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jungkoode · 4 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #05 死

† medical emergencies †

"There's something ironic about learning to stitch wounds while he's sitting there half-naked, making your heart do things that probably need medical attention. But hey, at least if you stab yourself with the needle, there's a doctor in the house."

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7,5k

rating: mature

content: V being a menace, worried Chaewon, slaps, stitching practice, getting to know the medical chief aka J-Hope, shirtless stormy men and sexual tension.

☠ author's note ☠

DISCLAIMER TIME! I am not, in fact, a medical student. Shocking, I know. My knowledge of medical procedures comes entirely from watching too much House M.D. and falling down WebMD rabbit holes at 3 AM. So if any actual medical professionals are reading this... I am begging you to suspend your disbelief (；一_一)

I did spend like two hours researching stuff though! That counts for something, right? RIGHT? The things I do for accuracy, I swear. My browser history probably has me on several watch lists by now. Between this and the weapons research for chapter 3... Yeah, I'm definitely getting flagged somewhere (◎_◎;)

BUT ONTO THE GOOD STUFF! Ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between, please welcome our resident grumpy doctor to the stage! My love, my light, the medical chief himself - Jung Hoseok! What are we thinking? Because I'm lowkey living for his whole "I hate everyone but I'll still patch you up while cursing your existence" vibe.

Fun fact: I totally channeled my inner Dr. McCoy from Star Trek for his character. If you know, you know. And if you don't know... well, Spirk are my space parents and Bones is their bratty child. This is the hill I will die on. Do not @ me.

We've still got so many characters to properly introduce though! Remember that info dump in chapter 2? Yeah, we're gonna actually explore all of those personalities. Your girl's got PLANS.

Also, this chapter turned out way longer than expected but like... more content for you guys? You're welcome? I think? Look, my ADHD brain knows no word limits. It's either 500 words or 5000, there is no in between.

Anyways, hope you enjoy this one! Your comments fuel my questionable life choices and enable my caffeine addiction. Much love! (｡♥‿♥｡)

Caffeine addiction can only do so much. Stay tuned! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

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You can't help but roll your eyes as V carries you through the castle like some damsel in distress. His confidence borders on cocky as he navigates the maze-like hallways, cradling you against his chest like you're made of glass. Which you're definitely not.

"Any chance we can skip this knight-in-shining-armor bit and just let me limp my way there?" You grumble, acutely aware of how your ankle throbs with each of his steps. "I promise I won't sue if I faceplant."

V's laugh rumbles through his chest. "And rob myself of playing the dashing hero? I don't think so, love."

His grin is infuriatingly charming as he spirals down another identical-looking hallway. The air smells like industrial cleaner and... cinnamon? You wrinkle your nose, trying to place that oddly familiar scent.

"You do know where you're going, right? Or should I start worrying that we're hopelessly lost?" Your tone is dry enough to kindle a fire as V makes yet another right turn. At this rate, you'll end up back where you started.

"I could navigate this place blindfolded," V assures you with a theatrical wink. "Just thought we'd enjoy the scenic route together."

"Scenic... sure." You emphasize each word with as much sarcasm as you can muster. But dammit, there's something about his playful banter that tugs at the corners of your mouth. You bite the inside of your cheek, determined not to give him the satisfaction of making you smile.

You shift slightly in V's arms, trying to find a position that doesn't make your ankle scream. Each movement is a lovely reminder of how you got into this mess in the first place. t̶h̶a̶n̶k̶s̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶

The castle halls are alive with activity, but everything seems to pause as V carries you through. Other members stop and stare, probably wondering why one of the most dangerous men in Kkangpae is playing nurse. Their whispers follow you like shadows.

"If you're trying to show off your navigation skills, I should mention we've passed that painting three times now." You eye him skeptically.

"Bold of you to assume I'm trying to impress you." His grin never wavers. "Though I'm flattered you think I'd go to such lengths."

The silence that follows feels loaded. This little detour isn't just about getting you to medical—it's about something else. A game, maybe, or a message. With V, it's hard to tell where the performance ends and reality begins.

"So what's the real reason for the scenic route?" You can't help asking. It's weird how safe you feel in his arms, considering he could probably kill you fifteen different ways without breaking a sweat.

"Call it... building rapport." His voice drips honey-sweet mischief. "You're quite the talk of the castle these days. Thought I'd see what all the fuss is about."

A laugh bubbles up before you can stop it. There's something absurdly hilarious about being carried through the gang's headquarters by one of its most lethal members.

"Well, don't get too attached." The words come out lighter than intended. "This doesn't make us friends."

His chuckle vibrates through his chest. "Give it time." When his eyes meet yours, they're dancing with amusement. "Besides, isn't this more fun than limping alone?"

More members pass by, their stares lingering a bit too long. You know tomorrow the castle will be buzzing with gossip about this little parade, but somehow you can't bring yourself to care.

"Fun's one word for it." You crack a smile despite yourself. "But just so we're clear—I'm staying out of whatever's going on between you and Jeon."

Something dark flickers across his face at the mention of Jeon, his thorny aura constricting for just a second before relaxing again.

"Wouldn't expect anything else." There's actual respect in his voice now. "You've got a mind of your own. That's rare around here."

The infirmary door finally comes into view. This weird little moment of almost-friendship hangs in the air between you.

"End of the line." V announces with theatrical flair. "I must say, this has been delightfully entertaining."

The wooden barrier of the infirmary looms ahead, but V shows no signs of letting you down. Before you can voice your protest, he shifts you slightly to pull out his digital card, swiping it with practiced ease. The panel blinks green, and he sweeps through the door like he's making a grand entrance at a red carpet event.

You're starting to feel less like a patient and more like a prop in V's latest dramatic production.

"Not you again, V. Get out of here."

J-Hope doesn't even bother looking up from his paperwork, his voice dripping with the kind of exasperation that only comes from dealing with V's antics on a regular basis.

"But it's an emergency, Hobs!" V's pout is so exaggerated it should come with its own spotlight. "This young lady has been severely injured."

J-Hope finally turns around, giving you a quick once-over before fixing V with an unimpressed stare. "That's what you say every three business days."

"Ah, but this time it's different, I promise." V's grin could charm snakes, but J-Hope seems immune.

"And why exactly should I believe you?" He crosses his arms. "You know I only handle council cases and actual emergencies."

V sets you down on the nearest bed with surprising gentleness, his playful demeanor dimming just slightly. "I know, I know. But look at her ankle. It's swollen like a balloon. I couldn't just leave her hobbling around, could I?"

J-Hope sighs but steps closer to examine your injury. His touch is clinical and professional as he assesses the damage. "Fine. But this is the last time, V. You can't keep using the infirmary as your personal clinic for every damsel you distress."

"Damsel I distress?" V laughs, eyes dancing with mischief. "That's a new one. But I appreciate your assistance, Hobs. You're a true friend."

"Don't 'true friend' me." J-Hope rolls his eyes, gathering his medical supplies. "I'm only doing this because it's my job. And because she actually looks like she needs help, unlike your usual guests."

V lounges against a counter like he owns the place, watching J-Hope gather supplies. "Come on, give me some credit. I do bring real patients sometimes."

"Yeah, once every solar eclipse." J-Hope doesn't even look up from his medical kit. His earthy, sandalwood scent mixes with the sharp hospital smell of the infirmary.

V just shrugs, that playful grin still plastered on his face.

J-Hope finally turns to you, all business now. "Let's check that ankle." Then to V: "Get out."

"Think I'll stick around." V doesn't budge an inch. "Make sure she's in capable hands and all that."

"Right, because you're such an expert on medical care." J-Hope rolls his eyes. "Just admit you're bored and looking for entertainment."

V's laugh bounces off the sterile walls. "Maybe. Or maybe I just care deeply about my fellow gang members' wellbeing."

"Ignore him," J-Hope tells you, voice gentler than you expected from someone who looks perpetually done with everyone's shit. "This might hurt a bit."

You try to focus on J-Hope's treatment, but it's hard with V hovering nearby, his thorny aura filling the room. There's something almost fascinating about watching these two interact—like they can't stand each other but also can't help falling into this familiar pattern of bickering.

It hits you then, sitting on this hospital bed with one of the gang's most dangerous members playing guard dog while the chief medical officer patches you up—you've somehow stumbled right into the middle of Kkangpae's complicated web of relationships. And judging by the way V's still watching everything like a hawk, you're not getting untangled anytime soon.

The quiet of the infirmary shatters when the door slams open with enough force to make you jump. J-Hope doesn't even flinch—probably used to dramatic entrances by now.

Chaewon bursts in looking like she just ran a marathon, panic written all over her face. When she spots you on the bed with J-Hope working on your ankle and V lounging nearby, that panic turns to pure rage.

She doesn't say a word. Just marches straight up to V and slaps him so hard the sound echoes off the sterile walls. V, being V, doesn't even have the decency to look hurt. Just keeps grinning like this is all terribly amusing.

"Wow, you're feisty today, Chaechae." He rubs his cheek, still smiling. The nickname only seems to piss her off more.

"You absolute asshole." Chaewon's practically vibrating with anger. "I let you handle cross-training with my division for one day and someone gets hurt? What the hell, V?"

V throws his hands up, the picture of innocence. "Hey now, this one's not on me. Blame Jeon."

"Jeon?" She scoffs like the very idea is ridiculous. "Yeah, right."

You figure you should probably step in before Chaewon decides to slap V again. Not that he doesn't deserve it, but your division chief shouldn't have to deal with assault charges today.

"Actually..." You clear your throat. "It kind of was Jeon. I mean, technically it was my fault."

Everyone turns to stare at you. Even J-Hope pauses his ankle-wrapping to raise an eyebrow.

"I tried to ambush him," you explain, heat creeping up your neck. "There were these weird noises in the forest, then footsteps, and I thought maybe it was an enemy or something. Turned out to be Jeon. And then we found out it was all just V's paintball game."

Chaewon's anger dims a little as she looks at you, but when she turns back to V, there's still plenty of bite in her voice. "Paintball? Again? Are you actually five years old?"

"Guilty." V's grin gets wider, if that's even possible. "But you have to admit, it keeps things interesting around here."

"Can we focus on the actual patient?" J-Hope cuts through the tension, sounding like he's one dramatic moment away from throwing everyone out. "You can kill each other later, preferably not in my infirmary."

Chaewon's shoulders drop a little, but you can still see worry lines creasing her forehead as she moves closer to your bed. Her presence feels protective, almost maternal—which is weird considering she can't be that much older than you.

"You okay?" She asks softly, then shoots V a glare that could melt steel. "I should've known better than to let them handle cross-training. Especially those two."

V just keeps grinning like this is the most entertaining show he's watched all week. He steps back, giving Chaewon space, but you notice he doesn't actually leave. Probably hoping for more drama.

"It's fine," you try to sound reassuring. "Just a sprain. Could've happened to anyone."

Chaewon's face says she's not buying it. The look she gives you reminds you of when your mom knew you were lying about doing your homework. Meanwhile, V's just chilling against the wall, watching everything unfold like it's his personal Netflix series.

J-Hope works on your ankle in silence, occasionally muttering what sounds like curses under his breath. The infirmary fills with an awkward mix of Chaewon's worried sighs, J-Hope's grumpy instructions, and V's unhelpful commentary about proper ankle-wrapping technique that makes J-Hope's eye twitch.

"There." J-Hope finally sits back, your ankle wrapped tight in elastic bandage. "Nothing serious, but you need to rest. Keep it elevated above your heart, keep the compression on. Should be fine in a couple weeks."

Your stomach drops. "I'm sorry—did you say weeks?"

"If you're lucky." He stands up with a scoff that suggests he's seen way too many idiots ignore his advice. "Could be longer if you try to play hero."

You look at Chaewon, hoping she'll say something about how that timeline is ridiculous.

Two weeks of no training?

You'll be behind everyone else, t̶o̶t̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶u̶s̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ completely out of practice by the time you're healed.

"I can't just not train for two weeks." The words come out whiny, but you're desperate. Two weeks of doing nothing while everyone else gets stronger? No way.

"Hell fucking no." J-Hope's voice is definite as he digs through medical drawers. "I'm not dealing with Jeon 2.0. You either rest for two weeks or I'll make it two months."

"That's why he avoids this place like the plague." V's still lounging in the doorway like he owns it, looking way too amused by everything.

J-Hope slams a drawer shut. "God forbid that fucker lets me do my actual job." He finally finds what he's looking for—a small bottle of pills. "Here." He tosses them at you with surprising accuracy. "Ibuprofen. One every eight hours. Six if you're dying, which you won't be if you actually rest."

"But—"

"Two. Weeks." Each word comes out like a threat. "Unless you want to become my permanent resident." His scowl could curdle milk. "And you—" He rounds on V, who's still grinning like this is the best entertainment he's had all day. "Get that bastard in here. His check-up's three months late."

V actually laughs at that. "What makes you think I have any control over what Mr. Stick-up-his-ass does?"

"Maybe he'll show up just to spite you." J-Hope's voice is dry as dust.

"Your optimism is adorable."

"Well, hope is literally my name." A rare smirk crosses J-Hope's face before his signature frown returns. "And you owe me, you dramatic little shit."

"As you wish, oh great healer." V throws his hands up in mock surrender, laying the theatrics on thick. "Your humble servant shall attempt this impossible task."

You stare at the bottle of ibuprofen in your hands, turning it over and over like maybe if you fidget with it enough, the label will change from "two weeks rest" to something more bearable. The thought of being benched for that long makes your stomach twist.

Two weeks is forever in gang time. Everyone else will be getting stronger, better, more valuable, while you're stuck playing invalid. By the time you're back on your feet, you'll be so far behind it'll be like starting over.

"Hey." The bed dips as Chaewon sits beside you, her presence grounding and familiar. "I can see those wheels turning. Don't stress. We'll figure something out."

"Actually," J-Hope pipes up from where he's finally managed to shoo V out the door. "You've got cross-training with my division coming up anyway. Could knock that out while you're healing. We always need an extra pair of hands here, and it'll keep you from going stir-crazy."

"Seriously?" You glance between them, hardly daring to hope. Medical training sounds way better than two weeks of staring at your ceiling.

"Makes sense." Chaewon nods, and something in her tone makes you think she's already working out the details in her head. "We can reschedule your Assassination Division training too. They can do individual sessions to work around your injury."

Wait.

Individual sessions? As in... one-on-one training? With V?

With Jeon?

Your brain short-circuits for a second before logic kicks back in. Cross-training exists for a reason—coordination between divisions is crucial in this life-or-death world you've chosen. One wrong move, one miscommunication, and people end up dead. If private lessons are what it takes to stay in the game, then t̶h̶a̶t̶'̶s̶ ̶t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ that's what you'll do.

"Okay." Your voice comes out smaller than intended, but you mean it.

"Good." J-Hope shoves his hands in his pockets, already looking done with this conversation. "See you tomorrow before lunch then."

"See you tomorrow, chief." You manage a smile, even as your mind races with possibilities—both exciting and terrifying—of what these next two weeks might bring.

Chaewon insists on wheeling you back to your room herself. The halls feel longer from wheelchair height, and her silence as she pushes you isn't helping. You can practically hear the gears turning in her head, probably already reworking training schedules around your stupid ankle.

She swipes her card at the elevator before you can even reach for yours. The ride up is quiet except for the soft hum of machinery and your own thoughts about how spectacularly you managed to mess up your first cross-training session.

The elevator dings open to your division's floor, and immediately you hear laughter spilling out from the lounge. Eunchae and Sakura are sprawled across the couch, but their smiles fade as soon as they spot you rolling in like some kind of injury parade.

"Holy shit, what happened?" Eunchae practically teleports to your side, crouching next to the wheelchair with wide eyes.

"Yeah, we heard all this commotion earlier but then you just... vanished." Sakura hovers nearby, her gaze bouncing between your wrapped ankle and your face like she's trying to piece together what went wrong.

You let out a long breath. "So... funny story. I tried to ambush Jeon during V's paintball game because I thought he was an enemy infiltrator or something."

"Oh no." Sakura's face does this thing where she's trying not to wince but totally failing.

"What the hell?" Eunchae's protective side flares up immediately. "Did that asshole body slam you or something?"

"Actually, no." You can't help but laugh at how ridiculous it all sounds now. "He just... countered me. Really easily. I'm the one who fucked up my landing."

"That's rough, buddy." Eunchae squeezes your shoulder, and you're grateful for how normal she's making this feel. "We played it smart—just hid behind trees and watched everyone else lose their minds."

"Yeah, except someone turned out to be weirdly good with a paintball gun." Eunchae nudges Sakura with her elbow. "Better watch out, Jeon. You've got competition."

Quick footsteps in the hallway make you look up. Yunjin bursts into the lounge like she's being chased, pink hair flying everywhere, face flushed.

"I heard voices and—oh my god, are you okay?" The words tumble out of her in a rush. "I couldn't find you after all that shooting started and I got so worried and—"

"Just a sprained ankle," you cut off her spiral with what you hope is a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, really."

Her shoulders drop a little, but she's still hovering like a concerned mother hen. "I got you dinner from the cafeteria. Figured you might be hungry after... everything."

The gesture makes something warm bloom in your chest. "Thanks, Yun. You're the best."

Chaewon clears her throat, reminding everyone she's still here. "Alright, enough chit-chat. Time to get you to bed. Doctor's orders."

Your little entourage follows as Chaewon wheels you to your room—Yunjin with the food tray balanced carefully in her hands, Eunchae and Sakura trailing behind like excited puppies. The scene would almost be funny if your ankle wasn't throbbing with every tiny bump in the floor.

Once you're settled in bed (after Yunjin fusses with your pillows for a solid minute), everyone finds spots to perch. The food smells amazing, and you realize you're actually starving.

"So what happened after I got taken out?" you ask between bites. "Did anyone else get ambushed by grumpy snipers?"

Sakura practically bounces in her seat. "Oh my god, you missed the best part! V did this insane action-movie roll thing when someone tried to corner him—"

"He looked like a deranged raccoon," Eunchae cuts in, making Yunjin snort water through her nose.

You lean back against your mountain of pillows (thanks, Yunjin), letting their chatter and laughter wash over you. Your ankle still hurts like a bitch, and the thought of dealing with Jeon and V for the next two weeks makes you want to scream a little. But right now, surrounded by these idiots who somehow became your family...

Maybe it won't be completely terrible.

t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶'̶s̶ ̶s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶e̶c̶t̶ ̶f̶a̶c̶e̶

Morning hits different when your whole body feels like it's been run over by a truck. Between last night's paintball drama and your throbbing ankle, you sleep through your usual breakfast time. Not that there's much point in early rising when you're stuck playing invalid anyway.

By the time you make it to the cafeteria, the morning rush is long gone. Your beloved croissants are just a distant memory, replaced by sad-looking toast and a fried egg that's probably been sitting under the heat lamp for hours. You grab a cup of earl gray because there's no way in hell you're touching that brown water they call coffee at this hour.

At least Eunchae's still around. She's like Yunjin's louder, bolder evil twin—in the best way possible. While Yunjin's off somewhere being productive (thanks to that whole "new year, new me" thing), Eunchae's happy to keep you company, practically writing poetry about her breakfast sandwich. The girl takes her food seriously, and honestly? You respect that.

When breakfast's done, she insists on walking you to the infirmary. You've swapped the wheelchair for crutches because hobbling around on sticks somehow feels less pathetic than being rolled everywhere like some kind of injured parade float.

You slide your card at J-Hope's private wing, expecting rejection—his space is usually reserved for council members and people who are literally dying. But apparently he's added you to his VIP list because the scanner blinks green without hesitation.

J-Hope actually looks pleased when you walk in, which is weird enough to make you do a double-take. Then again, he probably doesn't get many patients who actually follow his instructions. Must be a nice change from dealing with gang leaders who think they're too important for basic medical care.

Eunchae gives you a warm wave and friendly nod before disappearing, leaving you alone with the medical chief. The quiet efficiency of his workspace and his focused presence makes everything feel weirdly... peaceful.

"Nice to see someone following orders for once," he mutters, not looking up from what appears to be a small mountain of paperwork.

"You didn't exactly make it optional." Your lips twitch into a crooked smile.

"Never do." He grunts, shuffling papers. "Some people are just too stubborn to live."

"Can't you pull rank on them? Being head of medicine and all?" The question slips out before you can stop it.

"Oh, I do. More than I'd like." His voice carries years of dealing with difficult patients. "In here, I'm god. They pull rank, I pull rank. Doesn't matter if you're the supreme leader of the universe—I'll uno reverse card your ass so fast your head will spin."

"Bet that goes over well with the big shots."

"Their faces are always priceless." He actually smirks, tapping a stack of papers into perfect alignment. "Now, ready to learn how to not kill people with medical supplies?"

"Born ready." You settle into a chair, trying not to look too eager. After all, how hard can it be?

The infirmary honestly feels very different from the rest of the castle—all sterile air and quiet efficiency. J-Hope moves around like he's performing some kind of medical ballet, laying out supplies with the kind of precision that makes you think he could probably do this in his sleep.

Which, you guess, he probably can.

"Alright, lesson one." He snaps on latex gloves. "Stitching wounds isn't like sewing clothes. You fuck up, get sloppy with cleanliness, and your patient gets an infection. In our line of work, that's not just inconvenient—it's deadly."

You pull on your own gloves, the latex clinging weird and tight to your fingers. J-Hope picks up a suture needle, holding it between you like he's showing off a prized possession.

"What about when we're in the middle of nowhere?" The question slips out before you can stop it. "You know, during missions when shit goes sideways?"

He sets the needle down, and something in his expression shifts. The overhead light catches the tired lines around his eyes—probably from years of patching up stubborn gang members at ungodly hours.

"Field medicine is different," he says, suddenly sounding more like a battle-hardened mentor than a cranky doctor. "Clean is still better, but sometimes you've got to choose between perfect and alive. When someone's bleeding out in some warehouse, you work with what you've got."

He grabs a bottle of disinfectant, tapping it with one finger. "This? This is your new best friend. Small enough to carry anywhere, strong enough to maybe keep someone from dying of infection in a pinch."

"What about stitches?" The question slips out before you can stop it. The thought of someone bleeding out because you don't know what you're doing makes your stomach turn.

J-Hope nods like he gets it. His usual grumpiness softens into something more teacher-like. "In the field? Use whatever you've got—fishing line, clean thread, even fibers from sterilized cloth. Main thing is getting that wound closed before they bleed out or it gets infected."

He lets that sink in for a moment, fiddling with something metallic between his fingers. For all his crankiness, there's something reassuring about how seriously he takes this stuff.

"But the second—and I mean second—you're back, you bring them to me." His voice goes hard again. "This isn't permanent fixing, it's just keeping them alive until they reach actual medical care."

He holds up what looks like a weirdly curved needle. "This is what we use for stitching. Curved makes it easier to control, especially for beginners." His fingers dance over different types of thread. "Absorbable sutures for internal wounds, non-absorbable for surface cuts."

"Yeah, that means absolutely nothing to me."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "Right. Let's dumb it down." He reaches for what looks like a small medical kit. "In the field, you won't have time to play doctor. Your emergency kit will have basic curved needles and non-absorbable thread. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."

"And the other kind? The absorbable ones?"

"Those are for surgery—internal stuff. They dissolve on their own." He waves vaguely at the door. "Out there? Stick to non-absorbable. Quick and dirty fixes until you can get them proper help."

"So it's basically just... sewing someone up?" You try not to sound as skeptical as you feel.

"If you want to oversimplify it, sure." His dark eyes lock onto yours, dead serious. "But this isn't patching up your favorite jeans. You've got to line everything up right, make it tight enough to hold but not so tight it causes damage. And for fuck's sake, keep everything as clean as humanly possible."

You nod along, trying to picture yourself actually doing this in the field. The thought of having someone's life literally in your hands makes your stomach do weird flips.

"What about really bad wounds?" The question slips out before you can stop yourself. "Like, really bad."

J-Hope's hands pause over his supplies. Something in his expression shifts, and suddenly you remember he's probably seen exactly what you're imagining.

"Then your priority is keeping them alive long enough to get to me." His voice goes flat, professional. "Stop the bleeding first. Stabilize what you can. Stitches won't mean shit if they bleed out before you finish the first one." He looks you dead in the eye. "I'm good at what I do, but I can't bring back the dead."

The words hit harder than you expected. It's easy to forget sometimes, working in Seduction, that this isn't just some elaborate roleplay. People actually die in this life.

You watch as J-Hope threads the needle easily, his movements quick and precise. When he turns to what looks like a piece of fake skin, you try not to think too hard about where it came from or why it looks so... realistic.

"Pay attention now." He positions the needle above the practice pad. "Basic interrupted suture—it's your best friend in the field. Simple, reliable, gets the job done."

The way he handles the needle is almost mesmerizing. Each movement flows into the next like he's done this a million times before. Which, considering his job, he probably has. The stitches line up perfectly, neat little soldiers in a row.

"The key is entering at a 90-degree angle," he explains, demonstrating another perfect stitch. "Too shallow, it won't hold. Too deep, you cause more damage."

You lean closer, fascinated despite yourself. It's kind of beautiful, in a morbid way. Like some deadly form of embroidery.

"Your turn." He holds out the needle, and suddenly this doesn't seem so fascinating anymore. "Time to see if you've been paying attention."

Your hand definitely doesn't shake when you take it. Not even a little. And if it does? Well, that's between you and whatever poor bastard ends up needing your stitches someday.

You take a deep breath and try to copy J-Hope's movements. Your hands aren't nearly as steady as his, but he guides you with surprising patience, adjusting your grip here and the angle there. For someone so cranky, he's turning out to be a pretty decent teacher.

"Not completely terrible for a first try." The words sound almost like praise coming from him. "This kind of skill? Could mean the difference between life and death out there."

A soft beep cuts through the quiet, followed by the infirmary door swinging open.

Cool air rushes in, making goosebumps rise on your arms.

You don't need to look to know who it is—there's only one person whose presence makes the air feel this heavy, like the moment before rain.

Jeon walks in, all dark clothes and darker mood. His eyes find yours first, something unreadable flickering across his face before he turns to J-Hope.

"Looks like V didn't hold back," J-Hope says with a smirk.

Jeon just grunts, which seems to be his default response to everything.

"Sit." J-Hope points to a nearby chair like he's commanding a particularly stubborn dog. "I'll deal with you in a minute."

You try not to stare as Jeon drops into the chair, but it's hard to ignore how he fills up the space. Everything about him radiates tension—from the set of his jaw to the way his fingers tap against his thigh. The guy looks about as comfortable as a cat in water.

The contrast between them is almost funny—J-Hope moving around with his usual efficient calm while Jeon sits there emanating pure "don't touch me" energy. You catch a whiff of pine and mint when he shifts, and something in your chest does this weird little flip that you choose to ignore.

You try to focus on your suturing practice, but your eyes keep drifting to Jeon. It's weird seeing him like this—quiet, still, almost t̶a̶m̶e̶ docile. The great Chief of Tactical Assassinations, reduced to sitting in a medical chair waiting for J-Hope like some kind of obedient schoolboy.

He looks... different here. Less like the intimidating force of nature who uses you as paintball bait, more like someone who really, really doesn't want to be at the doctor's. His knee bounces slightly—probably the only sign he'll allow of his discomfort.

The door clicks shut behind J-Hope, and suddenly you're very aware that you're alone with Jeon. The silence feels heavy, broken only by the soft rustle of medical supplies and his measured breathing.

You force yourself to concentrate on the needle in your hand. These stitches aren't going to practice themselves, and the last thing you need is to look incompetent in front of him. But it's hard to focus when you can feel him there.

It's just so strange seeing him hold himself back like this. Usually his presence fills any room he's in, but now he seems almost... contained. Like he's trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.

It doesn't work though—you're still hyper-aware of every tiny movement he makes.

The silence stretches until it feels like another person in the room. You've never been good with awkward silences, but starting a conversation with Jeon feels about as appealing as pulling teeth. Besides, what would you even say?

Thanks for using me as bait earlier, that was super fun?

"How's the ankle?"

His voice catches you off guard—low and quiet, missing that sharp edge he usually carries. For a second, you're not sure if you imagined it.

"It's... getting better," you manage, your voice too loud in the quiet room. "J-Hope knows what he's doing."

The corner of Jeon's mouth twitches up, and for a second he looks almost human. "Yeah, give that man a white coat and suddenly he thinks he runs the place."

There's this weird undertone of respect when he says it though. Like maybe he actually appreciates having someone who isn't afraid to boss him around. You get it —there's something weirdly comforting about J-Hope's no-nonsense attitude, even when he's being a grumpy dictator about your ankle.

"He definitely doesn't take shit from anyone." You find yourself smiling a little, because it's true. Even the mighty Jeon has to sit and wait his turn in here.

Something flickers across his face and he looks away quickly, like he just remembered he's supposed to be an intimidating gang leader, not someone who makes small talk about cranky doctors.

You go back to your stitching, trying to focus on the fake skin instead of how weird it feels to have an almost normal conversation with him. The silence creeps back in, but it's different now. Less like you're both waiting for the other to attack, more like... well, like two people just waiting for the doctor.

You try to focus on your stitching practice, but something feels off. There's a rustle that doesn't quite fit with the usual infirmary sounds—too careful, too measured.

When you glance up, you catch Jeon staring at... a pastry bag? One that definitely wasn't there when he first walked in. Or maybe it was and you were too distracted by his whole everything to notice.

He's looking down at it like it holds the secrets of the universe, brow furrowed in concentration. It's weird seeing the Chief of Tactical Assassinations, terror of rival gangs, looking almost t̶e̶r̶r̶i̶f̶i̶e̶d̶ uncertain about a paper bag.

What could possibly have the human hurricane so wrapped up in thought? The last time you saw him this intense, he was lining up a sniper shot. But now he's just... staring. At pastries.

Before you can ponder this mystery further, J-Hope bursts back in, arms loaded with enough medical supplies to patch up a small army. The sudden entrance makes Jeon flinch—just barely, but you catch it. His eyes snap up like he's been caught doing something wrong.

Then, in a move that feels almost panicked (if Jeon did panic, which he obviously doesn't), he thrusts the bag at J-Hope.

"For you." The words come out gruff and quick. His tattooed hand extends the bag like he's diffusing a bomb, gaze fixed somewhere over J-Hope's left shoulder.

J-Hope freezes mid-step, and honestly? Fair reaction. If this was V pulling something like this, it'd be normal—probably part of some elaborate prank. But Jeon? The same guy who treats medical check-ups like personal attacks? Bringing peace offerings?

"You know I don't even like croissants, right?" J-Hope stares at the bag like it might bite him. The disbelief in his voice makes you pause mid-stitch.

"It was the last one." Jeon crosses his arms, all defensive posture and clenched jaw.

J-Hope holds the pastry bag between two fingers like it's evidence in a crime scene. When he looks up at Jeon, his eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "What's the catch? Trying to bribe your way out of the physical?"

"What am I, V now?" Jeon's shrug carries enough attitude to fill the room. "No catch. Just thought I'd... you know." He waves vaguely at the bag, looking like every word physically pains him.

You focus very intently on your stitching practice, pretending you're not eavesdropping on whatever this weird interaction is. The silence stretches until J-Hope breaks it.

"Right..." He drags the word out like he's talking to a particularly suspicious child. "Since when do you do random acts of kindness?"

Something flickers across Jeon's face. His eyes meet yours for a split second, and your stomach does this weird flip that you choose to blame on hunger. The scent of pine gets stronger as his irritation builds.

"Since now, apparently." His voice could freeze hell over. "If you don't want it, give it to her. I don't give a shit."

J-Hope's eyebrows climb even higher as he turns to you, lips twitching. "Want a potentially poisoned croissant? I can test it first if you're feeling brave."

Your ears definitely perk up at the mention of croissant. After that sad excuse for breakfast this morning, you're practically going through withdrawal. The smell of butter and fresh pastry wafting from the bag is t̶o̶r̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ tempting.

"I'll risk it." You can't help but laugh a little. "Can't say no to a good croissant, even if it comes from suspicious sources."

Jeon's eyes find yours for a split second. Something colors his face—too quick to catch—before that familiar blank mask slides back into place. He doesn't say anything, but some of that rigid tension leaves his shoulders.

J-Hope passes you the bag, but his attention stays locked on Jeon like he's trying to solve a particularly frustrating puzzle. The pastry's still warm when you take it, and honestly? If it's poisoned, at least you'll die happy.

"Right then." J-Hope's voice goes stern. "Your turn, Mr. I-Can-Walk-It-Off. You're three months late for your check-up." He emphasizes each word like he's scolding a child. "Three months, Jeon."

Jeon responds with his signature grunt, finally hauling himself out of the chair. He moves to the medical bed a few meters away from you, and you can smell the pine notes slowly dissipating. Not that you're paying attention to how he smells. Obviously.

The infirmary suddenly feels smaller when Jeon steps into the medical bed area. There's something about the way he moves—all quiet power and deadly grace—that reminds you of his rank. Every single one of his steps looks calculated, like he's constantly ready for anything.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, and you try really hard not to stare. t̶r̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶k̶e̶y̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶d̶ The movement is unfairly fluid, drawing attention to arms that definitely come from years of training. The kind of definition that makes you think he could probably lift you without breaking a sweat. (You already know he can)

Your eyes drift to his hands—the same ones you've seen wrapped around coffee cups or handling weapons, but never really looked at before. The infirmary's harsh lighting makes the tattoos on his wrists pop, intricate designs disappearing under his black t-shirt like secrets waiting to be discovered. His fingers are long and elegant despite their strength, decorated with simple silver and black rings that somehow make them look even more dangerous.

He grabs the hem of his shirt and—oh.

Oh.

The movement is so casual it's almost offensive, the way he just strips off his shirt like it's nothing. Like he doesn't know exactly what he's doing to your blood pressure right now.

A tattoo catches your eye, peeking above his waistband. "Devil never sleeps" inked in bold letters right above the waistband of his pants, and suddenly you're very interested in what that might mean. t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶s̶ ̶f̶o̶r̶ ̶l̶a̶t̶e̶r̶

Your gaze definitely doesn't trail up his torso. You absolutely don't notice the thin silver chain you've never seen before, probably always hidden under that stupid leather jacket. And you certainly don't catalog how the muscles in his chest look strong but not bulky, or how his abs are defined but natural-looking, the kind that come from actual fighting instead of just gym sessions.

And for some stupid reason the pine scent comes back, stronger, and you realize you might be staring. But honestly? If he's going to just casually strip in front of you, he can deal with the consequences. You're only human, after all.

You try to focus on your stitching practice. Really, you do. But there's something magnetic about the way his scars and tattoos map stories across his skin. Each mark feels like a chapter you shouldn't want to read but can't help being curious about. It's not just that he's t̶o̶o̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶ physically impressive—it's the way he wears his battle wounds like armor.

Jeon doesn't seem to notice or care about your wandering eyes. He carries himself with this casual confidence that suggests being shirtless in the infirmary is just another weekday for him. He shifts a bit, settling on the edge of the medical bed.

You snap your attention back to your suture pad so fast you nearly stab yourself with the needle. This is not the time to appreciate how the fluorescent lights catch on his silver chain, or how his muscles shift when he—nope. Absolutely not. Back to stitching.

J-Hope transforms before your eyes, seemingly possessed by professional focus. He grabs his stethoscope with ease, moving toward Jeon like he's approaching any other patient. Not a deadly gang leader who could probably kill someone with his a snap of his fingers.

"Let's check that heart of yours first, Jeon." The words come out clinical, detached.

Jeon just nods, and it's weird seeing him this... compliant. His stormy presence seems to settle into something quieter.

When the stethoscope touches Jeon's chest, the room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You definitely don't notice how the metal disc sits right above one of his tattoos, or how his breathing stays perfectly steady despite the cold touch.

"Heart sounds good, strong and regular." J-Hope moves the stethoscope, all business.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes because of course his heart's perfect too.

Stupid, perfect Jeon with his stupid, perfect everything.

Jeon stares straight ahead at some fascinating spot on the wall, the perfect picture of indifference. His chest rises and falls steadily under J-Hope's stethoscope, and you definitely don't notice how the muscles shift with each breath. Nope. Not at all.

"Deep breaths," J-Hope instructs, all business.

Jeon complies without a word. The movement makes his chest expand more noticeably, and you suddenly find your suturing practice absolutely fascinating.

Super interesting, these fake stitches. Totally worth your complete attention.

Except it's not.

Your hands are going through the motions, but your mind keeps wandering. The needle weaves in and out mechanically while you try really hard not to think about the way the infirmary lights catch on Jeon's silver chain, or how his jaw clenches slightly when J-Hope's stethoscope touches a cold spot.

You feel like you're intruding on something private, which is stupid because it's just a medical exam. But there's something weirdly intimate about watching someone like Jeon—who's usually wrapped in leather and attitude—sitting here half-naked and compliant.

The needle slips.

"Shit—" The sharp sting makes you jump.

A bright red bead of blood wells up on your fingertip, because apparently you can't even do basic stitching when you're t̶o̶o̶ ̶b̶u̶s̶y̶ ̶o̶g̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ slightly distracted.

"You okay over there?" J-Hope looks up from his examination.

You're about to brush it off when you feel it—Jeon's eyes on you. The weight of his gaze hits like a physical thing, dark and heavy and way too knowing. Like he can tell exactly why you stabbed yourself, and t̶h̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶t̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶h̶o̶t̶ that's... interesting.

There's something in that look—something that makes your skin prickle and your breath catch.

Is he annoyed? Amused? Or maybe...

He turns away before you can figure it out, but the heat lingers on your skin like a brand.

Jeon grabs his shirt and pulls it back on in one smooth motion. You try not to notice how the fabric clings slightly before settling into place, or how his hair gets messed up for just a second before he runs his fingers through it. Just like that, the mask slides back on—Chief of Tactical Assassinations restored, that glimpse of something more human safely locked away again.

Your finger throbs, a tiny punishment for letting yourself get distracted.

t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶h̶y̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶n̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶g̶s̶ Real professional, getting caught staring like some rookie. In this life, distractions get people killed. Though usually not by sewing needles.

J-Hope's already moving around the room, putting away his supplies. He definitely catches you trying to hide your pricked finger, because suddenly he's there, slapping a band-aid on it with more force than strictly necessary.

"Pay attention next time," he grumbles, but there's something almost fond in how annoyed he sounds. "These needles aren't toys."

Jeon's already heading for the door, leather jacket back in place. He moves like someone who can't wait to put as much distance between himself and this medical checkup as possible.

Can't really blame him—you'd probably bolt too if you had to deal with J-Hope's judgment this early in the morning.

He pauses at the door though, just for a second. Those dark eyes find yours one last time, and something in your chest does this weird little thing that has nothing to do with the pine and mint scent he leaves behind.

Then he's gone, and you're left wondering what kind of storms are brewing behind those gloomy eyes.

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artemisdesari-blog · 1 year ago

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You know what I miss? I miss "don't like, don't read" being the primary accepted attitude to fanfic spaces. I miss a time when people had to actively look for the things they did and did not want to see instead of an algorithm shoving echo chambers of like minded folks at us until that's all that we can see and hear. I miss the times when people looked at their internet space and curated it into what they wanted it to be rather than being told by the machine what it should be.

I miss people understanding that while fiction may reflect our reality, it only affects our reality if we allow it to. I read my first sex scene in a book when I was 13 (my mum read the first third, got bored and let me read it, the sex popped up about two thirds in), I had already encountered themes of SA in mainstream media before that, not to mention torture and murder just being an obliquely referenced thing in even kids programs at the time. I routinely read books which featured war and carnage, child endangerment and even heavily implied child assault/abuse, relationships with massive age gaps, abusive relationships, implied incest (by the time I was 10 everyone in my year group at school knew the story of Oedipus, and anyone who went through the Greek and Roman mythology stage got an eyeful of all of it, frankly), and relationships where the power imbalances were huge. Fanfic authors may explore the darkest sides of human nature, but mainstream media has been doing that for FAR longer than we have. If anything, in exploring it fanfic authors have also called it out far more than mainstream media does (looking at you, romcoms)

I miss people understanding that you cannot hurt a work of fiction: the characters aren't real people. Some of my earliest exposure to fanfic was in the early days of FFN, and then scouring the internet for fic which had not made it onto that central hosting site. Those were the wild west days, the days when people treated fanfic like published books and gave you a summary and not a lot else. At the risk of sounding like an eighty year old lady: you youngins today have no idea how good you have it. The tagging systems on AO3 (in particular) make it difficult to run into things you would prefer not to read about unless the writer has opted not to tag. Sometimes that's a simple oversight, sometimes it isn't, but most will tag for the most common triggers if they feature. And, quite honestly, if they don't you can ask them to tag it, but the back button also exists and should be used.

I miss people understanding that inter-generational friendships are actually pretty common and normal. I started work at 16, I made friends in my work place who were anything from 5 to 40 years older than me. I had my work mum, who watched my back when the early morning customers got a bit too flirty with my 16 year old self, my manager who was 12 years older than me but who gave me advice about boys my age and who could talk Star Trek and all other sci-fi with me for hours and who told the idiot who was 7 years older than me who asked me out to back off when I said no. They taught me a lot about life and navigating the world as an adult that I didn't learn from my parents or teachers or peers. They taught me about communicating with people older than me, and strangely about talking to people younger than me too.

I miss people understanding that the bad guys aren't fascinating because I agree with them. The bad guys are fascinating because they are the bad guy. What is their motivation? Do they even have motivation or are they just like that? There is a reason the bad guys get the juiciest lines. Would I want to encounter Darth Vader, or Hannibal Lecter, or any other popular evil character in a dark alley? Hell no. I wouldn't even want to bump into them in the middle of a busy street on a sunny day, but they are fascinating to read about and watch. They are fascinating to write. That doesn't mean I agree with any of the things their characters do, and I might only be playing with them, but someone else thought them up and imagined all of the awful stuff that they could do first. Why do fanfic writers get absolutely crucified for playing with them, when the creators are left in peace?

Look at it this way: I read IT when I was 14, I did not immediately go out and recreate a few of the more controversial scenes in that one. I read multiple books about 16, 17, 18 year old girls getting into relationships with men old enough to be their fathers, I didn't go out and start looking for a man that old to date. I don't murder and SA and pillage my way through the world no matter how many times it's come up in books and films and tv series. Reading about it doesn't mean I don't understand how terrible it is, but as I said at the start: reality is reflected in our media. How many films have been made about war? How many TV shows that deal with all manner of crimes? How many books that have characters which were abused as children? Or deal with incest?

So, if you really object to all the stuff you see in fanfic, how about you go out there and try to make things better for actual REAL victims, instead of attacking people who are simply writing about an imaginary figure? Especially when some of those people are the victims you claim to be trying to protect. Evil people have always existed, they exist now, they existed 100 years ago, they existed 1000 years ago. They certainly didn't need the internet to inspire them then, and they don't need it now either.

#fanfiction #ao3 writer #proshipping #things that I miss #don't like don't read #curate your own online experience #curate your space #pro ship #proship safe #i hate the term proshipping #it seems so benign and hides all the meaning #but we are proship safe in this house

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lostyesterday · 4 months ago

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top 5 Star Trek ships? (actual ships or relationships – your choice!)

Thank you!! <3

I’ll do both kinds of ships lol.

Top 5 spaceships:

Voyager: My beloved, I think about her all the time, etc. I just think the design is really cool and I love how it’s a little bit alive and a little bit haunted.

Protostar: Really aesthetically cool and involves some great sci-fi concepts. I still haven’t seen Prodigy season 2 though :(

Delta Flyer: Honestly really fun design, and I especially like that this is (to my memory) the only Trek ship we see the entire process of building whose creation is narratively meaningful.

Discovery: Mushrooms :)

Defiant: I love that it just kind of sucks and is really cramped and uncomfortable but we love it anyway.

Top 5 relationship ships:

B’Elanna/Seven: My OTP made up of two of my favorite characters ever whose dynamic is so interesting and underexplored in canon. I love the parallels between them and I love thinking about what potential relationships between them could look like.

Michael/Book: My favorite canon ship. I love their whole arc – their solid foundation of trust and friendship that leads into romance in season 3, the navigation of their ideological disagreements and eventual reconnection in seasons 4 and 5, and the fact that they got a happy ending.

Odo/Quark: I don’t even have a super strong emotional connection to them as characters, I just find all their interactions absolutely delightful and honestly one of the highlights of DS9. Sometimes true love is two guys who both suck and hate each other <3

Data/Geordi: I don’t talk about them much because I’m not as into TNG anymore but I still love them both as characters and love their canon dynamic. Honestly, I don’t even necessarily define their relationship as inherently romantic (QPR maybe?), but I love their trust and closeness and openness with each other.

Kira/Jadzia: Again, two of my favorite characters whose dynamic I really enjoy but that was underdeveloped in canon. I think it’s so cool that they’re best friends despite how different they are and how much they in many ways can’t relate to each other. And they should kiss about it.

#star trek #ask game #answered

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lespetitesmortsde · 5 months ago

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6 8 13 orchestra AU :)

!! Hello friend!!

6. What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics? Great question. So, I feel like I have a Style and I think that's pretty prevalent/consistent across most of my fics. For orchestra AU, I think I shift my style. First of all, for more musicality to it. Not just in the way Laudna thinks but in the way she processes information. The emphasis on sound, not just when they're playing, but also in other aspects of her life. Second, I think in that one I go a little more to town on the descriptions of things because Composer!Laudna has spent a lot of time observing the world - from the outskirts and the edges just like her canon self, but also from just the other side of the windowpanes. Like she's accepted in certain circles, certain places, etc. in this AU, but it's always to a point. There's a limit. And while it's not as distant as canon, it's still very much present and she navigates that like the veteran she is. She's gotten little morsels of life and gotten to interact with a lot more people, but there's still this Otherness to it that has her as Observer instead of Participant. Okay and then not to be too long-winded about it (whoops), but this is also one where Laudna's appreciated. The Impostor Syndrome is big because there are all those other feelings still competing in her chest, but she IS. And I love that for her and I want the best for her and... well, Composer!Laudna is just very, very dear to my lil heart. Plus, a little spin on how she continuously makes/creates things.

8. Did any real people or events inspire any part of it? Kind of! I went to a symphony performance and immediately I was like, 'okay, new AU alert, for real.' I could just see Laudna up on that stage with the baton - a guiding light that makes the sum of parts greater than the individuals. And I wanted that for her so badly. I think I wrote the full outline with chapter titles (which is pretty sparse by most folks' standards I would assume), timeline, and chapter in a 24-hour daze. Truly, I was just infected with it. I love music and I love Laudna and we ended up here.

13. What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading? So the Symphony was doing a popular culture night - playing a selection of music/scores from big space films like Star Wars, Star Trek, Battlestar Galactica, etc. That stuff got me in the major mood for the fic. After that, once I'd settled on Imogen as a cellist, a lot of cello music and then a lot of haunting, spooky, gothic stuff that I thought Laudna would either enjoy performing and/or compose. Now, I either throw on some cello music or the fic playlist to hunker down and write!

Thanks for asking! <3

If anyone else has a question about a fic of mine, here's the list.

#lespetitesmortsde #fanfic #ask #overnighttosunflowers #symphony au

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whovianwatchingstartrek · 2 years ago

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A Whovian Watches Star Trek for the First Time: Part 113 - Followers of the Red Angel

Star Trek: Discovery - Season 2 Episode 2 - New Eden

Sorry it's been a few days, haven't had time to watch because my Partner's been sick, and I've been looking after him. He's doing better now, so I'm back!

We open this episode with Michael showing Pike the audio recording that Spock left behind at the end of last episode. It's very clear that these signals are related to whatever visions Spock has been having. Apparently, Spock has also been booked into a psychiatric facility, through his own choice.

Discussion about Spock are interrupted however by another Signal appearing. It is extremely far away though, hundreds of year's at Discovery's Top Speed. Pike give's the order to reactivate the Spore Drive. Paul Stamets here is great, I love how the episode is cutting through his grief and his philosophy over life, death and how it relates to him seeing Hugh in the Spore network.

Meanwhile on the bridge, we meet a mystery: There are humans on this planet! Humans who have apparently been here since before the Earth Achieved Warp capabilities. Enterprise did a similar episode, and it was a fun excuse for a western, so that immediately got my hopes up to see if we were gonna Genre shift here too, which we didn't particularly, but this pre-industrial world was still a fun setting

Apparently, these humans arrival on this planet happened during Earth's WW3, which a bit about in Enterprise, but ENT never really went into detail about WW3, so I'm hoping this is a chance to explore that. Unfortunately that didn't pan out. I am still hoping information about WW3 is something we'll get eventually, it seems like a pretty big part of Star Trek Earth's history to leave entirely vague.

We get a little bit of debate between Pike and Michael's different perspectives on what the signals are, Michael taking a more hardline Scientific approach, where as Pike takes a more philosophical approach, assuming these Red Angel signals are some kind of really advanced species and modifies the Sufficiently Advance Technology adage to apply to deities. Kinda reminded me T'Pol's and Archer's "The Vulcan Science Directorate has determined that time travel is impossible" conversations in a way. I find Pike brining up the idea of a god interesting, Enterprise did briefly touch on Religion, but from experience would the first time anything like that has been brought up in relation to a crew member, and I'm curious to see how that's explored.

Over in the hanger bay, Sylvia is working on her Dark matter project, I love her enthusiasm, and just devotion to use it to make a new Spore navigation system so Paul can retire. She's perfect. Unfortunately, it goes wrong and she's knocked unconscious. I love Saru's little speech about how she needs to not overwork herself.

Discovery sends down a ground crew to the planet, and they explore it's church, which apparently has amalgamated a lot Earth's religions together. The worldbuilding of their society is actually really interesting. Apparently, these humans were taken here by Spock's Red Angel, Michael of course wants a more rational explanation, but isn't getting one. We do find out a Soldier's camera recorded this transfer. Our team ask to take shelter in the town's church, as a ruse to find this Camera, but meanwhile on the bridge, one of the planet's radioactive rings is about to collapse and cause the planet's extinction. Saru gives the order to start the rescue of the planet's populace.

Unaware of the impending disaster, we then a little debate between Pike and Michael about whether or not these humans should be reintegrated into Earth Society or if they should be left to develop on their own. They're discovered though, and they're tech is taken so that their captors can prove they're from earth. From here on out, the ground crew get to do some pretty clever low tech solutions to problems, which I loved.

In Medbay, Sylvia starts thinking through a plan to pull the debris away from the planet using the Dark Matter Meteor, and it works! Our ground crew get their tech back, and are extracted back to Enterprise while maintaining their cover. We're then left with a reveal that Sylvia has been seeing a ghost!

Pike returns to the planet to trade a power cell for the Soldier's helmet cam, to find out more info on the Red Angels, and after repairing it aboard discovery, we see that the angel is indeed real, however the feed cuts out shortly after it appears.

I really liked this episode, and I'm loving the build up of the mystery around whatever the Red Angels are, and the various moral and philosophical debates here great. Sylvia Tilly as always was a highlight

#whovian watching star trek #star trek #star trek Discovery #Star Trek DIS #Star Trek DISCO #ST DIS #ST DISCO #DIS #st: disco #DISCO #st: discovery #Discovery #ST: DIS

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walviemort · 2 years ago

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hidden blessing (11/?)

Summary: Killian thought the only thing he was left with after Milah’s death was a broken heart and a thirst for vengeance. It’s not until he gets to Storybrooke, after so many years spent in stasis, that he discovers something else: he’s carrying her child. How does this new, tiny blessing change his path? (Canon-divergent from 2x12.)

a/n: We're back! And should have a few more updates for you in the next few weeks! Hope you like this one!

After the general discomfort of the revelations in the Echo Caves, Killian found himself dealing with unpleasantness of a different kind—nausea again. Just before they made it back to camp, he had to duck behind a tree to deal with that; he couldn’t wait to get back to Storybrooke and talk to Doc to find out just when that was supposed to go away.

He swished his mouth out with some rum, then spat it out before strolling back into camp. The rest of the group was gathered around Bae in conversation; as he approached, he heard him saying, “I know how to navigate the stars, but I can't fly.” Killian ducked his head to hide his smirk at that; he was glad to hear the now-grown lad hadn’t forgotten the skills he’d taught him, but it wasn’t the time to gloat about that.

“I'm guessing that's where the Shadow comes in,” Snow said—and, to his surprise, passed a canteen to him, despite David standing in between them. He nodded his thanks and took a long drag.

“That's why we have to capture it,” Bae replied—to which Killian nearly choked on his water. Was he mad?

“Capture it?” Emma exclaimed, in line with Killian’s own disbelief. “We've never been within 10 feet of Pan unless he wanted us to be. Sneaking up on him to steal his shadow? That seems insane.”

He was still in agreement that going after the shadow was insane, but at least had to clarify some facts for Emma. “Except that Pan's Shadow is rarely with him. It's an entity unto itself. It can carry out his will from miles away.”

David asked, “So what does that mean for us?”

“It means we can get his shadow without having to be anywhere near Pan—as long as we know where to look,” Neal clarified. “And I know where to look.”

Killian shuddered—he did, too, and he didn’t like it one bit, even if (as he’d gathered) it was their best way off the island.

“Ok, you and I are on shadow duty,” Emma told Neal, and they moved to start to head out.

It might be foolish, but Killian sure as hell wasn’t letting them go alone. “As am I,” he interjected. “This trek won't be easy. You could use another veteran of the island.”

Neal nodded and gave him a casual smile that reminded him distinctly of Milah. “Thanks, man.”

A quick plan was hashed out for after their mission—to meet up at Tink’s with Emma’s parents, and then (finally) make a move for Henry—and then everyone set about what they needed to do.

At least—he was about to, but Snow intercepted him before he got too far (brushing past David to do so—pointedly, it seemed, as well). “I just wanted to say—congratulations,” she effused, grabbing his hand. “I wish you’d told us sooner; how are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m fine, luv—thank you,” he replied, trying to make sure his appreciation at the sentiment came through even though David was staring somewhat dejectedly at their exchange.

She continued to pepper him with questions—how far along he was, symptoms, and so on; he was touched she was so interested but was also fairly certain it was just a distraction. (One he didn’t mind indulging, but he had to prepare to leave, too.)

She thankfully picked up on his desire to get a move on. “Sorry, sorry; I just...have had that kind of stuff on my mind lately,” she said; that was rather obvious. “Just—be safe. All of you.”

“We’ll do our best,” he answered, then she stepped away to prepare for their own trek. He did catch David’s hurt gaze as she walked away, though, and tried to give an encouraging nod as the prince hurried after his wife.

While Killian was glad he no longer had to hide his expectant state, he hoped he didn’t have too many more exchanges like that; the attention, while appreciated, was somewhat embarrassing.

But when he walked into Bae’s cave to see what he could assist him and Emma with, he realized: he still had one more person to tell. (Well, and Rumpelstiltskin, wherever the bastard had wandered off to, but that was a low priority.)

Neal—Bae—he still wasn’t sure the best way to refer to him—was poking around his former home, looking for….what, he didn’t know.

“Something tells me we won't find Pan's Shadow in here, mate,” he teased.

Neal ignored the (attempted) joke. “Yeah, we're looking for something else. It's a coconut that's carved in two,” he said, gesturing the shape with his hands. “One part holds a candle, the other part goes on top—“

“Yeah, your star map,” Emma interjected. “We hid it. I'll go grab it.”

For the first time in well over a century, he was alone with Bae.

“So, uh, how…how’ve you been?” Bae asked him.

Killian opened his mouth to reply, but words seemed suddenly insufficient. Instead, he strode forward and wrapped the other man in an embrace.

“Bae, I’m so sorry,” he said softly, his emotions suddenly thick. “I should never have handed you over like that, and I’ve regretted it every day.”

Unsurprisingly, Neal hadn’t moved at all since Killian hugged him. “Um, okay…uh, thanks?” he finally said, uncertain.

“Sorry,” Killian blurted out as he stepped away, wiping away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. “I just had to say it, before we get too much farther.”

Bae rubbed the back of his head nervously. “I…I appreciate that, but it doesn’t really change what happened.”

“I know,” Killian agreed. “And I know there’s nothing I can do to fix it, but I wanted you to know.”

“Thanks,” Neal said, rather abruptly. Then, surprisingly, he chuckled. “Didn’t think you were the emotional apology type.”

“Uh, not usually,” he answered, laughing a bit himself. “Tends to happen when you’re pregnant, or so I’m told.”

“You’re—really?”

“Aye,” he said simply, and let his hand rest on his still barely noticeable bump.

“Wow; who knocked you up?” Bae asked, bluntly.

“Uh, well…” Now this was the part Killian wasn’t sure how to broach. “It was, ah…your mum.”

To his astonishment, Neal laughed. “Really? I don’t remember ‘your mom’ jokes being a thing in the Enchanted Forest. You pick that up in New York?”

Killian just tilted his head, confused. “No; it’s not a joke. This is Milah’s child.”

Now it was Bae’s turn to be speechless. “Seriously? That’s…you’re gonna have my sibling?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, and it felt oddly like a confession.

“How? That makes no sense.” Killian explained it as best he could, which eventually earned a “Shit,” from Neal. “Well that further complicates the family tree.”

“I’d imagine it resembles a web by this point.”

Neal chuckled nervously. “Congratulations, then,” and offered him his hand.

“Thanks,” Killian said, taking his hand and smiling, “and I suppose I also owe you thanks for being so understanding about Emma and me.”

Neal still shook his hand, but his gaze narrowed. “Emma and you?”

Uh-oh. “Our dalliance.” Bae continued to look on in confusion. Shit. “We, ah, shared a kiss. Apologies, I assumed she told you.”

Neal dropped his hand rather pointedly. “Honestly, it probably slipped her mind. We're kind of focused on getting our son back.”

“Of course,” he agreed quickly, cursing himself for making things awkward again. Obviously, that’s when Emma returned.

She strode in confidently, but paused when she picked up on the tension in the air. “Everything alright?”

Bae turned to her abruptly. “Couldn't be better,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he took the coconut from her. She asked how exactly the map was going to help on this particular task. “It's not a star map,” he explained. “It's what we're gonna use to trap Pan's Shadow.”

It sounded daft to Killian, but he dared not question it after the unease left by their prior conversation. “So what's our next stop on this mission?” he asked instead.

“Dark Hollow.”

He shuddered again; the very name of that place put him on edge. His babe seemed to have picked up on his nervousness and began to move in time with his heightened anxiety.

“Really? Why couldn't it be called something like Sunshine Valley or Rainbow Cove?” Emma complained. “What exactly is it?”

“Just what it sounds like,” Killian said. “The darkest spot on the entire island. Any light that makes its way in is snuffed out by the shadows that call it home. Even I managed to avoid it,” he shuddered.

“Well, time to break tradition,” Emma said in a commanding tone. He couldn’t argue with that—not if it was their only way home.

Against his instincts—yet again—he headed off with the other two, hoping they made it out of this in roughly the same shape as they went in.

On the trek to Dark Hollow, Neal took the lead; Killian was inclined to let him do so.

The hike was mostly silent—all three of them likely deep in their own thoughts about what lay ahead, both physically and emotionally. Killian, however, was also finding himself distracted by the sight in front of him: Emma’s backside (and he couldn’t fully blame it on his hormones).

They hadn’t yet had a moment alone since the Echo Cave, nor had Emma made any comments alluding to his confession. He wasn’t so self-centered as to think she owed him an answer—that wasn’t why he revealed that—nor did he want to put her on the spot, especially when they were still in the middle of…a lot.

But she was the one who had kissed him. On top of their other shared moments. He had to believe there was some level of attraction there. (Unless his senses were truly being thrown off by this pregnancy.)

He nearly ran into Emma while continuing his self-debate, not having noticed the other two had paused.

He saw why as soon as he glanced up, though: the trail forward was covered in brambles too dense to pass through.

“We're gonna have to cut our way through,” Bae announced, stating the obvious; Killian’s hand was already on his sword.

Before he could offer assistance, he had to step back because metal was flying far too close to his face.

“Here; use this,” Emma said, offering Bae his old cutlass.

If Killian wasn’t mistaken, he was touched to receive his old weapon. “You find it in the cave?” he asked Emma.

“No, actually; Hook gave it to me,” she told him plainly.

Neal looked past Emma to him, smirking. “Since when are you sentimental?”

Since always, Killian thought, but instead said, “I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by.”

“Oh, thanks. But she’s got me now,” he replied tersely, then turned to begin hacking at the brush.

Emma whipped around to face him. “What was that about?” she demanded, not in an unattractive way.

He sighed and told her about where the tensions between them began that day. “I assumed you had told him.”

“Why would you assume that?”

“Because I was hoping it meant something,” he blurted out. He hadn’t meant to let that slip, but it was true.

“What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you,” she said sincerely—though that wasn’t entirely what he was talking about. “I realize you could've kept Pan's information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” he wondered, somewhat incredulous; did she still think so little of him?

“I don't know,” she shrugged. “Maybe Pan offered you a deal. Why else would he tell you?”

Well…that wasn’t wholly wrong.

“It was a test,” he explained. “He wanted to see if I'd leave an old friend to die, even if the old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am.”

“And you chose your friend?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“You are a pirate,” she threw back.

“Aye, I am—but I thought you knew me well enough by now to know I’m a hell of a lot more than that,” he countered. He didn’t typically have such high self-worth, but he’d gradually noticed that changing since he found out about the babe, if only because he had something to live for the first time in so long. And the fact that he was defending himself in such a manner was even more surprising. But his stomach was still uneasy with nausea and he suddenly found himself craving a very specific pastry that was only available in Agrabah, so his patience was running thin. “You can simplify whatever is going on between us if you like, but we both know it’s just another way for you to put up a barrier.”

“So what if it is? This isn’t some romantic vacation, Hook—my son’s life is still at risk. I can’t get distracted—even if I wanted to.”

“No one is asking you to lose sight of that. But you can’t deny what else is happening here,” he said, gesturing towards both himself and the direction Bae had headed off in.

“This isn't a contest for my hand, Hook.”

“Isn't it?” he replied, chuckling slightly (but not out of amusement). “You're gonna have to choose, Emma. You realize that, don't you? Because neither one of us is gonna give up.”

“The only thing I have to choose is the best way to get my son back,” she insisted.

“And you will,” he agreed.

She seemed taken aback. “You think so?”

“I've yet to see you fail,” he affirmed; perhaps she just needed some of his own newfound confidence. “And when you do succeed, well, that's when the fun begins,” he went on, smirking. “Because when I win your heart, Emma—and I will win it—it will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

Emma swallowed, clearly absorbing the depth of that statement. But then she started to sway back towards him, her gaze darting to his lips, and—

—And then Neal returned. “Guys!” he shouted, and Emma immediately stepped away. “I think I found it,” he said as he came back into their small clearing, passing the cutlass back to Emma.

She found Killian’s gaze one more time, before turning to the newly cleared path and heading in. Neal glanced between his companions, somewhat confused, but Killian only offered a shrug when he asked with his eyes as to what was going on. Then they followed Emma in.

As they moved into the thicker part of the jungle, his babe’s nervous kicks picked up again; how odd that he could already tell that—or perhaps it was just related to his own rising anxiety. It increased with each step, as what little light they had (despite it permanently being nighttime in Neverland) disappeared.

Neal and Emma had been carrying lanterns, which helped a bit, but when the passageway opened up into a large, dark wood, a stiff breeze put out the flames.

None of them liked being there. The sooner they got this done, the better.

“So we just wait for Pan's Shadow to show up?” Emma asked, still holding tight to the cutlass.

“Yeah,” Neal confirmed. “And when it does, we'll be prepared,” he added, pulling out the coconut.

Emma gaped a bit; for all she’d seen, there were clearly some things that stretched her belief. “You wanna tell me how that coconut works?”

Neal pointed out the candle built into the base of the device, and explained how, once lit, the flame would attract and trap the shadow. Killian had to admit—it sounded plausible…mostly.

“Sounds like a fine plan—except for one thing,” he said. “Our lanterns went out. How the devil are we going to ignite that bloody thing?”

Bae pulled out a small silver device. “Welcome to the 21st century,” he said with a smirk. Killian quickly realized it was some modern, condensed version of a steel and flint—although none of the sparks it produced seemed to be catching.

Emma asked for an update, but there was none to report. And what followed was something Killian was not quite proud of, nor could he fully blame it on hormones.

Seeing that Bae was struggling to light the candle, Killian tried to intervene, taking the object away and attempting to use it himself—with equal success.

Then, like schoolboys, they started an immature game of tug o’ war over the lighter—then watched in slow motion as it flew from their hands, glinting as it rotated in the air, then disappeared into a hollowed-out tree trunk.

(Words may have been exchanged about trying to impress Emma; they weren’t entirely wrong.)

“Guys, we don't have time for this—look!” Emma shouted at them, equal parts angry and fearful. “Is that Pan's Shadow?”

Overhead, the humanoid shape of a shadow flew into the hollow, completely devoid of light save for the unsettling white orbs of its eyes.

“Shit—yeah, it is!” Neal confirmed as Emma grabbed the coconut.

Behind Pan’s shadow were two others; Killian drew his blade out of instinct, even though he knew it would do nothing against a metaphysical foe.

Bae mentioned something about the others being under the control of Pan’s shadow, not that it was really relevant—or helpful, especially when one of them came up behind Killian, dragging him into the air and slamming him against a tree.

He cried out in pain as he hit the bark, arms wrapping around his midsection. Somewhere beyond his awareness, he thought he heard Emma shouting “Hook!”

But then the shadow began attempting to remove his own, and everything devolved into a blur of pain and praying to whatever gods were listening that nothing would happen to the babe.

He’d never felt a sensation like the one of his shadow being ripped from his being. It was hard to describe, but he knew that’s what it was.

With as hard as the other shadow was yanking on his, he was certain it was about to take his life. But something seemed to be tethering his to him—the babe, if he had to guess.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but suddenly, the sensation of his shadow being pulled away ceased—and was quickly replaced with that of him meeting the ground.

Immediately, he curled in on himself, hand again rushing to his stomach. Before he made any further move, he waited for a sign that his little one was alright. How had he been so bloody foolish as to risk their life like that?

“Please,” he whispered to himself, and then—he felt it: those same steady flutters and wriggles he’d been feeling for the past few weeks. And he breathed the deepest sigh of relief.

A hand appeared in his vision—Bae’s; he took it and let the lad—no, man—help him up. “You okay?” he asked.

“Aye, I think so; you?”

“I’ll take some bruises and scratches if it means I get to keep my shadow,” Neal said lightly, as if they hadn’t just been through a near-death experience.

Then they turned their attention back to Emma, who was sitting against a rock with the coconut in her hands—closed tight. She’d done it—she got the shadow and saved both of them.

Neal wasn’t thrilled with her method of lighting the flame��magic—but Killian frankly didn’t care (and thought it was a bit cruel of Bae to hold his prejudice towards magic against Emma of all people). It was done, they’d succeeded, and now they needed to get the hell out of here.

Emma led the way, charging ahead, anger obvious in the rigid set of her frame and the extended length of her stride. Killian and Neal followed behind her like two children aware they were in trouble.

Once they were a safe distance away from the Hollow, Bae spoke up. “Hey, Em—I'm sorry. I know I screwed up.”

She stopped and turned on a dime, a fire in her glare that made Killian take a step back. “Yes, you did. You both did. We almost lost our shot at capturing the Shadow because you two were fighting over a lighter,” she lectured.

“It wasn't the lighter we were fighting over, love,” Killian admitted, ashamed.

Emma closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then gave them an even firmer stare. “Okay, let me be very clear about something: If I had to choose someone—I choose Henry. He's the only love I have room for in my life.”

And without another word, she put her back to them and continued on.

She wasn’t wrong. Henry was why they were all here, after all—this was far from a romantic rendezvous. And he was especially in tune with her parental instincts after what had just happened—his hand hadn’t left his belly, afraid if he did, he’d lose track of his babe’s movements. He was chastising himself and feeling guilty enough just because of that; as valid as Emma’s ire was, he didn’t need it to know he’d made an error in judgment back there.

(But he also thought he’d made it abundantly clear by now to Emma that, while he was aware of where her priorities lay, that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for more. Now was not the time to argue, though.)

They finished the rest of the trek back to Tink’s house in relative silence, save for the passing around of canteens (Emma all but forced him to drink more than his fair share, but he supposed some was the babe’s share, too).

Finally, they were on the familiar path to the tree house, and they could hear Emma’s parents talking with the fairy—who, if he was hearing correctly, still wasn’t confident in their ability to get off the island, especially once she heard the shadow was involved. “I'm not lifting a finger until I see proof you've actually got it,” she was saying as they entered the space below her tree.

“Hey,” Neal called out. “Here's all the proof you'll need,” he said, holding up the coconut (which he’d tied shut with some vine on the hike.) “Been a long time, Tink.”

The petite blonde smiled. “Bae, is it really you?”

“Yeah. But most people call me "Neal" now,” he answered, and Killian made a mental note that he’d have to try harder in that regard.

Without any further time wasting, they confirmed Tink’s help in their plan, then made the decision to rest a bit at the camp and then make their move on Pan after that.

But as they made their way back to the camp, he noticed that Emma and Neal hung back. Part of him was curious to eavesdrop, but he knew that would be rude. Besides, Snow had found him and was playing the role of doting mother that he knew Emma was hesitant to allow; given the odds of her actually being able to achieve her not-so-secret desire anymore, he let her fuss over him (especially when he relayed what happened to he and Neal in the hollow—she practically sat him down on a log and refused to let him do so much as get a mango to eat on his own).

Emma and Neal rejoined the group shortly, but if anything had changed between the two of them in their sidebar, she was characteristically keeping it under wraps. (For his part, Neal was casting long glances her way, but they were not reciprocated; Killian felt a bit bad for him…but not that bad.)

He winced after that, though; his babe had apparently located his liver, and was pounding on it with abandon. (Goodness knew that had been abused enough for one lifetime.) But that was a firm—albeit repeated—reminder that he needed to stay focused enough on finishing the rest of this task and getting the hell out of Neverland to avoid putting the babe in any more danger.

Then, like he said—that’s when the fun would begin.

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thanks for reading! tagging @cocohook38 @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @captainhookfan (let me know if you want a tag!)

#cs ff #killian jones ff #killian mpreg #hidden blessing #My ff

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sroop · 2 years ago

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guided (iii)

Reyza turns back to him to listen. Briefly, though she couldn't see it, they smile at each other.

A/N: also a little warning for death and violence, and also a little heads up that I started this assuming it would be a one chapter sort of done deal, but it's grown from there. The next bit will start in season 1 of the show

Summary: Din wants to believe in her. He does believe in her. Sometimes, it feels like it goes a little beyond faith.

prev. | next

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Din made her freeze the body in carbonite, and Reyza imagines he'd done it so he could watch for a reaction, scanning for clues as to why she'd acted so uncharacteristically. Reyza knows she acted uncharacteristically. She also knows that Din knows she acted uncharacteristically. But the truth is hard to admit to herself, much less out loud to that towering metal man. When she imagines herself staring him in the eye, explaining that, yes, her emotions really did get the best of her like he said they would, her mouth clamps shut.

She wonders if that would be any easier than telling him why she'd done it. More accurately, why she couldn't stop herself. There's no fast, painless way of saying that man pushed children so hard they died and the rest of the survivors and I spent the rest of our lives under his sorry thumb, so sorry you had to shoot him to pieces.

Reyza bit her cheek hard to stop the flood of memories. Just in time, because Din comes into the cockpit and sits in the pilot's seat heavily.

"You failed."

Reyza can't find it in herself to refute him, so she nods.

"Yes."

"I warned you about this."

"I know."

Gods, he was really making it hard for her. The explanation claws at her throat, begging to be heard, but she already knows that she'd sound like nothing more than a small child making excuses. She needed - wanted - to prove she was more than that.

"We've lost time and money because we don't get paid for a dead body."

This is maybe the most challenging issue. Without the credits, they were running on nearly bone-dry funds, and the Razor Crest needed repairs for damages done by a ravinak while grabbing some bounty on a frosty planet she hadn't bothered to commit to memory. It really was all her fault.

"I'll earn it back. I'll ask Karga for extra pucks, even direct commissions," she says as coolly as possible. Din grunts.

For a while, the flight back to Nevarro is silent and tense. Din is growing tired of it being so kriffing uncomfortable between the two of them, from days before when Reyza had chosen this cursed bounty to now, on the trek back. So he leans back in his chair and offers her an olive branch.

"What was it about this one? You know better," he begins. Even before, when they'd been on Nevarro to collect pucks, he'd noticed the way she'd balked seeing this one. And then the way she'd snatched it before Din could even consider it. It had always meant something to her. He sees Reyza forming the words in her head, trying to work out how exactly she should answer. Silently, he turns to the systems information display to give her the privacy of thinking.

When she does answer, it sounds careful. Like she's navigating her way around land mines.

"He was Polaris. One of the... handlers for newer agents." She clears her throat. "When you join the society, you start off in a group of kids and you change handlers, until you reach their standard. Sometimes, the kids don't survive but by then they're like family to you." Reyza tries to stop herself, but the word family is out there now and it's as though it had held hands with all the other words she was trying to hold back, pulling them out without her permission.

"We grew up together, we were all we had, and it was like he wanted us to suffer. I used to think that maybe he enjoyed being the reason why we..." Reyza shakes her head and shrugs. "By the end of it, three of our ten lived. We got our stars."

Din turns to watch her thumb at her necklace.

"Where are they now?"

"Dead. We're all dead. The people still out there aren't Polaris, not really at least. It's just lost pieces of the star now."

Din wants to ask how they'd died, but he knows he shouldn't.

It strikes him how similar the two of them are. Taken as young children, raised to fight in wars, belonging to weakened factions barely a shade of their former strength, and now bounty hunters. The truth was that she was never really his apprentice. She never needed to be. On paper, in one of Karga's neat little datapad files, that's what it says; but it was really just a cover for his fear. I've got fresh blood, Mando, but this one's tricky. I don't know if I can trust her.

So he'd taken her on, if only to help a friend feel things out. In the past year they'd been traveling together, she'd been a worthy ally. She could do things Din just couldn't, in his heavy armor and heavier weapons, like scaling walls that he's sure has no handholds or slipping in and out of view without so much as a trace. He knows it's not magic, but sometimes he swears it is. How else does she disappear? Gone even to the tracking lens he has beneath his helm. Din was reluctant to admit it, but Reyza was also good company to be in. Bounty hunting could be burdensome, and she was competent and even kind sometimes.

He looks at her again, once more curled in her seat and tilted away from him. He wants to ask how old she is exactly, and when her birthday is. Instead, he settles for this.

"Foundlings are raised in coverts. We have groups of kids around the same age too, and you start training with..."

Reyza turns back to him to listen. Briefly, though she couldn't see it, they smile at each other.

The streaks of passing stars in hyperspace light the dim space the Crest cradles them in, and when Nevarro lurches into view, Din resists turning back to look at her again. Reyza is quiet, and finally, it feels warm.

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thanks for reading, any feedback appreciated!

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mandalorian oc #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x female reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #mandalorian fanfic #the book of boba fett #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x female reader #mandalorian x oc #reyza

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bratkook · 5 years ago

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cozy thief. (m) jjk

pairing. jeon jungkook x reader genre. smut, fluff, mutual pining word count. 5.1k warnings. roommate!au, cuteness!! lots of kissing & heavy petting, hand in pants action and messy/needy humping from jungkook lol summary. a rainstorm knocking out your power is the small push needed for confessions to come tumbling out author’s note. requested for #30 from this prompt list! thank you for sending this in 🖤 (requests now closed)

The bubbling water is the only thing you focus on as you rest against the countertop, hands tightly holding onto your fluffy blanket of choice to trap all of the warmth in before it could escape. The rhythmic pattering of rain against the windows has become background noise now, already accustomed to the sound that woke you up hours ago.

It’s therapeutic really, your fuzzy socks sliding along the floor as you pull out your favorite mug, grabbing the hot chocolate mix and mini marshmallows from their rightful spot in the pantry. You don’t even think about the ridiculous electric bill you’ll be getting from how high you currently have the heater cranked up, freezing to death was not worth saving a few bucks.

Jungkook would agree, loving the fact that he didn’t have to worry about walking around the apartment in a snow coat and scarf. Sure you were currently bundled up as if the place wasn’t maintained at a steady 75 degrees, but from the time spent living together he had grown to learn that the minute there was rain or snow you would pull out the coziest blankets regardless of temperature.

“Can you make me one too?” He speaks up as he leans against the mini island, smiling when your blanket clad body jumps at the unexpectant sound of his voice.

The spoon clanks against the mug as you stop stirring the hot chocolate, turning your head back to take a peek at your roommate. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Jungkook laughs now, pulling up the sleeves of his shirt as he rounds the island to grab himself a mug. “What, should I wear a bell around my neck to let you know when I’m nearby?”

“Yeah actually, you sneak up on me all the time. You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.”

You eye his mug of choice, a Friends one that actually belonged to you, a little hard to believe considering it was the one he always used without fail. It was admittedly your fault for forcing him to binge watch the whole show on Netflix before it got taken off, but for someone who claimed he couldn’t stand it all he sure did cradle the themed mug with utmost care.

“You’re easy to scare, can’t blame me for seeing an opportunity and taking it.” Sliding the mug in your direction he rests on his elbows, observing you as you pour in the hot water, mixing the cocoa powder and smiling when you get the first inhale of it.

“Scare me some more and I’m revoking this mug privilege.” Jungkook knows it's an empty threat, the roll of his eyes calling your bluff so you just sigh, clutching the bag of mini marshmallows and bringing them close. “Yay or nay for the marshmallows?”

“Yay, what do I look like, an animal?” He scoffs, hand urging you to top off his drink with more sweets, a charming smile spreading out onto his face when you slide the mug over.

Just as he’s about to take a sip you walk off, both hands cupping your drink as you slide your way out of the kitchen. “Wait, where are you going?”

You freeze at the doorway, turning around with a confused face, “To binge watch some movies in the living room? The vent by the couch makes it the best place to get toasty.”

“Mind if I join you?”

The audacity of him to ask as if he didn’t regularly crash your binging parties, still you nod your head before turning back around and continuing your trek, hearing the soft patter of his bare feet against the floor.

“Why did you beg me to get you those cow slippers for your birthday if you refuse to wear them?” You wonder as you settle onto the couch, adjusting your blanket to circle around your lap as you bring your knees up.

Jungkook sighs dramatically as he sits beside you, bringing his bare feet up and shoving them underneath the pile of blanket around you, laughing loudly when you yell at the feeling of his cold feet against your silk pajama pants. “Because they’re cute, besides I don’t need slippers because my roommate has the best blankets.”

Accepting your fate you simply glare at him, detesting the way he could look as good as he does while attempting to push your buttons. The smug smile against the rim of the mug shows that he knows he can get away with it, a playful wink being the icing on top as he reaches for the remote.

You ignore the way your heart skips as he clicks onto your profile, already sorting through your favorite movies, knowing they were starred and saved under your list. As he passes Legally Blonde you gasp, almost undetected but he had been waiting for any reaction to know what to pick.

“You know, this has become one of my favorite movies now.” He quietly confesses, pressing play and setting the remote down onto the coffee table.

“Seriously?”

Jungkook hums as he takes another sip, eyes focused on the beginning scenes of Legally Blonde. This was definitely one of your comfort movies, even if he didn’t end up crashing your movie night he could still hear each scene from his bedroom, almost knowing every single line from how often you played it.

He proves his point as the movie continues, the two of you slowly sinking further into the couch, no longer caring about him using your blanket as makeshift slippers as you laugh each time he recites a line, adding his own commentary as he goes. The mugs of hot chocolate are drained dry, pushed onto the coffee table, freeing up his hands that somehow wind up playing with your own in a mindless motion, slowly tracing down your fingers to gently clasp them together before pulling apart and repeating.

Just as Elle Woods takes the floor to question the witness, the entire room goes black, Jungkook’s hands freezing on top of yours as you wait for a moment. With the loss of power you instantly feel the warmth begin to fade away, the vent right beside the couch no longer providing you the toasty escape you wanted.

“It was getting to my favorite part.” He groans out, resting his head back onto the couch, something you can just barely see in the darkness.

“Fuck is the whole block out of power?”

Jungkook pulls his hand away from yours as he stands up, knocking his knee into the coffee table and laughing as he tries to navigate through the dark living room. His silhouette makes it to the window, peering through it to see if maybe it was just your building that was shit out of luck, but the entire block is in fact dark.

“Yup, it’ll probably come back soon though.”

After two more hours and another mug of hot chocolate it became very clear that the power wouldn’t be coming back any time soon. Both of your phones lay screen down with the flashlight on as you finish up your drink once more, tightening the blanket around you now that the cold is becoming more prevalent.

“We’re gonna freeze to death.”

“No we’re not, it's a rain storm not a blizzard outside. We should probably call it a night though, the floors are getting cold as fuck.”

He had still refused to put on his slippers, allowing the cold tile from the kitchen to turn his feet into icicles. “You act like you don’t own socks or slippers.”

Jungkook merely waves you off with a laugh, grabbing his phone from its spot on the counter. “Let me live, good night!” His flashlight sways with every step, illuminating the trail before he disappears behind his bedroom door, leaving you with no other option than to retreat into your own room.

The door shuts behind you with a soft click, the rapid pattering of the rain against the window filling up the space and its no longer as therapeutic as it used to be now that you can feel the cold it brings with it.

Lighting up the candle on your nightstand, hoping the smell of gingerbread will convince your mind you’re not freezing, you settle into your bed. The feeling of your cold sheets against you has you whining, quickly pulling up the blankets at the end of the bed to warm you up as you ball into yourself.

It's only a few minutes later that you hear the gentle knocking against your door, the top of your head just barely peeking up from the mountain of blankets as Jungkook peers inside your room. The words he wants to say leave him when he takes note of the way you're being swallowed whole by different patterns.

“Holy shit, can you even breathe?”

“You wish you were this comfortable.” You laugh, tightening your grip on the blankets and pulling them snugly under your chin.

He shuts the door behind him as he steps further into your room, smiling when he gets the whiff of your candle. “That's actually why I’m here, can I steal a blanket?”

The idea of parting with even one of your blankets sounds like a sin, a frown etched onto your face as you contemplate it. “If you think I’m gonna give you one of these after you refused to use the slippers I bought you, you’re crazy.”

“C’mon,” he whines, sitting on the edge of the bed and toppling over to bury his face against the warmth, fingers clutching on when you try to wiggle him off of your legs.

“No, if you take one you’re gonna fuck up the balance I have going on right now.”

“Fine,” he grunts, but just when you think he’ll give up he starts to crawl over you, long limbs making their way to the other side of the bed. You feel the cold instantly as he peels off the comforter from the right side, making himself right at home as he slides underneath it in search of warmth. “We’ll share then.”

With the way he shimmies around, finding the best position to get comfortable, you know there's no way you can shake him. He smiles into the sheets when you grumble out a fine and turn over, not trusting yourself to be able to stare at his face from a close proximity and do something you’d regret.

A soft exhale leaves your lips as you force your eyes shut, ignoring the pounding in your chest as he inches closer so his legs don’t slip out from the blankets. You and Jungkook were roommates, and friends now underneath it all, but before you had crossed into friendship territory you realized you had a teeny tiny crush on him.

When you had first moved in he had a girlfriend, a girl you rarely ever saw since he preferred to go to her place, so it helped tame down the crush. But once they broke up and he began spending all of his time at home, the small bursts of his personality you would see lit that crush back up. It was always hard to tell if the way he behaved around you was just the way he normally acted or if he maybe had a small interest in you as well.

Forcing your mind from wandering deeper into fantasyland you nuzzle further into your pillow, pulling more of the blankets with you as you try to fall asleep. Jungkook feels the cold nip at his exposed ankle, huffing and flipping over to look at you with a small smile, the stolen blankets bundled around you nice and tight.

“Steal the blanket again and I’ll put my cold feet on you.” Is the threat he makes as his fingers clutch onto the top layer of blanket and tug it back. It's a threat you don’t take lightly, gaze narrowing as you turn your head to glare at him.

“You wouldn’t…”

His brows raise up at the challenge, jaw ticking out as he looks at you and before you can even react, he’s attacking, maneuvering himself around until he’s skillfully slipping his cold ass feet underneath the hem of your pants. You feel the cold instantly, a squeal of protest leaving you as you try to kick him away.

“Who the fuck sleeps with no socks in this weather!”

“Me, which is why I need the blankets you thief!” He laughs out, continuing to try to yank the blankets back now that you were distracted, pulling the soft fabric out of your fists as you start to admit defeat. With a small cheer of success he pulls the warmth up and over the both of you like a little fort, his eyes crinkling up in a smile as he stares at you, now positioned right on top of you.

Small pants escape your mouth as you slow your breathing, wide eyes blinking up at him as he refuses to move. The bed dips on either side of you as he holds himself up, lips still spread out in a smile, getting wider when he sees the way your eyes flicker down to them before looking back.

You wanted to kiss him, he knew this, had known of your crush since the very beginning. Jungkook had taken note of the way you would stumble over words whenever you spot him leaving the bathroom with just a towel around his waist, enjoying the flustered look on your face, that being the main reason he did it so often.

You thought you were slick, letting your eyes trace over the lines of muscle until it slipped behind the towel, but he simply let you get away with it, meeting your flustered gaze with that bunny smile you had grown to love. But as he hovers over you now there's no way he can pretend he doesn't notice the way your starry eyes stare at him, how you subtly lick your lips over.

With a small tilt to his head he finally breaks the silence, whispering gently inside of the little cocoon he had made. “I really want to kiss you.”

That gets him the reaction he wanted, the small gasp filling the air as your mouth drops open a tiny bit. “What?”

“Your lips look so soft, wanna kiss them.” His voice drops to a murmur, slow and husky as the words drawl out.

He wants to kiss you, something you’ve been dreaming of for months, and now your mind is betraying you as it struggles to unscramble the words needed to respond.

“Can I?” He asks, soft eyes looking directly at you and when you nod your head he tsks in disapproval, “Need to hear you say it love.”

The pet name makes you melt into your sheets, finally giving him a response as your brain releases your voice, “Y-yes, please kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles in appreciation before slowly inching forward, nose gently nudging against yours as he swoops in. Your eyes flutter shut when the softness of his lips press against yours, kissing back instantly at the first touch, your mind whirling at the intoxicating feeling. Jungkook can feel his heartbeat quicken when you let out a small sigh, your shy hands gaining courage and sliding up his sides until you’re cupping his face.

He winces at the icy feel of your fingers on his cheeks, the soft breaths of his laughter making you smile in between kisses, teeth knocking together as it begins to turn messy, the two of you just wanting more of each other now that the line has finally been crossed.

Jungkook lets you bring him in closer, balancing on his elbows as he slots himself between your thighs, the soft smacks of your lips blending in with the light crackle of the candle and the rain from outside.

A gentle nip of your teeth on his bottom lip earns you the first groan, the second coming when you trace your tongue along the seam of his mouth, slowly licking your way inside until it’s gently tangled against his own. Jungkook can feel his heart thrumming in his ears now, the realization that he was finally kissing you making his entire body warm up.

The way you had behaved with him, calling him bro, punching his shoulder whenever he told jokes in an act to force yourself from ruining the friendship, made him believe that this would never happen. He didn’t want to come across as the typical cocky boy who swore he could win everyone over but the way you’re gasping into his mouth, fingers moving to grasp around his neck to bring him even closer when he unconsciously rolls his hips into yours makes him feel like he just did.

Your wishful thinking had been true, the sweet gestures he did in day to day life stemming from the small inkling of a crush, something that had been planted the minute he started spending more time at home and around you. At first he thought nothing of it, chalking it up to enjoying spending time with his new friend, but soon enough he discovered he preferred to stay in with you, join you on your random quests to hunt for a new place to eat at, ignoring any other girl who showed any interest in him.

As the two of you continue to kiss inside the small makeshift fort, the air becomes stuffy, Jungkook pulling away with a small laugh. “Wait, can’t breathe.”

You let go of his neck and paw the blankets off your faces, the cool air of your bedroom finally being welcomed as you catch your breath.

“Better?” you question, smiling when he nods at you. “Good, now kiss me again.”

He doesn’t need you to tell him twice, lips cutting off the end of your sentence urgently, feeling the way you smile against him, your leg hooking over his hips like second nature. Jungkook feels like his head is spinning, the way your fingers move to rake along his hair, the soft gasps and sighs passed between you, he feels like a goner, the tipping point being your hips rutting up into his.

Both of you pause at the sensation, Jungkook moaning into your mouth as your clothed core grinds along the slowly growing erection pressed against you. “Y/N, don’t tease me.”

“Why?” you breathe out, pressing kisses along the side of his mouth and jaw as you repeat the motion, the usual fear of him not feeling the same long gone from your mind.

He drops himself further until his face is buried in your neck, goosebumps flaring out as his breath hits your skin when he speaks. “I’m trying to be sweet.” he murmurs, kissing your neck softly.

“You are being sweet,” you whisper, tightening your grip around his hip, smiling when he groans while you once again rut up into him. “Am I not being sweet? Just wanna make you feel good, Kook.”

Of course you were sweet, you always have been, it was the main reason his heart started to skip around you, why he clung onto your mug like a safety net, wanting to keep a small part of you with him. If you wanted to make him feel good he was in no position to refuse, wanting to reciprocate the sweet gesture instead.

Jungkook lifts his head up, dark waves falling over his face as he stares at you, wanting to see the look on your face as he gives the first roll of his hips into yours. He sees the way your teeth bite down onto your lower lip, pillowing the soft flesh out, mouth opening up to let out a gasp as he repeats the motion. There's never been a time where he’s been more thankful for a power outage than right now.

“Keep going,” you urge him on, sighing beautifully when he rocks against you again, hips nudging the leg hooked around his waist higher up with each slowly thrust.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He sighs, taking a moment to fully admire you laid out underneath him, eyes sparkling as you stare up at him, mouth slightly parted as you groan at the small tingles of pleasure starting up inside of you.

“Wanna feel you.” The confession hangs in the air for a second, the trailing of your hand down his covered chest, fingertips tickling along the sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of his sweats, is what finally brings him back. His moment of admiration being broken as your hands slips past and gently grasps his hardened cock, the expected feeling of his underwear nowhere to be found because not only did Jungkook refuse to wear socks he also refused to wear underwear.

Your eyes widen at his size, already a nice handful and slowly growing the longer you hold it in your palm. As you give him a small pump you feel the exhaled grunt he lets out fan across your skin, his eyes falling shut as he pants out your name.

Jungkook gasps as your palm rolls over the head of his cock, thumb rubbing along his slit and dragging the beads of precum down his length. With a shaky hand he trails down your chest, slipping past your pants and underwear. A pleased hum escapes him as he feels how wet you are, fingers sliding along your folds, collecting your arousal before coming back up to circle around your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hips jutting up at the tiny jolts of pleasure that spark each time his fingers circle around your bundle of nerves. This was definitely not how you thought your night would play out, still partially thinking you’re dreaming with your roommate asleep beside you but each time you blink the visual of his face inches from yours only gets clearer.

“How's this?” he whispers, eyebrow cocked up as he waits for a response, the tantalizing motion of his hands making your mind scramble once more, back arching up towards him as he applies a bit more pressure. Jungkook knows what he’s doing, the way his fingers find the right rhythm to leave you whimpering only to slow down right after, just because he likes the frustrated look etched onto your face.

A pout forms on your lips, your hands tightening their hold on his cock as you give him the same treatment, and as you slowly glide your palm down and back up, fingers refusing to go near his tip he groans in vexation.

“You’re not being nice.” Is what you manage to gasp out just before he picks up his pace once more, lips coming back down to yours in a hungry kiss, swallowing each moan as you let them out. Each pant through his nose is felt against your cheek as your own hands pick up the pace, the two of you working in tandem as the desperation starts to grow within you.

Jungkook wishes he could see you fully, not cocooned under a mountain of blankets, and for a split second he wants to suggest pulling them off entirely but the way the cold nips at your faces kills that idea on the spot. This would just have to do until the power came back.

“Ah shit,” he keens out in between sloppy kisses as your hands trail further down to fondle his balls, the beginning feelings of his climax creeping up embarrassingly fast. He couldn’t help himself, for months now he had wondered what it felt like to kiss you so this whole situation put his mind into overdrive.

You were on the same boat, the warm sensation spreading throughout you as his fingers continue to pinch and roll around your aching clit. “Wait, fuck I’m close,” you whimper out, chest rising and falling rapidly as you pull away from his mouth, a small string of spit connecting you together.

“Really?”

“Shut up don’t make fun of me,” you protest, gasping when he starts to kiss and suck along your neck.

“I’m not,” he mumbles, his hips rutting into your palm, fingers fisting the sheets beside you. “I’m close too.”

The whiny tone to his voice has more wetness gushing out, further ruining your underwear and Jungkook feels it as he fingers glide against your skin. That's enough to spur him on, quickening his pace with just the right pressure until your limbs are tightening up, back arching as your free hand clutches Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, and he has no intentions to, smiling against your neck as your hand stutters along his length as the pleasure you feel coursing through you. Each roll of his fingers has you seeing stars in your dimly lit room, whines getting breathier each time until you’re finally coming undone with a cry of his name.

Jungkook feels the mess you make against his fingers, gently biting your skin as he starts to rut into your palm, the small twitches your body makes as he continues to tease your sensitive nub only making his need to cum grow.

“Y/N,” he mewls, pulling his hand out of your pants once you hum at your name, your palm trailing up his shoulder and into his hair to gently run through it. “Wanna cum.”

You bite your lips at his words, pulling your own hand out of his pants and he cries out at the loss of contact, face lifting up from your neck and the prettiest pout on his lips that you kiss away. “Cum, use me Jungkook.”

He eyes you for a moment, a subtle nod of confirmation being all he needs to slide down his sweats a bit until his cock slips out, a small sigh filling the air at being released from its confines. He licks his lips over as he grasps his cock, resting it along your core and sighing at the smooth feeling of your pants, the silk slightly cold against him, the small wet patch along it only making him shut his eyes.

When you widen your thighs for him to slot more easily he starts to rut forward, leaning back over you with his palms beside your face once more. Jungkook pants at the sensation, the gliding of his cock against your covered pussy, the small whines you let out each time he nudges against your clit, it kickstarts his climax once more.

“Feels good,” he grunts out, head bowing forward and pressing against your chest as he picks up the pace, hips knocking into you each time, beads of precum dampening your silk pajama set and mixing with your own arousal.

Jungkook doesn’t care how needy he looks right now, humping you like a desperate teenager because that’s exactly how he feels.

“Yeah, are you gonna cum for me Kook?” you whisper, caressing his hair until he’s looking at you once more, face screwed up as he teeters close to the edge.

When he nods eagerly you hook both legs around his waist, his mouth dropping open as he moans out unabashedly. “W-wanna feel you fully next time,” he grunts, jostling your body from the force of his thrusts, your pants wrinkling up around your thighs.

“You will,” you confirm, wanting nothing more than to actually feel his cock without the confines of clothes and blankets. “Once the power comes back.”

He chuckles at that for a second, smiling at you through the dull glow the candle provides but then his face twists up, brows pinching and jaw going slack as his hips grow sloppy.

“F-fuck,” he drawls out as his orgasm washes over him, hips rutting against yours with less grace than before, spurts of his warm cum splashing along your pussy and onto the small patch of skin above your waistband as he works himself through it. You sigh at the feeling, cupping his cheeks as your thumbs soothe him down.

Jungkook continues to rock against you until he’s whimpering in overstimulation, panting as he stares down at you with the dopiest smile. He turns his head to kiss at your hand by his cheek before bending down to press his lips against your in a gentle kiss.

“Did we just get to third base?” he whispers against your lips after the two of you fully come down, laughing when you swat at his side playfully, your own laugh filling the air as he pulls back to stare at you once more.

Suddenly your room fills with light, the two of you squinting at the brightness, the sound of the heater kicking back is followed by the warmth from the vents beginning to flow through.

You don’t even have to look at him to know what face he’s making, your promise of letting him fully feel you once the power came back flooding his mind. “No Jungkook,” you laugh, pushing his face away from yours as he inches closer like a child.

“Why not?”

“Because you ruined my favorite pajamas.”

He laughs freely now, kneeling up until the blankets slide off his body, his eyes staring down at your pants and analyzing the mess the two of you made. “I mean, you ruined them first.”

Okay he has a point, but instead of agreeing you simply raise your foot up and nudge it against his chest until he topples to the side, allowing you to stand up from bed with no fear of the cold attacking you. Jungkook smiles against your sheets as he watches you grab new pants and underwear before slipping into your bathroom, emerging a few minutes later with a pair of snowman printed pants instead.

“You wanna go finish Legally Blonde?” he asks, head perched up by his hand as he lays on his side, that charming smile on his face.

“It’s like two in the morning.”

He shrugs, not caring about the time at all, just wanting to spend more time with you, already knowing the two of you would most likely end the night having a discussion about more than obvious feelings after what just happened.

After staring at him for another moment you smile too, reaching your bed for the same trusty blanket you hand earlier and wrapping it around your body. But as he stands up from your bed you extend your covered up out for him to join you, a smile of success gracing his face.

“Wow, you’re actually sharing with me.” he coos, leading the two of you back out into the living room.

“Watch it, I’ll take it back.”

Jungkook simply wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into his side before you sit onto the couch. “I know you will you cozy thief.”

#ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #heartsforbts #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #bts smut #jungkook fluff #new

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strawwritesfic · 4 years ago

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Kelvin!Pavel Chekov x Ensign!Reader: Room

Summary: Help is on the way!

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All

Challenge: "160 Collective Drabbles" challenge by BobaPop on Lunaescence Archives.

Notes: I don’t write out accents. Also, I wrote this after having only seen Star Trek (2009) and Into Darkness. I have tried to make some corrections now that I’ve become a true Trekkie, but it’s still not going to mesh perfectly with any universe.

Room

You began your studies at Star Fleet Academy at a very young age--far from the youngest student ever, but still much younger than the majority of your peers. Studying and learning came naturally to you (especially since there weren’t many students interested in socializing with you). By the end of your second term, there was a bit of kerfuffle over which career path you should take. Just about any had been open to you…except navigation. It became clear from your first day onward that you couldn’t find your way out of a dead-end transporter room with directions.

You’d missed your entire first day at the Academy by accidentally leaving the state. You only arrived at graduation just in time, having inadvertently ended up at a local high school’s. And now it was happening again: Your very first evening on the Enterprise, and you didn’t know up from down.

Wherever you were, it could not be the right place. Your blue uniform was almost entirely washed away in a sea of red and yellow. The few fellow pinpricks of blue you spotted did not respond to your calls for help. Trying to follow them just got you more lost than ever.

After nearly an hour of aimless wandering, you started to get a little more than panicked. Your first shift didn’t start until the next morning, but how were you supposed to tell when the next morning arrived? At this rate, you were never even going to find your room. You were going to end up lost for five whole years. They’d find your decomposing body while cleaning the ship when it returned!

Fear was the enemy of concentration, but by then you didn’t care. You’d ended up in some hallway that remained empty, save for when some of the engineers sped past with a piece of heavy machinery. As the third such group in so many minutes passed, you seriously considered throwing yourself into their path so as to avoid the shame of never showing up for work. They were gone before you could.

You had no other options, then. You found a wall, sat against it, and then blanked out. For how long, you didn’t really know. The point of the exercise was to disconnect long enough to remain unaffected by your situation. Before you could really get that far, however, someone woke you up by roughly shaking your shoulder.

“Huh? What? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be late!” you squeaked as your eyes flew open.

Crouching before you and looking slightly concerned was a young man about your age with thick curly hair and a shirt in Command Gold.

“Are you okay?” he asked in such a thick Russian accent that you almost didn’t think to listen to his next question: “Why are you crying in the hallway?”

Crying? You had meant to stop your crying, but when you lifted your wrist to your cheek, it was indeed wet. “I…I…I…”

His smooth brow crinkled with concern; you felt his fingers contract around your shoulder. “Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No!” you blurted, then had to pause for the rush of relief you felt after managing to complete a sentence, one word though it might have been. The young man blinked. You could feel the heat finally fading from your cheeks. “I’m just…lost.”

“Lost?” he repeated.

Was that a question or was he just echoing the sound? It seemed to you as though he could speak English perfectly well. Not to mention that he didn’t look like he’d grown up on some backwater planet that would require several updates to the Universal Translator for the two of you to communicate. Whatever the problem, he was the first friendly face you’d seen, and he was close enough in age to you (at least in appearance) that maybe he would help you instead of mock you.

“I can’t find my room.” The words sort of chipped out of you, slow and splintered. People were used to you succeeding and excelling; admitting your drastic lack of direction always made you feel embarrassed.

The man nodded his head once and gestured for you to continue. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” If you knew where your bedroom was, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

“What section is your room in?” he said slowly, as though English was your second language.

“I, uh…” Your fingers scrambled through the front pocket of your bag–more for something to take your mind off your nerves than anything else. You’d long since memorized the actual number. Still, you pulled out the scrap of paper and rattled off, “D950-29.”

You expected him to point you in the right direction (which wouldn’t help at all) and then leave. What you got instead was an immediate change of expression. He beamed, moved his hand to yours, and, before you could so much as ask what he was so pleased about, yanked you to your feet and took off running with his vice-grip still around your fingers.

“I can do that!” he shouted over his shoulder, as though that explained what in the world was going on.

All you could do was slip and skid after him while clutching your bag with all of your might. Soon you’d made it back to the more populated area. The workers dove this way and that in a mad attempt to get out of your way. A few even called after you, wanting to know just what it was you thought you were doing.

“S-Sorry!” you cried back, but by then you were always too far away for them to hear.

The young man led you though four different sectors and five turbolifts, barely pausing for breaks even in the latter. Your legs burned and your lungs ached; you couldn’t catch your breath long enough to ask what was going on. You were just beginning to regret asking for help (sort of…he’d really done it all on his own) when he came to a very sudden halt. The prior momentum he had going sent you several steps past him, but he graciously brought you to a stop before releasing your hand at last.

Still puffing and huffing, it took you a few minutes to finally look up and gather your surroundings. When you did, you realized that you were nowhere near where you’d been ten minutes before. The boy, looking much less out of breath than you were, grinned and threw his arm out toward a marker beside the door.

“D950-29!” he exclaimed.

Hardly daring to believe it, you looked from the now-sweaty paper in your hand to the room’s sign and back again. Sure enough, they matched. “How did you–”

“Ensign Pavel Chekov.” He thrust his hand out toward you, and you took it without thinking. “Tactical officer and navigator.”

Tactical officer? At his age? Forget what everyone was always saying about you. Ensign Chekov was really something. In fact, you were a little star-struck and could only manage staring at him as you introduced yourself.

He did not seem to notice. All he did was smile again in response, and patted your shoulder. “Will you be okay now? No more crying in the halls?”

“I…” You swallowed, really wishing that you could achieve saying something that didn’t make you look like a first-class idiot in front of him. “Yes. And no. I mean–no more crying in the hallways. Until tomorrow, when I get lost again.”

“I will have someone come help you. Your shift starts at 0600, yes?”

“Yes, but–”

Ensign Chekov watched you expectantly, but the next bit of your sentence wouldn’t come. As much you wanted to reject the offer, you wanted more not to have a repeat of this incident in less than twenty-four hours. The last thing you needed was to become known as “that ensign that always loses their way.”

So, instead of speaking, you screwed up your courage long enough to peck him on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”

You darted through the nearby door before you could see his reaction. The kiss had been meant as a polite gesture, but what if he thought you were insubordinate? Thirty seconds passed before you could bring yourself to stand on your tiptoes and peek out the peephole. When you did, Ensign Chekov was walking away, but you saw him–just once–turn around to look back, with yet another smile on his face.

#fan fic #straw writes #reader insert #second person pov #pavel chekov #star trek #kelvin universe #one shot #challenge fic #request #pavel chekov x you #pavel chekov x y/n #pavel chekov x reader #star trek x you #star trek x y/n #star trek x reader #kelvin universe x reader #kelvin universe x you #kelvin universe x y/n

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shutupanddance · 4 years ago

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#3 with Bones

@lo14ry19 asked: “If you’re still taking requests…. Number 3 with AOS Bones?”

Okay y’all must REALLY love Bones because nothing has blown up as fast as my content on him! He is definitely my favorite Star Trek hottie tho so I’m not complaining. I hope you like this hun!! I decided to make a whole one shot because I couldn’t figure out how to do this in headcanons.

It was a simple mission. Get in, make friends, get out. But when the surface of the planet is a metaphorical minefield, it’s not that easy.

You were currently stepping gingerly across some volcanic rock, and gaining very little ground. To the north, water spouts were exploding into the air as ocean waves hit the rocks, and to the south, lava was spewing out of several places. You were *trying* to move east. At least, that’s the way Captain Kirk was walking. But the more he scratched his head and laughed nervously, the less confident you felt. Where was this civilization you were supposed to make contact with? There were no signs of it from what you could see.

Behind you, Spock and Bones were arguing, as is to be expected. You weren’t sure what had started it; you tend to ignore their fights automatically. Their words had about as much consequence to you as the bird-like creatures chattering in the distance, until they brought you into it.

“I bet she’d agree,” Leonard is saying, and you dread whatever you’re about to be dragged into.

“What?” You shout over your shoulder, trudging along.

“Can you settle something for us?”

You pivot in place, and they’re still arguing.

“That isn’t necessary,” Spock says, “I’m sure Y/N would be-“

You drop.

You’re not exactly sure what happened, or how it happened. Must have been a misplaced foot or too much weight in one spot. But either way, the ground had given out from under you, and you were sent plummeting into the darkness along with some lava rock.

You were aware only of the blackness of your surroundings, and how much it hurt as you continued to slide and roll further into what you assumed was a lava tube. You’d heard about these from one of the away team geologists, how when lava runs around something and then that something decays or is moved, it forms a tube. The lecture was running through your mind as you tumbled further into the planet. When you finally stopped moving, you couldn’t remember if the ensign had mentioned anything about navigating these lava tubes.

It was quiet down here, and you find yourself beginning to panic. Bile rises in your throat and you heart rate spikes. You’re alone. Deep in some sort of cave. And you can’t see a thing.

The ground feels freezing underneath you. You can hear some more small rocks clattering down the tube towards you, but nothing else. The team will find you, right? You should stay put for awhile. They have Ground Penetrating Radar that can detect you, and they’ll send someone down to get you.

In order to distract yourself, you try to think through who they’ll send. The Captain would want to go, but they also need to reach the civilization before dark. So they’ll split up. The geologist will probably stay to use the GPR, and Spock will go with Kirk, as usual. Where will Bones go? Leonard…

If someone ever asked you about your feelings for the doctor, you’d deny it. But if Nyota got you drunk and asked the same question, you’d admit everything. You had liked McCoy ever since you joined the Enterprise. Being Jim Kirk’s friend from the academy, you automatically made friends with anyone who could tell Jim off and get away with it, and Leonard definitely fell into that category. When the Captain screwed up, it was you two who set him straight. You and Bones always been friends, eating lunch together, going on missions together, and even working together from time to time. When you couldn’t sleep, you’d come down to the med bag and help organize files or equipment. Leonard’s drawers never had labels on them before.

A memory of him scratching his head at the little stickers made you smile, but it was interrupted by your name, shouted loud and clear. Bones.

“I’m here!” You screamed, your voice cracking.

Quick feet tapped across the lava rock towards you, and you wished so badly that you could see him.

“I’ve got you,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

You wiggled around a bit, feeling for any major injuries.

“No I think- I think I’m okay. I’m okay. Just very bruised.” You laugh dryly, but it quickly turns into tears. Why were you crying? You couldn’t stop. Your breathing came in short gasps again and you began to shake.

“Hey. Hey.” Leonard quickly sat down with you, and pulled you to him with one arm around your waist. His other hand he placed on your chest, reminding you to breath normally. His lips ghosted the hair above your ear, a quiet kiss.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispered, and you nodded minutely.

Once your breathing had evened, you could feel his encouraging smile against your ear, and the soft tug of his hand at your waist. He felt warm and safe, and suddenly crying over the cave seemed foolish.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, and he leaned away slightly.

“Don’t be. We all have moments like these.”

He began to stand up, using his hand on your waist to guide you up as well.

“I can’t see a thing,” you said nervously.

“I know. Just close your eyes. And listen. And trust me. I’m going to tell you where to step.” His voice was probably the most comforting thing you could have asked for, and you were immensely glad that they sent Leonard instead of anyone else.

“Close my eyes? I already can’t see.”

“Exactly. But you expect to see darkness when your eyes are closed, not when they’re opened. Just shut them tight, and you’re less likely to panic about how dark it is.”

It sounded stupid, but you tried it anyway. He was right.

“Okay,” you breathed, and he began to guide you out of the cave.

His hand never left your waist.

#leonard mccoy #leonard mccoy x reader #leonard mccoy imagine #bones x reader #bones imagine #star trek reader insert #star trek fanfiction #Star trek reboots #request #masterlist

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megsironthrone · 4 years ago

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Meg's Game of Tales: Tale 13

*Familiar Characters are NOT mine! The original tale of "The Snow Queen" was written by Hans Christian Andersen! As the story is actually 7 parts, I took inspiration from one particular part and a little from the Snow Queen episodes of OUAT.*

Warnings: The Snow Queen AU, magic. I think that's it.

Pairings: Jon Snow x fem!reader

Jon stifled a laugh as Arya glared at Theon defiantly. "You're lying! The Snow Queen doesn't take naughty children! Besides, I'm too old for children's stories. There's no such thing." For years, Theon liked to tease the younger Stark children with stories of the Snow Queen to scare them. It was only a story and Theon had changed it. Still, the real story was one of Jon's favorites. He had no idea that everything he thought he knew about the story was going to change.

*time skip*

The wind howled outside and the cold seeped through the stone walls of the holdfast. Even the fire roaring in the fireplace could only shut out the chill so much. It was the worst winter storm in years. "The Snow Queen is certainly angered tonight," Jon thought to himself then laughed, "It's a story, Jon. Nothing more."

He stopped at the mirror to check his face for injuries. Robb had gotten a bit aggressive during training as he was irritated at the prospect of having to remain indoors. When Jon gazed in the mirror, his brow furrowed. The mirror was cloudy. He used the sleeve of his tunic to wipe down the glass, jumping when he saw the reflection of a woman in the mirror. Jon whipped his head around to see an empty room behind. When he turned back, the reflection was gone.

As the dark-haired young man leaned closer to the mirror, he felt a chill run up his spine. Not the chill of a man suffering in the cold, but the chill of man who was frightened of something that had not even occurred yet. Cracks began to form in the mirror and an almost ethereal voice spoke. "You will see. You will be shown the true nature of people. You will see how they truly are and how they truly fell. And then you shall come to me. You shall rule by my side forever."

The mirror suddenly shattered, sending shards of glass flying at Jon's face. Jon closed his eyes, prepared to feel the stinging cuts, but none came. When he opened his eyes, the mirror was back to normal. There were no cracks to be seen and even the cloudiness was gone. Jon was confused, but shrugged it off after a moment. He went to bed feeling as though someone was watching him.

The next morning, Jon made his way down to breakfast with his family and stopped short. When he gazed upon the faces of everyone but the youngest Starks, he recoiled in disgust. They were themselves, but their eyes were almost demonic, dark and menacing. Their mouths were twisted in feral grins, showing razor sharp teeth. The sight was horrifying. But that wasn't the worst of it.

With their mouths, the family wished him a good morning, but that wasn't all Jon heard. It was if they were speaking in his head. He could feel hatred and malice pouring from them, weighing him down until he could bear it no more. Without even attempting to eat, Jon fled back to his chambers. Every person he passed shared the same terrifying face and same oozing hatred. It was too much. As soon as he was safely in his chambers, Jon slammed the door and barred it. No one was getting to him until he was prepared to leave.

In the back of his mind, Jon remembered the eerie voice from the night before, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had to leave. Suddenly, as if summoned, the voice spoke again. "I know, young Snow. It hurts. People often hide themselves, but they cannot hide from me. I can help you. I would accept you no matter what." Jon glance over at the mirror to find the same woman staring back at him.

"Y-You're the Snow Queen. The stories said you could use mirrors." The woman chuckled lightly. "I suppose you could call me that, though I prefer Y/N. As I said, come to me, Jon and I will be there for you. Forever." Jon's brows furrowed. "Why?" You let out a sigh and explained that you, although powerful, were lonely. "You aren't afraid of snow or the power it possesses. You could easily be my king, if that is what you wish. You need only follow the brightest star and you will find me. Or remain forever plagued by the demons that pretend to love you."

Now, Jon wasn't a coward by any means, but his visions that morning had shaken him to his very core. Not to mention, his curiosity was piqued. After all why should a powerful being such as you take such an interest in him? He glanced back at your figure in the mirror. You were watching him struggle to make up his mind. After a moment, you sighed. "As I said, the choice is yours. But understand this, I cannot always control what the snow does. It is ruled by my emotions. The longer I wait for your answer, the worse the storm becomes." Before Jon could reply, you disappeared.

True to your word, the storm outside kicked up, harsh winds accompanying the bitter cold as more and more snow began to fall. If it continued too long, Jon wouldn't even be able to leave the castle if he wanted to. Still, he couldn't just up and leave. Could he? Would it even be worth it? He could die before he even walked ten miles. As if in answer to his worries, a particular hard wind blew nearly breaking the glass of his window.

"Alright. I get it. Hurry up," he muttered to himself. It really shouldn't have been such a difficult decision. He should stay with his family. Jon knew that. But at the same time, he couldn't live with seeing them like that every day for the rest of his life. And you were offering him the chance of adventure. Of being something greater than what he was. With that in mind, he glance back at the glass.

"Are you there?" Your vision appeared once more and you smiled, as if you had been just sitting around waiting. "I will find you." Your smile grew and the storm outside began to quiet down. "Then follow the star until you find my castle. It looks to be made of ice. I will look after you on your journey." Once more, Jon was left alone with his thoughts.

The young man quickly threw some things in to a pack, grabbed his sword and snuck out of the castle. The journey was long and hard as he navigated his way through the snow and ice, passed all manner of creatures and more demon-looking people. But even as he trekked through the nasty weather, Jon didn't feel cold or frightened. He knew he should be. After all, snow was beautiful, but deadly. That was its nature. Perhaps he didn't feel afraid because you were watching over him as you said you would.

Jon lost count of how many days he traveled before he finally came upon your castle. It was just as you'd said. White and shining, like ice. It wasn't until he climbing the steps that Jon felt anything even close to fear. Still he kept on. He was too close to turn back now. When he reached the doors, they opened like magic.

Jon wasn't sure how he knew where to go, but he entered the castle and made his way to where he was certain you were. The castle, despite being one of the Snow Queen, felt warm and welcoming. Jon felt at home. So much so that he simply knew just where to go. Sure enough, another set of doors opened to reveal a throne room. You were perched on a throne of what looked like ice or glass and you smiled upon seeing him enter.

He watched as you rose from your seat and made your way down to him. You stopped right in front of him and gazed into his dark eyes. "Why me?" he asked quietly and you chuckled, "Because you believed. No matter what you told others, you always believed I wasn't some story. And now, we shall rule the winter together. Welcome, Jon Snow, my new Snow King."

(a/n: Here you are! Tale 13! We've got 5 more to go!)

#meg's game of tales #game of thrones #fairytale au #the snow queen au #jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon x reader

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dogwithapog · 11 months ago

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op is right on the mark with this one! klingons were initially made to resemble earth societies that seemed "alien" to americans (namely the chinese). they were based in stereotypes and racist caricatures that they grew beyond in later iterations. i think there is so much potential in exploring their society further! future trek media should totally expand on the non-warrior side of their culture.

i'd like to offer another analysis of klingons: they represent toxic masculinity.

being a klingon (or being a man) is a complicated matter of identity that you can't boil down to biology or simple behaviors. fully understanding klingon identity requires cultural and historical context. but a large part of it is performance, and some klingons (and men) become obsessive about this performance; obsessive to the point that they would stifle their own desires, put others down for how they live their life, or even cause dangerous situations.

this toxicity may lead outsiders to judge the group as a whole. it is easy to dismiss klingons as naturally brutal, predatory, unintelligent, unemotional. obviously, this isn't true, but social expectations reinforce these ideas inside and outside of klingon society, and worsen the problem.

take worf, for example. he was raised by humans on earth, but devoted much study to traditional klingon customs. he probably knows more about what it means to "be klingon" than many of his peers on Qo'noS. yet, when he interacts with other klingons, he stands out. at several points, he is mocked by klingons for his human/federation behaviors. In "Redemption" he briefly serves on a klingon ship, where he feels very separated from the rest of his species due to his different approaches to his work. his behaviors might not seem "normal" to some klingons, because he was not exposed to the same toxic expectations. he still puts a great deal of effort into performing klingonhood, but sometimes he has to make tough decisions about how "klingon" he actually wants to be. while this *is* his true self, his true identity, there are some toxic social side effects. he sees his fellow klingons fail (behave dishonorably!!!) in some areas due to the rigidity in their toxic masculine performance.

worf does not want to be ruthless and violent, as the klingons around him sometimes are. but he cares VERY deeply about his honor and status among his species, so much that he would rather die (s5e16 "Ethics") than be seen as "half a klingon." he struggles between his need for klingon identity, his need for respect from other klingons, and his knowledge that some of these customs are just... wrong.

and this is affected also by his place in the federation. he has to navigate maintaining his status as "one of the good klingons" in humanity's eyes. he has to tiptoe to appear less threatening. refusing to give in to klingon toxicity also means avoiding negative judgement from outsiders.

wow this post got long. my point is; you can't make a whole species, or any large group, seem simple, as klingon-focused stories in Star Trek sometimes do. it can create and reinforce all kinds of problems. i hope this made sense haha

the thing is that when you look deep enough, Klingons and Klingon society is actually pretty well developed by Star Trek standards. we know the ideals of their society and the way their ideals are corrupted by classism and archaic tradition. we see how "warrior" and "honor" are complex terms that involve more than just warfare and fighting. but we also see Klingon scientists and lawyers who are proud of their work but are pushed aside for not living up to their society's standards. we see how their political relations change over time and how strategic alliances are formed and dissolved. we know their marriage customs and holidays and mythology and history. we see a variety of Klingon characters with varying degrees of attachment to their species and culture. we see how they're stereotyped and discriminated against in the Federation for being "too alien" when the Federation is supposed to be accepting of differences. we have an entire real, usable language for Kahless's sake.

the thing is also that 90% of Klingon stories choose to ignore all this complexity in favor of bioessentialism and racist takes on "warrior society".

#klingon #klingons that exist in my head (and in the actual text!!) vs klingons that exist in the pop culture consciousness....#star trek #worf #worf son of mogh

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paris-torres-month · 3 years ago

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FEVER FEBRUARY DAY 14: LISA KLINK APPRECIATION DAY ❤️💕🥰💋🔥

Valentine’s Day seems a fitting time to honour the Queen of nascent P/T, Lisa Klink. She saw what we saw, and brought Tom & B’Elanna’s irresistible, magnetic attraction to fruition through her finely crafted words… and sparked hundreds (thousands?) of missing scene fanfics and codas in the process because we always want MORE.

Lisa Klink was a writer for Star Trek Voyager. According to imbd, she had her (typing) fingers in 74 episodes, either as a staff writer, executive story editor, or lead writer. Oh how we wish she had stayed until Endgame! According to the lovely and talented woman herself, she wrote four of our favourite episodes: Blood Fever, Displaced, Revulsion, & Scientific Method.

Lisa’s were some of the best Tom & B’Elanna early episodes, then she appeared to move on, alas. But she set the groundwork for one of—if not the—best Trek romances ever. Through Lisa Klink’s words, superbly acted by Roxann Dawson & Robert Duncan McNeill, Tom and B’Elanna became more that just characters manipulated on a page, they became real people navigating a relationship through trying circumstances.

We P/Ters will always be grateful to our Queen, our Goddess, Lisa Klink for her humour & her romantic heart & her ability to beautifully complicate Tom & B’Elanna’s path to true Love.

❤️❤️❤️

BLOOD FEVER:

“You've never been hard to get, Tom.” “Well, I'm making an exception. I can't let you do this.” “Oh, I'll bet you wish you could. All those invitations to dinner. And on the holodeck, the way you would stare at me when you thought I wasn't looking, and get jealous when I'm with someone else. You can't tell me you're not interested in me.” “You're right. I can't.” “Then don't push me away.” “Oh, believe me, I'd like to, but I know this isn't really you. You've made it clear that you're not interested, and I have to accept that's how you feel, even now.” “No. No, it isn't. I was, I was just afraid to admit it. You see, I've wanted this for so long...Just let it happen.” “I hope someday you'll say that to me and mean it.”

❤️❤️❤️

DISPLACED:

“I have tried this, and now I am finished. Got it?” “Look, if you don't like the programme, that's fine. But why do you always have to get so hostile?” “I am not hostile!”

💕

“Nice day.” “Beautiful.“ “Things were pretty chilly there for a while.” “I guess they were.” “It feels good to be warm again.” “Yeah, it sure does.”

❤️❤️❤️

REVULSION:

“B'Elanna, this is ridiculous. It's been three days and we haven't said a word to each other.” “I know, I know. We have to talk.” “About what you said. I mean, the part about being in love with me. I realise you were suffering from oxygen deprivation and we were literally seconds away from death, so I know you probably didn't mean it.” “No, no, I meant it. But I don't expect you to reciprocate. Really, you can just pretend that I didn't say it. In fact let's just pretend that I didn't—” “Shut up.”

❤️❤️❤️

SCIENTIFIC METHOD:

“We have been a little out of control lately.” “Do you think we really were?” “What?” “Out of control. Those aliens could have just been messing around with our hormones just to see what would happen.” “You're right, they could have. And we don't know how long they were on board. They could have been tampering with us for months“ “Well, when you think about it you did have a pretty abrupt change of heart a couple of weeks ago. What made you realise that you love me all of a sudden?” “Just a feeling. So our whole relationship might be based on some alien experiment.” “You never know.“ “Well, I think that explains it.” “I guess we should just call it off, then.” “I think so.” “Thank God we found out in time.” “Thank God.” “I don't know about you, but I'm curious to see how this experiment turns out.”

❤️❤️❤️

We know how it turned out: with a perfect baby and Tom & B’Elanna’s happily (though never smooth and boring) ever after.

#fever february #catch the fever #tom paris #b’elanna torres #tom x b'elanna #paris x torres #lisa klink appreciation day #missing scene monday #lisa klink #paris-torres-month #blood fever #displaced #revulsion #scientific method

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

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Human Relations Snippet: Tim teaches Jon the internet and odious goats are sacrificed to the cult of Bezos

There’s no reason for this to exist. I was rereading a bit of HR and I saw a throwaway joke about Jon wanting to buy Martin a Portal Gun. I started wondering about how that would even work. The answer is, obviously, a 200 year old man squinting at a computer screen wondering why there’s so many horny singles in his area. I get possessed by demons easily, so I took three hours out of writing my daemon au and wrote this instead. Bon Appetit.

(Edit, quick clarification: I think that Jon would refuse to use the name for the Beholding that Smirke made up, and although all of this exists in my head and you guys don’t know this, there was a lot of tension between Jon and Jonah’s ‘circle’. So Jon hated Smirke and thought he was a hack. He uses Smirke’s terms to others sometimes for ease of understanding or in deference to Jonah (:/) but I think that mentally he mainly calls the Beholding his own name, The Witness. It rings of that personal and intimate connection Jon and the Beholding has. Anyway, onto the story.)

After one hour in anguished uncertainty, fifty popups that advised Jon of very many ‘hot singles in his area’, six separate sites that Jon’s God had to inform him were covers for thieves that stole money from you, and a very confusing retreat to Jon’s favorite internet page ‘Wikipedia’ as to what an Amazon was, Jon had given up.

Normally this was where he asked one of his personal assistants for help. Normally, he wouldn’t even be trying, and he would have just told one of them to do it. This was how Jon had cunningly mostly avoided using computers for the past twenty years. Some endeavors were unavoidable, and Jon was proud to say that he mastered email in 2010. Or was it 2008? He liked to think it was 2006, but it was possible...never mind. If it was important, the Witness would tell him.

Peter Lukas was right on almost nothing, Jon thought disgruntledly as he slammed his laptop shut - including in his taste of men, company, philosophies, men, patron deities, professions, and men - but he was right in his proclamation that the internet was the degradation of society. Not that he hadn’t sacrificed his morality and sold out, feeding his patron through something called “incel forums” and “Reddit”. Between him, Jonah’s “Excel spreadsheets” and “TurboTax”, and Annabelle Cane’s ridiculous “MMO guilds”, the Society was filling with computer geeks. Jon could always read the wind: he had to keep up, and quickly.

Besides, Martin had kindly educated him on how it was almost unheard of for a young man like Jon to not understand how to work that Goggle thing. Giggle? Martin was very streetwise and was one of the most insightful people Jon had ever known, he was definitely right.

Which is why he had to buy him this “Portal Gun” that he wanted. He had even shown Jon the website! And if Jon was in desperate times trying to navigate these confusing webpages entirely with URLs he memorized, then he would take desperate measures!

“I’m going down to the Archives,” Jon said, slithering off the couch and clutching his laptop to chest. Jonah had bought it for him. He appeared surprised that Jon was using it. “I may not be back for a while. I need...a book.”

Jonah didn’t look away from his own infernal machine. It seemed he was on that ‘Excel’ program again. Was it one of those ‘video games’ he kept hearing about? “Do I want to know what you were doing on that laptop.”

“Reading Wikipedia,” Jon said immediately, and somewhat defensively. Jon had discovered Wikipedia in 2001 before promptly funding it and throwing his weight behind its development. He had spent a solid five years convinced a computer was a kind of electronic screen that let you read digital Encyclopedia pages, like in Star Trek. He’d seen Star Trek. Georgie made him. “Did you know that -”

“Yes, yes, have fun. Haven’t you read that entire site already?”

“Not even,” Jon said defensively. “I can’t just sit and read through entire Encyclopedias anymore, Jonah. We know more things now.”

“What a way to describe the last two hundred years,” Jonah said, not even looking away from his computer. “We know more things. Never change, Jon.”

“You’re the one who never changes,” Jon grumbled. But it was a weak comeback, and considering his brand new delightfully short stature somewhat untrue, so Jon breezed out of Jonah’s office with full knowledge that he’d think of a better comeback halfway down the steps to the Archives.

In fact, it wasn’t until he was at the door, and by then he felt stupid for losing a point against Jonah anyway. He easily opened the door, stepping inside and quickly bee-lining for Sasha’s office. Her burgeoning powers were wonderfully flowing in the shape of access to and understanding of technology. He had never seen such gratuitous breeches of privacy as she casually committed. Every day Jon was validated in his decision to save her from the Stranger. A balance, an equal yet opposite Archivist from Jon, would be invaluable. Not that Jonah and Jon weren’t their own yin and yang, but Jonah’s powers were paltry and out-of-date. Mind reading and spying through iconography was so 1960. They needed fresh blood.

Sasha had been a wonderful choice, and Jon didn’t regret choosing her to act as saviour. Most of the time. Some of the time she -

“She’s not in.”

Jon’s fist halted in front of the door, about to sharply rap on her office door. He turned around to actually look through the bullpen, only to see that Timothy was sitting in his chair chewing a sandwich. Somehow angrily. Definitely suspiciously.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked dubiously. “Because you’ve lied about this before.”

“Because you should stop coming down here and bothering her.” Timothy balled the saran wrap in his hand and dunked it in the trash can, somehow undoubtedly giving the impression that he wished it was Jon’s head. “Just bugger off.”

Someone was in a snit. Normally Timothy wasn’t this hostile. Jon had thought that learning his name might make him less mean, but it did little to help. But when Jon looked around he didn’t see Martin, and a quick check assured him that both Sasha and Martin were having lunch at their favorite deli and engaging in that plotting hobby they both enjoyed. Timothy had elected to stay behind, stewing in his own angry and paranoid juices.

He would have to do this with Martin out of the Archives...and he really wanted to take care of this now so Martin would get it before the weekend...and it wasn’t as if Jon was scared of this boy he was one hundred and seventy years older than…

“Uh,” Jon said intelligently, “can you help me with...something…”

Timothy’s face twisted in a novel combination of surprise and disgust. “What,” he sneered, “your evil fear god or whatever can’t figure it out for you?”

“I don’t need others to think for me,” Jon said stiffly. It was something he’d had to say far too many times. “The Witness is less helpful with...troubleshooting...look, do you know how to work a computer?”

Timothy stared at him blankly. “Like, at all?”

“I’m trying to buy Martin this toy he desires,” Jon said desperately. Fuck it all, he walked over and sat down in the chair next to Tim’s desk. He pulled a little bit closer, placing his laptop on Tim’s desk, and ignored the way the other man leaned away. “But whenever I try I keep on seeing alerts about hot singles. I’m not interested in young women, I just need to buy a ‘Portal Gun’. Do you know what a Portal Gun is?”

Timothy continued staring at him, eyebrows raised. Clearly involuntarily, so quick that he may not even have noticed, one corner of his lips was ticking upwards into a smile.

“How many credit card scams have you fallen for?”

“Absolutely none,” Jon said, very quickly. He pulled out his credit card, placing it on the table. He knew a credit card was involved, although he didn’t know how. “What do I do? Do I swipe it? Is there a port?” He picked up the laptop and squinted at its sides, looking for a port. “I wanted to ask Sasha for help, since she’s the expert in hacking, but surely you know the basics?”

“I mean...I can’t, like, code, but yeah, I can work Amazon.” Timothy carefully opened the laptop, watching the display light up. He effortlessly navigated to an icon on the screen, clicking it open.

“That’s not right,” Jon said urgently. “You’re supposed to press the E.”

“I do not want to know how many toolbars you have,” Timothy said bluntly. “We’re using Chrome. That’s another way to look at the Internet.” He rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, I got a grandmother, we can do this.”

Jon perked up. “So you’ll help?”

Went unsaid: even though you hate me?

“Whatever,” Timothy grumbled. Jon decided not to press his luck.

Jon decided that he liked the Chrome better than the Internet Explorer, because it was simpler and Google was on the first page. Tim rapidly typed on ‘Amazon.com’ into the search bar and easily scrolled through the very busy and picture filled page that immediately popped up. Why was everything so fast? Maybe this was why the young people had no attention span: these pages just came up immediately. No flipping for indices for finding anything in phone books.

“Right. What was it, a Portal Gun? Like from the game?”

“A board game?”

“Video game.”

“Like on a VHS…?”

“Right.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, Sasha said that you’re one of the most famous sociologists and anthropologists in British history.”

“I am extremely intelligent, Timothy, and I won’t abide any insinuation otherwise,” Jon said curtly. “I cannot be expected to keep constant track every time there’s another - iPhone or whatever. You have teenagers in your family, correct? Do you always know what they’re talking about? That’s, what, a twenty year age gap? Multiply that by ten.”

That shut him up. Timothy sighed again, much more aggressively, but he clicked the white bar and typed in ‘portal gun’ anyway. “Right. Not fucking apologizing, but right. I still don’t fucking know what ‘Twitch’ is.”

“It’s a brief spasmodic contraction of the muscle fibers,” Jon said helpfully. “Fascinatingly, this phenomenon was first observed in frog’s legs before I was even born in 1780, by Luigi Galvani. Erudite man, by the way, but he couldn’t hold his liquor. It was the birth of the study of bioelectricity, although the exact mechanism of muscle contraction eluded scientists for years.”

“Never mind.” Timothy sighed again, the perfect mix of aggravated and long-suffering. It seemed to be the man’s two favorite emotions. “My grandmother has a PhD and she still can’t figure out her cell, either. We had to get her a Jitterbug.”

Amazon, as Timothy explained, was a kind of shopping mall, except you could pick out what you wanted by its picture and have the shopping mall pack it up and send it to you. Jon didn’t quite understand why people preferred this to just going to a shop yourself, seeing as you could get it immediately instead of with a three or four day turnaround, but Tim explained that Amazon was cheaper, had a wider selection, and didn’t make you get off the couch.

“Oh,” Jon said, finally getting it, “this follows the economic model of large scale businesses underpricing their products to undercut smaller businesses in the area, driving them out of business until they hold monopoly over the market and can raise their prices without worrying about staying competitive.”

Timothy stared at him.

“I mean,” he said, “I guess?”

“This explains why my Alexa project was successful so quickly,” Jon mused. “With a lack of competition or alternatives, consumers are more likely to accept the dramatic invasions of privacy as normal. Normalizing intrusions into privacy took ages, but my early efforts paid off very well. The Ring doorbell was even better, along with the line of security and home protection systems. We’re now working on live streamed 24/7 surveillance to social media platforms.”

Timothy stared at him further.

Finally, he said, “Alexa was...you?”

“Of course,” Jon said, baffled. Who else would it be? “I gave Jeff the idea and convinced him it would be profitable. I didn’t understand the whole mechanics of it, but once I gave Jeff a vision from the Witness he was eager to implement the divinely inspired spyware.”

Timothy continued to stare.

“The evil fear god controls Jeff Bezos.”

“He thinks I’m a prophet, actually,” Jon said helpfully. “I let him become Cardinal of the imaginary cult in exchange for funding some of my more esoteric programs. Had him sacrifice a goat and everything, it was great.” At Timothy’s alarmed look, Jon was quick to elaborate, “It was the most evil goat you’ve met in your life. Morally odious.”

“...for my sanity I’m going to pretend that you said none of that.”

In retrospect, although Timothy had worked at the Institute for a few years, it did take quite a bit of time to acclimate to the fact that the Avatars permanently shaped the shape of human existence in order to better feed their gods. Jon knew better than anyone: when humanity made gods, and gods made man, and man made gods...the feedback loop could self-perpetuate for years. Eternity, if needed.

But they had no luck on ‘Amazon’. With Jon’s eidetic memory he was able to easily pick out the one that looked most similar to the one that Martin had showed him, but all of the little toy guns were for someone named ‘Rick’. Then Timothy took twenty laborious minutes explaining the entire plot of ‘Rick & Morty’ to him, which Jon patiently sat through.

“I think young people today deeply enjoy explaining media,” Jon said, once Timothy finished telling him the funny jokes. “I’m very interested in your interests, Timothy.”

“You are so fucking condescending. And please call me Tim, you’re sounding even more like my grandmother.” When Jon brightened, Tim - Tim! - quickly said, “This does not mean we are friends.”

Granted, Jon had never once in his life gave a shit about making friends, but he felt as if he should be making more of an effort with Tim. He was a sort of supernatural brother in law, wasn’t he? Although Sasha perhaps Sasha was more of a favored niece. At least, he would be, if today’s generation found some morality and stopped living in sin.

Good lord. Now he was sounding like Jonah. Georgie used to joke that he was born in the wrong generation - he should have been born a 17th century Puritan instead. Jon found it a very funny joke. Jonah did not.

“Are there any other shopping websites?” Jon asked finally, after Amazon failed them. He’d have to call up Jeff later and complain. “Or is this the only one?”

Tim sighed. “Let’s check Google.”

Quickly and efficiently, yet with many lightning fast detours, Tim found another site called ‘eBay’ - pronounced ‘e-Bay’, not ‘ehbay’ - that listed off exactly what they needed. They weren’t under the toy section, instead listed as something called ‘cosplay’, but Tim seemed highly resistant to explaining that one, so he dropped it.

They picked a likely looking white toy gun that looked the most similar to the one that Martin had liked and Tim talked Jon through punching in the numbers on his card into the website and sorting through the billing and shipping information. Tim helpfully took down the numbers on his card to file later.

“And...done!” Tim said, pressing a button and leaning back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was ten times as complicated as I thought it would be,” Jon assured him, “but also much more fun. What else can you buy online?”

“Oh, god. What can’t you buy.”

Jon brightened. “Can you buy books?”

“Old Gertrude used to buy Leitners on eBay,” Tim said dully, “so yeah, sure, why not.”

Jon stared at his computer. He carefully navigated the mouse to the big red x and clicked out of the internet browser. “That’s enough of eBay, then, I think.”

Guess he would have to stick to buying Leitners in person. It was no good buying fucked up books from sketchy sources. Always stick to people you trusted, or at least trusted to be themselves. Mikaele was Jon’s favorite supplier since the kid Leitner disappeared, and they had a pleasant working relationship. Mikaele shared his grandfather’s stories about the history and culture of the Maori, and Jon told him which of his haunted artifacts would be the most helpful in the imminent apocalypse.

“Well,” Tim said finally, gently pushing Jon’s laptop away, “that was...something, great bonding session with my local supervillain, please run back to Elias and bother him instead.”

“You were very helpful, Mr. Stoker,” Jon said, as professionally yet paternally as possible. Tim was six years older than his body, so he’s not sure how it came off, but the touch of grey at his temples helped with the dignified air. “And as soon as you start acting like a man and propose to my Archivist, you’ll make an excellent brother in law -”

“Uh, excuse me?”

Jon spun around in his chair to see Sasha and Martin standing at the door, holding doggy bags and looking somewhat flummoxed. Probably confused at the sight of him and Tim having a civil conversation, which admittedly had never happened before. Possibly also confused at how completely mortified Tim looked.

“Who said anything about proposing?” Sasha asked incredulously. “Tim, are you -”

“No! No, god no!” Tim stood up quickly, holding his hands out as if he was placating a raging bull. “Nobody’s been saying anything - I would never do that to you -”

“Oh,” Sasha said frostily, crossing her arms and letting the bags swing, “would you.”

That was a domestic Jon should stay out of, even though he definitely caused it. He and Martin sidled away in tandem, huddling near the back of the Archives as Tim frantically pled for his life.

Sneakily, Jon glanced at Martin out of the corner of his eye. He looked happy. Happy, and just as stressed as he always looked - Jon had never known Martin when he wasn’t constantly stressed out, and he was more than aware that it was his fault.

He looked good, too. Really nice, broad jawline that gave his face a friendly round shape. Just friendly and round in general, it was really handsome. His hair was as nicely short and ruffles as ever. The big glasses were super stylish, and really framed his face well. Really big, broad hands. Jon, who had always been so poky and tall and thin and gaunt, like some kind of haunted scarecrow that lurked through the corners of time, was envious. He wanted some of that softness and gentleness. Really, he wanted some of Martin’s -

“So what were you and Tim doing?” Martin asked. “I didn’t know you knew he existed.”

“You told me his name,” Jon said anxiously. “I don’t forget the things you tell me, you know.”

Martin smiled shyly and him, and Jon found himself smiling back. “It’s pretty good for my ego to hear that I have something to teach the immortal genius.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, as Sasha yelled in the background, “I’ve been learning a lot lately.”

“Really?” Martin teased. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh,” Jon said, watching the yellow fluorescent light cast Martin’s dim smile in soft relief, “I can think of a few things.”

#my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #archivist!sasha #martin blackwood #sasha james #mild homosexual activity and massive old man activity inbound #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im posting this at an awkward time so prep for a lot of self rbs

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