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sweetercalypso · 6 months

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Watch Party || Joel Miller

word count: 1.5k

summary: renting a Halloween movie turns into a nightmare when poltergeist!Joel Miller crawls out of your TV

notes: part two in my week of horror series! minors dni; female mast., male mast., voyeurism, facial, afab reader, better tags on a03 because tumblr hates this post

It’d started as a joke.

The dusty VHS tape sitting on your coffee table was a relic, an obsolete piece of lewd cinema recorded and forgotten by time. ‘Night of the Lustful Undead’ is clearly an outdated work, but you doubt that the twenty-first century has produced anything that rivals the corny obscenity featured in this parody of a classic horror film.

Static from the TV flickers in a black and white trance, casting a strange light over your living room, dancing across the furniture with an eerie glow.

You grab the tape and slide it into the VHS player that you’d pulled from storage just for this occasion, and settle onto the couch with the remote in hand. This started as a joke, but you’re in too deep to back out now.

When your Halloween plans had been cancelled for the third time in a row, you’d assumed it was a sign that you were meant to spend the holiday weekend at home. You’d told your friend about your dilemma over brunch one morning, and she’d said that time alone could be just as fun, as long as you knew how to spend it.

You’d blushed at the implication and laughed off her suggestive tone, but the idea had planted a seed in your mind, and by the end of the month, it’d grown into something more.

If you were going to spend the holiday by yourself, you decided that you wanted to stay on theme with your choice of celebration. A movie rental company on the other side of town had exactly the entertainment you were looking for.

You’d been grateful for the anonymity of the empty, dated storefront, though you’d struggled to make eye contact with the cashier as he’d stuffed your purchase into an inconspicuously plain plastic bag.

Now, as the opening credits roll across the screen, you’re still telling yourself that this is just an ironic charade. You’re not actually interested in the passionate plot you’d read on the back of the cover; you’re not secretly glad that your friends hadn’t invited you out at the last minute; you’re not vaguely aware of the heat simmering in your belly at the thought of what’s to come.

The scene opens with a grainy shot of a scantily dressed woman barricaded in the cellar of an old farmhouse – a reference to the film’s inspiration.

She’s toying with a radio to call for help when the reanimated “zombie” bursts through the door, mangled shirt barely covering his tan chest. He lunges towards her and she gives an exaggerated gasp before zealously attempting to wrangle herself free.

“Oh, that’s so fake,” you scoff, though your hands twitch absentmindedly at your sides.

Their stilted performances makes the movie seem more gaudy than you’d anticipated, but you’re too distracted by their heated struggle to worry about bad acting.

The performer in the scene is handsome enough – a burly, broad-shouldered man with dark eyes and a stony expression. The undead part of his character had been implied solely in his tattered clothes and the baritone warble of his voice, and now that he’s stripped down to his popped-open jeans, you can’t remember much else about his role.

Your hands inch into your lap as the two actors tangle themselves together, almost entirely abandoning the storyline they’d spent the first ten minutes building up. He lays the woman down on a conveniently placed blanket and moves between her thighs with the promise to ‘give her what she needs’.

The camera changes angles and you shift in your seat as the expanse of his back fills the screen. His muscles flex in time with his first experimental thrust, spine bent at an awkward angle as he leans down to groan against the woman’s throat. You barely notice the sound of her high-pitched moans over the guttural noises he sings against her skin.

When the point of view changes again and you’re met with a close up of his side profile, you’re immediately entranced by the sight. His nose is pressed against the woman’s cheek, brows pinching together as they share greedy breaths between their open mouths.

You gasp as he glances over at the camera. For a split second, it felt like he was looking directly into your eyes.

The thought is enough to bring you to your breaking point, finally caving in and slipping your fingers beneath the waistband of your sweats. You’re soaked between your thighs and the sound of the actor’s heady pants fuels the urgency in your touch.

Your fingers swipe messily at your clit as the man on the screen picks up pace, grunting a breathless command of ‘don’t come without me’ into the small room.

The camera switches to a more scenic shot of the pair and you mourn the loss of his close-up features. The woman seems to have forgotten her character’s earlier reservations, thighs wrapped snugly around his waist, one hand knitted into his dark, tussled hair. You silently envy the way she gets to explore his form.

She throws her head back in pleasure and you imitate the act, almost like you’re trying to envision yourself in her place. Your eyes squint shut and you picture his face again, dipping your fingers into your core.

Light from the TV flashes behind your closed eyes, a wild display of vivid colors that doesn’t fit the setting of the movie. The sounds of their affair are replaced with a jarring static that makes you groan and slump down into the couch. The tape must be jammed.

You peel your eyes open with a disappointed sigh, already feeling the tightly-wound coil in your gut beginning to unravel. So much for enjoying your alone time.

From the flicker of the screen, you notice a tall silhouette looming beside the TV. The color drains from your face when it begins to move closer and you realize that it’s taken the shape of a man.

You’re frozen in fear, too scared to move and too dazed to consider whether your heart is hammering out of panic or eager anticipation.

The figure stops just a few feet away and you’re able to piece together his identity. The mused hair, the stubble on his cheeks, the hills and valleys of his exposed shoulders and chest – the man from the screen is here in front of you.

You look towards the TV in disbelief. Everything seems to be exactly the same, minus the empty space that he had once filled.

His scene partner is still plastered on the screen, blurred by the digital lines running across her image. Without his presence, the movie seems much more like the unserious spoof film you thought you’d purchased.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” his gruff baritone breaks the monotonous white noise coming from the speakers.

“How did you…” your question trails off before you can finish it. What could he say that would make you understand?

He nods towards where your hand disappears beneath the waist of your bottoms. “Keep going. I want to watch.”

His own hand is wrapped around the length of his cock, moving slowly to keep his interest limited to your assent. He’s close enough that you can see the pearl of precum dripping from his ruddy tip, glinting in the light of the flickering screen.

Your fingers move of their own volition, circling your clit with a gentle pressure, matching the leisure pace of his hand gliding over his length. Small chirps and sounds of pleasure fill the air, turning into little hums and choked sobs as your shared tempo becomes faster.

“Y’like my cock?” He spits, thighs flexing as he bucks into his palm. “Dirty girl, getting off on watching other people fuck.”

You whimper and stretch your free hand out to motion him to come closer, but he shakes his head and bats it away. “No – you’re gonna finish what you started.”

He takes another step closer and rubs his thumb over the underside of his cock, laughing to himself as your jaw hangs open in awe.

“Make yourself come, and then I’ll touch you however you want.”

A few more swipes over your clit is all it takes for you to reach your peak, crumpling forward and shuddering through your release. You’re still catching your breath when a warm hand meets your cheek, pulling your attention up to the man towering above you.

His cock stands just inches from your face, and he twists over the shaft once, twice, before he comes, striping the evidence of his arousal over your glazed features. He hisses out a blissful noise and taps the weeping head against your parted lips, leaving a salty taste in your mouth that makes your walls clench.

He tips his head to the side, admiring the opaque lines streaked across your face. When he takes a step back and glances at the TV over his shoulder, you’re afraid for a moment that he might disappear. He turns his focus back towards you with a grin, and the look in his eyes says he’s not leaving anytime soon.

#sweetercalypso’s week of horror #the last of us #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller one shot #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel smut #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou #tlou smut

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tophernash · 1 year

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Sometimes small towns are home to the largest personalities, and Inez was one of the biggest in my life.Inez Scheideman was the longtime publisher of the Stony Plain Reporter and Spruce Grove Examiner, a couple of weekly newspapers I worked for back in the late ‘90s and early 2000s.

As a successful business owner in a time when it was rare for a woman to be in that role, Inez not only survived but thrived by virtue of shrewd entrepreneurship, hometown pride and a having a personality equal parts feisty and hilarious. She made a huge impact not only on her community and family, but on my own life, personally, decades after I no longer worked for her.

She died earlier this fall. Docs gave her three more months. She lived nearly three more years. But ultimately, she was gone.

This gentle and heartfelt ballad is my tribute to someone who was such a large figure in my life. It was recorded in my home studio in Edmonton, using overlapping guitar lines and a drum machine, stirring up a melancholic '80s sound that seems to be in my bones.

Thank you, Inez.

https://christophernash.hearnow.com/a-song-for-inez

#new music #newspapers #stony plain

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richdadpoor · 9 months

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Round Hill Music Acquires The Influential Canadian Music Publisher Linus Entertainment

NEW YORK (CelebrityAccess) — Round Hill Music, the music publishing company, announced the acquisition of the independent Canadian music publisher Linus Entertainment. The deal will bring Linus Entertainment’s repertoire, including the music recording and publishing catalogs of Borealis Records, Mummy Dust Music Ltd, Solid Gold Records, Stony Plain Records, The Children’s Group and True North…

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americanahighways · 1 year

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REVIEW: Eric Bibb "Ridin"

REVIEW: Eric Bibb "Ridin" @EricBibb @stonyplainrec @tajmahalblues @mpuccimedia #americanamusic #americanahighways #ridin #yourefree

Eric Bibb has a brand new release, Ridin’ (Stony Plain Records), which was produced, mixed and arranged By Glen Scott. Crisp meandering banjo notes open the album’s opener, “Family,” and then quickly settle into a groovy, layered, gritty bluesy song. “I am like you, woman born… someone making’ money by keeping us afraid of each other…. you are like me, family.” The pointed observations are…

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greatbighopingmachine · 2 years

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Playlist (14): Great Big Hoping Machine on Radio Plastique, June 26 2022

ARTIST / SONG / ALBUM / LABEL

Kathleen Edwards "One More Song the Radio Won't Like" Failer (Rounder)

Mary Gauthier "Amsterdam" Dark Enough to See the Stars (In the Black / Thirty Tigers)

Chuck Prophet "Ford Econoline" Night Surfer (Yep Roc)

Angel Olsen "Big Time" Big Time (Jagjaguwar)

Rhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi "Black as Crow" They're Calling Me Home (Nonesuch)

Wilco "The Empty Condor" Cruel Country (dBpm)

Kathy Kallick "What Are They Doing in Heaven Today?" What Are They Doing in Heaven Today? (Live Oak)

Lydia Loveless "Love Is Not Enough" Daughter (Honey, You're Gonna Be Late)

Pharis & Jason Romero "Souvenir" Tell 'em You Were Gold (Smithsonian Folkways)

Mike Stevens "Livin' in Sarnia (feat. Cory James Mitchell)" Breathe in the World, Breathe Out Music (Stony Plain Records)

Lang Owen "She's My Memory" She's My Memory (self-released)

Blue Cactus "I Never Knew Heartache (Then I Knew You)" Blue Cactus (self-released)

Neil Young "The Old Country Waltz" Hitchhiker (Reprise)

Woody Guthrie "Talkin' Dust Bowl Blues (Alternate Version)" Dust Bowl Ballads (Victor Records)

#playlist #americana #folk #roots #radio

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rich4a1 · 2 years

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Sass Jordan Bitches Blues

Sass Jordan Bitches Blues Stony Plain Records Sass Jordan starred in the off-broadway Janis Joplin show “Love Janis”. She also toured the world with “A Bowie Celebration”. She started her solo career with a single “Tell Somebody” in 1988 and won a JUNO award, Canada’s equivalent of our Blues Music Awards. She earned three more nominations for albums like 1992’s “Racine” (1994), “Rats”…

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#americana #blues #blues rock #indie Blues #roots #roots rock

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jarofstyles · 3 years

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PLEASE WRITE CEORRY!! Maybe y/n is his personal assistant or secretary and he’s mean to everyone in the building expect her🥺

Ok let’s maybe see how this goes 👀👀 if you want me to continue, let me know

If you enjoy this, please check out our Patreon!

———-

When you heard the name Harry Styles, there were a few emotions that would pass you by. Awe because of how successful he was. Lust, because undoubtably the man was one of the sexiest bachelors out there. Pictures of him and his famous stone cold face but handsome face covered news outlets when he went to charity events or galas. There was curiosity, because little was known about him. And then… fear.

He was scary. Intimidating. He wasn’t warm and fuzzy, he wasn’t one too mess with and he was known to fire at will. His employees knew that, and he theorized that perhaps that’s why he was so successful. There were minimal mistakes because, simply put, no one survived one too many mistakes. His face was cold and unmoving and he didn’t entertain fools. At his age and with his experience he learned to read people and ultimately, never give blind trust because it always led to someone being burned.

The people who worked for Harry knew boundaries right away. Knocking first and waiting for an answer. Waiting to be addressed. He wanted to be addressed as Mr.Styles and he never looked a hair out of place. Keeping eye contact with him was hard because it seemed like he looked into your soul. It wasn’t something that a lot of people could do.

That is, until Y/N entered.

The bubbly, sweet girl listened to the warnings. But she didn’t heed them. When she had been given a leg up by her father’s friend and got the role of assistant for him, she had been ecstatic. Of course there were the warnings that he barely kept assistants for a month. The horror stories had been how he fired someone for giving him his coffee at 8:15 instead of 8 on the dot. Or how he fired someone for their shirt being an obnoxious shade of pink. She merely scoffed, thinking that he was obviously an entitled man baby if he actually did those things.

Y/N burst into Harry’s life like a hurricane of color, chaos, and caramel coffee.

Her first day, she knocked and went right in without being addressed. His hackles raised as he was immediately angered, face raising to yell at whoever it was finger the fuck out, but he was interrupted far too quickly.

“Hello, Mr.Styles. I’m Y/N and I’m your assistant, I think we are going to get along very well. I know you usually have black coffee and one sugar but that’s a bit boring. I got you an iced caramel. It always perks me up, and the cup was cute.” She placed it in front of his shocked form, though his face was still stony.

Who was this girl? And who the hell did she think she was, flouncing into his office in her pretty dress and slightly chipped nail polish and the smell of lavender surrounding the air around her? Wirh bright eyes and slightly crooked smile that had him doing a double take?

It turned out, she turned out to be Y/N.

The girl he had an awful, juvenile, all encompassing, dirty, filthy and mushy crush on.

Harry was older than her. He was well educated and high up in the business field with the world at his fingertips, and yet he found himself dreaming about taking her hand into his and kissing her knuckles as he drove her places. He was pathetic. His bubbly assistant that often reminded him of fairies or princesses in those tall tales was the one to make him lose his grip, after working so hard for years and years to get himself to this place. He was the boss, this was his company for fucks sake! And he lets this bunny like woman walk all over him.

Y/N never really saw the attitude that Mr.Styles have to other people directed at herself. It was grumpy, sure. But he seemed… softer with her. He only scowled when she got into his personal space to fix his hair, never smacked her away or stepped out of the line of touch. He would nod and try any coffee concoction she would bring him, got used to her letting herself in after a warning knock, and never told her to shut up when she drabbles on about the new book she read or record she bought.

Harry was like… a puppy. Scary to some but to her, he let her see the glimpse of the true softy under it all. Especially that time where she had been in tears because she had ruined her favorite blouse with printer ink.

Harry had felt the most panic he had felt in a while when he had walked out to hear some sniffling. Her beautiful cream colored blouse she had just been going on about being proud of, covered in a deadly ink stain that wouldn’t possibly come out. He knew she had saved up for it. That she had been waiting for it. Her tears broke his damn heart, made him want to reach out and grab her cheeks, wipe them clean and buy her the blouse in every single color.

Instead he was somewhat reasonable.

He placed a hand on her back and handed her his black credit card.

“Go take some time n’buy a new one. Please. Don’t fight me on it, s’my fault for not warning you the machine wasn’t working properly today. Buy a few more if you’d like. I’d like to see at least a few hundred gone from the statement.” He spoke softly, though his voice was still gruff. Never had he done such an act in plain sight- his charity or good deeds were hidden. While he was actually a good person, people didn’t need to know the details. Theyd ask for hand outs, he dealt with it already.

Beautiful, sweet Y/N, however, bought his coffee on her own card despite his protests. She would research new food around them and grab him what she thinks he would like, 99.9% of the time nailing it right on the head. She was slightly abrasive to his normal taste, but he was a sucker for her. Had him wrapped around her resin ring clad fingers, just didn’t know it yet.

He was so fucked.

#fluff #ceorry #ceo Harry #blurbs #blurb #drabble #fluffy #fluff blurb #harry fluff #harry drabble #harry styles one shot #writing #jarofstyles #harry styles fanfic

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tearh0seok · 3 years

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For all you c!Wilbur and c!Quackity enthusiasts/ people who just like some good old fashioned c!karlnapity angst, this ones for you. Enjoy!!

—————

My Tears Ricochet

And I still talk to you

(when I'm screaming at the sky)

And when you can't sleep at night

(you hear my stolen lullabies)

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The bag hits his back with a solid thump, causing him to stumble forward and grunt from the weight of it. He instinctively reaches out for the nearest wall and steadies himself. He holds his breath for a second, prepared to hear the rustling of bed sheets as someone wakes up due to the noise, before he releases it in a quiet, cynical laugh. He is, as he had been for a while now, alone. No one around for him to hold, to talk to, to wake up, to care about. As he makes his way out into the streets of Las Nevada’s, he scans the area for any sign of life. Slime and Fundy must have turned in early enough, and Foolish had long stopped working on his latest big project. He strolls through the streets quietly, humming to himself as he takes in the nation, his nation. At night, the buildings and area look like a mirror image of the man who owned them: empty, cold and alone. He shakes his head trying not to think about it too much. Now was not a time for self-pity or grief. No, now was the time for revenge. The kind of revenge that he just couldn’t drag the others into, they’d never understand. In fact, they’d all think he was insane. They’d leave him behind, all alone, just like before, with-

“Quackity?”

The voice causes Quackity to drop his bag, the thud echoing against the pristine buildings of his city. He looks up at the road ahead of him, and finds Wilbur Soot leaning against the Las Nevada’s sign, a shadow under the bright lights, with his face illuminated only by the red hot glow of his cigarette. Quackity sees his lips twitch up into a tired smirk, and it immediately makes him want to punch the other man in the face. “You’re on my land, Wilbur,” he growls, picking the bag back up, and throwing it back over his shoulder. His grip on the straps tighten as he hears Wilbur laugh quietly. “I thought we put that in the past, Big Q. You know, healthy competition and all that jazz?” Wilbur says tauntingly. Quackity barely spares him a glance as he trudges past the sign, staring straight over Wilbur’s shoulder to where he can see the glow of the burger van in the distance.

“Yeah well, we’re both closed for the day so I didn’t see a need for any of the formalities,” Quackity mutters, praying that the conversation ends there. But of course, to no avail, as soon Quackity hears footsteps behind him and has to resist the oh so demanding urge to punch this guy in the nose. “Then, off the record and completely out of curiosity, as an old friend, may I ask where we’re going?” Wilbur says, as he falls into step beside the smaller man. Quackity digs his heels into the tarmac and stops, turning to the man beside him. “ We are not going anywhere, I have some business to attend to, and you are going back to wherever you came from and forgetting you saw me,” he grunts, poking Wilbur in the middle of his chest to emphasize his point.

He continues walking, and due to the lack of footsteps he assumes the other man has taken the hint and is heading home. However, he hears the sound of shoes approaching, and suddenly Wilbur is at his side once more. “Oh but now you see, my friend,” Wilbur sighs, voice laced with amusement, “now I’m intrigued. What is this so-called business, why is it so secret, and why-“ Quackity feels a slight pull on his back as Wilbur tries to peek into the bag. He quickly whips around, face to face with Wilbur, hoping the other hadn’t seen the contents of the bag. Unfortunately, the fire dancing in Wilbur’s eyes and the wild grin that covers his face suggests otherwise.

“- Why do you have so much TNT and a flint and steel, Quackity?”

It’s said quietly, but the tone of his voice is so menacing that it causes Quackity to shudder. This is really not how tonight was supposed to go, and the more time Quackity spends here talking to Wilbur, the more time he has to contemplate and regret the decision he’s about to make. So he lets his guard down, briefly, and murmurs, “It’s personal, Will, and I’m already starting to regret it, so the last thing I need is to feel guilty about dragging someone else into this too.” And with that, he slowly turns away, head hanging, and begins mentally bracing for what he’s about to do. He just needs to clear his head, and remind himself that this isn’t his fault, it’s everyone else’s for pushing him away, pushing him to this point, and for leaving him alone, AGAIN-

“Do you need some company?”

The voice is quiet and wavering, and if they hadn’t known each other for so long, Quackity wouldn’t have recognized the unsure tone of Wilbur’s voice. He looks over his shoulder at the other man, whose face, illuminated by the moon, is covered with hesitation.

“Wilbur, I just told you, I don’t want to drag anyone else-“

“I didn’t ask if you wanted company, I asked if you needed it, Quackity.”

The words stop him in his tracks. He feels all the air rush out of his lungs and finds himself struggling to breathe. He looks down at the freshly paved road below him, willing away the hot sting of tears. No one, not even Slime, has asked him that in a very long time. The last person to ever say that to him was probably-

“Listen, I know what it’s like, carrying all of this awful stuff on your shoulders. And I have no doubt that what you’re about to do is going to be something you add to the list of things you regret, but you had to do in the moment. I’m not offering to help, as I can tell this is something you need to do for yourself.” He feels a hand on his shoulder, and looks up to see Wilbur with a grim, but soft smile. “What I’m offering is my presence, just so you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Quackity pauses for a moment, taking in the weight of Wilbur’s words, but soon realizes that if he thinks about them too much, he might break down in tears. So he takes the bag off his back and dumps it into Wilbur’s arms. The other catches it with a quiet “oof”, as Quackity grunts, “Let’s go then, we need to get this done by sunrise.”

And just like that, they head off into the night.

~~~~~~~

Wilbur soon realizes that, in hindsight, he should have known where Quackity was headed all along. Quackity didn’t have any major enemies that Wilbur knew of besides Dream and Techno, but Dream is in prison and Techno is god knows where. Quackity also doesn’t seem like the type to commit an act of violence without some sort of motivation, and Wilbur’s 90% sure he wouldn’t do it to threaten someone. Really, using that reasoning, Wilbur should have known their destination. Even as they trekked across the hills and plains, Wilbur should have noticed the direction they were going in. However, it wasn’t until they came to a clearing that opened up onto a shoreline, that he saw their target. While he knows there’s no other option it could be, he still asks the question.

“Why are we at Kinoko Kingdom?”

There it stood, across the water in all its shining glory. Though it was silent in the dead of night, the nation still looked warm and inviting, a sharp contrast to Las Nevada’s at this hour. Wilbur looked at the man at his side, hoping to gauge a reaction, but Quackity’s face was hard as he stared across at the nation like it was the bane of his existence. “I thought you were here to keep me company, not question me,” Quackity grinds out, looking like he’s holding himself back from screaming, or crying, or both. And so Wilbur just shrugs, and places the bag down. Immediately, Quackity throws it open and so the work begins.

Wilbur watches silently as Quackity takes out as much as he can carry and starts making his way around the edge of the shore to the first building he can find. He looks back briefly at Wilbur, indicating for the other man to follow. And while his face remains stony, just as he turns away Wilbur catches a glimpse of the other man’s face crumpling. He watches Quackity let out an unsteady breath, before readjusting the materials in his arms and marching into Kinoko Kingdom.

Quackity, Wilbur is learning, is quite the expert when it comes to TNT. The man is methodical, precise in his placement, ensuring that each piece is in the perfect location to do maximum damage. Although Wilbur said he wouldn’t help, he eventually can’t take the boredom of just standing around, and starts to help. He hears no objection from Quackity, and so he assumes that he is alright to continue. They work in near silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional animal or monster in the distance. Suddenly, a thought comes to Wilbur’s head, and so he stands up and walks over to where Quackity is kneeling, fixing a stick of TNT into place. “Quackity, what about Sapnap and Karl?” He asks, and immediately realizes his mistake. He watches Quackity’s entire body tense up, and the man turns to him, face thunderous.

“What about them?” He asks coldly, and for the first time in a very long time, Wilbur is fearful of the man in front of him.

“Are you just going to leave them here? To…. you know….?”

Wilbur doesn’t finish his sentence, knowing that one wrong word could lead to him having a similar fate to Kinoko Kingdom. However, Quackity relaxes, ever so slightly, and turns back to his work. “They’re not here. They went hunting this morning and I heard from Foolish that they would be gone until tomorrow,” he states, voice wavering slightly, but otherwise filled with certainty. Satisfied with Quackity’s answer, Wilbur picks up some more TNT and begins positioning it near a massive pond in the heart of the kingdom. As he’s working, he hears a small voice cut through the silence.“I couldn’t do it with them here. It’s hard enough without them around, but if they were here - it would be impossible.” Quackity has never sounded more vulnerable, his voice soft yet even, but Wilbur can tell there’s a whole world of pain built within those words. So he leaves any questions he had to the side and continues to work through the silence, with only the moon, stars and the loneliest man in the world for company.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When everything’s done, despite the circumstances, Quackity is weirdly proud of himself. He doesn’t take too long to admire his handy work though, as it may cause him to just take it all back and go home. He begins connecting everything together with one long line of red stone. This surprisingly doesn’t take him too long, and soon he and Wilbur are making their way out of Kinoko Kingdom and back to their perch on the other side of the shore, trailing red stone behind them. Once he’s far enough away, Quackity dares to look back, and regrets it instantly. He sees Kinoko Kingdom for all it is- a clear representation of who Sapnap and Karl are, to others, to each other ,and it’s almost as if you can see the love that lives there. And then, on top of it all, protruding and ugly, is the TNT- Quackity’s doing. Quackity’s mark on the place. That is all he represents; destruction and ruin. Quackity knew there must have been a reason they left him behind, and now he sees it; pure, unadulterated evil . He is the cause of his own pain, his own problems. He gets left behind because when people get to know him- when Sapnap and Karl, his boys, got to know him, all they could do is run in fear. From now on, he is the one calling the shots, because Quackity refuses to ever be left behind again. And if that means being alone, forever, then so be it.

He sniffs and wipes his eyes as he walks, feeling like all of the armour he had put on his heart has fallen away, his wounds have reopened and he’s bleeding out. Over the dull white nose in his ears, he hears Wilbur’s voice in the distance, asking if he’s ok. However he doesn’t pay it any attention, simply connecting the chain of red stone to a button placed on the floor in front of him. He looks up one last time, at the place the loves of his life call home. And then, he presses the button.

If you’d asked him how he wanted this to go, Quackity would’ve described it exactly like this; quick, so quick that you’d miss it if you blink, and then so, so, slowly, like you were watching the life drain from the place. That was exactly what they got. The TNT detonated almost all at once, sending earth and debris flying everywhere. It was almost mesmerizing to watch as in the blink of an eye, something so beautiful was completely maimed. Then came the fire, spreading ever so slowly through what remained of the godforsaken place. As Quackity watched the flames grow, he felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. He let out a light chuckle, until soon he was gasping for breath as he cackled, all the while tears rolled down his face. Soon his laughter mixed with heavy sobs, and he felt Wilbur grip his shoulder, pulling him to face the other man. Wilbur’s face was glowing orange, almost as if it was ablaze along with the city they had just destroyed.

“QUACKITY! Pull yourself together!” He shouted sternly, shaking Quackity by the shoulders harshly. Quackity shoved him off, pushing him away with such force that Wilbur fell back into the sand.

“NO! You know what, fuck you Wilbur!” He spits, pointing down at the man beneath him, “ you don’t get to fucking tell me what to do, when you did the exact same fucking thing not too long ago. Remember that? You did it too, so fuck you. Fuck you for being here, for helping, for listening to me, and fuck you for all the shit you did in the past.” With that, Quackity whips himself around to face the destroyed kingdom in front of him.

“And fuck you!” He screams, not caring who hears or how much his voice wants to give out, “Fuck you and your perfect little kingdom, and your perfect little life. Fuck you guys for telling me you loved me.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence and slowly his screams turn into heart-wrenching sobs. “Fuck you for pretending you cared. Fuck you for promising me that you’d stay .”

He rips both rings off of his left ring finger and throws them into the water, with such a force that he stumbles forward. He collapses to the ground, the weight of his own heartbreak too much to bear. He feels Wilbur drag him up into his lap, cradling him like a child. When he looks up at Wilbur, the other man gently brings a hand to his face, and wipes the tears from his cheeks. It’s been so long since Quackity has been held like this, that it just makes him cry even harder. He buries his head into Wilbur’s shoulder, crying hysterically into the rough fabric of his coat. His last sentence comes out as nothing more than a whisper, broken and defeated by the pain in his heart.

“F-fuck you guys for promising you would never leave me, a-and then doing it anyway.”

~~~~~~~~~

Wilbur sits in silence as Quackity continues to sob into his chest. He watches the last of what was once Kinoko Kingdom burn and crumble, until there is nothing left but smoldering rubble. The sight was almost soothing, like the quiet that comes after a hurricane. He watches as the sun rises, the night turning into a pale, eerie dawn, sky almost grey, and the tide lapping gently against the shore. The only sound for a long time is Quackity’s uneven breathing, along with the occasional hiccup, until he hears voices in the distance. “Quackity, be quiet,” Wilbur hushes him. Quackity looks up, about to say something when the voices get louder in the distance. They both pause and look over at the remains of Kinoko Kingdom, just as Sapnap and Karl emerge from the tree line. Wilbur hears Quackity suck in a breath as they watch the couple’s faces fall in horror. Karl immediately runs forward, and even from this distance, Wilbur hears him gasp and say, “Oh my god, what happened?”. Meanwhile, Sapnap remains silent, shock plastered across his face as he takes in the rubble. Karl turns back to his fiancé, and Wilbur sees the moment Karl’s shoulders sag and his head drops. “It’s all gone, Sapnap,” he hears him say, and then Sapnap is running forward to catch Karl as he collapses into his arms, crying quietly. Sapnap just bundles his lover up into his arms, tears streaming silently down his own face. After a moment, Sapnap begins to lead them back into the forest, presumably headed for a place to stay near everyone else.

Only when the pair have gone, does Wilbur notice the whimpering. He looks down and finds that Quackity is crying again, quietly this time, and is already staring up at Wilbur. He clutches Wilbur’s jacket and stares at him, eyes pleading for an answer.

“W-why don’t I feel better, Wilbur? Why did that make me feel so much worse?”

And because he doesn’t have an answer, Wilbur just embraces him once more, holding the man close to his chest as he cries.

~~~~~~~~~

“Hello Quackity of Las Nevadas, where have you been?”

If Slime notices Quackity’s puffy eyes, he doesn’t say anything. Wilbur had left him in the same place they began their journey, by the sign at the entrance to the nation. Quackity had been hoping to sneak back in undetected, but of course the innocent creature had been waiting for him at the base of the tower. At least it wasn’t someone like Foolish or Fundy, who would’ve been able to see right through him in his current state. Quackity runs a hand through his hair, and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry Slime, I went out for a walk early this morning.”

Slime simply tilts his head, curiosity written all over his face.

“Where did you go?”

Quackity sighs, racking his brain for an excuse. It’s too early, and he’s too tired to be doing this. He gives up on trying to lie.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He starts making his way back to his tower, ready to fall into bed, when Slimes pipes up once more.

“It doesn’t matter? Why? Is it because you’re home now?”

Quackity stops.

He takes a breath, willing the tears down.

He turns around, eyes shining and gives his friend, his true friend, a small, sad smile.

“Yeah Slime. I’m home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sapnap kicks a stone out of his way absentmindedly, strolling through what’s left of his kingdom. He came back to see what he could salvage from the wreckage, after dropping Karl off at Bad’s house to rest. As he strolls by the beach, he stops to pick up a piece of wood lying in the sand. As he does so, he spots something shiny lying just on the edge of the water. He crouches down, and picks it up, only to find 2 engagement rings, each with an initial engraved on them.

He clenches his fist around the rings, heart breaking all over again. He’d recognize those rings anywhere, and he knows what it means, finding them here. He brings his fist up to his lips, pressing a kiss against it, hoping, in vain, that his other love will feel it. He looks out at the water, tears flowing, and prays that someday, they can be what they once were. For now, he places the rings in his pocket carefully, thumbing them over slowly. Before he leaves, he turns back to look at his kingdom once more, and whispers,

“I’m sorry.”

And with that, he heads back to Karl, his fiancé, his home .

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

'Cause when I'd fight, you used to tell me I was brave

And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Look at how my tears ricochet

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10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat · 3 years

Text

What I See

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN Medic Reader

Premise: My musings here resulted in this. You're a medic in the 501st who works closely with Kix. At first you think the crush you have on him is one-sided, until one day you look through his sketchbook and are surprised by a portrait he drew.

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: G

Other notes: gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like clones

AO3

Being an army medic had its ups and downs, its slower periods and bursts of intense stressful activity. You wouldn’t trade it for anything though. The pay was better than what you earned as a civilian medical worker, your patients were much more agreeable (even though there was the occasional trooper who insisted he was fighting fit when he was still far from being so) and your coworkers were professional and easy to get along with. One coworker in particular was your favorite, and you looked forward to the shifts you shared with him.

When you first met Kix, you admired him for the love and care he showed his fellow clones and commanding officers. The two of you quickly developed a rapport; he always laughed at the bad jokes you made, and you liked to challenge him to competitions to see who could restock supply shelves in the med bay the fastest … he always won, but every time you’d stick your tongue out at him and say “I’ll get you next time!” and he would only respond with a knowing smirk.

During down time, when there were no patients and paperwork was handled, Kix would sit at his desk with a leather-bound book and a pencil. It was an odd at first, seeing the rich brown leather and sheets of paper in an austerely sterile all-white setting filled with holopads and technology, but it also looked right in his hands. Without meaning to, you’d sometimes watch as he focused intensely on whatever he was scribbling into the book, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

“Jesse teases me and tells me I should just take pictures,” he explained one day as he showed you some drawings in his book, “but I find this relaxing.” He flipped to a sketch of a grassy plain with mountains in the background. You marveled at the details: the colors and shading on the mountains looked like sunlight glistening off their stony faces, the grass looked so realistically textured you thought it would feel like the real thing if you touched it, and he even added some wildflowers as well.

After seeing the meticulous designs he shaved into his hair, it was no surprise that Kix was an artist.

“Looks like it could be a picture,” you commented.

“Fives said something similar once, when we were down on Felucia he caught me drawing this-“ he flipped through the book to show you a drawing of a wide-trunked tree with large drooping leaves. “I just draw what I see,” he added with a shrug.

“You’re really talented though, the best I can draw is a stick figure.”

Kix cracked a small smile. “That was once the best I could do too,” he said.

The way his lips curved in his smile, the way his eyes shone as he looked at you - in that moment you realized just how beautiful he was. Sure, he was good-looking – all the clones were – but he stood out to you.

There was no use denying it, you had a crush on him.

Before there was a chance for your thoughts to betray you in any way, Kix’s comm beeped. “Duty calls,” he said, closing his sketchbook and stashing it in a drawer under his desk. He then stood up and made his way to his station, and you followed suit. Whatever was about to come into the med bay, it would keep you busy enough to distract yourself … so you hoped.

It had to be strictly professional between yourself and Kix, you reminded yourself as the first wave of injured troopers came into the medbay. Besides, given how quickly he could turn on a heel from artist to medic like that demonstrated how dedicated he was to his work, you knew he would never let anything get in the way of his duty.

Four rotations went by. Kix went on a mission with the rest of Torrent Company, leaving you to manage the med bay on your own during your shift. It was more of the same, really … but you thought about him more than you would care to admit. Of course, you always thought about him when he went on missions, you told yourself. Everyone worried about their coworkers, right? Especially if there was a chance they might not come back?

He always came back, you told yourself. This time wouldn’t be any different.

Only it was both more of the same and different. You were working on paperwork when the med bay doors suddenly flew open, and troopers began pouring in. As soon as you commed some off-duty medics to report to the med bay, you manned the triage station so you could tend to the more critically injured troopers first. It was hectic, a flurry of stressful activity, making sure everyone who needed a bed had one and every wound and scrape was patched up. It wasn’t until everything quieted down that you found Kix in one of the beds.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw him. He was asleep, undressed from the waist up with bandages and bacta patches affixed to spots on his shoulder and the side of his head, and his lower half covered with a blanket. Nodes attached to pulse points on his inner arm connected to a machine by his bed that recorded his vital signs, and everything looked normal at first glance. His chart reported a direct blaster hit to his shoulder and a graze on his head, with an expectation of a full recovery, signed off by one of the medics you called in to help. You owed that medic big time, you thought.

A glance at the nearest chronometer revealed that your shift ended three hours ago, but you couldn’t leave. You didn’t want to leave. So you grabbed a chair and pulled it over to Kix’s bed so you could sit by him. Someone had to keep an eye on him after all. It was professional courtesy, you told yourself, that was all. Besides, even though your body ached and felt heavy with exhaustion, your mind was too active and on edge for sleep.

On the floor by his bed were his things: his armor, neatly stacked and organized, next to his medical pack. Inside his pack you found his sketchbook, and you figured you could pass the time by looking at his drawings again. You found the sketch of the plain and the mountain again and took a few more minutes to admire the detail. Then the tree on Felucia, and then a tooka cat, and when you turned the page you nearly dropped the book in surprise.

Kix had drawn you. In the picture you looked off in the distance, chin propped up on your hand. The detail was incredible: the shape of your nose, your mouth, your eyebrows, all rendered with magnificent accuracy. You wondered if he drew it from memory, or used a picture as a reference, or sketched you one day on duty when you weren’t paying attention.

It had to be a picture, you decided. What you saw before you … it was an idealized version of yourself. Better-looking than anything you ever saw in the mirror.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, you heard a weak drowsy voice calling your name. You looked up and saw that Kix had woken up, his head turned towards you and his half-lidded eyes meeting yours.

“Oh- you’re awake!” you stammered, your cheeks flushing with heat as you slammed the sketchbook shut. You sprang to your feet and came to his bedside – to tend to him as a medical professional, you reminded yourself.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“My job,” you answered plainly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” he answered glibly. “But I meant, what are you doing with that?” he nodded his head best he could and glanced to the sketchbook that was still in your hand.

“Oh-“ You froze for a second. “I- sorry, I just really like your ….” Your sentence trailed off as you saw apprehension flash across his face.

“It’s fine,” Kix murmured as he averted his gaze away from you.

“I … I saw you drew me.”

“Yeah … drew that when I was away … was missing you.”

Oh. Maybe he was crushing on you too … the idea was equal parts exciting and scary.

“Missed you too,” you returned, reaching down to give his wrist a gentle squeeze. “And it’s a really good drawing of me too. Did you use a picture for reference or something?”

“Memory,” Kix said plainly.

“Wow …” You opened up the sketchbook again to your drawing and gave it another lookover. “And you made me look better than I actually do.”

“No. I told you before, I draw what I see.”

Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and you looked up to meet Kix’s gaze again. Tired as he was, he looked at you with a soft admiration, as if he was appreciating a fine work of art standing directly in front of him. Your mind was both full and blank at the same time, feeling flattered and treasured but at the same time unsure of how to respond to him.

“I … I’ve been putting off telling you how I feel about you,” he continued, “because –“

“Your duty comes first, I understand,” you cut him off as you sat down on the edge of the bed, turning your torso to better face him and setting the sketchbook down by his head.

“No, not that. Well, it has to, but – but that doesn’t mean I can’t want more out of life.” Kix paused. He raised his hand and reached it towards you. You responded by raising up your own hand, taking his in yours, and holding it in your lap. Your other hand came to rest on his wrist. He was so warm under your touch, soft and solid and steady. You knew that you would eventually have to let go, but you didn’t want to.

“My favorite part of the day is when I get to see you, whether it’s here or in passing somewhere on the ship,” he continued, “and on the battlefield after I got shot, as I was lying there, all I could think about was how I might never see you again.”

“Kix, I-“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted you. “Except, if- if after the war’s over you wanted to give it a shot? You and me?”

“Yes.” The words immediately fell from your lips as your mouth widened into a smile. You didn’t even have to think about it, and the potential consequences that the higher-ups in the GAR might inflict upon the both of you for even entertaining the idea didn’t matter. It just felt right, the idea of you and him. You couldn’t begin to explain it.

Kix returned your smile. You raised his hand to your mouth and softly kissed the back of it before lowering it back down to your lap. Before you could disentangle your hands from his, he returned that gesture as well, pulling your hand that was intertwined with his to his mouth and pressing little kisses into your knuckles. The feeling of his lips on your hand sent pleasant little tingles through your skin.

“Let’s talk about it some more after you’ve recovered,” you suggested.

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed absentmindedly. He shifted slightly in bed but suddenly stopped and froze in place, his face twisting into a pained grimace and a hiss escaping through his teeth.

“You okay?” You asked, pulling your hand back to you and scanning his body for any other signs of distress.

“Yeah, just hurts is all.”

“Let me get you some painkillers.”

“No need, I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Kix, I insist.” You told him in the sternest voice you could muster.

“I have the right to refuse treatment, especially if the treatment is better spent on my brothers who are in worse shape than I am.”

He was right, he did have the right to refuse treatment. But you couldn’t bear the idea of him being in pain.

“Okay … how about a sleeping aid then? Or some water? Can I get you anything?”

“If you want to do something for me, go get some rest. I’ll still be here when you report for your next shift.”

“Ugh, fine. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Ah come on, you know you love me.” Kix said teasingly, punctuating his statement with a smirk and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Giving him a small laugh and a half-hearted eye roll, you pushed yourself up onto your feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Before you turned to leave, you took his hand in yours again, and took a moment to gaze in his eyes. It took everything in you to not immediately start imagining a life with him after the war. There wasn’t even any guarantee there was going to be a life after the war – the cruiser you were on might be destroyed tomorrow by the Separatists for all you knew – but the idea still filled you with hope and joy. Something to look forward to with him. Something else to fight for.

#kix x reader #kix x you #clone medic kix x reader #clone medic kix #clone trooper #clone wars #star wars #my writing

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bluestownmusic · 2 years

Text

Review: Sass Jordan - Bitches Blues

Review: Sass Jordan – Bitches Blues Sass Jordan – Bitches Blues Format: CD – Vinyl LP – Digital / Label: Stony Plain Records Release: 2022 Tekst: Peter Marinus Ik werd begin jaren ‘90 erg blij van het rauwe, bluesy, geluid van Sass Jordan. Een zangeres, die geboren werd in het Britse Birmingham, en die tegenwoordig in Canada verblijft. Sass brak in 1992 door met haar ‘Racine’ album en…

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#Sass Jordan #Steve Marriner #Stony Plain Records

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fanaticfangirl001 · 3 years

Text

Headcanons: Pete Davidson Dating A Competitive Eater/Youtuber

Author’s Note: I went down a Youtube rabbit hole and this happened. If anyone has any more “specific” requests like this, I’m down to do some research on the professions.

You two meet at a party.

How your friend got tickets to it, you’ll never know but she brought you as her plus one.

It’s about a week since your last challenge/video: Everything on McDonald's Menu. (You did really good and beat your last record)

Your friend worries that you don’t do much besides working out, training your stomach, and film.

So she takes matters into her own hands, grabs your arm and introduces you to the first guy she sees, which happens to be Pete. She more or less throws you into him, spilling his drink.

Y/n: I’m so sorry. My friend is a klutz.

Pete: It’s okay, not many women are thrown into me by their friends.

Y/n: She’s a good person, just a worry wart. She thinks I work too much.

Pete: What do you do?

Y/n: Don’t laugh.

Pete: You know it’s good when it starts like that.

Y/n: I’m a competitive eater and I have a Youtube channel about it.

Pete: Wait..Like Joey Chestnut.

Y/n: Yeah I lost to him. Great guy though.

Pete: How many hot dogs did you lose by?

Y/n: A half.

Pete: So you’re like a bad-ass.

Y/n: I mean it’s hot dogs.

And the rest is history.

When you film, you’ve never had an audience until dating Pete.

The first video you film with an audience is a Big Mac challenge.

He’s quiet like he said he would be until the 20th Big Mac.

Pete: How?

Y/n: It’s a talent, also guys don’t be alarmed. I have a little audience here, it’s my boyfriend.

Your viewers very quickly put the two together and recognize that it’s Pete Davidson. Which gets the video on the Youtube Trending Page.

It’s your third time on the Trending Page

The first was a vlog about Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest where you lost to Joey by a half a hotdog.

The second was beating Matt Stonie(another competitive eater youtuber) in an After School Snack Challenge.

You take pride in planning out your videos and editing them yourself which requires time, patience, and a bit of research.

When brainstorming Pete helps by coming up with the weirdest challenge themes.

Pete: I saw a tiktok where people buy bulk themed candy mixes and they store them in huge plastic tubs.

Y/n: I doubt they are going to let me buy a whole tub.

Pete: But like could you eat that many gummies and marshmallows.

Y/n: Probably.

Pete gets so comfortable on camera that he does a Pringle eating competition with you. He eats like half a container of plain pringles and leaves the rest to you.

Pete is so proud of you that he mentions you on Weekend Update, with your newest challenges.

He never understands your post challenge diet. You eat again(very light meals)16-18 hours after a challenge and drink a lot of water very slowly in the coming days.

Pete also works out with you, and does everything except pole dancing. He says it’s because he’d rather watch you do it but in reality he doesn’t want to crush his nuts.

When the two of you announce your elopement. The first video after the honeymoon break is you and Pete eating a full wedding cake, since you two didn’t have cake after.

#Pete Davidson x reader #Pete Davidson/reader #Pete Davidson imagines #Competitive Eater reader #I really don't know how this came up

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nzvalley · 3 years

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The “Broken Bow” Novelization, Part 2

The Klaang Situation and First Impressions

Archer’s first impressions of T’Pol

I always thought that Archer and T’Pol must’ve at least interacted before, been in the same room. The novelization suggests otherwise. Like in the pilot as aired, Forrest’s opening words to Archer, that he knows everyone in the room, implies to me they’ve at least seen each other. However, a few seconds later, right after Archer learns the word Klingon, we get this moment:

He started to say something, possibly rude, when a movement behind the two Vulcans caught his eye. Another Vulcan. A woman. Wasn’t anybody going to introduce her? Or were the Vulcans so advanced that courtesy didn��t involve women? (p. 24)

In the pilot, instead of this moment where Archer notices T’Pol, we cut to a wide shot, from the interior of the infirmary, of the whole group looking at the Klingon.

Great, snarky line on the same page, from the interior monologue of Archer:

He knew that tone, that inference... good thing he was well enough educated to understand the subtle nastiness as wielded by the pointy among us.

The novelization makes much clearer that Archer is immediately impressed (in a grudging, adversarial way) with T’Pol.

The Vulcan female stepped forward, quite suddenly, right through the two elder ambassadors. She was the only one with the guts to say what she was thinking. “Until you’ve proven you’re ready.” ...

“Ready for what?” Archer asked, even though he knew. Hell, everybody knew, but he wanted to maker her say it. “To look beyond your provincial attitudes and volatile nature.” The elegant female had a firmness in her eyes. She was playing his game. She darn well comprehended the triteness of her own declaration. Maybe she was waiting to see how far Archer could be pushed. (p. 29)

and

Eyebrow raised, she looked at him in near enjoyment- was that right? There was a glint in her eye, despite her mosaic stillness. He got the idea that she might not like what she heard, but did like hearing it. Very few humans talked back to Vulcans... yet.

This Vulcan seemed subtly different from the other two- almost as if she were able to imagine Archer actually trying to knock her down- and finding humor in what would, of course, be the inevitable result of any human attempting to overpower any Vulcan. (p. 29-30)

And Archer notices T’Pol, still unintroduced and unnamed, one more time as the Vulcan delegation departs.

The Vulcans, realizing that Forrests’ resolve could not be shaken, departed in stoic silence- not before the female shot him a curious glance. Archer almost smiled, but managed to bury it. Score one for the amoebas. (p. 31)

The crew’s distrust of Vulcans

There is a deep general distrust of Vulcans among the crew, at least the senior officers. Trip speculates that T’Pol is everything from a spy to a saboteur to an assassin. And it’s not a fleeting distrust, well into the third act Trip is seriously considering the possibility that T’Pol engineered a conspiracy to incapacitate Archer. Even Hoshi openly says she dislikes T’Pol.

Malcolm and Trip look into T’Pol’s background to make sure she’s not too dangerous. What we learn about her background is pretty different than what developed later.

“Have you and Reed found out anything?” “She’s clean and normal right up until she gets the scholarship that put her in Soval’s office. Then, her records start getting real terse and kind of vague.” (p.173)

On top of depicting T’Pol’s time on Earth as being brief and sporadic, this suggests that either her comportment was declining... or something else is going on.

Testing T’Pol’s Loyalty

Archer yells at T’Pol for questioning the mission and his authority, and he reprimands T’Pol for hiding/not divulging information. The novel expands that scene quite a bit, and depicts it initially from Trip’s POV.

“Then again,” [Trip] added resentfully, “loyalty’s an emotion, isn’t it?” She looked at him, and he could tell a response was forming- what would she say? Under that stony façade and the gloss of having a “mission” of her own, what did she really think of Jonathan Archer?

There’s a whole other scene’s worth of interaction from the end of their confrontation scene that wasn’t included in the Pilot. After Travis affirms Archer’s orders, Archer and T’Pol have a serious argument.

Turning to T’Pol, Archer strictly said, “You’re going to be working with us from now on.” She paled a little, but owned up to her reasons. “I’m sorry you feel slighted. But I agree with Ambassador Soval’s restraint in giving Earth too much information. Perhaps the last thing we need is another volatile race in space with warp power: You may easily go out and get yourselves killed. It may be a mistake to have helped you so much, to give you so much before you’re ready.” “So much?” Archer barked. “You’d better use the next portion of your long lifetime to go back over the records and see just how much we’ve done on our own, in spite of your cultural cowardice.” “Cowardice?” Her eyes widened. Over to the side, Tucker smirked and pressed his lips flat with delight. (p. 117)

The argument goes on for pages, amounting to what would probably be a five minute scene. It’s actually fairly important, in terms of additional context for why T’Pol began to shift her opinion in the next few scenes on Rigel. It also shines a lot of light on Archer’s ruminations about Vulcans, including why they are behaving so strangely and illogically.

“...You’re dragging behind, and now you need us more than we need you. Why else would you want to come and teach the apes how to sew? I think all this is happening because you’re plain scared of being out here alone anymore.” Stunned, T’Pol parted her lips again. Nothing came out this time. She never blinked, as if staring at a flashing billboard declaring his words to the known galaxy. He was saying the Vulcans were doomed. Nobody had the guts to say that to their faces. Archer backed off now, but pointed at her with a determined finger. “You get on that warp trail. And you’d better find something or be able to explain why not in very clear terms. Dismissed.” T’Pol blinked almost as if he’d slapped her. She turned on her heel and exited without a word, taking a cloud of confusion along on her shoulders.”

Then there’s a few more pages of just Trip and Archer, where they discuss the possibility that the ship was infiltrated before it even launched. They also talk about T’Pol, going over whether she’ll work with the crew or continue to be the High Command’s agent. Archer actually gives her credit and tries to see the situation from her perspective.

“She’s my science officer now, not Soval’s patsy. She’ll learn that lesson over the next week if I have to tattoo it on her tongue.” “Good thing it was you chewing her out instead of me. I’d have punched her in the nose.” “She’d hit me back,” Archer said. “And she’d probably break my jaw.” Tucker grinned, rather drably. “She, uh... she came on the ship about the same time as all our little troubles started...” He broached the subject, then let it hang there. He didn’t seem to have quite the conviction for a direct accusation. Archer accepted what the engineer was saying. The ideas wasn’t new to him. He’d be silly to ignore it. “Well wait and see. Vulcans are reserved. They don’t converse. She’s just learning about us. As Vulcans go, she’s very young. I get the feeling she’s as much in the middle as we are.” (p. 121-122)

So a big chunk from the middle of the narrative has been cut out in the aired Pilot. This is the portion of the narrative where T’Pol has to either stand rigid in her loyalty to High Command and Vulcan values, or adapt a little and embrace her ability to work with humans. At this point I wouldn’t say her loyalties have shifted... but her curiosity has been piqued. The differences Archer noticed in her are really there, and she has noticed some differences about him too.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

#Star Trek #Star Trek: Enterprise #Broken Bow #Jonathan Archer #T'Pol #Diane Carey #Broken Bow Novelization #Trip Tucker

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