#trek dis(co)

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

Garak in "Second Skin": I will NEVER sacrifice myself for you people I will ALWAYS selfishly save my own life that is a PROMISE

Garak in "The Search, Part II", three episodes earlier: [sacrifices himself for these people even when he could have selfishly saved his own life]

[transpathfinder]

hello i’m changing my header back to my special interest from 3 years ago and making a special gif for him. if you even care.

[stra-tek]

Random spoilerific reasons to read Star Trek novels, with little to no context:

Ro/Quark is a thing

A Jem'Hadar joins DS9, tries to fit in but eventually snaps and tries to kill everybody

You learn the origins and final fate of the Borg

A thinly-veiled Dr. House clone joins the Voyager crew

Geordi briefly has 2 girlfriends at once (due to different writers not co-ordinating enough, but still)

There's a TOS book that's a musical

There are YA stories about Jake and Nog making mischief on DS9

YA stories about Worf, Geordi, Picard, Beverly, Kirk, Spock and McCoy at SFA

YA series about the Kelvinverse gang (including Gaila!) as cadets, taking on a drug problem at SFA and a very unique Borg scout in San Francisco

We very briefly meet the people who are to Q what the Q are to humanity

Janeway/Chakotay is a thing

Kirk's first mission in command of the Enterprise! Erm, at least twice.

Kirk was married between TOS and TMP

Her name was Lori

In the future, you have yearly marriage contracts that you either update or you don't and I think that's amazing

Trip didn't die! He faked his death to join Section 31 and go undercover as a Romulan

It's not great, tbh

The ENT books get better after the Romulan wars though, it's proper founding of the Federation stuff

We meet Jack Crusher (erm, the OG) when 4 timelines start overlapping and he's a bit unhinged

Teenage Kirk stole a car and his choice was go to jail or join Starfleet

What happened when Voyager got home? Seven broke up with Chakotay like 30 pages in

Kirk gets cloned, and his clone becomes the sub of an evil invincible super genius and its all very gay

George Kirk was Robert April's first officer on the first ever mission of the unnamed starship with the Naval Construction Contract 1701

Robert is a hard-core pacifist and has to turn command over to George whenever it's time to fire weapons

Data becomes fully human for a couple of days and it's really sweet

They never say "wristwatch" or "phone", it's always "wrist chrono" or "personal comm"

There are gays but they don't say that word because it's the 1990's and Rick Berman runs the franchise

Spock has a son in the past with Zarabeth

Everyone in the post-Nemesis era does spy missions all the time non stop, as if Starfleet has abandoned exploring the cosmos for doing Space Mission: Impossible

Bashir does it better than anyone else, he takes on Section 31 from the inside

Remember Control? It's from the novels, except the novels do it SO MUCH BETTER.

Remember how we never found out who Future Guy was? We do.

It's very underwhelming, nobody we know

We find out how the Romulans and Vulcans split

Surak was a Vulcan internet blogger

A Borg Cube eats Pluto

Janeway dies

Janeway gets better

At least one TOS book features a wizard

There's a Star Trek TOS/Here Come the Brides crossover novel

It had cameos from The Doctor (as in, Who), Han Solo, Starbuck and others

Whole book series about Section 31

Whole book series about the Department of Temporal Investigations

One time they do the Bill and Ted thing to escape confinement and it works

Wanna know how Riker and Troi met?

Wanna know what Picard got up to on the Stargazer?

Andorians have 4 sexes and it's very complicated

Data comes back from the dead as Data 2.0, and it was fresh and exciting because it happened long before ST: Picard did it twice.

Lal comes back too and we get father/daughter android stuff! They have a home and everything but keep having to save the universe

One time Mirror Seven is led around on a leash naked on Terok Nor

Geordi becomes captain of the USS Challenger, decides it's not for him because plot, and goes back to engineering on the Enterprise

Kirk is shot on the bridge and dies

Kirk gets better

They watch 3D holos of old Doctor Who episodes in the Enterprise rec room

The Enterprise also has an AI named Moira, which was Zora long before Zora

The TOS crew get together for one last mission. About three times.

There's a Perry Mason book except it's about Kirk's lawyer from that TOS episode

Data 2.0 owns and runs a massive gambling empire on Orion

Spock keeps randomly showing up everywhere in the TNG era

Scotty keeps randomly showing up everywhere in the TNG era

Bones keeps randomly showing up everywhere in the TNG era

You're on Tumblr so you already know about Killing Time

There's a guy named McKenzie Calhoun and he's a total badass and captains a ship of weirdos and misfits

Kirk comes back from the dead, saves the galaxy repeatedly, has an intersex child (who identifies as male) with a Romulan/Klingon hybrid

Kirk beats up Worf

Kirk's child has superpowers

Kirk's child saves the galaxy at age 6

The Kirk stuff is 100% ignored in the other novels

About 50% of the novels are ignored in the other 50%, and the ones that are meant to be in direct continuity with each other aren't always quite

Just like the TV shows and movies, then

Lwaxana Troi meets Q, and it goes as well as you'd expect

Someone tells Data, yes you idiot you had emotions all along and he's like, oh shit you're right

McCoy is left in command of the Enterprise as a joke by Kirk, who is then immediately kidnapped

Ro Laren is captain of Deep Space Nine

Picard/Beverly is a thing, they get married and have a child named Rene. No running away and raising your kid in secret here

Riker and Troi are married, serve on the Titan together with a bunch of adorable weirdos and have a daughter named Tasha

You get to watch all the 24th century characters die horribly in the end along with their entire universe. Holy fuck it's a bleak horror show. Personally, I love it. But if that's not your cup of tea I'd skip the Coda trilogy

[glossysoap]

ready to comply vii - Желание

Желание or longing, is defined as ;

a strong desire or craving especially for something unattainable.

warnings/tags: 141 mourning reader

prev chapters here!

word count: 2,165

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @briacreations96 @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @zvdvdlvr @lunitalloronaa @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad @itstokyo-cos @c1rice @venusianlustt @bugonawall @wakusbonkus @blackrose4242 @blackgaladriel @lilpothoscuttings @thvxr @tapioca-marzipan @undercover-smutlover @nickangel13 @luvmeijii @atjamesbbarnes @h-leigh @writingmybeloved @chloeforde @divine--serenity @hunterbunter3000 @zittles3000 @thriving-n-jiving @mar-mar-mel @kitty-satan1 @namgification @ivymarquis @crazy-phan-girl13 @goodsoup03 @schaarfyx @rhyanna6012 @abbiesxox @kenz-ee (if ur name is scratched out, it means tumblr won’t let me tag you, sorry!)

Eight weeks have passed since your disappearance that day on January ninth. Eight weeks since the task force had last seen you in person before you had been tricked into boarding that helicopter — that helicopter that would soon prove to be your downfall.

Six weeks since the Task Force learned of your disappearance and saw it all happen for themselves. Six weeks since they watched that devastating footage of you getting stabbed on that helicopter before it sunk to the ocean floor. Six weeks since they heard your cries and screams of pain and saw your face scrunched up in agony.

Six weeks since you were pronounced killed in action.

Six weeks since the task force had started mourning their medic.

Six weeks since a hole starting digging in the chests of Simon and Johnny.

Six weeks since they made the trek to your empty quarters, a trek that really only lasted a few minutes but felt like thirty.

Six weeks since the two men walked into your quiet room and took notice of all of the memories left behind. The medical records and sticky notes. The picture frames full of the three of you together. The scented candles that decorated your dresser.

Six weeks since Johnny fell asleep in Simon's arms and the two men held each other tight — holding what little they both had left.

Constantly suffering restless nights, tossing and turning in your bed. The two men would suffer nightmares for weeks on end after you died.

Johnny would dream that he was forced to watch the footage of you dying over and over. He would be in that conference room again, tied in a chair and the footage would be playing from the projector on an endless loop. He would be forced to witness the woman stabbing you over and over again. He would be forced to see the blood pool from your chest and soak your uniform. Your screams would ring out in his head, somehow getting louder with every loop. Your screams of agony would morph into cries for help as you wailed his name.

“Johnny, help me! You said you would protect me!”

His sleeping face would quickly mirror yours in the dream, scrunched up in pain with tears streaming down his cheeks as he tossed and turned.

Simon would immediately rouse from his own sleep the second he heard Johnny’s whimpers and felt the Scot thrashing beside him. His heart would sink in his chest when he realizes that his boyfriend was having a nightmare. He would be forced to yank him from his nightmare, gently shaking his shoulders to wake him up. He would quietly call his lovers name, letting the timbre of his voice bring him back to reality.

Simon would take him into his arms and rock him gently, stroking his hair. He would feel wetness on his shirt as the sergeant cried into his chest.

“Why did they have to die? Why couldn’t I save them?” He would sob into Simon’s chest, throat becoming raw.

Your cries for help would echo in Johnny’s head for days following every nightmare.

Simon on the other hand, would dream of all of the people he’s lost in his life. His mother, his brother, his brothers wife, and little Joseph. All bloodied and mangled, their dead bodies strewn across Simon’s living room. Eyes wide and mouths gaping open in a silent scream, faces frozen from their last dying breath.

And just like every other nightmare, Simon couldn’t move. It was as if he was standing in quicksand, getting pulled under with every step he tried to make.

Although in these nightmares, you were there too. One of the last people he ever wanted to see like that, save for Johnny. Your bloody body was there, strewn along with his murdered family. You wore the exact same uniform that you wore that day in Russia, still all tattered and stained crimson. You lay limp on the carpeted floor, blood steadily pooling around you, flowing from the stab wound in your abdomen. Your hand was clutching the open wound, blood pooling out around your hand. Your mouth was gaping open in a cry for help, coughing and gurgling as crimson trickled out of your lips. Your eyes were wide open in terror and glossy with tears. Tears streamed down your face as you gasped and sobbed, looking straight at him. Your hand that was clutching your abdomen moved to reach out to him, fingers shaking.

Your hand was drenched in your blood, and suddenly all he could think of were all of the times he held your hands before losing you. How he would squeeze it in his rough hand, comforting you when you were anxious and grounding you to reality. How he would grip your smaller hand in his large one while the two of you snaked through a crowd of people, not wanting you to get separated from him.

The hand that he loved to hold so much was now covered in blood. Blood that he could never scrub clean no matter how hard he tried, blood that tainted the hand he would never get to hold again.

“Why did you let me die?”

Simon would jolt awake from his nightmare every time, your words echoing in his head. He would be covered in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. Your hurt and accusatory voice would follow him for weeks after that nightmare. Blaming him for not saving you, for not being good enough.

Those nightmares never stopped for Johnny or Simon.

Six weeks had also passed since the two men began to take over your empty room as theirs, without even meaning to.

Bringing their blankets and pillows to sleep there at night, before cuddling together in your bed. Desperately inhaling the sheets, burying their faces in your old comforter trying to find some remnants of your scent only to come up short every time. Their hearts grew heavier and heavier with each attempt.

Coming back to your room after every mission instead of returning to their own rooms — kicking off their boots and yanking off their gear and tossing it in your old dirty laundry basket. Still wishing that you would be waiting for them when they opened your door, wishing that you would be hunched over at your desk working on reports or curled up in your bed.

Constantly wishing and wishing. Constantly reminded that you were never coming back. That you were dead and gone. Cold and rotting somewhere in Russia.

Alone and scared.

As more time passed, your room had become filled with their belongings and their own musky, woodsy scent. Your small personal touches were accompanied by their own trinkets. Their history books and sketch pads now sat on your book shelves. Soap’s art supplies sat on your desk, right next to your dried out gel pens that you used to write medical reports with. On your nightstand, Ghost’s skeleton combat gloves laid next to your old earbuds. A carton of cigarettes and a black lighter sat in your drawer, next to medical magazines that you had collected over your years of studies.

Your closet was filled with your clothes that hung on hangers, collecting dust and becoming cold. Scrub tops in navy blue, with your name knit on the breast pocket in white thread. Civilian clothes, like the muscle tops you enjoyed exercising in, or flannel jackets that you loved to wear in the cold weather.

The worst part was that when they took a fistful of your old shirts and sniffed them, all they smelled was fabric. None of your usual scent of rubbing alcohol or (perfume/cologne) notes of vanilla and mint. Your scent wasn’t ingrained in the clothes anymore.

Their throats would tighten as if wrapped with barbed wire and tears would prick their vision every time when the realization hit them that they would never smell your scent again.

Your desk that used to be covered in medical records, was now riddled with mission reports that they needed to complete. The few picture frames you kept on your desk was now overtaken by their own picture frames. Even your fragrance that flowed from a plug-in started fading away, covered by their own cocktail of teakwood and gun smoke.

The two men had been so desperate to keep your presence alive in some way, that they took to burning your candles every day. Every single day, for weeks on end. Until the wax was gone in all of them and only the wick remained.

Whenever they left on a mission and didn’t have the luxury to stay in your old room, they made sure to bring a keepsake of yours.

Simon would carefully stuff your favorite scrub cap into his luggage, the (favorite color) fabric bringing a sense of familiarity and homeliness wherever he traveled. Whenever he saw it in his duffel bag, he would remember all of the occasions that he saw you wearing in.

The very first time he met you, you were wearing that very scrub cap. He remembered it as clear as day.

You had been working in the med-bay, finishing up an emergency surgery when Price introduced you to the task force. You wore a shy smile, wiping the sweat from your forehead as you looked up at the Lieutenant with wide eyes. You were intimidated, he could tell. Behind the skull mask and black paint, you couldn’t see that he was just admiring your raw talent as a surgeon. That memory was ingrained in his brain, you standing there all bright eyed and bushy tailed.

He chose to remember you that way. Instead of remembering how you looked on January 9, eyes wide in terror and mouth open as you screamed in pain. Blood pooling from your abdomen and drenching your uniform.

He chose to remember you as being innocent and unharmed, not terrified and brutally murdered.

Johnny would snag one of your old pens and stuff it into his duffel bag — it was one that had some ink left and he would use it when he sketched. The rubber grip on it still had indents from you holding it for months on end, writing reports and surgery summaries.

He could remember it so vividly. You would always have it in a vice grip whenever you were burnt out, burning the candle at both ends to get reports submitted. Whenever you were anxious or bored, you would spin the pen in your hand, twirling it between your fingers.

He found himself doing that too whenever he was stumped with a sketch. He would catch himself twirling the pen between his fingers just like you used to, and he would pause and chuckle. Warmth would flood his chest at the memory of you. Carrying the pen with him made him feel like he was carrying a part of you with him with every pen stroke.

What the two soldiers treasured the most, though, was their favorite polaroid of you. It was a candid shot, one where you were caught off guard on the field. You were still wearing your scrubs and you were covered in a sheen of sweat. Your hand was reaching up to wipe a drop of sweat off of your forehead before it hit your eye. You were laughing at one of Simon’s awful jokes when Johnny snapped the photograph at the perfect moment, capturing the crinkle of your eyes and the quirk of your lips into a smile.

It captured you in the best way, unabashedly happy and vulnerable. Not worrying about getting injured or taking care of others. Just pure bliss and joy. Whenever the boys looked at the photo, warmth flooded their chests and their lips quirked up into a rare grin.

That photo is easily their most prized possession, the thing they cherish the most. While they might carry different items of yours with them on missions, they always find a way to share the photo. Whenever it’s Simon’s turn to keep it, he would have it folded delicately in his gear jacket pocket, making sure the pocket is zipped up. Whenever it’s Johnny’s turn to keep the photo, he would fold it carefully into a square and place it in the vest pocket directly over his heart. He would make sure it was secure in that pocket before patting it tenderly, as if he was carrying you around with him on the mission.

Whenever they carried that picture around, that’s what it felt like — like they were carrying you with them. So they held that picture close to their hearts, just like you held space in their hearts when you were alive.

All they could do was hold onto all the memories, and refuse to let them go. Burnt out candles, surgical journals, your favorite scrub cap, and that damned photograph. That was all Simon and Johnny had to hold onto for a year.

next chapter

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[svkahug]

once more to see you

[chapter three; ao3 link]

tags: slow burn, injury, forced proximity, quarry!reader, hurt/comfort

summary: On the run with the Empire on your heels, a bounty hunter seems to be your only option and your best bet to getting back home.

a/n: heard someone say tumblr has no fluff well i shall provide

---

Space is so… quiet . So empty. Sometimes there’s not another breathing creature for miles. Then you hit a planet. You’ve tallied all the planets you’ve been on recently as the Mandalorian goes on the search, relentless. Yavin, Geonosis, Lothal. Desolate and lifeless planets. But you never see them. The Mandalorian isn’t exactly a tour guide but he does talk to you more often as you strap yourself onto the co-pilot seat beside him. Him and the kid are gone for days at a time, no longer than a week. 

You eat, you sleep, you dream. You’ve snooped around every nook and cranny of the Razor Crest. It’s not as if he’s going to pop out of nowhere and chastise you. You can probably traverse this ship from memory alone. 

You find what you assume is his bed. But you don’t sleep in it. Not even on the days where he’s gone. It’s just as small and cramped as the ship and you simply can’t believe anyone even uses that thing. 

The worry that he might have perished out there crosses your mind. But you couldn’t let it get to you. He uses the ship's emergency comms to check in at night. Sometimes he doesn’t.  

You shuffle through the supplies, you use the fresher, you stare outside the windows of the cockpit then you sleep on the floor. Until on the nights that you don’t. You think it started when they left for Lothal. They were gone for four days and you barely slept a wink.

It was the nightmares, you think. Twisted and vile things that were a manifestation of your fears. 

You don’t like to think about it. When your ship crashed on Jakku. You lost people. Guardsmen that've been with you since childhood. People died violent deaths to protect you. 

The memories come in flashes, unwanted and painful. They chased you through that rocky and desolate planet. The Empire rained hell. You ought to be flattered seeing as how they would go through all this trouble for you. If not for the night terrors you had of being back in that rubble, of seeing people drop dead like flies, and smelling the stench of gasoline from their flamethrowers. 

You wake up, heaving and choking back sobs, the heat of the flame feeling too real and too close. On the good nights, you’re able to talk to the Mandalorian through the emergency comm on the console of the ship. 

You’re mulling around the cockpit, memorizing the console controls, wondering what each one does when a soft crackle gets your attention. You’re so used to the quiet that the soft sound causes you to perk up immediately. 

“Mando?”

“— Hello ?”

“Took you long enough.” 

“ How’s the ship?”

You look at the blinking communicator as if it’s done you some personal offense. “...I’m fine, thank you very much. Ship’s intact, at least. Old thing.”

“... And you?”

“Are you asking if I’m still intact? Because the answer is no. I’ve lost my mind. I think I can hear colors.”

“ Yeah, isolation will do that to you .”

“What about you? Any sign of her?”

“... No. I'm in a village. No one’s seen anyone matching her description. Fob’s no help either. ” 

“Oh.” It’s nearly been two weeks. Four planets and more parsecs than you can count. “A village?”

“ Yes. Almost a day’s trek from the ship, so I’ll be back there by tomorrow. ”

You hesitate. “Can you stay? Just for a bit?”

“ Have you been sleeping? ”

“Not really.” 

“...I can keep the line open for a bit. Try to rest. ”

—

Two weeks later.

Batuu was green. That was the first thing you noticed. As the ship geared closer to the surface you see that those are actually trees, densely packed together to form a jungle. 

The ramp lowers and you can’t help it, you stand on the mouth of the ship, admiring the life of the planet. They’re gigantic, with bark twice the usual size and vines hanging from their branches, unlike what you had back at home.

The Mandalorian falls into step beside you and you can already sense what he’s about to say so you beat him to it.

“I’m just going to look.” The crest is parked in a clearing in the middle of the forest, flattening the long grass. It smells like damp soil and you can hear birds cawing in the distance. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you as you slowly walk down the ramp, grateful for the fresh air. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s ancient.” He counters, his boots crunching on the ground as he flanks you. “These trees have been here for a thousand years. They’re sacred.”

You turn to him. “Don’t you think I should—”

“ No .” He says firmly. 

“She’s trained. Been in military command for as long as I can remember. She can outsmart you and she can fight….She wouldn’t run if she saw me.”

“Believe me, I can handle it. If she’s even here. I’m not risking you for an intel that could be weeks old.” He says, wading through a field of long grass, the little kid hovering nearby. 

“You’re no use to me dead.”

You make a face, smiling sarcastically. “ Charmed .”

“You’re welcome.” He deadpans. “Now get back on the ship.” 

—

There’s a storm outside when the Mandalorian comes back two days later.  You’ve fallen asleep to the sound of the smattering of rain on the roof of the ship when there’s a loud clang outside and you shoot up almost immediately.  

Suddenly, the ramp creaks awake as it opens, letting the water in. The sound of the rain is deafening now and you’re barely up on your feet before the Mandalorian sprints inside the vessel, the child’s pram zooming shortly behind him. He makes his way up into the cockpit immediately, firing up the engine before you can even hear the ramp shut below. Another crash comes from outside, and what sounded like an animal growling and clawing on the ground. Panic rises inside you as you stumble into the cockpit. 

“ What is that —?”

“Strap in now . We’re leaving.”

You do as you're told. “Did you find her?”

“No.” The ship lifts off the ground, and there’s something clanging on the side of the ship now. 

“ Who is that? ” They found us, you think. They fucking found us. 

“Bandits.”

“Wh– Seriously ?“

You’re in hyperspace when you finally notice it. You couldn’t help the gasp that escapes you, “ Holyfuckingshit , Mando—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He says, voice a little more ragged than usual, as if he didn’t have a knife sticking out of his fucking back.

You shoot up from your seat. “Shit , what— what do we do ? Holy —fuck .” It all comes out in a tumble. He’s facing you now but you can still see the knife sticking out of him. It’s really fucking huge. Especially because it’s halfway stuck inside him.

“Wait, wait here.” You’re practically flying through the ship when you come back with the kit, ripping it open on the floor of the cockpit and rummaging through its contents. “Here, what do you need?”

“The cauterizer.” His voice sounds thinner, even through the modulator, and it only adds a layer of panic to your already worsening state. “Look for the cauterizer— That— Yeah that one. Good.” You hand it to him. “You’re doing good. Now, you’re going to take it out—”

“What? No way .” You step back.

“Listen–”

“I don’t know how to — ”

“Hey, hey, breathe .” He grasps both your hands in his. His gloves are damp, and you see the droplets of water on his armor, his chrome visor staring up at you. “Calm down. It’s going to be alright. As long as I don’t bleed out, it’s fine.” 

“You’re kidding me right? How is that fine ?”

“Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

Trust him? That’s literally something the two of you couldn’t get right for nearly a month now. Now he’s basically putting his life in your hands and asking you to— Fuck . “Fuck, fine. I—I’ll do it.”

“Okay, you’re going to take out the dagger. Then you’re going to cauterize the wound with this.” He flicks some sort of switch and it fucking zaps . He places it in your hands. “Are you ready? You’re going to have to be quick, alright?”

He makes quick work of his chestplate, the armor clanging on the ground just as you come back with the scissors, ripping violently through his undershirt. You don’t think, you just do it and to your horror and surprise, the blade comes out easier than you expected. He lets out a long and loud groan, doubling over and gripping the console just as the bloody weapon joins the rest of his armor on the ground. You place a hand on his back to steady him, his skin warm.

“Maker, I’m sorry.” You say sincerely, gripping the cauterizer in one hand and steadying him with the other. He barks out a shout just as the laser makes contact with his skin. “ Stars , I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry… I’msosorry .” Your apologies turn into a whisper under your breath like a mantra, staying laser focused on the task at hand as he makes pained, broken noises underneath you. His fisted hand comes down onto the edge of the console.

It’s done eventually. The process felt longer than it was and there’s a moment when all you can hear is his heavy breathing mingling with the peaceful hum of hyperspace. It’s a juxtaposition of sounds. You couldn’t possibly imagine the pain he’s in and all he’s got to show for it now is a fresh jagged scar on the back of his shoulder.

You want to sit, but before you can even move an inch, he beats you to it. Suddenly, he’s tipping forward, a little too much and you recognize the fact that he’s going limp. You move just in time to catch him, letting your entire body support his weight as his helmet digs into your stomach while you try to get him back up into the chair without hurting his freshly closed wound. You hear garbling coming from underneath the armor. 

“It’s okay,” you murmur, hands on his pauldrons to support him, smearing red all over the metal. “It—It’s okay, I have you.” Literally. You don’t see any other option on how to move an injured man twice your size without hurting him right now and you’re too tired to think of a solution. So, you let him rest like that; his head on your stomach. 

You take a deep breath, your dominant hand cramping and your limbs feeling like you just strapped weights on them. You’re also getting colder and colder as the water he brought in earlier mingles with your sweat. Your hands are bloody. He makes another pained sound, a gloved hand coming up to grip your hip. 

“You ok?” You whisper. 

“ Mhm .”

“...Th—That wasn’t them, right?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Relief washes over you and you hardly feel his thumb brush a circle on your hip. 

You stay like that for longer than a moment. At some point, he’s placed his elbow on his knees to relieve some of the weight on you, still keeping his hand on your waist to steady you as you whizz through hyperspace. 

You let out a sigh, trying to focus on anything but how uncomfortable you are. 

It dawns on you you’ve never been this close before and you’ve never touched him, let alone seen his skin. It’s the first time you see him underneath all that metal. 

Suddenly, to you, there’s a lot of him. Weeks of looking at him and seeing nothing but metal and now the large expanse of his back is exposed to the cool air where you cut through his shirt. He’s a little pale from the injury and you also think it’s something to do with not being exposed to the sun that much. Your fingers grip his bare shoulder as you push him up just enough to make sure he doesn’t slip. His skin is damp, and he vaguely smells of rain, and something earthy. He’s a man underneath that armor, you almost forgot.

You watch the steady rise and fall of his torso as his lungs expand, muscles contracting as he tries to take in more air, and you notice the moles on his back. Tiny and completely unnoticeable marks scattered on the expanse of skin unless you stare really hard. You wonder if he knows this. Without thinking, you drag a clean hand, from his pauldron, to the small spot on his back, tracing it. Then to the next, and next, careful of his bad shoulder. It seemed like something you should do naturally and with no hesitation. You’re completely out of it, then, gently running your fingers along his back in a trancelike state, like your action and him feeling anything were two completely separate things. You hear him release a breath underneath you but you don’t feel the shudder that runs up his spine. You don’t see him shut his eyes underneath the helmet, don’t notice him lean back into your touch. Mando tries not to feel the throbbing pain on his shoulder, instead he focuses on the feel of your hand against his skin. He wonders if you were doing it on purpose. Or if you were in shock.

“Are you okay?” comes his question. He sounds more full now. Like he’s back to his usual self.

“Yeah,” you breathe, hand stopping in the middle of his back like you just traced a map and finally settled on a location.

You feel a squeeze on your hip, his head resurfacing from where it rested on your stomach and you’re suddenly faced with the chrome visor of his helmet.

“I’m fine. The kid’s fine. It’s over.” He says, sensing your distress. You nod silently. You can see him, and your reflection on his helmet but you can’t really… see it. Everything feels so cloudy and far away. You don’t want to look at the blood staining your hands, on his back. 

After dropping out of hyperspace, you lock yourself in the fresher and don’t come out half an hour later.

—

You assumed he was passed out from where he sat on the floor of the hull, resting, when you got out of the fresher until he said something. “We’re going back to Nevarro.”

“What for?” you whisper, meticulously laying out a fresh set of blankets on the floor. You were trying not to think much about anything right now. The baby is asleep, the hull is dark and silent, save for your whispers.

“I’m meeting with my employer, and we need supplies.” He’s changed out of his damp clothes now, and didn’t bother with putting the beskar back on yet.

You frown, listening to his attempt to get up. “You’re going to work for him?”

“Yes. I’m not made of credits.” You could argue that, technically, he was. But you feel like that would have been borderline offensive. He finds himself expecting you to say something back, but you’re quiet. He at least expected you to fight him on this, like you usually do. 

“Hey.” Comes the modulated tone of his voice, sounding hesitant. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You chuck your damp clothes in the corner, not meeting his eyes—or rather, the chrome visor now staring in your direction.

“I think you’re in shock.” He takes hold of your elbow as you make your way across the other end of the hull. “Talk to me.”

You stop in your tracks, feeling oddly vulnerable in your state. “...You just scared me.” You state plainly and just when the words leave your mouth that’s when you’re able to pinpoint what it is you’ve been feeling all alone. Fear. An image flashed through your mind—limp bodies on the ground, eyes wide open but so empty and lifeless. The memories rears its ugly head at you tonight, resurfacing faster than you can help it. 

“ Maker —” You breathe out a puff of air, pressing the palm of your hand to your eyes until you can see stars. “I—I don’t want to do that again. Please don’t—don’t make me do that again. I—I don’t know why I’m—I mean, shit, you were the one with th—the knife in your back.” 

The Mandalorian’s hand drifts down from your elbow to grip your hand in a gloved hand, his filtered voice surprisingly really soft. “I think you’re just tired…. It’s alright.”

A wet sob fights its way out of you. Stars, it’s pathetic. It’s so fucking embarrassing . 

You wipe away your tears angrily with your free hand, a lump forming in your throat as you try to stifle a sob. You just stand there, frustratingly wiping away your tears as they come, sobbing quietly into the palm of your hands. It’s all really caught up to you now. How much the past few weeks—hell, months —really fucked you up. He was right. You were tired. You wanted to go home. You wanted to grieve . 

You suspect he might just leave you there, tell you to at least get some rest before going back up the cockpit to maneuver the ship to Nevarro but he doesn’t. 

The hand that’s holding yours starts to tug you closer, hesitantly and you go willingly, still wiping tears until you’re close enough to wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his good shoulder, letting him soak up your fresh tears. He’s warm without the beskar, and you practically melt into him.

“You haven’t been sleeping?” You shook your head against the soft cloth of his black undershirt running down to cover his arms, now wrapping securely around you, albeit awkwardly like he really didn’t know what to do and was simply improvising. “...It’s okay.” He runs his hand across your back soothingly and you hum softly against his shoulder.

A part of you is surprised at the gentleness in which he handles you, something you only ever see him reserve for the kid, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away. While he never showed any ill intentions towards you, you could never really read him. This was a job. You were a job to him. And he never failed to treat you as such. The things he did, you always assumed, was to benefit him and the kid. Your protection was just a byproduct.  You had no qualms about it, but months on the run, weeks alone, and the uncertainty of it all was getting to you, you admit and you just needed… you needed someone that wasn’t hunting you down or trying to kill you. 

You stay like that until your sobs subside and you’re taking calming breaths against him, his hand lingering . It was nice. This was nice. You turn your face into the crook of his neck, where there’s a spot where a patch of skin is showing. You find yourself wondering what he looked like all of a sudden

Suddenly, a soft cry pierces the silence of the ship and you’re suddenly reminded about where you were.

Slowly, you part. “I’ll get him,” you say with a nod. 

That night, you fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

POLL TAG- FIVE FAVORITE CHARACTERS

tagged by @wen-kexing-apologist.

Challenge: make a poll with five of your all time favorite characters, and then tag five people to do the same. See which character is everyone's favorite.

I am choosing to limit myself to BL characters because otherwise we'd have a Will Graham (an unhinged FBI profiler in Hannibal) vs Yu Ji Ho (the boundary-respecting pharmacist single dad in One Spring Night) vs Bart (the Universe-appointed holistic assassin in Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency) vs Benjamin Sisko (the legendary single dad and captain of the space station in Star Trek Deep Space Nine) type of situation going on.

The Spiel - IN DEFENSE OF MY FAVES

Nozue (Old Fashion Cupcake)

Everyone's favorite boss with a heart of gold, this 39yo repressed hottie could flirt like a pro. My favorite thing about him is that he experienced utterly transformative character growth without having to experience severe pain (a breakup, a loved one's death, job loss, rejection, etc). He just looked at where he was standing and... stepped left.

Kakeru (I Cannot Reach You)

My boy learned his childhood bestie had a crush on him and did not flee in terror. Instead he faced it and asked for patience and examined his feelings and treated the potential change in their relationship as seriously as it deserved to be treated because the request came from someone he loved. Clearly, this is a boy who knows how to spell R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Wei Qian (Unknown)

He stepped up and raised his younger sibling when their druggie mother died, then added an adoptee into the mix. And he cared for them so profoundly that they had relatively normal childhoods despite being orphans. Yet this softie was tough enough to be a gang enforcer, and then smart enough to get a college degree, and then competent enough to co-create a successful startup. Like what kind of super hero bullshit is he on?

Karan (Cherry Magic, Thailand)

A competent and talented employee, and he's a total simp who looks great in or out of a suit? Sign me up for his tender loving care, y'all. I literally melted into a puddle of goo every time we saw a glimpse of his very earnest yet sweet fantasies. He just wants to take care of his boo!

Iwanaga (Love Is Better The Second Time Around)

I confess he's here mostly because he's eye candy. (Well that and recency bias, because if we're really talking about my favorite eye candy, it'd be Porsche from Kinnporsche without a second's hesitation.) But roll with me here, please? This man can fuck! And fuck so well he pissed off the love of his life! And all the men in town are dropping for him like flies. They get one hint of a taste of his juice and they're down bad! They're hooked. They're his. He is legendary. He is epic. He knows how to work his angles and his puppy dog eyes! And he's also talented and wealthy and considerate to boot.

***

Most of my mutuals have probably played already, but if you care to go again or want an excuse to play by different rules, please consider yourself tagged. Also I'm tagging some of you just in case you haven't done it yet because tbh I haven't been paying that close of attention to my dash this week: @absolutebl, @syrinth, @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you, @lurkingshan, @bengiyo, @chickenstrangers, @thequeenofsastiel, @tiggymalvern, @spicyvampire, @my-rose-tinted-glasses, @wanderlust-in-my-soul, @twig-tea, @telomeke, @guzhu-furen, @gunsatthaphan, @lymeandcoconut, @itwoodbeprefect, @shortpplfedup

[amberlynnmurdock]

College Series (Part 1)

Part 1: Moving In

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Series Summary: Matt Murdock scarcely ever let himself get too comfortable with people because comfort was always followed by chaos, or worse, abandonment. But when you move into the co-ed apartment off campus, Matt thinks that maybe this time things will be different. At least, he really hopes so. And that might be the most naive thing he would do in his time studying law at Columbia University. Soon, his nights are filled with red wine, learning about Greek mythology and barely using his own bed to sleep in because yours is right down the hall.

A/N: This is basically me revamping what I always wanted "Library Series" to be, so I hope no one minds another college!Matt Murdock fic. I don't know if this will have a real plot yet, but I'll figure it out along the way. I hope you guys enjoy! :) This chapter is entirely in Matt's POV!

Ao3 Link

Matt Murdock walked down the sidewalk slowly, counting each step as he did until he could sense that he reached his supposed destination. He stopped with his cane in front of him and listened to his surroundings: rustling leaves, a woman walking her dog, and cars turning onto the narrow street in upper Manhattan. 

The building he stood in front of was what he would be calling home for the next semester. Although he couldn’t see it, he knew it was a tall brownstone building with iron rails and large, wide steps. He could hear the creak in the old wood of the front door and the lock attached to it inside. He could hear the people inside the building moving boxes around and adjusting furniture. Strangers that he would be calling neighbors—for the time being, because people never stayed around forever. 

Matt heavily sighs as he adjusts his shoulder bag and lugs his suitcase behind him, which isn’t filled with much: sweaters, shirts, jeans, underwear, sheets, toiletries, his Bible, and Orbit Reader. When he was packing at St. Agnes’ he didn’t think much about what he would need to bring. While some college students made lists and packed, and overpacked, Matt thought nothing more of it than just a new place to stay. Maybe it was because he was so used to packing the same suitcase and moving from destination to destination, that he’d become accustomed to moving around a lot. After all, he truly never had a home since his dad died. That was the only home he’d known. St. Agnes was just a place to stay. 

With heavy shoulders, he walked up the steps one by one and shuffled in his duffle bag for the keys to the building. It was easy for him to pick it out. It was an old-fashioned skeleton key with an intricate gothic design he could trace with his fingertips. Once inside, he shut the heavy door behind him and stood once more before the long flight of stairs that would lead to his temporary apartment. Unfortunately, an elevator wasn’t an option. 

He slowly trekked up the steps, passing each floor and the shut doors of other people moving in. Some were college kids, some weren’t, but he heard each and every conversation as he passed. It reminded him of when he was younger when he would sit in Clinton Church before mass and hear people praying to God. It was uncomfortable to hear personal things, but he’s gotten used to drowning out the noise and moving on. 

After a few more flights, he finally reached the top floor of the building, which led to the apartment. It turned out to be the biggest one in the building. He pulled out the other key to the apartment and let himself inside, immediately hit with the smell of dust and old wood. He couldn’t sense any furniture in the living room, except for a small kitchen island with a marble countertop and an old wooden kitchen table set.

Matt traced his fingers along the wall as he slowly made his way to the hall that led to the bedrooms. First come, first serve he thought. There were two rooms closer to the front of the apartment with large windows—he could feel the cold draft coming in through them—and two rooms tucked towards the back. He immediately gravitated to the room furthest in the back. He didn’t like hearing the city at night, and he knew if he chose one of the rooms up front he’d never get a good night’s sleep. Then again, he seldom ever did. 

When he opened the room’s door, he dropped his bags and held his hands out to feel for the bed. It was in the center of the room, which he didn’t like, so he moved it to fit right in one of the corners. He pressed his hands on the mattress—brand new as the apartment listing said. And he knew it wasn’t a lie because he could smell the fresh, factory smell of the brand-new mattress. In fact, all the beds in the rooms had new mattresses, now that he could smell it in the air. 

There was a dresser against the other wall and a small closet. He didn’t have much to fill both up. In the other corner was a small work desk for homework. He began to unpack his books from his duffle bag and stacked them neatly on the desk. He ran his fingers over one of the titles in braille: Criminal Law & Procedure. 

The second year of law school is allegedly easier than the first. At least, this second year comes with more freedom, such as the option to live off campus rather than in one of the small dorms. At least his first year he got to meet his best friend: Foggy Nelson. 

Which, speaking of, he was bounding up the steps already with three bags he could barely carry by himself. 

“Matt!” He heard his friend shout from the steps, “Hey, Matt! You here yet?”

Matt met Foggy at the top of the stairs and laughed—he could hear the struggle in his friend’s voice. 

“Why don’t you stop laughin’ at me and grab a bag?!” 

After what felt like hours of going up and down the steps helping Foggy with his bags, and carrying a couch up into the living room, followed by a long goodbye from Foggy’s mom, Matt and Foggy plopped themselves on the couch in exhaustion. 

“Man,” Foggy groaned, “I didn’t know the apartment was on the top floor. I’m beat.”

“Maybe that’s why it was so cheap,” Matt thought, “no one wants to walk up those stairs.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Foggy answered. “Welp, guess I gotta pick a room. You don't think whoever we’re rooming with will mind we chose first, right?”

“Nah,” Matt shrugged, “the apartment listing said whoever gets here first picks. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Alright. Where’s your room? I’ll pick the one next to it.”

  “I opted for the one farthest in the back,” Matt said, leaning over as Foggy got up to pick a room. He listened as Foggy shuffled between the rooms and moved his bags into his chosen space. 

Matt stayed on the couch, his hearing strayed to the noise that was outside the front windows. Naturally cocking his head, he could hear a local deli closing up for the evening. He could even smell the lingering scent of stale coffee. He heard people closer to Columbia University laughing and getting ready to go out to whatever frat party was going on that night. In the distance, he heard sirens wailing—for what reason, he didn’t know. He didn’t understand the ache that grew in his chest the longer he continued to listen to them. 

“Matt?” Foggy called for him, “You good?”

“Yeah,” Matt stammered. “What did you say?”

“I said let’s get dressed and find a local bar to hang at!” 

That didn’t take much convincing. 

✣✣✣✣

If Matt thought lugging suitcases up the flight of stairs was tough, he wasn’t prepared to walk up the stairs intoxicated. 

“Man, that was a terrible idea. Terrible idea you had,” Foggy slurred as he bumped into Matt on the stairs. Matt let out a laugh as he pushed Foggy back.

“My idea? It was your idea, you asshole,” Matt shot back playfully.

“Was it?” Foggy questioned, “Oh yeah, it was. God, how many stairs are there?”

Everything was spinning inside Matt’s head. He looked up behind his dark glasses and sensed the number of steps. 

“We have four flights left,” Matt said, pausing at the second floor and leaning against the wall.

“Jesus,” Foggy groaned. “Terrible, terrible idea, Matt.”

After fifteen minutes of an agonizingly drunk walk up the stairs, both Matt and Foggy finally made it to their new temporary home and collapsed on the couch at opposite ends. Matt let his head dip back on the couch while Foggy attempted to lift his legs on a spare moving box in front of him. Matt laughed at his attempts; he didn’t have to see to know his friend was struggling. 

“Hopefully our roommates will join us on future bar crawls,” Foggy said aloud. 

“Hopefully they don’t suck.”

“That too,” Foggy agreed. “I think—I think I’m going to call it a night, Matt. I’ll…I’ll talk to you…” and just like that, Foggy Nelson was snoring on the couch with his legs half-propped on a box. Matt forced himself to get up and move to his bed, not before putting a blanket over Foggy and turning the lights off. 

When Matt reached his room, his equilibrium was still making things seem spinning. He stumbled over his suitcase and duffle bag and caught himself on his bed, where he landed on his back. He threw his dark glasses on his desk and shut his eyes, using all his might to avoid listening to the sounds that lay outside the window. Putting himself in the back room was a good idea because it was much easier to ignore what he heard—more importantly, ignore how it made him feel. The liquor in him only swirled those feelings away. 

Matt turned on his side and reached for the Bible he kept under his pillow. He ran his fingers over the braille until he found a particular prayer he was looking for:

“Faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen. Because of it the ancients were well attested. By faith we understand that the universe was ordered by the word of God, so that what is visible came into being through the invisible.” Hebrews 11:1-3.

Matt rested the Bible on his chest, mind drifting to things of his past, things he only kept hidden and locked away until he was completely alone with himself like he was now. It was heavy. Not the suitcase, not the way his legs felt walking up the steps inebriated, but the weight of the past, creeping up on him when he was alone. 

He fell heavily into a deep sleep. 

✣✣✣✣

Morning came, and so did his hangover. 

Matt was awakened by a knock on his door. Not his door, but the front door. A knock he would not have heard if not for his heightened senses. Throwing his dark glasses on, he rolled out of bed and walked into the living room. On the couch, Foggy still lay asleep, snoring. Matt’s head was pounding and his feet felt like cement as he stalked to the door, the knocking growing more erratic. 

When he opened the door, he was met with an overwhelming waft of sweet beery perfume and bubblegum. The person who stood in front of him—a young woman, he sensed—popped a bubble and clicked the gum inside her mouth. 

“Oh,” a squeaky voice said. “Are you a roomie?”

“Uh…“

“I’m Marci,” the young woman introduced herself. She held out her hand, but Matt made no move to shake it. 

“I’m—I’m Matt,” Matt said. He could sense the young woman’s candor by the way she pulled her hand back immediately and placed it on her hip. 

“Are you blind or are you hungover?” She clicked her gum again, taking note he was wearing dark glasses inside. 

Matt’s mouth twitched upwards. He wasn’t offended by her bluntness, only amused. 

“Both,” he simply said. 

“Hm,” she said, “well, I’m your new roomie.” she peered inside to see Foggy sleeping on the couch. “I’ll need help with my suitcases.”

And yet again, Matt was subjected to the torture of helping people bring their suitcases up the long flight of stairs. But if this was someone he was going to be living with for the next year, he thought it better to make friends and help than make enemies and refuse. Even if she was a little brash. 

“Matt?” Foggy groggily opened his eyes to the movement of boxes being lugged around. “Jesus!” Foggy said in the startling realization that Matt was no longer the only one he shared a space with. When he saw the beautiful blonde with her arms crossed and a look of judgment on her face, Foggy thought he might’ve woken up to an angel. 

“I’m Marci Stahl,” she popped her gum again. “Are you going to help bring my stuff up?”

“Absolutely,” Foggy stumbled to his feet, ignoring the spins he felt. Matt suppressed a chuckle as he placed the final box (he decided it was the final box for him now that Foggy was awake) on the ground. Now, it was up to Foggy.

Well, Foggy couldn’t completely help Marci yet before making a trip to the bathroom and yakking up the previous night’s regrets. Marci waited in the hall with her arms crossed. When Foggy met her outside again, he smiled awkwardly as Marci told him where her remaining boxes were. She had her mother waiting outside as well, who couldn’t be bothered to help bring up boxes. 

Matt took this as an opportunity to lock himself in his room and boot up his Orbit Reader to learn of his new schedule, starting Monday. He scrolled to find his classes and their descriptions, and what books he would need for class. With one earplug in, he listened as it read it to him. But not even the Orbit could help drown out Foggy’s attempts at flirting with Marci.

✣✣✣✣

“You’re not so bad, aren’t you?” Marci asked with suspicious eyes at Foggy. Foggy offered a hearty laugh and sat down on a pink velvet love cushion that belonged to Marci. She took a seat at the end of the couch, closest to Foggy. 

“What do you mean?” Foggy shrugged his shoulders, a goofy grin on his face. His long blonde hair peeked out under his green beanie. He had a terrible goatee, but for some reason, made him all the more endearing. 

“Well, we’re all going to be living together this year. Glad the co-ed space I chose has someone willing to carry all my boxes up the steps without complaint. And you’re not an asshole,” Marci rested her elbow on the arm of the couch, studying Foggy carefully. 

“What can I say? I’m pretty charming,” Foggy smiled.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Marci smirked. 

Matt sat at his desk laughing to himself as he listened to their conversation. 

“What are you studying? You’re a grad student?” Foggy asked, ignoring her retort. 

Marci looked at him like it was an obvious question. “I’m in the law school.” 

“Really?! No way!” Foggy exclaimed. “That’s what we’re here for, too. 2L?”

“Of course,” Marci said. “I wouldn’t be here if it were my first year.”

“Hey, maybe it was your third. I don’t know. What kind of law do you want to do?”

“IP, corporate, civil rights,” Marci shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll let it find me.”

“Badass,” Foggy nodded his head in amusement. Marci chuckled and rolled her eyes. 

“What’s up with your friend in there? Why hasn’t he joined us?”

“You’re right,” Foggy agreed. “Matt! Get your ass outta there and come bond with your roommates!”

Matt sighed and leaned back in his uncomfortable wooden chair. It was only a matter of time before he was summoned to socialize. He shut down his Orbit Reader and joined them in the living room, reaching in front of him to find the other end of the couch. 

“Well, I’m here,” Matt simply said with a small smile. He wasn’t really sure what to say.

“You’re the moody one, aren’t you?” Marci said with slight amusement, resting her chin in her hand. Matt chuckled.

“I wouldn’t say moody,” Matt scratched the back of his neck. “Uhh. Maybe I would, actually.”

“Every friendship duo has to have one. Clearly, your friend Foggy here is the opposite,” Marci teased. “My friend is like you, too. Quite type. Locks herself in her room. She should be here soon,” Marci thought aloud.

Matt quirked an eyebrow in curiosity, “Is she our fourth roommate?”

“Sure is. Let me call her real quick.” Marci got up and into her chosen room, the one in the front with the largest windows. 

Now that it was just Foggy and Matt, Foggy immediately bounded over to sit next to Matt on the couch and squeezed his arm.

“Dude, did we get lucky or what?!” Foggy shout whispered. “Rooming with two chicks?!”

Matt pushed his friend away with a laugh, “Foggy, don’t be like that, that’s gross. We’re supposed to be roommates.”

Foggy held his hands up in defense, “I’m just sayin’ man, let things run their course. Oh man, she’s beautiful. Blonde, has sharp features and—“

“Shh,” Matt hushed his friend. “She just got off the phone.”

“She’ll be here in ten minutes,” Marci announced as she walked back into the living. She paused as she noticed how close Matt and Foggy were sitting. “What were you guys talking about?”

“Nothing,” they said in unison, feigning innocence. 

✣✣✣✣

While Foggy and Marci were exchanging life stories and their experiences studying to get into law school, Matt let his senses drift to focus on what else was going on in the building. He didn't want to engage in conversation, especially if the topic was backstories. He wasn’t ashamed of his upbringing at all, nor was he ashamed of where he grew up after his dad died, but he couldn’t deal with the reactions or sympathy his story inevitably brought out of people. He just didn’t feel like dealing with it with Marci, especially given how well her and Foggy’s conversation was already going. What did he have to add to it other than a tragic accident? 

A cool draft floated through the stairs, finding its way in any open creak or door in the building. Some of their downstairs neighbors were still moving in. In another room, someone was twisting a bottle of white wine open. Another attempted to hang a picture frame. Matt could hear the banging of the hammer on the second floor, the vibrations against the wall. He had to hide his grimace when he heard a chair squeak on the hardwood floor. 

Despite these sounds that no one else could hear, Matt had high hopes for the near future. He imagined late-night studying and sleeping in on weekends. He imagined sneaking into frat parties with Foggy and ending the night at local dive bars. 

When he heard the front door open, something shifted in the entire building. Something that caused Matt to move forward on the couch ever so slightly to hear better. The cold draft was replaced by a warmth in the air, followed by the ever-so-faint scent of lavender. Accompanied by the smell was an equally faint heartbeat. This person wasn’t nervous, they were content. He heard them sigh, and at this sound, Matt confirmed he was listening to a young woman. She too had a shoulder bag and suitcase she was lugging around, nothing else. No boxes filled with decorations or other extra things. No family dropped her off. 

Just her. 

She walked up the steps, one by one, and Matt could hear the pauses she took from the amount of stairs. His mouth twitched into a smile, fascinated that she was equally surpassed by the amount of stairs. It was clear that she was their fourth roommate, and it was confirmed when Matt heard her dial a number in her phone and Marci’s began to vibrate. 

“Are you here?” Marci asked through the phone immediately. 

“Yeah,” her friend breathed, “but I didn’t realize how many stairs there were! I’ll be up in five minutes if I’m lucky.”

“Do you need help with your bags? We luckily have two strong, burly men to do any heavy lifting we need,” Marci winked at Foggy. 

“No, I’m okay. I just have two bags. I’ll be right up.”

Marci squealed when she hung up the phone. “She’s here! Let me get the door for her.” 

As Marci walked over to open the front door, both Matt and Foggy stood up from their seats and awaited their fourth roommate’s arrival. Foggy waited like an excited puppy as he watched Marci lean in the doorway for her friend. Matt stood awkwardly, terrible at first encounters. He kept his hands in his pockets and tilted his head low, feeling more comfortable behind his dark glasses and chocolate brown hair that fell right over his eyes. The scent of lavender grew stronger the closer she made it to the apartment. 

And when she walked in, no longer did Matt hear the creak in the wood, the downstairs neighbors’ chatter, the outside city noises. No longer did he feel the cool draft from outside, or his own nervous heart beating in his chest. All of his senses, and all of his focus, were on her. The one other roommate who showed up alone, with no family, with nothing but two bags, and possibly an equally lonely heart. 

TAGS: @marvelcinematiquniverse

[nerds-yearbook]

Star Trek Beyond premiered on July 22, 2016. The film was dedicated to Anton Yelchin (Chekov), who died a month before the film's release. The film was used to celebrate the 50th Anniversary of the Star Trek franchise. It was the first theatrical release that protrayed Sulu (John Cho) as being gay, which created some controversy. The move was meant as a tribute to the original Sulu (George Takei), who is a prominent gay man and gay rights advocate. However, Takei responded “I’m delighted that there’s a gay character,” he was quoted by The Hollywood Reporter. “Unfortunately, it’s a twisting of Gene’s creation, to which he put in so much thought. I think it’s really unfortunate.” J.J. Abrams handed over directing duties to Justin Lin as he was busy directing Star Wars VII: The Force Awakens. Simon Pegg (Scotty) co-wrote it with Doug Jung, Roberto Orci, Patrick McKay, and John D Payne. The film was nominated for numerous awards, but only won a Saturn Award for Best Make-Up. The film underperformed at the box office losing approximately 50.5 million dollars. The events of the film took place in March of 2263.

[cutestkilla]

Episode 5: The Tardigrade and his Boy

Rating: Teen

Words: ~24K

Chapters: 6/6

Summary:

With the engines down for maintenance, the USS Redemption is at a standstill. Just like Dr Shepard Love’s attempts to rebuild the Hail Mary, the culmination of his life’s work and probably the Redemption’s only chance at making it home to the Alpha Quadrant before everyone on the crew dies of old age. When an unexpected visitor appears in the ship’s immediate vicinity, it seems like it might herald a solution to fixing the Hail Mary. Or it might drag Simon, Baz, Shepard and Agatha into an alternate dimension where magic is real and a certain young fellow named the Insidious Humdrum is sowing chaos. What will happen when worlds collide? Will the crew ever make it back to their home universe? Will any of this even make sense? Tune in to this newest episode of Star Trek: Redemption to find out.

After a mid-season hiatus, it's finally time for me to join the Raen @raenestee birthday train! Happy 0.603825 Birthday, Raen!! I hope you enjoy this latest entry in the Star Trek: Redemption series. It's a Watford-era CO crossover episode, featuring a very special guest star I think you might appreciate.

Read Chapter 6 on AO3

Or start from the beginning:

Chapter 1: Previously, on Star Trek: Redemption / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

[vintagestagehotties]

Hot Vintage Stage Actress Round 5

Marie Doro: Lady Millicent in Little Mary (1904 Broadway); Dora in Granny (1904 Broadway); Friquet in Friquet (1905 West End)

Nichelle Nichols: Hazel Sharpe in Kicks and Co. (1961 Chicago); Barbara Woodruff understudy in No Strings (1962 Broadway); Jo Britten in Blues for Mister Charlie (1964 Los Angeles)

Propaganda under the cut.

Marie Doro:

I am so sad that she died long before I was born so now I don’t have a chance with her, she embodies everything my little lesbian heart looks for in a woman. Incredibly pretty? Check, intelligent and witty? Check, an expert on Shakespeare and Elizabethan poetry? Check, a literal occultist who hosted seances? Check, she’s got it all

I need you to know I literally read the entire Charlie Chaplin autobiography just to read the scraps of information about her in it. I’m obsessed

Nichelle Nichols:

I know everyone knows her got Star Trek and as groundbreaking as that was, she was so much more than that! She actively encouraged and supported women in STEM (specifically astronauts), she was a huge civil rights activist, she was the first female belly button shown on American tv, Obama apparently had a crush on her growing up, and of course she had a stage career before she was on tv

[countesspetofi]

Today in the Department of Before They Were Star Trek Stars, James Doohan appears in "Care of General Delivery," episode 33 of the single season of A Man Called Shenandoah (original air date May 9, 1966).

Doohan plays Francis Xavier O'Connell, a military historian the amnesiac Shenandoah believes will be able to reveal his true identity. However, he turns out to be an imposter; the real O'Connell died a year ago and the townspeople have been pretending he's still alive to collect his generous pension.

Other Trek connections: Robert Hamner, who was the associate producer of this and 20 other episodes of A Man Called Shenandoah, co-wrote the Star Trek episode "A Taste of Armageddon."

[seriouslycromulent]

The Surprising Reason John Larroquette Took His Career-Defining Role on 'Night Court'

The comedy ninja reveals all this week's 'Parade' cover story.

MARA REINSTEIN

UPDATED:JAN 19, 2023

Get in a car and drive about 30 miles north of Portland, Oregon, into southwest Washington. That’s where you’ll find actor John Larroquette.

He and his wife, Elizabeth, have lived on a piece of rural property for about five years. He collects books and likes to narrate plays in his home recording studio. Sometimes the couple head into the city to try new restaurants and go to the theater and concerts. “It’s really beautiful,” he says. “And at my age, it’s time to slow down and be out somewhere.”

In fact, Larroquette is so fond of his far-from-Hollywood lifestyle that not too long ago, he considered himself retired from the business with a fulfilling career and a room full of trophies to show for it. Never did he think he’d return to grueling TV work, let alone reprise the very role that made him a household name.

Guess what happened next?

Yup, Larroquette, 75, is suiting back up as wise-cracking, endearingly smarmy lawyer Dan Fielding in a new version of the irreverent sitcom Night Court (premiering Jan. 17 on NBC). Set decades after the 1984-92 original, it still chronicles the colorful cast of characters passing through the New York City after-hours courtroom. But now, the Honorable Abby Stone (Melissa Rauch), the daughter of Judge Harry T. Stone (Harry Anderson), bangs the gavel.

Fielding starts the series as a process server, though not for long. “As an actor, I thought it would be an interesting idea to revisit a character 35 years later in his life and see what happened to him,” Larroquette says. “I can’t do the physical comedy and jump over chairs anymore, so my conversations with the producers were about how to find the funny.”

Call it the latest unexpected turn for a seasoned star who began his professional journey as a DJ for “underground” radio in the 1960s, moved from his native New Orleans to Los Angeles to jumpstart his career, once took a gig in exchange for marijuana, played a Klingon in the third Star Trek movie and completed rehab to kick his heavy drinking—all before his very first audition for Night Court in 1983. After the sitcom’s last episode, he won his fifth Emmy (for the drama The Practice) and a 2011 Tony for the Broadway revival of How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. He and Elizabeth, wed for 47 years, have three grown children.

“I honestly wish I had a tape recorder going at all times because he’s led such an interesting life and has such wonderful stories,” marvels Rauch, his co-star and a Night Court executive producer. “He’s super-quick, funny and definitely tells it like it is.”

Exhibit A? His interview with Parade, in which he discusses life and death, and everything in between.

Did you sign on to the series right away or was it a tough sell?

When Melissa [Rauch] presented the idea to me, I immediately said, “No thank you.” I didn’t like the idea of being compared to my 35-year-old, younger self. These conversations went on for a year. Then, one day, she told me that she wanted to be on-camera as well, so I decided to try and do it. We ended up pitching the show together, and it got picked up. You know, in New Orleans, there’s a French word called “lagniappe,” which means “a little bonus.” That’s what I consider myself. She’s the heart of the show.

Sadly, a few of your co-stars—including Harry Anderson and Markie Post—have died in recent years. What was it like being on the set without them?

Very emotional. Harry passed away in 2018, but it’s still a tender spot in my heart because he and I were together for a long time even outside of work. Markie and I were very close, and we had exchanged a few emails about the show before she died [in 2021]. She was a big cheerleader for it. And Charlie [Robinson, who played the clerk “Mac”] died when we were shooting the pilot last year. I saw him a lot because we both love the theater. Being on the set—I don’t say this glibly—but it was like seeing dead people. I’d always remember how I had this bizarre and completely sincere family for nine years.

Going back to the 1980s, why did you originally take the Dan Fielding role?

It was a paycheck. This was 1983, and I was still a journeyman actor going from job to job. I was a regular on a series in the ‘70s [Baa Baa Black Sheep], but then I took a few years off to do some extremely heavy drinking. After I got sober and realized I wasn’t going to die, I thought, “What am I going to do?” I had been in a pretty big [1981] movie called Stripes with Bill Murray. I read for Ted Danson’s role in Cheers.

Wait, how far did you get in the Sam Malone casting process?

Oh, I just walked in and did a cold reading along with every other 32-year-old actor at the time. But then I auditioned for the judge in Night Court. The producers asked me to read for this other role of Dan Fielding and I said, “Sure.” Even if I hated the role, I would have taken it because I needed to make money to help pay the rent and support my family and be a responsible member of society. It was luck that I really liked it. Then I got lucky again when NBC picked up the show as a mid-season replacement.

During the height of the show’s popularity, you earned four consecutive Emmys for your performance. That must have felt beyond validating.

Obviously, being acknowledged by your contemporaries was an incredible honor. I don’t say that blithely. It was a remarkable, remarkable feeling. And I was up against some formidable talent—mainly all those guys from Cheers.

Why do you think the character was and is so appealing?

I think because he allowed the audience to know that he wasn’t a bad guy. He was more like a feckless buffoon. He also really wanted to be loved. As a matter of fact, in our pitch, we screened an old scene of Fielding in a hospital bed telling Harry, “I don’t have a life; I have a lifestyle. Nobody has ever said, ‘I love you.’” So when we find Fielding again, he’s loved and lost. And Harry’s daughter forces him out of his cave. It’s a real full-circle moment.

Let’s go back to your own start. Did you have any music skills coming out of New Orleans?

Well, I started playing clarinet in third grade, then I moved to the saxophone in the 1960s. But I euphemistically say that I could talk better than I could blow. So, I took that sax out of my mouth and became a DJ and started using my voice as much as I could. I’ve always loved the analog aspect of audio. I still have some reel-to-reel tape recordings and old microphones.

Is that how you ended up narrating the opening prologue for [the 1974 horror classic] The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?

No, no, that wasn’t through any kind of past work. In the summer of ‘69, I was working as a bartender at a small Colorado resort in a little town called Grand Lake because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life. [Director] Tobe Hooper happened to be in town and we became friendly. Flash forward four years, and I found myself in L.A. collecting unemployment checks and trying to decide if I wanted to be an actor. Tobe heard I was in town and asked for an hour of my time to narrate something for this movie he just did. I said, “Fine!” It was a favor.

Per the Internet, he gave you a joint in lieu of payment. True?

Totally true. He gave me some marijuana or a matchbox or whatever you called it in those days. I walked out of the studio and patted him on his back side and said, “Good luck to you!” Now, I have also narrated the consequential films and did get paid. You do something for free in the 1970s and get a little money in the ‘90s. I’m not a big horror movie fan, so I’ve never seen it. But it’s certainly the one credit that’s stuck strongly to my resume.

But you’ve appeared on the big screen plenty of times. Did you have movie-star aspirations following all your TV success?

The movies I’ve done are mostly forgettable. Blind Date [from 1987] is an exception, but that’s because of Bruce Willis and Kim Basinger. And Blake Edwards directed it. It was funny. But my face is not made for a really big screen. It’s a broad, clown-like face. It’s good for a TV two-shot. And you ride the horse in the direction that it’s going and television was always right there and offering me stuff, so I kept doing that.

You also performed in a musical for the first time in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying in 2010. How was that change of pace?

I was hesitant to do it because I had never sung and danced on stage. I was convinced I was going to be fired in the first two or three weeks. I’d keep going in my head, “five, six, seven, eight!” just trying to get the steps down. But I loved the lifestyle of being a stage actor in New York. I loved working with Daniel Radcliffe, and we became fast friends. It got to a point where I couldn’t wait to get to the theater and try it again that night. If you’re given the opportunity to do something that may be a stretch, I think it’s important to try and see if you can pull it off.

Can you talk a bit about your personal life? You seem a little reclusive.

Reclusive isn’t accurate, but I’m definitely an introvert. Elizabeth and I met doing the play Enter Laughing and got married in 1975. She puts up with me, and you can’t ask for much more than that. Our kids are grown. My daughter Lisa is a graphic designer and my son Jonathan has had a podcast for the past 17 years called Uhh Yeah Dude. And my youngest son, Ben, is a musician who graduated from the Berklee School of Music. He actually composed the new theme music for Night Court. They’re all lovely, and I love them dearly.

That’s quite a professional and personal success story, no?

You know, considering where I’m from and the kind of culture I grew up in, yes. I’ve been very successful in my chosen field. And I’m grateful for having done that because there were times when I thought I would not live, much less have a career. It’s nothing to be taken for granted. But I’m very old now. Three quarters of a century. I’m sort of playing with house money from now on, regardless of what happens.

Sorry, but 75 isn’t very old!

Yes, it’s old. It’s old. Please. It’s old. There are certainly people who live longer, but I can go down the list of wonderful friends and coworkers who are now deceased. One being Kirstie Alley, my costar in [the 1990 comedy] Madhouse, who was younger than I am. She was a lovely person, and so funny. There are only a few more exits on the freeway and you’ve got to choose one. But I’m not afraid of the hereafter and I don’t bemoan it. It’s been an interesting ride, and all rides eventually end.

Do you have any sort of words to live by?

As corny as it sounds, take things one day at a time. You know, I learned when I stopped drinking at age 32 that all you have is right now. Use the present in your life as much as you can.

Source: https://parade.com/celebrities/john-larroquette-night-court-cover-story

-----

My thoughts (please feel free to ignore):

I'm sure someone in the fandom has already posted this interview John did last year with Parade magazine when the new Night Court premiered. But I can say that it's new to me, so I'm sharing it in case it's new to someone else too.

I apologize for the highlighted purple sections above. That's just me marking the parts of the interview that resonated with me the most.

I don't know about anyone else, but some parts of his answers to the questions made me feel kind of sad. Partially because he's clearly experiencing grief at the loss of his friends. And partially because John himself may not be with us for much longer (although I hope I'm wrong and he beats Betty White to 100).

But I was talking to my mother about some of his answers, and she said that as someone who has reached an age milestone herself, she understands his perspective. And I guess I do too.

It's important to remember that in any other profession, John would likely be retired by now. So we should really be grateful for any roles he takes or public appearances he makes, and hope that his days ahead are filled with the calm, joy and laughter that he so rightly deserves.

[lokiondisneyplus]

Welcome back to the TVA.

In 2021, Marvel journeyed into the multiverse with the decade-hopping Disney+ series Loki, an ambitious, trippy saga centering on Tom Hiddleston's God of Mischief. The six-episode first season followed Loki as he teamed up with Owen Wilson's Mobius and Sophia Di Martino's Sylvie to investigate the mysterious Time Variance Authority, uncovering dark secrets along the way. Now, the hit Marvel series is adding a familiar face in its second season: Oscar winner Ke Huy Quan, who joins the cast as TVA tech expert OB.

Season 2 (premiering Oct. 6 on Disney+) finds Loki and Mobius trekking into the deepest bowels of the TVA, seeking help from Quan's quirky repair guy. OB works in the repairs and advancement department, and his office is stuffed in the basement, a sprawling mishmash of gadgets and gizmos.

"His job is basically every piece of tech, every computer, every thing that is running at the TVA," co-executive producer Kevin Wright tells EW. "He either designed it, or he fixes it and keeps it running."

Tom Hiddleston, Ke Huy Quan, and Owen Wilson in 'Loki' season 2

| CREDIT: GARETH GATRELL/MARVEL

Quan, of course, is no stranger to trippy, universe-hopping stories, winning an Oscar earlier this year for Everything Everywhere All at Once. Wright tells EW it was celebrated Marvel casting director Sarah Halley Finn who first suggested Quan for Loki, having caught an early screening of the film. It was April, and Everything Everywhere was about to open wide across the country, so Marvel scrambled to make Quan an offer immediately — knowing that his schedule was about to fill up.

"I think Kevin Feige made a call maybe April 12, just to follow up and say, 'Please, please do this,'" Wright says with a laugh. "Little did we know, Ke is apparently already a giant Marvel fan and was a big fan of Loki season 1."  

EW spoke to Quan in August 2022, immediately after his Loki role was first revealed at Disney's D23 Expo. Stepping offstage, the giddy actor admitted that he'd been keeping the role secret even from his family.

"I've been fantasizing about this for many, many years," Quan told EW at the time, "all the way back to when the first Iron Man came out. I saw all the movies in the theaters. I've seen all the films. I constantly watch on YouTube how passionate and enthusiastic these fans are. So to be up on stage today with Sophia and Tom and Owen and Kevin and to be on the receiving end of that… it's just been incredible."

Since the launch of shows like WandaVision and Ms. Marvel, Marvel has built a minor TV empire on Disney+, with multiple new shows still in the works. But Loki is the first Marvel Disney+ show to get a true second season, and Wright says he and the creative team wanted to continue to embrace the storytelling possibilities of episodic television. Season 1 took time to luxuriate in quieter, character-driven moments — like long scenes of Hiddleston and Wilson together, just talking. Wright promises that season 2 will continue to do the same. (In fact, he says, the unlikely buddy-cop friendship between Loki and Mobius is the season's "bread and butter.")

"In our [Marvel] movies, sometimes you have to keep moving forward very rapidly to get to the next thing," Wright explains. "Here, it's like: 'No, we can sit in these moments.' And dramatically, that's an exciting thing."

Season 2 will also find Loki, Sylvie, and Mobius coming up against a new but familiar nemesis: Victor Timely (Jonathan Majors), a brilliant industrialist and inventor living in the early 1900s. Like the menacing He Who Remains, who debuted in the first season finale, Timely is a variant of Kang the Conqueror, a dimension-hopping villain who takes many forms. Majors' version of Timely will play a major role in Loki season 2, even as the actor faces off-screen legal troubles.   

"Victor Timely is somebody that we are very, very excited about," Wright says. "When you look at Kang, he has a very funny comic backstory. He has all these iterations. Timely was one that we've always wanted to do in Loki. And I think we're really excited about how that integrates into the season. It's a big part of the show."

Above all, Wright promises that Loki's second season will continue to embrace the weirdness of the first. The upcoming six episodes will zip throughout space and time, stretching from the 1893 Chicago World's Fair to the fluorescent lights of a 1980s McDonald's. After all, this is the show that gave us Alligator Loki and sentient floating clock mascot.  

 "We made a weird show [in season 1], and people responded to how weird it was," Wright explains. "So, we wanted to push it further." 

Loki season 2 will premiere Oct. 6 on Disney+.

[paragonrobits]

so this has been bugging me ever since i saw this post. Part of it is that this is a pretty common criticism that mostly seems to boil down to people who think the found family trope is the POINT of the story, rather than a facet of it and think that any ending other than staying together forever is a failure, and this is pretty reductive. lots of stories have end goals and purposes beyond found family, like there's agendas and goals beyond finding a group of people you like, there's things like justice and Saving the World and liberating sapient beings from subjugation and so forth, but the thing that bothers me the most about this is that it kind of illustrates the biggest issue with this kind of found family fixation

that almost none of the tagged series are actually a case of found families.

you see this a lot, but more often than not they're not actually found families. They're co workers. They're people who have similar agendas and shared goals, or they're hired by a larger organization, or they're working together for the same end, or they're led by the vision and goal of a magnetic leader, but I think you could honestly make an argument that none of these are actual cases of found family.

Star Trek is the most explicit case; they didn't volunteer to go together, mostly. they're people who serve on the same ship, and that's it. they might get along, or constantly argue, but they're co-workers.

The Outer Worlds is, they're generally following the Unplanned Variable, working with them and each other because they have nowere else to go, or they see it as a job, or they went 'fuck it, not like i have anything else going on'. They bicker and fight and most of them don't particularly like each other.

Dragon Age and Mass Effect all go together since, in this case, with the probable exception of Dragon Age 2 (which, i'll grant you, actually probably is a found family to some degree), they're also working together for a common goal, and that's the primary reason they meet you. Dragon Age 1 is them staying together to fight the Blight and save the world, DA2 is mostly a case of 'I FUCKING LIVE HERE', Inquisition is all the party members joining the Inquisition to save thge world from demon doom and fight the machinations of Tevinter imperialists. The Mass Effect series has something similar for the most part, from the 'fight the Reapers' motivation of the triology as well as Andromeda focusing on building a home in a new galaxy.

DA and ME both are people who share a larger goal, and are working together SPECIFICALLY for that goal; while its easy to build friendships, their mutual bond is not the primary reason they work together. They do that because its either work together or everyone dies. There's a larger goal, and their own agendas and fears (such as Wrex's concern for his people, or the quarian/geth conflict) can become factors in that. Even further proving my point here, a lot of the ME games have squad members not returning to be party members in other games because they have bigger matters; Wrex is only a squad member in ME1 and a single DLC because he has bigger things to do in leading his people rather than getting directly involved in Shepard's mission. They might care about each other, but their own goals ultimately come first.

I like found family, as a trope. I do! But its a trope that tends to get REALLY badly misused and applied to every group of characters with decent chemistry, even if they clearly only share a goal and don't want to stay together past that point, or even if they outright openly hate each other.

Another big issue with it is that the constant treatment of the found family not sticking together afterwards being seen as a failure state. Again, these aren't families; these are groups made to serve a goal, and the goal is done, so now they have other things to do. The implicaiton from a lot of these criticisms of the found family seperating implies that you might think that you're morally obligated to spend the rest of your life with the first people you meet that vaguely tolerate you, and that's just a platonic version of conservative 'get married out of high school ASAP' relationship values.

[jyoungbloodvo]

(For previous parts of the PLAYTIME RISING AU, click here!)

PLAYTIME RISING

Character Relations (Friendly)

On his trek across the factory, Frank will encounter many strange characters, many I'm sure you're all familiar with. Here, we'll go over the allies that Frank will make, and how he is towards them.

Poppy Playtime

The first living toy Frank meets that isn't actively gunning for his death, Poppy Playtime was locked in her shrine for 10 years, being released as soon as Frank encounters it.

Unlike the original Player, who is actively seeking an exit, Frank wants to stay, as he now wants to figure out just what's going on. This is a major benefit to Poppy, as she now has someone that she knows can help her without abandoning her.

Frank finds Poppy to be rather creepy, granted given her bloodshot eyes and the fact that she's a doll. Her big eyes remind him of the Slaphappy Slappy toyline (Poppy grimaces at every mention of it). Frank agrees to help her, but not (at first) out of the kindness of his heart, but rather to get closer to the truth of Playtime Co.

Though, as time goes on, Frank starts to see Poppy as more and more of a friend. There's always some light in the darkest of places.

"Y'know, I've called girls 'doll' before, but this is ridiculous..."

Kissy Missy

The female counterpart to Huggy Wuggy, Kissy Missy is, unlike him, docile and on Poppy's side. Frank didn't think that way at first. Upon seeing her from behind a closed gate, he had a metal pipe at the ready. They stared down at each other for what seemed like forever. It wasn't until she opened the other gate, the one that Frank needed, that he realized she was good.

The next time Frank would see her would be in Playcare, giving him yet another fright as it was pitch black, making it seem as though she was another Huggy. Though, tensions died down as soon as Poppy spoke.

Frank finds Kissy to be somewhat endearing, though her silence and unblinking eyes never fail to make him slightly uneasy. But, given how she's a giant with surprising strength, knowing she's on his side brings him great relief.

"She has those big lips, but never says anythin'. Though, if she sounds like that cutout...I'd understand."

Ollie

Poppy's informant, only heard through a toy phone...or is he the phone? Regardless, Ollie helps Frank throughout the Playcare area, as he knows pretty much everything about it.

Even though Ollie has done nothing but help Frank out, there are moments and mannerisms of his that make Frank suspicious. For example, his very upbeat personality. Only a psychopath could be this cheery in a situation like this.

Never seeing Ollie is another point of suspicion for Frank. He could be anyone, even that...thing with the claw. But Frank has to trust him, for now at least. Lest he get caught by Playcare's guardian.

"There's no way that's a kid...right?"

Dogday

The last of the Smiling Critters, Frank finds him in...not the best shape. Dogday was ripped in half by Catnap for being, in his eyes, a heretic, and was then strung up in the Playhouse "Prison".

Here, a choice has to be made, and quickly, or Dogday dies. If your camera is charged enough, you can use its flash to deter the mini critters that would have ended Dogday's life. It is then that Frank can carry him to somewhere safe...while being chased by mini critters, of course.

If Dogday survives, he is grateful for Frank's help, and will assist in any way he can. His bitter and somber persona slowly fades away, becoming more and more happy and upbeat.

Frank was too old for toys when the Smiling Critters were released to toy stores...but, Dogday was always his favorite.

"What? Can't a guy enjoy stuffed animals?"

[princess-of-the-corner]

SonicAU . . . I guess??

Honestly, I just need To share this so it’s out of my head, but I’d love to hear some thoughts! Also, will never do anything with it, so, it’s up for grabs!

So, several THOUSANDS of years into the future, most of Sonic & Co are dead, and have passed into legend. Like, they were clearly real people, but so much time has passed that most people consider their adventures a bit exaggerated, ya know? Like, the events surrounding them HAPPENED, clearly, but most people think they were blown a little out of proportion, or were actually more mundane phenomena that wasn’t well understood at the time. The planet didn’t REALLY break apart! Chaos wasn’t some giant dragon thing, probably just a massive wave! A hedgehog? Running at super sonic speed? Well, THAT seems unlikely! That sort of thing.

Anyway, this a Cyber!Punk/Star Trek future, where we all have crazy tech based off of synthetic Chaos Energy, a lot of it pioneered by Prower Technologies (the company started by Miles “Tails” Prower, still going strong). One of the current “heirs” to Prower Tech, is Kilamitra “Trip” Prower (trip short for triple), the three-tailed, several times great-granddaughter of Tails. She doesn’t really WANT to take over the company, and instead wants to join The Chaos Corp, sort of like the Federation from Star Trek, mixed with a bit of Voltron (mostly the Legendary Defender part). When she does, she ends up meeting-

“Kicks”, the grandson of Knuckles, (I like to think Knuckles has an extended lifespan, thanks to the Master Emerald, so the generations between his kids are fewer) whose older sister is a commanding officer in the Chaos Corp, and who wants to prove himself to his family. Unlike most of his family’s penchant for punching things, he prefers kicks (obviously).

Ora, daughter of Silver, (finally stopped time-travelling, settled down, had kids) who’s struggling to control her telekinetic powers. Since they aren’t as reliable for her to fight with, she also wields a giant hammer, or club.

Marianne “Sunny” Kintobor, somewhat distant descendant of Eggman, hoping to fight against the reputation her ancestor stuck their family with. A tech genius. One of the few human/“uplander” characters. Looks very like Maria Robotnik.

A very mysterious black & red hedgehog, called “Dark”, who seems to be hiding something. He has a friend called “Sage”, who will call him often.

And finally, Nikki. A blue Hedgehog who has spent her whole life hiding the fact she can run faster than the speed of sound. Nikki actually doesn’t know who her family is - she was found alone as a baby, and was presumed to be abandoned. She is cagey about her speed, and seems to want to keep it on the down low.

So, only other things that popped up:

- The initial big-bad would absolutely be an Eggman fanboy wannabe, who really wants to be the next Robotnik, but, ya know. Successful. Probably not ACTUALLY related to him in any way, but that isn’t stopping him from CLAIMING he is. Marianne is adamant they are NOT related.

- Dark is Shadow. In case that wasn’t obvious. Turns out being the “Ultimate Lifeform” makes you functionally immortal, which has been … rough. Watching your friends outlive you isn’t exactly FUN. He ended up fairly close to Knuckles, who aged much slower, but it was still hard. He’s had periods of time where he’s separated himself from civilization, and periods of activity but most recently, he’s heard whispers about the Chaos Corp, about something big being worked on, and came out of isolation to investigate.

- Sage, being an artificial being, is ALSO functionally immortal, and took it very hard when her dad, Eggman, died. She tried for a while to keep up his legacy, but her heart wasn’t in it, and eventually she retreated with the few bots of Eggman’s that were still functional. Eventually, mostly through chance, she encountered Shadow, and the two bonded over their long lives, and what that meant for them. They’ve spent a lot of time together, and are now quite close. Their relationship is very brother and sister, with the pair often teasing and fighting with each other, but also very protective of one another. When Shadow went to infiltrate the Chaos Corp, Sage accompanied him. She is actually hiding in a special watch she developed, that Shadow wears, which lets her get into all sorts of tech, as long as she’s in range. She has VERY complicated feelings about Marianne.

- Nikki is, in fact, Sonic’s descendant … technically. She would be counted as Sonic’s daughter, but is actually an attempt at a clone. Sonic DID have kids, but his family in general was actually much more low-key, and most of them took after the mom (Amy? Sally? Rando?) so didn’t have the super speed. Someone *cough*Eggman Wannabe*cough* tried to clone Sonic from old samples, but had to do some genetic gymnastics to have a viable fetus, so Nikki is closer to a daughter than a clone (I mean … that should be pretty obvious? Unless you subscribe to Trans!Sonic, in which case, more direct clone). When someone in a position of power learned of the cloning attempt, they raided the lab, but Nikki was “sent away”. She was later found, put in the system, and adopted. Her name comes from a medical bracelet she was wearing - SONIC-I. The first two letters were smudged out, and the C with the dash looked like a K, the one like a capital I, so, Nikki. 

- current Sonic descendants actually work as historians and archaeologists. Their family is still close with the Prower family, and recently, became connected through marriage.

- the Chaos Corp is so named because they guard the Chaos Emeralds and Master Emerald. Knuckles was the original founder, when he realized he was going to get older, and before he had found someone to settled down with, or had kids. They have devices that let some of their more seasoned members use a single Emerald to boost them, but this can be dangerous, and possibly fatal without the right training. Still, being an “Emeraldeer” is seen as a very prestigious position, and the one many cadets gun for. There has been a recent, rather rapid shift in leadership, which is giving a few people pause, and there are rumours about a project to “bring back heroes” …

(thoughts, feelings, opinions?)

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OH I ADORE THIS