#i can’t believe y’all are saying comics are hard to read with your full chests

[artemis-requiem]

It’s mind boggling to see some ppl on her who claim to be fans of comics characters saying they never read a comic cause it’s too complicated…sweetheart I hope you know you are talking about PICTURE BOOKS. Assuming you all have an education past the 3rd grade you all are capable of reading picture books. And the complaint that you don’t know where to start is just as stupid. Googling “x comic reading order” and clicking on the comic book herald link is just two steps. That website breaks the ages down and has little comments on what happens. ITS SUPPER EASY AND HELPFUL. If someone’s recommendation is confusing you that website is gonna be a lifesaver. If money is the issue then get a library card. Library apps and the physical library will have a lot of comics to read and if you know how to navigate the internet then idk know why you are complaining theres so much free shit on Google. If the huge events and the million tie in comics are overwhelming well thankfully there are many more comics other then cape shit stuff. A lot of indie stories a self contained and don’t go on for hundreds of issues. You don’t have to stick to just superhero comics. Plus the world isn’t gonna implode if you just skip the event. If you need to know anything important from the event it’s most likely it will be brought up again later. After all this y’all are still crying about comics being complicated either you are a baby and can’t read or you are hopeless. There’s no excuse to say reading fan fiction is easier when writers are making up their own shit or doing crossovers give me a break. It’s one thing to read fanfics for the fun of it it’s another thing to make it your only source of content and thinking it’s accurate characterization.

[fmdsohee]

older, wiser, prettier

date: various, december 4th 1998,  2001, 2006, 2011, 2018 word count: 2170 triggers: emotionally abusive parenting, neglectful parenting, general shitty parenting, underage drinking,  forced drinking, abandonment, general terrible family  notes: me?? being literally like twenty fucking days late on her birthday solo ( it was meant for dec 4th but whatever i dont give a shit ) ?? yes, of course because indeed, i, am terrible, in fact, this is terrible and none of y’all should read it, i’m only posting it bc i won’t let myself not do it.

1998, age one. she spends her first birthday crying.

she was never a quiet baby. when she was first set into her mother’s arms by the nurses, she was crying; she cried through the nights from when she got home into the empty estate. her room is white, adorned with lace and silk, toys and it looks like a showroom – the perfect “socialite’s first baby room” for her mother to giggle about to her friends, show off as she barely takes a glance over the infant dozing in the bed. adjacent to her parents’ room, close enough to be heard, far enough for her not be seen, like most of the problems in the son family.

“come on,” it’s two in the morning, her mother, usually polished and a gushing smile on her face, was tired, “i don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

“she’s hungry, i don’t know, why don’t you feed her?” her father was skulking in the corner, head in his hands as she slumped over in the pristine rocking chair in the corner of the room.

“i already tried, she’s not hungry – she always does this, i don’t know what to do.”

“then work it out,” he lights a cigarette in the corner of the room, drawing in and out without a thought, “i don’t know what you want me to do – move her into one of the other rooms, i would like to sleep – do you think creativity stems from this? do you think i can write another best seller if i never get any sleep? what do you expect from me – you can’t keep walking around pretending you’re even something without money rolling in; even your body’s gone after her.”

her mother didn’t even react to his words – it was normal. “as if you’re the peak of creativity – you’ve been writing the same thing for years.”

“as if you know anything, you’ve made a living of being on your back.”

“i’ve made a living out of working hard, unlike you, how about you actually release something if you’re such a bestseller and stop pretending you’re some starving artist locked away in your study.”

“i’ll stop locking myself in the study when the baby’s gone and you’ve decided to stand there and look good again, quietly.”

“oh, but you’re fine to get yourself out of the room when the cleaner comes over, or the cook, or any of the other young women that seem to come and go a little richer than their contract.”

“shut up,” her father grumbled, “not exactly like you’ve held up well.”

“how about w-“

the two were cut off by the loud cry of their daughter.

“i’m leaving.” with a few slams of doors, her father left.

and her mother was alone, eyes shifting around the sickly room to her daughter.

“you better be worth it.”

and she left the room with her daughter crying out, far enough that she didn’t have to think about her for a second.

2001, age four. she spends her fourth birthday on stage.

she’s been dressed up like a doll: the dress is bright pink, puffy and encompasses all of her; her face felt tacky, sticky, and was covered in heavy makeup; and her eyes can barely stay open. she’s spent the hours of the morning walking around in circles, her feet ached, and she’d made a picture perfect routine.

before she could walk, she had been in beauty pageants, her mother was trying to shill her to industry connections to get her into ads and modelling jobs; sohee hated it. she screamed at her mother, she cried all the time, but it didn’t stop it, so eventually little sohee learned to deal with it.

her friends had teased her relentlessly the days before, playing in the park with wide smiles ( sohee hadn’t even noticed her father had sulked off instead of watching her ) before they started poking fun at her for not having a birthday party; they didn’t mean it, they were young, barely enough to know anything but they’d all been able to have parties, so why not her? sohee had ran home, tugging at her mother’s dress, and she just shook her head. she woke up on her birthday early to practice, nothing else was new.

she smiled, she twirled, she sang, and she got some stupid crown at a no name beauty pageant.

she went home a winner, and her mother yelled at her for her foot placement.

2006, age nine. she spends her ninth birthday lost in the woods.

her father’s writing process was something he called an art, it was something that her mother called stupid and a waste of time, sohee never even noticed any sort of backwards routine before her ninth birthday. one of his writing rituals included packing his bags, getting on a plane and flying out to a woodland cabin across the pond to “cleanse his thoughts” and that time, much to his dismay, chipper, young sohee was along for the ride.

she’s gleeful the entire way there, and it gives her father a headache, but she doesn’t notice. the car’s silent apart from her remarks as it always was. he didn’t have much to say to her, but with what ran through his mind it was better that way. she doesn’t know how to communicate with the people there, she knows how to ask basic questions and greetings, but when her father has short conversations with those they meet at pit stops, sohee stands there by his side wide eyed and confused.

the house isn’t the rustic, cold and damp place that bleeds information as he pretends it is – it’s a vacation home, without a doubt. and when they walk in, it looks like the type of extravagant place that families in movies sohee’s seen come to get together for christmas celebrations before slapstick chaos. but when her dad went into his office and slammed the door, she felt so cold.

she spends three days sitting around the house, flicking through magazines and watching dvds that she’d packed with her. and then her birthday rolls around, and it’s more of the same – her father’s locked away in his office smoking up a house fire and barely touching pen to paper and she’s pacing around the house pouting and crying that she hasn’t heard happy birthday once.

the hands on the clock hit five and little sohee decides that she’s had enough with all of this. shoelaces hastily tied, a backpack stuffed with her favourite stuffed animals for company and snacks for the trip – she decides that she’s going to have an adventure by herself if no one else wants to have fun with her.

it’s a few hours before she realises that she has no idea where she is, and the cold air starts to brush harshly over her skin. she’d not thought to bring any sort of torch, or even a warm jacket, with her mind clouded for a want to simply do something cool – and now she’d been trekking through the woods into the breaking hour of the night. and she was scared.

she’s out there for around three more hours, sitting herself atop of a log crying before by luck a group of hikers come by her, patient with her lack of understanding, and comfort her before leading her back to her father’s house without a hitch. she’s so thankful, she tries her best to talk to them, she exclaims that it’s her birthday in the best way that they can understand, and she makes it back inside. she tries to get them to stay, but they just smile at her, and wish her a good night – they try to speak with her father, but he doesn’t even answer the door.

cold and exhausted, sohee decides to end her birthday as quick as she can when she gets inside.

her father checks on her to say one thing,

“why did you track mud through the house? can’t you do something right?”

2011, age fourteen. on her fourteenth birthday, she decides that she’s grown up.

her parents decide to make some ill fated attempt to go to dinner on her birthday, but she doesn’t care, the most acknowledgement she gets of the day is that her mother makes some offhanded comment about how many years she’s been suffering because of her. in all truth, sohee’s happeir that they’re out of the house – she skips going to her training that night, she calls it a gift to herself.

so she does what she thinks the grown ups do, she reaches up to her father’s liquor cabinet and she pours herself a comically full glass of whiskey – it’s her first drink, she just wants to feel cool, grown up, independent. she takes one sip and she decides she’s done, and then she sets the glass down coughing up the fire in her throat.

“what are you doing?” her mother’s voice cut through the air, and sohee’s heart skipped a beat.

“nothing,” sohee dismissed, curtly, her chest pounding with anxiety, “i thought you’d be gone for the night, i believe you said that you couldn’t stand the reminder of me being born, or whatever.”

“doesn’t seem like nothing,” her mother hummed, glass now in hand and examining it like something priceless, her gaze practically cutting through it back through to her daughter, “your father was getting along with the waitress, i left them to it.”

that didn’t even dignify a response from sohee, who instead huffed, shrugged, and returned to a point of apathy.

“drink it.” her mother sits the glass in front of sohee. she’s confused.

“what?”

“i just said drink it, you poured it, and you’ll finish it.”

“i don’t want to – it tastes shitty, and you can’t tell me what to do.”

“i can,” her mother is completely unbothered by sohee’s argument, “want your tuition paid? want to continue to live somewhere? you’ll finish it.”

“i can’t,” she knows she can’t, she already feels sick to the stomach.

“i didn’t raise a quitter,” her mother’s tone is harsh, firm.

and so sohee drinks it, raises the liquor that burns like fire to her lips and takes a drink. but it’s not enough.

“the entire thing.” her mother states again.  

so she does, it’s every drink makes her feel sick to her stomach – it’s an overwhelming type of sickness that she’s never felt before, her stomach a ship at storm, and then she runs off to the bathroom. she barely catches her mother’s content smile, before a sigh.

she spends the rest of the night curled over the toilet.

2018, age twenty one. it’s her first birthday as an idol.

she doesn’t really celebrate birthdays anymore, ever since she spent the fifteenth birthday holed up in her school library – which she considered the best day that she’d had up until that birthday – acknowledging it just felt better to her than acknowledging she was an entire year older.

but she turns around in the morning, eyes barely open and her hands reach out for her phone.

━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : my sohee!!!! ━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : happy birthday~ ━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : i hope your wishes will come true and u will have the greatest birthday ever!!!!!!!!!!! ━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : lmk if gold star ever gets too much 4 u and u need 2 hide in the wish dorms i'll call u my emotional support human

she smiles, she doesn’t quite know how to respond to the message – and she notices that there’s more notifications behind it – she rarely ever told people the day she was born in high school to avoid any hype around it for bad memories sake but now, her chest feels gentle, and she’s smiling from ear to ear. she makes a note to respond to it later, when it’s processed for her.

so she walks out into her kitchen and she sees seunghee standing there, a huge, motherly grin on her face that she’s grown to adore seeing on her close friend. “what’s got you smiling like that?” she questions, pacing around the room.

“i have something for you,” the leader shifted to the side, a dainty, well decorated cake sitting behind her on the counter. “it’s for you, a you’re getting old signal,” she laughed, bringing over the cake to be in front of sohee, “i’m only kidding, happy birthday.”

the leader rushed to shove a candle into it, “i know we’re going to have to go soon, so i’m going to do this now,” she lit it up, “now make a wish.”

it’s the first birthday cake she’s ever had, and she doesn’t quite know how to approach it. so she doesn’t make a wish, but instead she just smiles and blows out the flame.

it’s her first happy birthday

.

[youre-on-a-starship]

Word Count:  3,231

Author’s Note:  The best part of being back at work full time is that I’ve got ample room to day dream, which means killer (IMHO) one-shot ideas. I ended up knitting Scotty’s hat from 2009 this week (it looks badass), and I just  thought of this story idea.

I promised y’all a new story every Saturday, and it’s officially 2:46 a.m. on Saturday. So here ya go. Enjoy!

Disclaimer:  I used a handful of lines from Star Trek (2009), so all credit for those lines go to Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.

You bound off the last thread of yarn before turning the hat’s brim over so the seaming lined up right. The brim would be long enough so that the hat wrapped most of his head twice to keep his ears warm.

Popping the new garment on your head, you stood and walked to the mirror to make sure it looked perfect. You’d gotten the pattern just right; you had to learn three new techniques to get the garter stitch to go both ways and to get the sections to taper right and to be able to hide those thick seams.

The hat was comically oversized on you, the tip brushing your uniform between your shoulders and the brim gaping around your ears. But for Scotty, it would be perfect.

Gingerly, you reached up and pulled the toque from your head, turning the piece over in your hands. The green stood out against your cadet reds.

“Shit,” you hissed. Just last week you were gloating about how excited you were to get out of this stuffy uniform and into your new active duty one. Then you got the news.

That garbage Scotty pulled with Archer’s beagle… that damn dog didn’t have the good grace to reappear and now look what happened.

You folded the hat in your hands and strode from your quarters before making your way down the long hallway past the turbolifts from the womens’ wing to the mens’ wing.

Scotty’s room was right at the end across from the emergency exit. You sucked your teeth as you squeezed the piece in your hands. The soft yarn made the knot in your stomach feel so much harder.

You tapped the panel next to the door.

The door slid open and Scotty stood on the other side dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a snug white t-shirt.

“Y/N?” he asked, glancing down at himself and turning pink. “I didn’t think ye’d be coming by…”

“I can come back,” you hesitated.

“No,” he said firmly, “Please, I… I really need the company.”

You nodded and stepped through the door.

As it shut behind you, you looked around at the mess in Scotty’s quarters. Three shipping crates stood half-filled in front of the closet and a single duffle bag waited on the bed. Clothes and garbage were strewn across the room.

“Wha’s tha’?” Scotty asked, pointing at the hat in your hands.

“Oh,” you mumbled, unfolding the hat and handing it to him. “I made it. For you.”

Scotty touched the fabric with this fingertips and looked at you, his lips slightly parted in question.

“I read the weather reports for Delta Vega,” you explained. “The winters are bad there as it is, it’s so dry, and the base they’re sending you to was the one on the pole, right? It’s… it’s gonna be cold,” you voice petered off as Scotty wrapped his arms around you.

You clutched at his waist, your brain flying through the options again as you tried to figure out what you could possibly do to fix this situation.

“Ye didn’ have ta do tha’,” he murmured into your hair, kissing your head just above your ear.

“I wanted to,” you tried to keep your voice from cracking but as usual you were unsuccessful.

Scotty sniffed and pulled back, taking the hat from your hands.

“Did they end up assigning you a partner?” you asked as he looked over your work.

“God, you made this?” he asked, looking up at you and grabbing your bicep. “Thank you, I’m… yeah, they, they found a Roylan who didn’ mind being away… Wha’ did I do to deserve you?”

He pulled you back into a hug and you wrapped your arms all the way around him, holding on for dear life.

“Will you be here when I ge’ back?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“I get my work assignment next week,” you sniffed. “So I’ll be... around. If I happen to get within comm distance, I’ll call, but…” you sucked in a breath, holding it while you collected your nerve. “You know, right?”

“Aye,” Scotty whispered, cupping a hand around your cheek. “I know, lassie. And you know… well…”

You smiled sadly. You always waited a moment too long for these kinds of talks.

“I was overthinking it, but I hoped,” you answered, pulling him back flush to you. “You send me a message as soon as they let you go.”

“It’s an eighteen month assignment…”

“Things happen, sometimes,” you wheezed as you squeezed him harder. “If you’re out sooner I want to know. I want to come find you.”

Scotty huffed a laugh and squeezed you in his arms.

“Lassie… will ya stay? Jus’ for a wee bit, I could use some company.”

“Are you taking all this with you?” you asked, pulling back as he let you go.

“Nae, I’m sending most of it back home. I’m just taking the one bag,” Scotty held the hat to his face for a moment before refolding it with a smile and tucking it into the bottom of the duffle.

“For eighteen months?”

“There’s not a hell of a lot o’ need for more,” Scotty shrugged, looking around at the cyclone of his belongings. “Don’ wan’ tae weigh myself down.”

You nodded and sat on the floor, dragging a stack of button-downs toward you before picking one up to start folding it.

“Ya don’ need tae -”

“I want to help,” you said, “and anyway, I like these, and you never fold them right.”

“I'm sending them home…”

“All the more reason for them to be folded properly,” you insisted, not letting your eyes venture from the bright fabrics.

Scotty sighed and started working through another pile of clothes at the head of the bed that formed a mountain against the bedside table.

“I don't remember your room looking like this,” you mused, remembering the pristinely kept quarters you usually visited.

“I… I had a bit of a moment when I was told. Los’ my temper,” Scotty stuttered with a shrug as he shoved a pair of sweaters into the bag.

“Do you have a coat?”

“Aye,” Scotty sniffed. “Enough about this, do you have any ideas where you might get assigned?”

--

Scotty reached up and held the top of the doorframe as he looked at you standing in the hallway. The angle and the stretch made his biceps bulge out where the sleeves of his shirt ended.

“I can’t believe this is it,” you sighed.

“Eighteen months,” he groaned.

“I don’t even know what to say,” you whispered.

Scotty took a deep breath and pressed himself forward and back on the doorframe.

“Y/N…”

“Yeah?”

“Would you stay?”

“Tonight?”

“Ye dinnae have ta, ‘s jus’... if you like.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Why else would I ask?”

You sucked in a breath. Now or never.

You took a stride forward and pressed your lips to his. Scotty released one hand from the doorframe and lowered it to your back, laying it flat between your shoulders and pulling your chest flush with his.

Using the door as leverage, he pulled you back into his room and slid the door shut before firmly placing his other hand on the small of your back. He opened his lips and ran his tongue along your bottom lip before eagerly exploring your mouth when you opened it.

You cupped the back of his head with one hand while the other groped at his waist.

You felt him starting to grow in his sweatpants, his length knocking against your leg, and you suddenly caught a wave of nervousness. Scotty’s arms softened around you and he pulled back, panting as he lined your noses up side-by-side.

“We don’ have tae do anything ye don’ wan’ to,” he breathed, watching your eyes. You never noticed, but there was a beautiful brown patch in the blueness of his right eye. “I jus’ don’ wan’ ya ta leave.”

“Maybe we just take it slow?” you suggested. “We’ve got all night.”

“I want to make it last,” Scotty admitted, rubbing his hand up and down the curve of your back.

You gently started pushing him back toward the bed. Scotty reached back and moved the duffle bag onto the floor and pulled you down to sit with him. He watched you carefully as he went to unzip your jacket, pushing it off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. You stood and unzipped your skirt, feeling your face grow warm as you let it fall. Scotty had seen you in as little as your workout clothes before, but your regulation undershirt and briefs were a different story.

Scotty laid down on his back and shuffled to the far side of the bed, extending an arm for you to join him. You laid next to him, curling into his side and laying your head on his chest.

He lifted a hand to your face and tipped your chin up, kissing you. You laid a hand on his stomach and relaxed into him, trying to memorize every moment: what he smelled like, what he felt like, and most importantly the need that came through his fingers where he touched your skin.

--

While you were in the process of considering leaving a note, Scotty woke up. He sat up in bed, the sheet falling past his naked chest and settling around his hips.

“You’re leaving?” he sounded hurt.

“I…” you couldn’t lie. “I was thinking about it.”

“Wasn’t that bad, was it?” he said with an unconvincing laugh.

“Not at all,” you sat on the edge of the bed and he crawled closer, kissing you while he trapped your wrist in one of his hands. “I just couldn’t think of a way to say goodbye after that.”

“Eighteen months,” he murmured, resting his forehead on yours.

“Eighteen months,” you agreed with a shallow nod.

“Promise it wasn’t that bad?” he asked.

“Give yourself more credit,” you grinned, kissing him again. “Send me a message.”

“Soon as I can.”

“I have to leave, I have a physical at nine.”

“I leave at 9:30.”

“I know. I wanted to be busy,” you watched the corners of his eyes turn down. “I can’t watch you leave, Scotty. I don’t trust myself.”

“I understand,” he nodded kissing you again. “Call me if you get close enough?”

“I promise.”

He kissed you one last time, pressing his lips to yours as hard as he could. His hand shook around your wrist. You pulled back and pressed your lips together.

“Thanks for the hat,” he said.

“Please be careful out there,” you whispered.

“I will,” he nodded. “Go. I’ll see you in eighteen months. Tell me where you get posted. I’ll come.”

“If I’m on the Enterprise…” you didn’t want to finish your thought.

“They can’t punish me forever,” Scotty said, kissing your forehead. “I’ll find a way ta get wherever you are.”

You nodded and stood, collecting your jacket from the floor. You bit the inside of your lips as you spun on your heel and left.

The door slid shut behind you and you had to resist the urge to lean back on it. Eighteen months. Sighing, you stalked down the hall back to your room. Your physical was in half an hour on the far end of campus.

--

“Security, seal the engineering deck. We have intruders in Turbine Section 3. Set phasers to stun,” Acting Captain Spock’s voice came over the comms and you jumped from your chair.

“Intruders, how the hell did that happen?” Hendorff growled as he picked his weapon up and locked it.

“Think it’s Romulans?” Jameson asked as you all boarded the turbolift.

“Fuck if I know,” you mumbled, holding your breath as the lift doors shut and reopened almost immediately. Your team spilled from the compartment and divided into two teams, Hendorff’s going right, yours going left.

“Up there!” you heard Jameson roar.

You tore off and started climbing onto the catwalks. Two flashes, one of black and one of green, tore past one level up. Leaping for the rail, you pulled yourself up onto the right level and careened down the walk.

“They’re going the other way!” Jameson cried.

“We’re gonna head ‘em off!” you yelled, jumping back down a level and reversing trajectory.

You rounded a corner and smirked in the face of James Kirk. Your phaser was up and ready to shoot that smug bastard in a second.

He and his tail flipped around to go the other way but you saw Hendorff ascending the stairs. Kirk tried running past his partner but stopped when he saw your large boss coming at him with his phaser more than ready to go.

“Come with me, Cupcake,” Hendorff spat.

That’s when you noticed the sopping hat in the clutches of Kirk’s partner, whose hands were raised to ear level.

“Scotty?” you said quietly.

The man turned around, his jaw going slack when he saw you.

You didn’t lower your phaser, but you felt your shoulders sag.

Kirk looked back at you.

“What, you two know each other?” he asked.

“Shut it!” Hendorff barked. “Walk!”

Hendorff lead the group back down the catwalks to the turbolift.

“You’re gonna get roasted, Kirk,” Hendorff snarked, standing at the front of the turbolift, ready to present his find to Captain Spock.

You stood in the middle of the turbolift, your phaser arm pressed to your chest in the tight quarters. Scotty stood next to you, dripping wet.

Not daring to say anything, you reached your fingers to the side until you felt wet skin. Scotty turned his face minutely in your direction and you looked sideways catching his eye for a split second before winding your pinky with his. He squeezed yours, reassuring both of you that this was happening.

The lift doors opened and you released his hand, following Hendorff onto the bridge.

--

Kirk sat in the Captain’s chair in the dead silence of the bridge.

“I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Captain,” Lieutenant Uhura bit at Kirk.

“So do I,” Kirk said, all hint of bravado mysteriously gone. “Lieutenant Y/N, please escort Mr. Scott to the quartermaster and find him some dry clothes.”

“Sir,” you nodded, leading Scotty to the turbolift.

When the doors closed, you hit the emergency override, pausing the pod. Scotty’s hands were already on your arms, pulling you in for a kiss.

You made a muffled noise and tried to keep your body away from his.

He pulled back, looking confused and worried.

“They’ll notice if I’m suddenly wet, too,” you explained, reaching up and cupping his face in one of your palms. “What happened? Why are you wet, anyway?” you stood on your toes and kissed him again before restarting the lift.

“I… mi’ have beamed myself into water reclamation.”

You gaped at him as the doors opened on the supply deck. You ushered him out first.

“Was it an accident?”

“... I want all departments at battle stations and ready in ten minutes…” Kirk’s announcement droned in the back.

“Do ya really thin’ I’d do tha’ on purpose?” he asked. “I dinnae have a death wish.”

“Are you alright?” you looked at him, pressing your lips together between your teeth. “I mean, not just from that.”

“I’m fine,” Scotty admitted, looking pained. “Let’s find some dry clothes, I cannae keep my hands off ya much longer.”

“Left,” you pointed to a door which opened as you passed in front.

The quartermaster looked up from her table.

“Who’s this?”

“Ensign Montgomery -”

“Lieutenant,” he corrected.

“Lieutenant Montgomery Scott. Captain sent us down for a uniform.”

“What size?”

Scotty gave her his size and you quirked an eyebrow.

“I lost weight,” Scotty mumbled when the quartermaster stepped away.

“I was worried about that. I can see it in your face.”

“Here,” the quartermaster tossed you Scotty’s uniform. “He can change in there.”

“Thanks,” you nodded. “Don’t happen to have a towel, do you?”

The quartermaster folded her arms over her chest and cocked her hip.

You looked at the bundle she tossed you. A black towel waited between the trousers and thermal undershirt.

“Thanks.”

The quartermaster hummed at you before retaking her seat, thumbing through her PADD.

You handed Scotty the towel and followed him to the change room. You set the uniform on the chair inside and stepped out.

“I’ll wait here and escort you back to the bridge,” you said, leaning against the wall and folding your arms over your chest.

Scotty just nodded and disappeared inside the room.

You leaned your head against the wall and sighed.

“How the hell did he even get on board?” the quartermaster asked. “He didn’t leave port with us.”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” you shrugged, closing your eyes.

“You seem to know him, though.”

“We went to school together.”

The quartermaster hummed again and stood, disappearing into her stores.

The change room door slid open and Scotty stepped out, running the towel over his head.

“Red suits you,” you smirked. “Come on, we’ve got about five minutes til we need to be ready,” you took the sopping bundle of his clothes from him. The hat topped the pile. “I can throw these in my quarters if we hurry.”

You lead Scotty out of the quartermaster’s chambers and back to the turbolift, going down two floors to your deck.

You tapped the keypad by your door, only two doors down from the turbolift, and stepped inside, setting the pile on the floor of your shower to drain.

“Looks a wee bit sparse,” Scotty said.

“Yeah, I didn’t have a lot of time to move in. I’ve been here about a week getting security set up before we had to make an emergency departure this afternoon. I’m sure I’ll get the chance to grow into it.”

If we survive this, your brain finished for you.

Scotty’s hand closed around your wrist and he pulled you around, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. He kissed your hair.

“I’ve never missed someone as much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, pulling back and laying a kiss on your lips. “I’ve good news, though.”

“What’s that?” you sighed, letting your arms find their way around his waist.

“If Kirk happens to keep command… I think he likes me. I mi’ be able to swing an assignment.”

You smiled sadly.

“We’ve got three minutes to get back,” you whispered. “Let’s worry about assignments when this is over.”

Scotty furrowed his brow.

“Look, I don’t know how much Kirk told you,” you reached behind yourself and pulled a towel off the bar, “here’s a dry one, come on.”

You led him from your quarters while he addressed the drips still coming off his hair.

“We suffered a huge loss today; a number of Starfleet ships were completely destroyed in Nero’s attack. We’ve just got to focus on not joining that number today, alright? We’ll worry about assignments later.”

You got on the turbolift and the doors slid shut when Scotty boarded. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled yourself up to give him one last hard kiss.

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

Scotty smiled as you pulled away and assumed a professional posture as the turbolift doors opened to let you back on the bridge.