dressed in a catcher’s uniform) nearby.

Is this going to become a theme, Dad?

In an incredible bit of attention to detail, even the background actors in this scene appear to be dressed in period-appropriate suits and hats. Then again, it’s very possible Paramount already had these costumes in the back, and they were among the few outfits they DIDN’T need to make custom for this episode.

Look, son: normies.

Back on the station, Cardassians have begun to attack, meaning we get to see a crowd of evacuating civilians in one-colour co-ords. Among them is the real Jake Sisko, who isn’t sure about all the monochrome matching.

It just doesn’t feel appropriate for the season.

Also present is– what the? What the heck is this guy?! I don’t even know what this alien is, but it has a cute hooded blue dress. If anyone recognizes this species, please leave a comment with the ID!

Is it visiting from the Star Wars universe?

We finish out the episode – at least in terms of costumes – with a fantastic showing from Quark. He hasn’t changed since part 1, but we do get a better view of the details of his outfit, including the giant, spherical, shiny buttons on his jacket, which may actually be small doorknobs. The jacket also features sparkly black bands around both arms and wide lapels that flare open dramatically. Like Sisko earlier, he finishes the outfit with olive green pants pulled up as high as they’ll go.

The Ferengi who invents belts will be drowning in latinum.

—

The Costume Designer for this episode was Robert Blackman. The Wardrobe Supervisor was Carol Kunz. Key Costumers include Maurice Palinski, Phyllis Corcoran-Woods, Jerry Bono, and Patti Borggrebe-Taylor.

[wariowaretrans]

The year is 2400. The Romulan Star has collapsed,

and taken with it the Romulan Star Empire. The great boogeymen of the Alpha Quadrant have been scattered to the winds, and their formerly iron borders are now segmented into three interplanetary states:

- The Romulan Republic, nestled a ways into Romulan space, a quasi-Federation Council government of Unificationists and progressives who are more than happy to work with the Federation and Starfleet.

- The Romulan Free State, a loose alliance of supernova survivors, colony worlds, and border states. They keep to themselves, and generally expect the Federation to do the same, but as long as you aren't waging war in their borders you're free to do as you please. The Federation is happy to exploit this policy grey areaa...as is what remains of the Tal Shiar.

-the "Romulan Empire", highly conservative isolationists. They have made more explicit the fascism of the empire, and patrol their section of the former Neutral Zone with a rigor bordering on bloodthirst.

Into this tangled web of intrigue, uncharted space, and sworn enemies, Starfleet has sent the U.S.S. Saraswati- a gorgeous Sagan class cruiser, fully equipped with colony support replicators, a vehicle fabricator, and....four completely empty decks.

The official explanation is that space has been reserved for oncomers during the expedition. The rumor around the dry dock is that Starfleet can't find a full thousand people willing to serve under the Saraswati's new Captain- the last member of the Maquis to be repatriated into Starfleet, the woman the Cardassians call the Butcher of Volnar, alleged war criminal Captain Clementine V Hind.

Exploring the uncharted areas of the Neutral Zone, bringing resources to neglected colonies, boldly going in the backyard of the Alpha Quadrant...it's the explorer's dream job. But is the Starfleet rank and file willing to face down Romulan supremacists under the command of a woman who spent the last three years in mandatory treatment for a shot at that dream job?

Currently the Saraswati has a Captain, an XO, and Chiefs for Engineering, Science, and Security. There are loads of postings still to fill- Helm, Ops, Tactical, Head Chef, Medical, Ensign Who's At All The Bridge Meetings For Some Reason...

Well, are you?

The U.S.S. Saraswati

is a discord RP using a combination of live sim and logs. The live sim format means every two weeks or so, everyone in the sim (who can make it) is in a thread in the sim for about two hours or so, roleplaying their hearts out, moving the plot forward.

In between those two weeks, feel free to log like crazy in whatever format you want. Script, trading paragraphs with a crewmate, weird poetry, go at it.

All that is required of you is this: be 17 or older and bring your best self! Join the Saraswati today, and explore the unexplored at your leisure!

https://discord.com/invite/M7XsYXnvXV

[raddocwrites]

SNW drabbles

Fab FIVE

Una shifted in the uncomfortable seat of the shuttle and leaned forward slightly. “So what did you think of your first contact situation, ensign?”

Ensign nyota uhura swiveled slightly to smile back at the enterprises first officer. “It was incredible.” Her eyes brightened and her grin widened. “When my grandmother spoke to me about Starfleet, this was the kind of thing she talked about.”

Una smiled warmly. “It really is the best part of Starfleet,” she agreed.

“It was fascinating to see how an entire society evolved, grew and are now thriving, from beings all genetically female,” uhura added.

Lt erica ortegas smirked next to uhura at the helm. “It didn’t hurt that the armetrians were all insanely good looking.” At the raised eyebrows, she continued. “I mean. Just objectively speaking. They were all really hot.”

There were a few snickers at this statement, because, while a bit on the (beautiful) nose, it was 100% true. It seemed as if every armetrian they laid eyes on was descended from a goddess.

“Yes.” Nurse Christine chapel playfully chimed in from where she sat in the second row of seats behind ensign uhura. “There were more than a few armetrians who thought you were quite attractive as well”.

Ortegas looked mock scandalized for half a second before she grinned and placed a hand on her chest as if asking ‘who me?’. Then her smile turned devilish and she shot back. “Like you can talk. I thought we were going to have to fake a medical emergency to get Teyha away from you.”

Chapel opened her mouth like she wanted to disagree, but then closed it again with a slight purse of her lips. “Fine. True. But I was hardly the only one.” She nodded her head to uhura. “What was their communication experts name? Talia, was it?”

Uhura tilted her head feeling her cheeks flush. “Yes. And she was a great COLLEGUE.” She stressed the last word, but no one was buying it.”

“Did she know that?” ortegas muttered not at all subtly under her breath.

“She was so smitten with you, I thought she might do something rash and romantic, like propose marriage.” chapel continued.

Uhuras jaw dropped open and for once she didn’t know what to say.

Una barely suppressed a smile and gave the ensign a stern stare. “Ensign, you are aware that permission from a superior officer, as well as medical clearance, are required before engaging in any sort of romantic relationship with an alien species?

Uhuras eyes popped and her tongue didn’t seem to work as she tried to force words out her mouth, but for once the communications officer seemed to be at a loss.

After several seconds ortegas couldn’t keep a straight face any longer and she burst out laughing. Uhura looked at her and then all the others before she crossed her arms with an unimpressed huff. “Still hazing the newbie?” She asked before saying several choice words in armetrian.

“No, actually that is standard operating procedure,” La’an, the chief security officer of the enterprise informed her dryly.

“Well regardless,” uhura continued. “It was an incredible experience and the armetrians were absolutely delightful.” The others could only nod in agreement. “They even loved lt noonien singh…” her voice died out at the instant glare from said lieutenant.

A beat of silence. “Are you saying that most people don’t love me, ensign?” La’an asked dangerously.

“I-no…um well I…”

As entertaining as it was to watch the panic racing across uhuras face, after several beats ortegas jumped in again. “She means youre terrifying. But like, in a good way.” Ortegas said with a slight shrug. La’an eyes narrowed but the corner of her mouth twitched as she suppressed a smile. She didn’t say anything, since a part of her had worked very hard at creating this intimidating impression of herself.

“But,” uhura bravely tried again. “There were several armetrians who…”

“Seemed ready to jump your bones?” Chapel offered.

La’an scoffed. “I barely interacted with any of them apart from security discussions.”

The others looked at each other in silent amazement. Had la’an really not noticed the longing looks, the gaggle of armetrians who always happened to appear wherever she was, the sudden interest in security matters and the dramatic increase in reported crimes?

Chapel opened her mouth to protest but the slightest shake of unas head changed her mind. Instead, she smiled slyly and shifted towards the first officer. “None of that compares to the commander.”

Una felt her cheeks redden slightly. “I…” she sputtered, taken aback.

“You had a trail of fawning armetrians following you like ducklings,” La’an stated wryly. She stared at una with an eyebrow raised, daring her to disagree.

Unas mouth snapped shut and she drew in a breath. “Yes. Well.” Una smoothed the front of her impeccable uniform. “They know quality when they see it. I cant fault them for good taste.” She winked at la’an.

Everyone burst out laughing at that because it had been hilarious watching una try to connect and include all of her admirer’s, without playing favorites or hurting anyones feelings, despite how uncomfortable all the attention had made her.

Una straightened slightly. “They were smart enough to recognize the incredible talent of each and every one of you. Because you are ALL, the very best of Starfleet. And I am proud to serve with each of you.” Una stared at each member of her away team in turn, letting them know she meant what she said.

When the silence stretched a bit longer than was comfortable, Una cleared her throat and reached down and pulled out her gift for the captain. Chris had been overjoyed at the prospect of a first contact situation. Then, when enterprise had been gently, but firmly, informed that only females would be welcome on the away mission, had been promptly devastated. But he had rallied quickly, wished them a safe journey and with a wink, instructed una to get him a gift.

She plunked the obnoxiously large hat on her head and took a moment to enjoy the soft velvetiness of it. It was a deep, forest green with a starburst of jet black feathers on top with honest to goodness jingle bells on the brim. And added about two feet to her already considerable height.

She stroked it gently and smiled as she thought about the look chris would have when he saw what she had got for him.

“I cant believe youre actually wearing that thing,” La’an drawled next to her with her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised.

Una smiled and tilted the hat slightly, giving it a roguish appearance. “What do you mean?” she asked innocently. She floofed up the feathers so they claimed even more space above her head. “The captain asked for a souvenir, so I am simply doing as he requested.” She held la’ans gaze with mock seriousness and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

La’an snorted and shook her head.

“What, are you kidding?” Ortegas asked from where she sat in her place at the helm of their shuttle. “Hes going to love it!” she smirked.

“Of course he will,” una agreed, shifting the magnificently ginormous hat again. “Its glorious.”

“We could probably convince him that its customary to wear the thing for 3 days after receiving such an important and treasured gift from the armetrians…” chapel suggested humorously, sharing a glance with ortegas.

“Please don’t!” Una cried even though she couldn’t hide her smile. “I don’t think id be able to take him seriously on the bridge while wearing this. It was bad enough when he kept talking like a pirate after the whole captain angel business.”

Uhura grinned at the other women in the shuttle from her seat at the ops console. She giggled at the thought and then her eyes widened. “The real question is, what will spock say about his gift? And will he where it?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Everyone turned to nurse chapel as she pulled out a sky-blue hat about two feet wide and neon orange feathers clustered around the side of the brim. “I will get him to wear it.”

She eyed it speculatively then delicately placed it on her head and clasped her hands in her lap. She lifted her chin and sniffed in a most Vulcan like manner. “This garment serves no functional purpose. Why would one don such a frivolous item?”

Still laughing, erica leaned over and snatched the behemoth of a hat from nurse chapel and dropped it on her head. It was so big that it sunk down and completely covered her eyes. She straightened and cleared her throat. She frowned in an imitation of spock. “Is this another example of a human practical joke? Is there no end to these trivial jests?”

Giggles and snorts filled the cabin. With a lopsided grin Ortegas carefully removed the insanely wide blue hat and with a small bow, handed it reverently to urhura, still seated next to her.

But before she could take it, the console in front of the ensign beeped insistently. She turned with a frown and pressed several buttons.

“What is it?” una asked, all business once more.

[realmsdelite]

@burnnouts ( robb )

ever since she had learned of what had befallen her second born son, her breathing had felt... not caught, for air still came in, and out, in and out; it was strained, an ever increasing press 'pon the hard yet thin bones of her rib cage, of which offered some protection, yet nowhere near enough to prevent the mounting risk of splintering, the shards burrowing deep in her already still bleeding heart. it seemed to reach, suspended, oddly, somehow — across the cliffside, and over the blackwater, from the crownlands, to the riverlands and up the neck, to the north — that way she might be there, in some capacity, that way her eldest son's safety might perhaps be known, at the least, if not secured, that way she did not need wait for days and days on to know, to merely know, if ... if he would not come home, the way that lucerys had not. it would not have mattered, had he failed. it would not have mattered, as long as he had come home, and he was not lost to her, and she had pleaded with the gods as the days had stretched and time had ran impossibly, mercilessly on, and yet still he had not shown, and though she did not want to think it ( lucerys had been gone for days, as well, and the queen had assumed that he had survived, and she did not even consider the possibility. perhaps if she had done, she could have sent men quicker, and she might have been able to reclaim his body, and to put him to rest properly ) she did not want to risk making the same error that she had made with luke, with jace. and yet he had lived, and he had secured the support of the eyrie, white harbour and the mander, and more, the promise of the young lord robb stark set out for the march, taking ship with a small garrison of his own men, whilst the winter wolves marched down from the neck. the sky was an opaque expanse of pale dove, with clouds of a slightly darker shade thickly woven overhead, casting a wide canopy over the isle and blotting out the distant sun, going still further - across the blackwater, and descending down, the further one went until it ran parallel with the sapphire and slate sea. poor weather for sailing, she had thought, and yet she had received a misssive from maester luwin a day past that barring any other complications, that they should arrive in the early evening. there, a ship sat: the ensign a merman with a green tail, holding a three pronged black trident on a blue and green field. the nautical flag, a direwolf running across an icy field, and made a formless dark grey blot from this distance. she stands at the top of the sloping path that curled, stretching all the way downward to just before the docks, where it cut as the terrain became rockier. where men disembarked, and began to walk in the direction of the people gathered to greet them.

her own retinue was small. six household knights alongside ser lorent marband, and ser steffon darklyn, and her own maester, gerardys. she did not see a man with a chain among them. no maester luwin, then. a boy only a bit older then jacaerys stood in the front, with deep red hair and bright blue eyes ( the lord eddard's wife had been a tully, she recalled, and it was noted by many that only the younger girl, arya, took after her lord father in appearance, while their three boys, and the older girl, sansa, she believed, resembled their mother ) beside him loped a wolf closer akin in size to a small horse, a smoke grey creature with bright golden eyes that huffed in warning at intervals as he moved closer to people unknown. an unknown, and a potentially dangerous one to whom he had bonded. for was it not a bond that existed between the two of them ? one not dissimilar from her bond with her syrax. the wolf seemed to move in time with him, making certain there was enough room to leap infront of him if need be. he was a beautiful creature; long and lithe, and strong, and though that did not mean he was not dangerous, he seemed to have a relative level of comfort around other men. robb stark's men, not hers. she takes a step forward, and then another, moving to great her guests slowly, as to not spook the animal, ser steffon darklyn detatching himself, moving a few paces behind her, sticking close to her back. she could feel him tense as her hand reached carefully out, addressing the direwolf first, allowing him to catch her scent as she says, quietly, " i wish only to speak to him, you have naught to worry about from any of us, " he leaned in, sniffing, a heartbeat passes before he gives her knuckles an answering lick. her hand retracts, and she straightens, turning to the young lord to greet him properly. her son had spoken wholly positively about his experience in the north, and the friendship that he had built with robb stark that was bound with the pact that they had sworn, drawn and signed. an agreement that had been coined the pact of ice and fire.

her lips curl upward at their corners, the gesture warm, and welcoming, her voice cordial, near amiable as she greets, " my lord stark, it is a great honor, " and for the briefest of moments, silver white lashes shutter, amethyst and cornflower eyes cast downward toward the cobblestones before they raise, and set upon his face. a subtle but sure gesture of respect, " rooms are at present being readied for you, and your men. your maester gave me a number, though i should like one from you, as well, to be assured that naught has changed since last we spoke, and all of your people are properly accomodated " luwin had seemed rather confident that it would not, yet one could never be truly sure. she glanced down at the wolf at his side again, " he need not be sent to the kennels, if you can swear to me with a certainty that he will not prove to be destructive. as long as he shall stay in your rooms without breaking much, i see no reason to send him where he is not comfortable — he will be allowed to remain with you, " was there much difference to what a direwolf ate in comparison to its common cousin ? she could not imagine that there would be, except perhaps needing more of it to sustain themselves. and the diet of a wolf was not that much different from what was fed to the dragons, if indeed it was at all. she had sufficient enough provisions to feed both man, and creature, for however long that they might remain among them. a while, at the least, she thought, until it was time to retake the capital, and however long after the fact. her smile grew the slightest bit rueful, " i do hope that your journey here was not too arduous, and that the fog did not prove too much of an impediment. i am very grateful, that you have traveled this far, and in time i hope to be able to provide a sufficient reward. "

[foone]

Now I'm just imagining an exhausted Star Fleet engineer who has to manage the holodecks and she keep getting called in to rescue two(sometimes more) clueless lesbians who just wanted to do some bdsm and now the safeties being off has caused them to nearly get themselves killed.

And if course, there's safeties on the safeties, so they hacked around the switch, which means now she can't remotely turn the safeties back on, or cancel the program.

She's gotta go in there herself and free them.

She's shot Dr. Chaotica twice this week alone.

She's always freeing deeply thankful women who try to cover her in kisses but she's gotta get back to doing a level 2 diagnostic on the plasma manifold.

She's like "look, girls: stop doing this. I'm not gonna report you to security this time, but you could get killed. Here's a PADD on how to modify a program so it doesn't consider most BDSM activities to be harm. Then you can get tied up and spanked all you want without the risk of holograms trying to kill you for real. "

A few days later, the captain beeps* her and asks if she's done with retrofitting the alien artifact to work with their engines. "almost done, Captain. I would have been done an hour ago but I got called away to fight a spider."

There's a pause, then that quick and curt "Explain."

"there was a holodeck malfunction and I had to go in and rescue two poor Ensigns from Shelob**."

"ahh. Another 'safeties failure'?"

"You got it, Captain. Fortunately, even 5 meter arachnids can be scared off by a little fire."

"how much 'little' are we talking?"

"... A slightly modified M9A1-7 flamethrower with an internal replicator and antihydrogen generator for effectively infinite fuel"

"I see. Well, I'm sure" (she can hear the facepalm through the comm link) "that you'll impress upon them the seriousness of holodeck malfunctions, and remind them that tampering with the safeties is against regulations and they could be seriously punished if they ever engage in it." (the word "again" is diplomatically omitted).

"Honestly captain, threatening them with 'serious punishment' is unlikely to help. But yes, I'll be sure to give them a good talking to."

"Indeed. Let me know when you have the artifact integrated. Captain*** out".

* what is the verb for when they tap their comm badge and go like "Captain to Tuvok: what's the situation in the engine room?". Comming? Badging?

** they were playing LOTR with them as (genderswapped**** Frodo and Sam. Lots of middle-earth kink you can get up to in that program, especially if you apply that patch that makes the armies of Sauron merely capture and torture***** you for information. Unfortunately Shelob is not marked as a minion of Sauron, so... She's not affected, and will merely try to kill you. With the safeties off, she might.

*** I know exactly who this captain and engineer are, but explaining that AU would take longer than the rest of the post. There's transitions, a throuple, characters moving from one show to another... It's a mess!

**** the default way the holodeck works is to just not care about genders of the players. Like you could tell it to load up a Sherlock Holmes program and if you walk in wearing a dress and go "I'm Sherlock", the most difference that'll happen is Watson might go "I say, that dress looks lovely on you, Sherlock!" and the story continues as usual.

***** in the BDSM sense, of course. The patch makes it seem like the Uruk-hai had a real thing for shibari, forced orgasms, and qamDu' (an Klingon fetish that's strickly forbidden on all Federation ships)

a yuri scenario…..

[thethirdromana]

Trektober day 27: Un, Deux, Troi

(prompt: threesome)

“I meant it as a joke,” Riker protested as he and Troi entered their quarters.  

Troi waited until the doors closed behind them. “Tell me everything,” she said. “How do you end up planning a threesome because of a joke?”

Riker went over to the replicator. “Iced water – no, a half pint of beer. Trill City pale ale.” This was an evening that might need the gentle softening effect of synthehol. 

With a drink in hand, he sat down on the sofa. “So Ensign Nguyen – you know the one? Flirts with me a lot but she doesn’t mean anything by it?”

“The petite one in Security,” Troi said, sitting down by his side. “Half your age. I know the one.”

“She’d made some mistake because she wasn’t concentrating. She said it was because she hadn’t been getting any recently.”

“‘Getting any’?” Troi said.

“That’s how she put it,” Riker replied. “We laughed it off. And then when I was in the captain’s ready room with him, he made a similar mistake, and I asked him if he’d been getting any recently. As a joke. I was joking.”

“But Captain Picard didn’t know that you were joking?”

Riker was proud of his well-honed Picard impression. “He said, ‘That may very well be so, Number One’. And I said that I thought Ensign Nguyen was wrangling for an invitation to our quarters – that is, mine and yours. Picard laughed.”

There was a look of fond amusement on Troi’s face. “But what happened next?”

Riker threw up his hands. “I said – and I was joking – that if Picard kept making those kinds of mistakes, perhaps he should be the one coming to our quarters.”

“But he didn’t take it as a joke?”

“He said, ‘Really, Number One?’ And I didn’t know what to say, so I said, ‘you know me and Deanna, anyone’s welcome’. And he said, ‘I suppose that might prove to be an enjoyable experience.’ And then he said he would see us at 2000 hours, and went back to the bridge. Maybe he has a more deadpan sense of humour than I ever realised. Or maybe he’ll be here in half an hour.”

Read more on AO3 (explicit)

[mugglenet]

Sorting "Star Trek: Voyager" Characters into Their Hogwarts Houses

New Post has been published on https://bit.ly/45iqa7A

Sorting "Star Trek: Voyager" Characters into Their Hogwarts Houses

Star Trek: Voyager sent its crew where no one had gone before: the Delta Quadrant. Far from home and manned by a crew from both Starfleet and the Maquis resistance – plus a few new friends – Voyager explored uncharted territory, forcing the characters to adapt to new situations with little guidance. What Hogwarts Houses do they belong in?

  Captain Kathryn Janeway – Gryffindor

  Source

  Even when she perhaps should, Captain Janeway is loath to abandon her principles. She insists on adhering to Federation values and procedures even when far from Federation space. Sometimes that means making sacrifices, but she’s willing to put herself on the line to do what she believes is right. A starship captain has to make difficult choices, even when her decisions may be unpopular (but she was right about Tuvix). Janeway’s got a knack for leadership, and all she has to say is “do it.” Somebody get this woman some coffee!

  Commander Chakotay – Hufflepuff

  Source

  Janeway’s first officer is more willing to entertain the idea of giving up on making it home and settling in the Delta Quadrant. While the captain is all determination, Chakotay looks to make the best of a bad situation. As a former Starfleet officer as well as Maquis resistance leader, he’s often responsible for making sure everyone can work together, which can be quite the task. Luckily, Chakotay is fair-minded, having joined the Maquis because he thought their cause was just. He’s also deeply loyal and devoted to his captain, both professionally and personally.

  Lieutenant Commander Tuvok – Ravenclaw

  Source

  It’s difficult to find a Vulcan who isn’t a Ravenclaw. Tuvok, like most of his species, values logic above all else. This comes through in both his work as chief security officer and his leisure time, which he spends on pursuits such as meditation and the logic game kal-toh. His wisdom comes from both logic and experience. He is over a century old and has had a long Starfleet career, including teaching at the Academy, as well as a life back on his home planet, where he raised a family, showing a willingness to try new things.

  Lieutenant B’Elanna Torres – Gryffindor

  Source

  As a half-Klingon and former resistance fighter, B’Elanna never backs down from a challenge. She knows her way around a warp core and dares anyone to disagree with her expert opinion. Don’t get into a fight with her unless you’re prepared to be both physically and emotionally destroyed – but that aggression comes from passion and a lifetime of fighting prejudice.

  Lieutenant Tom Paris – Gryffindor

  Source

  Pilots love action, and Tom Paris is no exception. He’s always eager to try a risky new maneuver but isn’t the best at following orders, even getting a temporary demotion for his disobedience, though his intentions were noble. He’s confident, adventurous, and quite the charmer, winning the heart of perhaps Voyager‘s toughest nut to crack, Chief Engineer B’Elanna Torres.

  Ensign Harry Kim – Hufflepuff

  Source

  Poor Harry – always an ensign, never a lieutenant, even after seven years of loyal service. Only a Hufflepuff could be so overlooked! He’s usually a by-the-book kind of officer, eager to please and willing to put in the work, often on night shifts, which give him the rare chance of being the commanding officer. It’s not power he’s after but a chance to prove his worth. When he does stray from the line of duty, he often gets in more trouble than others since the captain expects so much of him.

  The Doctor – Ravenclaw

  Source

  The Doctor is a true Renaissance man – or hologram, rather. In addition to his programmed medical prowess, he excels at art and music and is always looking to broaden his creative and emotional horizons. Sometimes, he becomes a little too engrossed in his own pursuits, unaware that his audience isn’t quite as invested.

  Seven of Nine – Slytherin

  Source

  Severed from the Borg collective and still learning about her own humanity, Seven can’t help but strive for perfection. She’s hyper-focused on her goals, often forgoing rest and nourishment unless absolutely necessary. Always seeing herself as a member of a collective, she aims to provide exemplary service to Voyager and its crew.

  Neelix – Hufflepuff

  Source

  He loves cooking, looks out for everyone, and makes friends wherever he goes – he’s a Puff! Neelix is Voyager‘s resident social butterfly (Talaxian), and even stoic Tuvok is not immune to his charms. There’s a reason he serves as the ship’s morale officer – he wants to put smiles on everyone’s faces.

  Kes – Hufflepuff

  Source

  Kes always cares for others, right down to her departure from Voyager, when she uses her transformation to help the ship progress on its long journey. In her time on board, she serves as the Doctor’s assistant, stepping in where more hands are needed, often with a better bedside manner. She also oversees the plants in the airponics bay (basically Herbology). At only a few years old – as a member of a race that only lives until nine – and having been rescued by Neelix, Kes has a natural innocence and instinct to help others.

  How did the Sorting Hat do?

[ltnsingh]

@trekmade asked: ☜  +  can i be selfish and ask for the hallway scene in 2x07 where she’s going over the temporal protocol with boimler and he learns she’s also time traveled 👀

" Don't touch the buttons. " While harsh, reprimanding the wayward ensign in her less than willing charge was necessary. Vital, even. Beyond his palpable anxieties, understandable as they were, Boimler resembled an untrained puppy, albeit one that lumbered at least three heads taller than her: One that seemed to have an affinity for every square inch of the ship from the bridge crew themselves to the S / COMs operating system, still innocuously blinking so dangerously close to his flailing hands, and no apparent ability to rein in his excitement.

Ushering him to fall into stride, clear of any other tech that might catch his eye, La'an clenched her hands into fists once, then let them fall, soldierly, by her sides.

" Look — I recognise this future knowledge is so boring the chances of it changing history are low, but... lets review temporal protocols, regardless. "

In any other circumstance, conveying standard security procedures ought to have been a piece of cake, only La'an couldn't quite turn a blind eye to the perspiration dampening her palms, nor the lump struggling to lodge itself in the base of her throat. She knew the repercussions of tampering with time like she knew the phaser banks' schematics. She could practically hear each abstracted one of them ticking, like the hands on a broken watch, across the breadth of her quarters each night.

You protected the timeline in a way no one else could have, they'd chime. Are you willing to undo all of that?

No, she'd maintained. Even now, her answer remained resignedly the same.

Keeping the Enterprise's time - travelling interloper from preventing the potential collapse of this time, given the recency of her own ill fated sojourn to an alternate twenty first century Toronto, felt like nothing short of a backhand across the face. A cosmic joke. Only there was no punchline, no amusing payoff. In its stead, there was only the still - too crisp recollection of Khan, a mass murderer in the making, no more than eight years old, cowering behind a laboratory bed with the same terror in his eyes that had existed in her own when her family had been slain. Only the cold concrete under her knees as the other James Kirk's blood had spilled out onto it, viscous and terrifyingly plentiful between her fingers — and how, for a collective of hours fraught with so much uncertainty, her mark of Cain hadn't meant anything. How, for that negligible moment, she'd almost felt like somebody else.

Boimler couldn't possibly understand what that felt like. No one could.

" One, " La'an began, without any inkling of preamble — nothing that could prompt further questioning or an inadvertent, potentially perilous interjection from her fellow officer. " No interfering with past events. " A self explanatory rule, but not entirely fool proof. Evidently. " Two, no sharing — future knowledge, yes. Last, and perhaps most important... don't make any attachments. "

' I'm actually not familiar with that one. Is that a recent addition? '

Endearing as Boimler's earnestness should have been, La'an could only swallow, flex her fingers against the outer stripes of her uniform pants, and scrape at the bottom of her barren wellspring for some nonexistent hope that, some day soon, thinking about that time ( forty eight hours; Two paltry days that should never have happened in the first place that had taken the defensive walls she'd built up against the past and cracked them with a battering ram, only to set what was on the other side ablaze ) would get easier. " Well, yeah, no, it — it's advice, from... personal experience. "

' Wait wait wait wait. does that mean... you've time travelled too? '

Holding herself steadfast, the stoicism she'd made every attempt to hold onto like a mask, like a lifeline slipping for only a fragment of a moment, La'an crushed the truth and its unknowable litany of consequences between the grinding clench of her molars. She'd divulged too much already. Left too many breadcrumbs. If she'd had to bury the recent past, and her James with it, knowing that she'd never possess the liberty to breathe a word until her dying day, not even to Una, she couldn't keep unearthing it.

" One small change here, we won't feel anything, " she affixed, the only way she could: straightforwardly, without embellishment. " Yet... it could destroy your future. Your friends, loved ones. " Everything. One errant murmur of an anecdote from a century in the future, and everything could change, be augmented irreparably, perhaps for the worse, and he'd never know just how profoundly or how far the damage had spread. He'd never know for certain what or who he might have lost.

[ichayalovesyou]

I have a new idea for you. What if Pike had a sibling, who he hadn't spoken to in years due to each being stationed on different ships. BUT, comes into contact with said sibling once more when the Enterprise recieves a medical S.O.S. from a Star Fleet observation post. Said reunion brings up painful memories for Christopher, from when he and his sibling parted ways. With a happy ending, please?

(P.S. You're an amazing writer.... 💖)

Thank you so much! Seems like someone answered my call for help! I think I’ve got a plan for this one, Gee, I wonder, what’s the one Starfleet thing we know Pike hates 🤔 stay tuned! 😎

Storge (Pike & Sibling!Reader)

Rating: E for Everyone

Word Count: 1.5k

Content: SFW/Platonic (Obviously I would hope!!), GN!Reader, Sibling!Reader, Security!Reader, brush with death, drama, Section 31 bashing (me and my homies hate Section 31), angst, hurt/comfort, 'the girls are fiiiiightiiiiing', Discovery season 2 finale spoilers, happy ending.

Teaser: It's been almost a year since you saw your older brother last, five since you talked. You had your disagreements in the past, but your big brother came to the rescue for the hundredth time regardless. It was time to set the record straight between the two of you.

This wasn’t the first time the station got attacked by pirates, but it wasn't everyday the flagship of Starfleet came to the rescue.

You took a bad hit, not your worst scrape, but definitely one for the record books. That Nausicaan handed your ass to you that’s for sure. Still, he didn’t look so great himself either.

You were bleeding all over the place, not good. As the medics sedated you, your last thoughts were wondering if he was gonna be there when you woke up. Whether he’d mustered up the strength to go where he belonged, or if all those missed calls had been for nothing.

The voices were muffled, both were familiar, one, much more so than the other.

“Leland knew he could never get me on that side of things, so he gunned for what he thought was the next best thing. Someone a little more a bit more eager to prove themselves.”

“No!” Una said incredulously

Chris sighed “Yeah, Y/N.”

“Are you going to tell-” She started

“I can’t…”

Tell you what? You were blacking out again, shit, you wanted to tell him off for talking about you like you weren’t there. 

When you came to again you were awake enough to open your eyes, it was a lot later judging by the dimness of the lights.

Chris was still there, arms tucked tight into himself like he always did when things got really bad. He was all disheveled, probably hadn’t gone anywhere else since the raid. Looking out the window, away from you.

Thank god he had friends like Una and Kat to make him take care of himself, or he would’ve been dead meat the second he set out for the Academy.

“So, you showed up.” you croaked.

Chris’s head whipped around, practically leapt out of his seat. Oh man, now you felt bad. Had he been crying?

It wasn’t intended to be mean. But the grogginess from sedation had robbed you of your tact, leaving only resentment behind.

You’d meant that you were happy he’d gotten back on the saddle after everything, after he’d… disappeared. The phrase reminded you of when the two of you would ride out together, racing, playing at being cowhands.

You felt him squeeze your arm gently, you felt torn between being comforted and being furious. You weren’t sure if you wanted to rip the nostalgia band aid of or not.

“How are you doing bud?”

He hadn’t called you “bud” or “kid” since you got accepted into the Academy. After that it was all “cadet” and “ensign” and “lieutenant” and then, well…

“Feel like I got speared by a Nausicaan pirate, so, could be better.”

You made him laugh at least, you’d always been able to. It’d been four, maybe five years, since you heard it last. 

“How’s Starfleet been treating you?” He ventured.

“They’ve been treating me alright. Made Lieutenant Commander, been making a lot of good change around here.”

“Oh, is it good?” Chris leaned back, sounding wary.

Oh god damnit, this again? You didn’t care about whatever the doctors were gonna say about you getting pissed off in sick bay for the eighth time this week. It was time to set the record straight.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You dared.

“Is it good? Is what you’re doing good?” He sat up straight now, meeting your irritation with his usual infuriatingly leveled response.

“Chris, it’s not that simple-“

“Isn’t it? Those people, Leland, Control, they did so much damage, it’s-“

“Would you shut up and let me explain Chris?! If you hadn’t walked out on me when the damn promotion came up-“

“Well I’m here, I’ll still be here. Could we not do this now, please? You’re still recovering and I don’t want to-”

Oh no, he wasn’t gonna smooth talk or dodge his way out of this one. He was hiding, dodging, like he always did when things got too real for him. You weren’t having it!

“No we’re doing this now, if you hadn’t just, left me! You were always backing me up and then the one time we disagreed-���

He stood up, angry “You were offered a position by Section 31 I couldn’t just watch you do that to yourself!”

“We were at war!”

“That’s not an excuse!”

“I know that!”

“Then why would you-“

“What the hell makes you think I took it Chris?!”

“… what?”

“Do you think, if I were working for 31, that you would ever have known I was here? Or that you’d be allowed to see me without clearance codes? That I’d be out here in the middle of nowhere getting picked on by pirates who wanna strip tricorders for raw materials? Or are all 350 people I’m keeping safe on this outpost all secretly spies and this is an elaborate front? Come on Chris, I know you’re not that dense.”

“So… you didn’t?” You could practically see the smoke coming out of your brother’s ears. 

He was such a smart guy, he’d be even smarter if he got his head out of his ass more often. He was so convicted, good heart, but a bit too holier-than-thou at times, just like your father.

“No. I didn’t. I'm the chief of security here, second in command.”

“But, I thought” Chris floundered “wait wait wait, hold on a second. You said-“

“I know what I said. I changed my mind, I… actually listened to you, for once. And, I don’t regret it.”

“Oh.” the hackles came down, he took a seat. You don’t think he even realized he’d been standing up until now.

“Not to be too familial, but, part of me didn’t want my big brother to be disappointed. You were disappointed in me, as it turned out.”

“It wasn’t like that-“

“Oh I know I know you were off boldly going, it’s still true though. Don’t look so surprised. I’m not one of your doe-eyed subordinates who just wants you to be proud of them. I didn’t need our approval, I don’t, regardless of where I ended up.”

“I know.” He smiled, in spite of the years of baggage the two of you were airing out.

The room got deadly quiet, your throat got tight, you tried to clear it, bracing yourself for where the conversation was going next.

“Lost so much time.” He said, almost inaudibly “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. Like something had broken inside.

“I wanted to, I tried. When we were both on leave and home. But, you weren’t…”

You wished he’d stop looking at you like that, he already dragged around enough guilt he didn’t deserve.

“I know that, the Discovery was lost. I know that a lot of good people you had command over didn’t make it. I didn’t wanna… God, Chris, you came back so different. You were hurting so bad. I didn’t wanna give you a hard time.”

“I…”

No. It was your turn to be sorry.

“It was stupid, I don’t know what I was afraid of. I should’ve tried harder, reached out to you better. But, you… it was like you disappeared. Not talking to me or dad I understood, you were pissed at me and pops can be kinda full of it, but you weren’t even talking to mom for a while there. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, I didn’t mean to scare any of you. I just had to work through some… some things.”

“I know. I figured if you weren’t ready to talk to us, you’d talk to Starfleet.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who do you think made sure that communicator went off every god damn day for the past year?”

“That was you?”

“Yeah, well, not always, sometimes I called in a favor, but, yes, a lot of them were me.”

He looked like he was gonna apologize again, you couldn’t let him do that because you were not about to cry in front of him.

“It’s alright, you didn’t know.”

“I could’ve, I should have. I was so… scared, of the future that I almost gave up everything I loved. I’m glad you did, even if I didn’t know.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Hey, for what it’s worth”, Chris took your hand “I’m proud of you, I love you, and I am so incredibly glad you’re okay.”

“And not working for 31.”

“And not working for 31!” he laughed! Yes Score!

“Love you too. And because I love you I’m telling you to get the hell out of here so you can get yelled at by my CMO, eat something, and take a damn shower. Because I am fine, and you are not. We can chat without having it out before you leave. Okay?”

Oh, ew, gross, you sounded just like him sometimes.

“Yes sir Lieutenant Commander sir. Number One’s been keeping the Doc from breaking down the door I’m sure.”

“You picked a good one.”

“Meaning?”

“Nothing, go!”

“Alright alright I’m going, sheesh.”

With a gentle whoosh, and the muffled sounds of the good doctor raising her voice, he was gone.

Well, not gone, not really.

It was good to have a big brother again.

[ask-sad-ghost-piett]

The ISB never was too trustworthy for much of anything less securing the Empire, for as much as I like Imperial order I always found it a bit much their methods, and I’m glad I never fell for their tricks -Ye Olde Ensign (Also thanks for the ooc compliment, much appreciated and I too like your writing)

Old Ensign:

I have nothing but respect for the work the ISB did when it comes to quelling the Rebellion. Any failure of personal relationships I had with individuals in the ISB is separate from my overall opinion of the organization. I simply brought up the point because, generally speaking, when someone demonstrates that level of devotion to obliterating the Rebellion, COMPNOR data shows that they are statistically more likely to be a loving partner (e.g., Max Veers). I originally had the misconception that the same would apply to the ISB, but sadly, this is not the case. After my last relationship with an ISB officer, I realized that he gave all his love to tormenting the Rebellion and at the end of the day, there wasn't any left for me.

Until I was promoted to Admiral. Then, suddenly, I got an apologetic transmission using my personal code saying that we should "try again" and "I've grown a lot as a person since the last time, Firmus. I didn't actually mean to use you as bait for the Ewoks that one time on Endor but now I see how it could look like that. By the way, can you grant me special security clearance on the Executor?”

And then Lord Vader saw the message and strangled my ex.

I'm feeling awfully bitter about it again. I'd like to say we parted on good terms, and I wish him well, but both would be a lie. I've been told that it's bad luck to lie over séance.

-Admiral Piett