#if we're in space future

[dykemccoy]

let's see dr mccoy's yelp review

[hannahssimblr]

She’s on the bed, lamp on, curtains still open to the winter scene outside. The lights of Roskilde glitter in the distance. I expect to find her emotional, like in a movie, where the girl throws herself upon the bed sobbing, mopping her face with tissues. Astrid is impassive. She watches me enter her bedroom and says nothing. 

“Are you… alright?”

“There is something wrong with Mia. This is what she does. I’m fine, yes.” Indifferent and cool again, it is obvious she has remembered who she is supposed to be.

“Okay, because to be honest, that was a lot.” Rather intense piano noises float through the house and through the gaps in the door. Mia, beating the keys. 

“It’s not true, by the way, those things she said about me throwing the Matador board. I haven’t done that since I was a child.”

“We’ve all done that at one point, I’d say.” I sit down with her and hold her foot. Those stripy woollen socks are rough in my hand. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

“I’m not embarrassed. I just said I haven’t done it since I was a child, so I don’t associate myself with it.”

“Oh, right.”

She pauses and looks out the window for a while, eyes glazed with thoughts. “I don’t come home very much anymore because of her,” she says, then. “She’s so insufferable.”

“It’s fairly obvious you two don’t get along.”

“Well, never have.”

“Any reason?”

“No, she just hates me. She’s always resented me for being born. She loved being the youngest, and now she’s furious with me. So much so that she’ll never forgive me for being alive, I’m sure.”

“Ah.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” she says, turning those piercing eyes on me. “You were the youngest once, too. I’m certain you’d never act like this towards your sister.”

“Well, there were different dynamics. It’s not like Ivy stole my place in the family, or whatever. I didn’t get any joy out of being the only child. There was nothing she could take away from me.”

“It must be different with girls.” Mia launches into an especially insane passage of her piece and Astrid purses her lips. A little slice of the version I saw downstairs seeping out. “She’s so annoying. Horrible, jealous, and annoying. I can’t wait to go back to Berlin and get away from her.”

“A couple more days is all,” I say. “You can try your best to be civil, you know? Or just avoid her if it’s that bad.”

“It is that bad. She makes it impossible to be civil, I–” she bunches her fists into her eyes as the music crashes on, distracting from her train of thought. “Could you go down there and tell her to shut up, please?”

I laugh. “In those words?”

“Yes. I don’t care. Just make sure she stops playing so that I’m not tormented by her, even in my private space.”

“You really want that?”

“Yes.”

I hesitate. “It’s a bit awkward, no?”

“You can tell her I said it. I don’t care. Just make her stop. She knows she’s doing it to get to me. It’s one of her sly tricks. If it is you that tells her, she may actually listen.”

I leave and make my way down to the study, where Mia has left the door open. The sounds of the piano pour out into the hallway, rising and falling, tinkling chromatics, music that makes me feel like droplets of water are spilling down my back. An audio sensory feeling I’ve only had before from those special songs in my playlists. It’s nice, whatever it is, so for moments I stand in the door and watch her play. Her hands on the keyboard are fluid, fast. She sees me, but pretends not to. We both wait until she has finished, the last notes ringing out, giving way to quiet.

Still, with her face turned away, she hooks her thick hair behind her ears, chin high and proud. “She’s sent you here to make me stop.”

Awkward now, obviously. “Sorry.”

Mia hacks out a laugh. “She’s always hated when I play.”

“I thought it was very good.”

She looks at me now, guarded eyes searching my face for mocking or insincerity. “Well, it is my job to be good.”

“Yes, well,” I step inside and gently pull the door behind me. “I knew, like, on some level, you’d be good, with your degree and all, but hearing it in person is different.”

Her eyes follow me across the room toward an armchair by the window. “Thank you.”

“What was that song?”

“Liszt.”

“Ah.”

“You like his work?”

“Um,” I sit down, a good view of the keyboard and all its worn ivories. “I liked that. I don’t know his other stuff.”

“You say it like he’s released a series of pop albums.”

“Sorry, I don’t know the right way to talk about it. I just mostly thought that was cool, and kind of mad at the same time.”

“That was Hungarian Rhapsody. They aren’t all like that. I was just feeling a need to get out my frustration.”

“What else has he done?”

She purses her lips, and I know I’ve again said something the wrong way. Turning back to the piano, she plucks out a series of gentle notes while I follow her hands with rapt attention. “This is Liebestraum. Do you recognise it?”

“No.”

“It’s softer.”

The melody is lyrical, dreamy, flows like a heartfelt confession. Makes me feel like I’m longing for something. Reminds me I am pretty much always doing that, and isn’t that it? Life? Always yearning for the things you cannot have. “Jesus, you really are so good.” Mia just nods. “You know that, obviously,” I add. “I just wanted to repeat it.”

While she plays, and the lyrical sound fills the little room. Often, I have thought of the piano as something annoying, a sound that only meant my TV show or game would be interrupted. Something played reluctantly, the subject of a hundred arguments at home, but to listen to it like this is a pleasure. The swelling of sound, unexpected discord, then resolution. After the piece fades into silence like a dream fading to memory, I simply sit. 

“It’s complicated, isn’t it?” I say eventually. “It never really does what you think it’s going to do.”

“That’s why I like the romantics. They were breaking the rules and changing what music was.”

I nod, not knowing exactly what she means, but feeling as if I do. “My sister plays the piano.”

“Ah, yes?”

“Yeah, since she was six, though she’s not able to do all this.”

“You said she is eleven?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, no eleven-year-old can do this. Their hands are too small.”

I let out a small laugh, though Mia doesn’t seem to understand she was being funny. “Yeah,” I say, “well you’re right there. Hopefully, one day, she will.”

“If she works hard.”

“I don’t know about that. She’s pretty lazy.”

“Well, most people don’t want to play piano as kids. It’s a matter of making them do it because you can see the potential. I was serious always, I suppose, but for me it was all I really liked to do. I didn’t have other things I cared so much about.”

“Well, I’d love if she was good enough to play like that. I think I’d just sit and listen all day.”

Mia doesn’t know what to say. My compliments have made her uncomfortable. 

“Hey, so you do concerts on stage, right? That’s your job?”

“Yes.”

“Have you played in Berlin?”

“Not yet. I will be in the summer. I’m playing Rach 2 with the Berlin Phil.”

“Oh.”

A small eye roll, making fun of herself. “Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto, I mean. With the Berlin Philharmonic. They are an orchestra.”

“Ah, so a whole big thing.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“Do you think if I brought my sister to that, you could talk to her about music and stuff?”

A smile tugs at her lips. “Yes, of course. I could give her a tour of the concert hall. I could let her try the piano and bring her backstage to show her what it is like.”

“You have that kind of power?”

“I am the soloist, Jude. I can do whatever I like.”

“Wow, yes, I mean, that’d be amazing. She would love that so much. That’s really kind of you.”

She shrugs and turns back to the piano, just to look at it instead of having to look at me. Perhaps remembering who I am by association. The boyfriend of the enemy. “If you want, you can tell Astrid I have finished playing. Tell her you told me to shut up, and I did.”

“I’m sorry, Mia. I really didn’t want to have to ask you.”

She flips her hair and stares up at a seascape painting, propped against the wall above the piano. “I’m sure she has told you already her version of things. About how horrible I am.”

“She hasn’t. She really doesn’t talk about that kind of thing with me. All I knew before coming here is that she has two sisters and a nephew.”

“Oh, so she’s still like that.”

“Like what?”

“Completely detached. That’s nice to know.”

I don’t know what to say. 

“You know it’s true what I was saying about her in the kitchen? She’ll tell you I was lying, but I wasn’t. She really did throw the board. She wanted to throw it tonight, but she remembered you were there.”

“It’s fine, really. I don’t care who threw the board.” 

“You don’t think it’s completely childish? That she acts like a twelve-year-old all the time?”

I massage my palm with my thumb. “What is it between you two, anyway? Is this just normal sibling stuff, or is there something else?”

“Something else.”

“Like, I dunno. Did you both like the same boy or something?”

Mia turns to face me, eyes incredulous. “That’s what you think? Sisters are fighting, so it must be something to do with us, men! They couldn’t possibly have anything else to be upset about?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, sorry.”

“It’s because Astrid gets everything she wants. Always has. She was six during our parents’ divorce, and she’s the one that cried the most about it. She learned that if she cried enough, she’d get whatever she wanted, just to make her shut up.”

“Mia, I mean, she was a small child.”

“You know she got her own bedroom? I had to share with Pernille, who was always using the phone to call her friends and her stupid boyfriends as I was trying to sleep, and smoking weed out the window. The smell gave me a headache. I hate that kind of thing. Astrid got her own room and all the toys she wanted. Oh, and this!” She throws her hand toward the piano. “I was the talented one. I worked hardest, and all I ever heard about was how Astrid was drawing such pretty pictures, that frankly, weren’t even that good. Everyone was just pretending. She thinks she’s so wonderful now, but it’s all based on lies. Everyone gave her an opinion of herself that was entirely unwarranted.”

“She’s good, though. You can’t deny that. They’re putting her ceramics in galleries.”

“Confidence and good looks get you everywhere. She knows it. God,” she scoffs, tension in her body as though decades of pent up fury is forcing its way to the surface. “And we worried so much about her, did you know? After that whole thing with the photographer. Do you think she ever apologised for that? No. She didn’t care. She only cares about herself.”

“The photographer?”

“Oh, God, of course you don’t know about that, either. You don’t know about any of it. I assumed she was in a normal relationship with you, seeing as you’re here, but it seems I was wrong. Do you know anything about her?”

I hesitate. “Not about her past.”

“She brought you here without telling you a thing about her? How weird. She’s so weird.”

“Well, in fairness, I was the one that asked to come. I didn’t want to go home for Christmas. She didn’t really have an option but to say yes.”

Rolling her eyes. “Okay, well, of course. The photographer was a man she met when she was seventeen. After the disaster with N–” she freezes. “You know about Nicklas?”

My heart skips. “No.”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she says, before telling me anyway. “He lived nearby. Our mothers are friends. Helle, from today, would come here all the time for coffee and to talk. They were pregnant together, and then Astrid was born, and two weeks later, Nicklas. They grew up together. Helle took him with her to our house and let him play with us, and he and Astrid started school together at once. 

“Then, as they grew up, they would play together all the time. Climbing trees in the garden and things. He would cycle to see her and wait on the doorstep. So many times, I would come home to find him there waiting for her to come outside. I suppose he was her best friend or something.”

“And then?”

“Oh, then she was fourteen, and realised she was pretty. She befriended a group of horrible girls at school, who laughed too loudly at things just to make you feel excluded, and tried to get the attention of boys. Nicklas joined in with those boys, the ones that played football outside of school, just so she would pay attention to him again. It was sad, really. We all felt bad for him because he was so obviously having feelings for her. He was a teenage boy.

“And then one day…” Mia shrugs. “She finally came around. It was like she saw sense for the first time. Or maybe she liked how much he liked her. They dated when they were sixteen. He was so happy. She was happy. She was laughing all the time and holding hands and kissing in front of everybody. Helle and our mom were happy, too, because they’d always secretly wished for it. It was, I suppose, their idea of meant-to-be.”

“Obviously it wasn’t though, seeing as I’m here now.”

Mia shakes her head. “No, obviously not. They were together for a few months. I don’t know, not many. Then one day he broke up with her.”

“Why?”

“Maybe he realised the fantasy was better than the reality, I don’t know. She is not so easy to deal with. I’m sure there came a point where he had enough, and I can’t blame him. It devastated her. Oh, just crying all the time,” she rolls her eyes. “It was terrible, the turmoil. Locked up there in her bedroom all the time, refusing to eat. It was because she always thought she was better than him, and that she was doing him a great favour by being his girlfriend. She could not take it when he was the one to end things. At least that’s what I think about it. Poor little Astrid.”

I shouldn’t know about this. If Astrid had wanted me to know it, she would have told me, and yet I find myself unable to let it go. Like a starving man, grabbing at whatever he can get. Forcing my guilt aside for more. Yet the more I hear, the more my body protests. A sick feeling. Tightness in my chest, palms prickling with sweat. I swallow. “So, she got over it, right?”

“Hm.”

“This was, what, four, five years ago? Enough time to let it go, surely.”

“I haven’t asked her. I hope so, but it did something to her. She’s been strange ever since. Having strange relationships.”

“Like the photographer.”

“Oh, yes, that was the whole point. Him. He was one outcome of this. Astrid, and her need to show Nicklas she didn’t need him by dating all kinds of men. Never single, but always with this strange attitude, so closed off, acting like someone else. We worried. And then, oh, god, then came the holiday with a friend of hers and her parents to France. On the beach, she met this man who told her she could be a model. She believed him. He was twenty-nine, or something. Completely inappropriate. The parents of her school friend had to call our mother, panicked and upset because Astrid hadn’t come back to the hotel one evening. Turns out she was with this man and his friends, drinking, by the way, and–”

“No, hang on,” I say, guts churning, now. “I actually don’t think I can know any more. I don’t want to hear this.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Well, she won’t tell you on her own.”

“I know, it’s… maybe it’s one of those things better left in the past.” I want to stand up and leave. Go outside into the freezing wind and swallow lungfuls of it until I stop feeling so hot, but that’d be a weird thing to do. I’d have to explain myself. I sit, leg jumping as Mia stares at me, squinting her eyes like I’m a passage from a book she cannot decipher.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think, really. I don’t want to know.”

“I know everything about her, Jude. You can ask me.”

A lurching feeling, like getting sick. “No, no. I want to respect… it’s not right that I know. I don’t want to. It might change things.”

She frowns. After a moment, her interest wanes, and she simply shrugs. “Okay,” she turns back to the piano, and picks another piece to play. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[rhysintherain]

The thing about Star Trek is that none of their uniform fabrics look even remotely pleasant to wear.

It's like. Cheap polyester. Synthetic satin. Paper-thin Lycra blend. Spandex. We're-not sure-what-it's-made-of-but-it's-sparkly. Garden-variety synthetic but we added metallic trim. Straight up plastic panels.

Don't get me wrong, Starfleet looks like fun. But I personally wouldn't sign up if it meant having to wear 90% of those uniforms.

[4bsurdcreature]

Do yall want some Lancer scribble scrabbles?

Trick question. Take my doodles

Introducing the Lancer squad, with guest star appearance of Brix Chaply by @pumkingutzpress !

[bagheerita]

When you get past the fact that it's part of the O'Brien suffering canon, "Tribunal" is kind of a hilarious episode.

I know this is Star Trek, so this is a feature and not a bug, and one that goes all the way back to TOS, but when you can make literally anyone look exactly like literally anyone else, how is literally anything kept secure in this universe? The Federation really operates on a lot of faith in the inherent honesty of the majority of people. How were they even surprised when they met changelings? Like, yeah we're not as quick about it but we've been able to change people's faces and species since tribbles existed and we've been doing it at least once a show since, we can give you some pointers. How are there not more checks for things like this?? Boone apparently somehow avoided getting any kind of medical exam during the entire time he served with Miles on the Rutledge. How are people still so sloppy about it too?? Like, Boone's transformation was so ahem thorough, his wife (and parents) didn't notice outside of a personality change... but the Cardassians didn't bother to get him dental implants or otherwise disguise that he was missing one significant tooth??

Also, is it just because the Archon in this case is completely corrupt, or does the Cardassian justice system make about as much sense as one designed by Alice in Wonderland's Queen of Hearts?

[merp-blerp]

Hey, I just blocked my first hetlor! I can say that now...

[percythepagan]

Happy Yule and Solstice, everyone! the return of the light is So very welcome

[field-of-sungflowers]

I've been SO PRODUCTIVE this weekend please clap

[elektroyu]

Funeral is over, we got a lot of compliments from extended family for what we managed to put together in such a short amount of time. Everyone was super lovely, too. Hopefully the next time we all come together it will be for a much more happy occasion. 🤍

I'll try to rest this weekend and do nothing productive (save for preparing the preordered bookmarks for shipping so they can go out on Monday, but that's not a lot of work). I'll have to think about what to do about my financial/ health situation after that, but I hope I can find the time and energy to work on some art asap. I'm missing it a lot already :< and one of the watercolor commissions is already started <3

[astralucis]

also while i'm at it, noctis has known most of his life that he's going to die at a younger age than most ( and, before regis' death, was actively watching his responsibilities sap the life out of him ). it's the fate of the kings of lucis and the price they personally pay to safeguard their people. noct's genuinely terrified to become king, even before the revelation from bahamut about what his fate as the king of kings truly means

when i tell you that knowing his fate has altered how he interacts with others and the world around him, that's an understatement. knowing has shaped some of the worst parts of himself and only helped to escalate his poor mental health once he reached his teen years

[itscooltoskate]

happy new year, you’re the best 🚀🪐👩‍🚀

No u >:(

Me sliding into the new year like

I've now got a drinking problem. Brewdog anyone?

[fromthemouthofkings]

A group of far-future linguists and archeologists suddenly *poof* into existence in front of me. One is holding a tablet. "What is the difference between 'red sauce' and 'tomato sauce?'" they ask me. "The distinction is not clear in extant texts from this time and place."

"Uh, they're the same thing," I tell them. "Who are you?"

"Yes!" the being with the tablet exclaims.

One of the other researchers groans. "No! My thesis...months of writing wasted..." One of the others comforts them.

"Now, what is this object for?" The first researcher holds up a discolored, dinged-up plastic object. It's clearly been buried in the ground for quite some time, but the two holes and the scuffed plastic window are distinctive.

"That's a cassette tape. You record music with it."

"Interesting, interesting." The being enters something on the tablet.

"How are you speaking English?"

"Sophisticated translation technology," one of the researchers confides. "We are students of your society. From the future."

"What does this pictogram represent?" The researcher with the tablet turns it around so that the screen faces me.

It's the eggplant emoji.

"Sex," I say. "Why do you need to ask me this if you can time travel or whatever? Can't you just go wherever you want to go and look around and see how these things are being used?"

The beings shift guiltily and look at each other. "Technically, travel to times and places prior the advent of time travel is strictly prohibited. Paradoxes, you know."

"Oh."

"We must get back before our advisor returns to the lab. Just don't tell anyone you saw us, alright? The space-time continuity depends on it. Can you do that?"

"Uh, sure, I guess?"

One of them pats me on the head. "And don't go to Mars."

"Okay. Wait, why? Is it dangerous?"

"No. Just not worth it."

The group disappears in a shimmering light.

The cassette clatters to the sidewalk behind them.

Out of befuddlement, mainly, I pick it up. It's clearly old, discolored and scuffed, but it still has tape in it.

I carry the tape around in my pocket for a while. The curiosity builds. I want to know what's on that tape. I don't have a cassette player anymore, so I go to Goodwill and pick up the first one I can find, praying that it still works. I plug it in. It turns on.

I slide the tape inside. It's dirty, but it still seems to be in decent shape. I snap the player closed and hit play. The wheels begin to turn. I hold my breath.

A familiar tune starts up. A wobbly voice comes out of the machine.

We're no strangers to love

[learn-and-accept]

Starting to build a life with someone after spending years thinking you'd be alone forever is fucking wild

[transformativeworks]

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[the-weeping-dawn]

Duke Ravengard's vibe via where he's chosen to stand while living here

[perfectscninlaw]

tag drop pt. 1