#hearing how someone with a different native tongue speak my tongue is intriguing

[fictionfromthevoid]

Bucky Barnes x ex-red-room-agent! reader headcanons:

A/N: Some of my thoughts about how it would be like if Bucky dated an ex-red-room agent because I think it would really fit. I might write a part 2 that plays during the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier when I have rewatched the show. Because it's been a while since I've last seen it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

like Natasha you grew up in the red room as part of the black widow program

after a failed mission you got captured by SHIELD, Natasha convinced you to join SHIELD

you meet Bucky a few months before the beginning of the events of The Falcon and the Winter soldier

You meet when you both run to help some kids who where being robbed by a gang or something like that

You both are intrigued by each other's combat skills, both asking each other about it and receiving the same answer "long story I'd rather not tell"

You invited him for a drink at a nearby bar that night and you two had a great time talking and laughing and silently agreeing to not ask about each other's past. At the end of the evening, you exchange numbers

You are the one to ask him out first. Which is fortunate, because he wouldn't have done it. Even tho he liked you he was still too insecure and felt like he didn't deserve something like romance at the moment.

You had not much experience with dates that weren't set up for a spying mission or an assassination, so you two simply got drinks at the same bar again.

After that, he took you on a lot of old-school 40s-like dates.

Walks in the park, 'going dancing' where he realised that clubs are vastly different now than what he remembered

when you were out one evening it started raining horribly and since you were close to Bucky's flat you two sought shelter from the weather there.

He made the both of you tea and you sat on the floor (he didn't have much furniture) and spent the night talking. That's the first time you tell each other about your past.

You realise that you have a lot in common.

You both are so happy to finally have found someone who understands again.

He lost Steve, you lost Natasha - you both lost the only people who could understand your life

You spend the whole night talking until you both fall asleep on his living room floor.

This is also the first time you see him having a nightmare.

You talk it out and comfort him. He falls asleep again in your arms.

Not long after that, you make your relationship official

He asks you, all 40s style, with flowers and all, to be his girlfriend. You think it's incredibly cute but also incredibly funny and you might laugh at him a little

when his past is haunting him, or when he has had an especially bad nightmare he calls you. You either come over and comfort him or you talk it out over the phone.

You teach him about your culture and introduce him to the Russian community in New York, where you live.Even though your childhood in the red room was traumatic, you are still Russian, and you still think your culture is beautiful, regardless of the government.

When you find out that he speaks Russian you are thrilled

Because speaking to the person you love in your native language is just a lot more intimate. English will never touch your heart as much as your mother tongue does.

You start speaking in Russian more often. Soon you two mix the languages

He will ask something in English, you answer in Russian or you start a sentence in English and finish it in Russian

When other people hear you speak they are always VERY confused

But you two think it's amazing that you can communicate in both your native languages

You are the one who convinces Bucky to go to therapy

In the beginning, you accompany him to the sessions since he doesn't feel comfortable talking to anyone but you about his problems

But slowly he trusts his therapist more and more until he eventually doesn't need you there anymore

You still often drive him there and pick him up, since a therapy session can sometimes leave you feeling pretty shattered

[gunilslaugh]

How would they react to their so being from a different country and speaking their native language around them for the first time

Thank you for requesting!

All members ˜• o •˜

Summary: Speaking your native language in front of Xdinary Heroes for the first time.

WC:807

Warning:none

photo not mine credits to owner.

Gunil

If you’re from an English speaking country then Gunil still has you covered. If you’re from another English speaking country that isn’t America he would definitely try to mimic your accent and he wants to learn any word differences/slang used in your country.

The first time that he hears you speak your native language he is a bit shocked because he wasn’t expecting it. He happened to walk into the room while you were on the phone with someone and heard you speaking in your native tongue.

“What was that?” he chuckled lightly. 

“Oh I was just talking to my mom,” you explained.

“This is the first time I heard you speak in your native language. Your tone of voice sounded so different,” he stated amused. 

“Ah that’s right. You never heard me speak in my mother language.” From then Gunil insists you teach him some of your language. He wants to at least be able to speak a couple of phrases of it with you.

Jungsu

The first time Jungsu heard you speak in your native language was after you had just woken up from a nap. You had asked him to hand you your phone, except with still being sleepy you asked in your native language. 

“You know I would like to do whatever you just asked, but I have no clue what you said,” he tells you. 

“Oh,” you chuckled. “ I asked for you to hand me my phone,” you translated. 

“Here you go.” He passes you your phone. “Can you repeat what you said?” he requests. 

“About handing me my phone?” Jungsu nodded. You repeat what you said before and Jungsu tries to repeat it. His pronunciation is a little off, but his determination is adorable. 

Gaon/Jiseok

Frustration filled your body and a slew of words in your native language spilled from your mouth. Jiseok turns his head from where he sat next to you, looking at you with wide eyes. 

“I don’t know what you just said, but it sounded scary,” he noted. This causes you to laugh, successfully elevating some of your frustration. 

“They weren’t the nicest words,” you admitted. 

“Teach me!” Jiseok adamantly asked. Making you laugh again, but then you spend the next ten minutes teaching him some of the  not so nice words in your language. After that Jiseok becomes pretty determined to learn some of your native language. He wants to be able to tell you “Good morning”, “Goodnight” and “I love you” at the very least.

O.de/Seungmin

The first time Seungmin heard you speak your native language was when the two of you were on a date together and one of your friends from back home called you. Seungmin instantly became intrigued and almost lost in your voice as he listened to you talk to your friend. Once you hang up you notice Seungmin staring at you with a dopey smile. 

“What?” you questioned, snapping him back.

“I like hearing you talk in your native language,” he answered. 

“Even if you don’t know what I’m saying?” you said playfully. 

“Yes, even if I don’t know what you’re saying. I just like listening to you talk. It’s soothing,” he explained. He tries (and fails) to say something in your language.

Junhan/Hyeongjun

Hyeongjun was awoken in the middle of the night by you muttering something in your sleep. He leaned closer to you to try and listen to what you were saying. Only to discover that you were muttering in your native language. He asks you about it the next morning. 

“Y/n what does-” he tries his best to repeat what he heard you muttering in your sleep. “-mean?”

You had to ask him to repeat it a couple of times until you could decipher what he was trying to say.

“It means stop trying to take my balloon,” you laughed. “Where did you hear that?” 

“You were muttering it in your sleep last night,” he tells you. Wants to learn your language to know what other nonsense you mutter in your sleep.

Jooyeon

It was late at night and you were very sleepy to say the least, but Jooyeon insisted on you two watching the final episodes of a show you were watching together. This resulted in your sleepy brain defaulting to using your native language when you spoke. 

“You’re speaking gibberish now?” Jooyeon remarked in a playful tone. It took him a second before he realized that it was your native language that just came out of your mouth. 

“No, I asked how much time is left,” you clarified. 

“Ten minutes. Then we can go to bed sleepyhead. How do you say sleepyhead in your language?” he prompted. You tried to think, but couldn’t remember if there was such a term in your language. 

“I don’t know,” you chuckled.

[yanderepuck]

There's many hcs going around about MC not knowing english/french/being from another Asian country/knowing the languages everyone speaks

But....where is the MC that's from The States, like a northern state and went to public school.

DISCLAIMER!!!! THIS IS BASED OFF MY OWN PERSONAL EXPERIENCE IN PUBLIC SCHOOL IN THE STATE OF PA. SOME SCHOOLS HAVE BETTER EDUCATION THAN OTHERS. I AM NOT IN ANYWAY SAYING AMERICANS ARE STUPID AND THE SCHOOL SYSTEM IS LIKE THIS EVERYWHERE. THIS IS JUST MY EXPERIENCE WITH THE PUBLIC SCHOOLING SYSTEM

She knows English and any Spanish Dora taught her. She took Spanish 1 in high school and that's it bc that's all she was required to do.

She gets to the mansion and doesn't know half these people.

She meets Isaac and is like "Ah. Gravity. What was it like before you discovered gravity?" But that's about all she knows

Arthur???? Who???? What do you mean Sherlock isn't a real person?? Anyway I like your books.

What do you mean Vincent Van Gogh has a brother???? Also Vincent didn't you kill yourself???? Why are you here???

She'd meet Shakespeare and be like "I can't understand a word in your plays" then he speaks and she's like "yep. Not a word"

Napoleon? Something to do with France and the revolution. Wait. You were in the army? YOU CONQURED FRANCE??? Wait .....aren't you supposed to be short?

Leonardo DiCaprio right? No? Oh. What did you do? Oh you painted. Like what? The Mona Lisa??? Yeah I think I've heard of it. It looks really dirty, you should have used some brighter colors.

Dazai doesn't ring a bell to anything in her head. "Sorry. Nope" same goes with Mozart "yeah I didn't pay attention in music class, but the last time I even had that class I was 11"

Jean is just a straight up mystery. What's the sword for? Why are you wearing an eye patch? Is there a reason why you have an emo swoop?

However she never questions them being vampires she's simply like "fuck yeah! I always knew they were real!"

But when she meets Sebastian she's just like "isn't there an anime butler-" and he just sighs and goes yes before she can finish.

Also. 0 clue as to who Comte is. Tho to be fair, the world barely knows who Comte is, he came out of nowhere saying he's 100 years old, and then just disappeared.

Also. Unless if they know English she can't speak to them....except Will. She can talk to Isaac and Arthur just fine. She might hear Leonardo say something in Italian and think it is Spanish and say Hola. And Leonardo is like ????? buongiorno??? And they look at each other in confusion.

"are.....are you not Spanish?"

"I'm from Italy"

She has no clue what Dazai is saying. Even if he speaks English, his accent is too thick even with speaking English. Same goes for Mozart and the brothers.

However, Theo simply doesn't care. Vinc at least tries. MC hears Mozart with his thick accent and she's not sure if she's attracted or scared by it. Scared and horny

If course she ends up picking up on the French along the way. That's what everyone mutually speaks since they are living in France.

I'm thinking she has a New York or Boston accent. But a North Dakota accent would be funny too bc it's very close to Canadian.

[pedropascalssimp]

Hoth

Boba fett x bounty hunter reader

Summary: y/n is a skilled bounty hunter who works for jabba the hut. But even jabba knows that y/n has her limitations, so once jabba sends y/n on a particular hunt, he makes sure that boba is there to assist much to the man in beskar dismay....

Warnings: language. Slight Violence. Boba being grumpy and a bit of an asshole. And fluff.

|Got bored and made this|

The room was full of small chatter, men gathered to watch jabba's women dance, and the women that strayed in eyeing the bounty hunter who walked in with a struggling qaurry hungrily. It was no secret to everyone in the galaxy that boba fett's reputation didn't always revolve around the fact he was the most dangerous man in the galaxy, a skilled bounty hunter who put fear in everyone's core from just a glimpse of his beskar. But he also upheld the reputation of being quite the lady's man, every woman he came across seemed to be wooed by his voice, his word's, his aura. And the man was a tease, he was Arrogant, stubborn and a hard ass. At least that's how most viewed.

Walking to be stood in front of jabba's throne, boba kicks the man he had restrained in the back of his knees, making him fall with a whimper.

"jabba! I - I was going to pay you! I really was! But -

Boba cuts the man's words short by pressing his blaster pistol to the back of his head. "save you're lies for someone fool enough to believe them" his accent couldn't be masked through the modulater in his helmet as he spoke to the qaurry.

Jabba laughs joyfully at the sight of boba fett's triumph, catching the thief who was dumb enough to still from him. "well done fett! You must be rewarded for you're victory! Name a price or take you're pick" jabba motions towards the women chained to his side.

But boba simply shakes his head, "I'll take whatever credits you offer and another job" boba spoke while watching jabba chuckle.

"ah, ready for another hunt? I'll give you you're reward and another job... But that's for tomorrow, now you rest boba fett" the disgusting fat creature said just as you walked in. Two men cowering away as you had them in cuffs.

This draws boba's attention, for he doesn't remember quite seeing you before. Now standing beside boba and his qaurry, you shoved the two men by your side down onto the ground harshly. Boba only watches, intrigued by your heavily armed self and beauty.

"ah! Y/n! You're back earlier then expected!" jabba happily announced, you try hiding your disgust with the looks of the creature, the slob before you. Who had women chained to his side, you hated jabba, hated the way the women looked at you with begging eye's to free them, oh how you wished you could...

"it was an easy job, to easy in fact" you spoke his native tongue while resting a hand on your hip. Not even bothering to glance over at the man who's gaze burned into the side of your head.

"then how about I give you a job more challenging? Would that satisfy you?" jabba asks and you simply nod your head confirming you'd like that. "it's to big of a job for you to handle alone my beautiful little hunter... So I'll send boba fett here to aid you" you lift a brow at jabba then glance over at the man beside you, his t-shaped visor already looking right back at you.

Like hell you'd let this man help you on a hunt, you knew boba fett, heard the stories people told of him. How he was a flirt with the women, how he was a stubborn hardass. You didn't want to work with him.

"I work alone" you and boba both said at the same time, looking at one another you roll your eye's at him.

Jabba laughs, "you two are the best in you're profession, it's only smart to send my best two for the job at hand" he said while looking at you and boba.

"and what is the job at hand?" boba asks before you could, his voice rolled out of his helmet smoothly, like soft dark velvet. You find yourself wanting to listen to him speak more, but you quickly shake that thought away.

"I want han solo, he owes me money... His payment has been overdue for months now" jabba says and starts eating something you wouldn't even poke. You grimace at the sight and look away, boba snickering at your disgust quietly but you heard and glare at him.

"when I said give me a harder job jabba, I didn't mean impossible!" you point out the logical fact han solo was a tricky bastard and hard to catch.

"that's why I'm sending my best hunters for the job, with the two of you looking for him it's possible!" jabba spoke with a mouthful nearly making you vomit. "I'll be rewarding you both generously" you sigh and start considering taking the job, even if it does mean working with boba fett.

"we'll do it" boba tells him not even letting you speak for yourself, this makes your anger surface fast.

"what the hell do you mean we? What if I don't want to do the job?" you say speaking your own language while jabba chews away at whatever the hell it is he's eating.

Boba huffs before crossing his arms, you can't help but flicker your gaze down to admire his strong arms. "you'd be a fool not to take it girl, it's a good paying job" he said making you look back up at his helmet.

"it's a useless hunt... I mean, I don't doubt my strength for a second nor my skills of hunting but I'm no match against a wookie!" you argue with the man, "I honestly don't think you could even take the big fur ball in a fight!" you chuckle dryly. But he scoffs and simply shows you the braided wookie scalps hanging off his shoulders. You look at him surprised, not expecting that. Sure boba looked strong and skilled enough to handle his own well, but he was also shorter then most men you've met and never thought he'd be able to slay not one but two wookies. But you was wrong obviously.

"you were saying princess?" he smugly replied making you tense your jaw and bite your tongue. Speechless. "we'll take my ship and do the job and you won't have to deal with me again..." boba said making you nod, looking away from him and up at jabba.

"have you both settled on a agreement?" jabba asks, watching how you kept your eyes locked on his yellow ones.

"were taking the job... But don't expect me to work with anyone else again jabba, you know I work alone" you say in his language once more, voice dripping with venom as you glare at him. he only chuckles, looking at you wickedly.

"don't ever speak to me with such hostility, for I could always use someone with you're beauty in my collection, I have a spot saved for you..." he threatened you, putting at the empty caller and chain. You look at the spot and back at jabba with a stoic expression, hiding your disgust and fear.

"forgive me for my ignorance then jabba" you say more calmly and rush out of the room, boba bidding jabba bye before following you.

Once out of his palace your greeted with the burning heat of the twin sun's and the scorching sand, practically jogging away from the palace you head toward the town, in dire need of a drink. Hearing footsteps behind you, you simply scoff.

"why are you following me?" you snap, angry with jabba and this stupid hunt you had to prepare for. The cantina comes in sight making you nearly relax at the thought of drinking something, your mouth feeling dry.

"because I'd think you'd want to discuss the upcoming hunt" he said now walking beside you matching your pace.

"well I was hoping I could relax a little in the confines of this dump but obviously that's not gonna happen" you huff and walk through the door of the cantina with boba.

"let me buy you a drink and we'll discuss it here" he offers, and you could never refuse a free drink, so accept his offer reluctantly and slouch in a booth.

Slave I was a pretty neat ship you'd have to admit, you was seated in the co-pilot seat messing around with buttons. Fascinated by the different types of buttons in many colors, you peek over at the mandalorian man who was focused on flying the ship rather then your insistent poking around at the ships controls. Ever so curious you click a red button making a light flicker on, catching the attention of boba. You quickly placed your hands in your lap as if you didn't do anything and he eye's you suspiciously.

"stop playing with things... You act like a toddler" he muttered, watching you shake your head in denial.

"I didn't do anything!" you lie with a innocent smile, but he saw right through it.

"don't lie princess, I saw you out of the corner of my eye. Now keep you're hands to yourself" he scolds you while looking back over the stars that zoomed by.

You sigh deeply and Lean back in the seat, you was bored. Hyperspace not taking you to your destination fast enough in your opinion. Looking over at boba you decide to ask him so questions, what else was there to do?

"so boba... Do you ever take the helmet off?" you ask the question that's been brewing in your mind the moment you saw him. For the first few seconds he's silent before sighing.

"yes" he answered briefly, making you nod with a little grin.

"why don't you take it off now. It must be hot under there" you say, eager to see his face. You'd be lying if you didn't say you wasn't attracted to the mandalorian man before you, he was intriguing, your infatuation with him growing by the second as you traveled with him for only four hours. But damn was boba fett really slithering his way into your thoughts, plaguing your mind as you basically kept your gaze glued to his strong build. His strong arms and damn nice thighs -

"because I don't want to" he spoke snapping you out of your straying thoughts. You only nod and think of another question to toss at him.

"why not? I'm curious to see the man who was ignorant enough to take this job" you tease him with a grin, his helmet tilting in your direction slowly before he scoffs.

"because it's just killing you to see my face, I don't think you've earned that privilege yet though princess... But there's ways you can change my mind" he trailed off with a smug tone. You could hear the smirk in his voice making you shake your head with a chuckle.

"I'll survive without seeing it then" you said with a cheeky grin still. Although your mind began wondering to the ways you could change his mind....

"suit yourself then girl" he shrugs and leans back in his seat, relaxing some before the big hunt.

You smile at him with amusement, so far boba wasn't really that bad you thought. Sure he was smug and grumpy, but other then that he seemed like someone you could get along with.

Until you arrived at hoth, your destination where han and his wookie was supposedly at. This whole situation you found yourself in made you realize that boba fett was indeed, an asshole.

You sat in the ice cave shivering, teeth chattering together while you had your back pressed against the ice wall while hugging your knees to your chest. Small Fur blanket and jacket not nearly enough to keep you warm on this planet. Even the damn fire you made not enough to warm you.

But boba? He seemed fine, his warm under clothes and beskar enough to keep him warm as he laid on his fur blanket by the fire. Arms crossed behind his head as he laid on his back trying to rest some.

You look at him with doe eyes, "b - boba... I think it'd be b - best if we cuddled" you point out the obvious, for you was freezing to death and needed extra body heat.

"I don't cuddle princess" he states, brushing your chattering teeth and shaking off as he tries getting sleep.

You huff, a cloud caused by your breath wafting into the air as you scoot closer to the fire nearly on top of it. "if you wa-wake up and I'm dead... It's y-your fault" you stutter from the cold, nose and cheeks red as you sniffle. Maker this planet was hell.

"you act like you've never experienced I little temperature drop girl, toughen up" he grumbled while making himself comfortable. If you wasn't freezing you'd kick his ass....

"I'm used to planet's like tatooine dickhead" you muttered angrily, Glaring at the man. He only chuckles and shakes his head. That really got on your nerves.

But instead of shooting him or stabbing him in his damned thigh like you desired, your take your fur blanket that hardly covered your whole body, your legs uncovered sadly. You curl up into a shivering ball by the fire and try to sleep, hoping that while your sleeping you can forget the unkind coldness biting at your very being. Closing your eyes you try and lose yourself to sleep, but your shivering kept you awake. Body feeling numb from the cold.

Boba looks over at you with a little frown behind the helmet, hating to see you so cold.... He knew his beskar would be cold to the touch so he reluctantly stands up with a huff, stripping of his beskar leaving him in his underclothes. You peel your eyes open at the clatter of each piece hitting the icey ground, that's when you seen him take his helmet off, revealing a grumpy expression and dark brown eyes looking at you with annoyance. His dark hair short yet soft looking as he strides over with his blanket slung over his arm.

"you're going to die if you don't stay warm" he spoke, his voice even more intoxicating without the vocoder you always heard mask it. You feel your heart melt at the fact boba laid behind you, spooning you from behind as he wraps you up in his big arms, chin resting on your shoulder as he pulled you flush against his chest.

You sigh at his warmth, he felt warmer then the damn fire in front of you. Your shivering slowly subsides as you relish in his warmth, his touch. His and your fur blanket keeping the cold out as he held you.

"thank you..." you murmur, heart fluttering steadily in your chest as you never want to leave this man's arms again. It was comforting, a feeling of pure safety. And it was, he kept you safe from the cold.

"I can't have you die on me now, we still have a bounty to catch" he he whispers in your ear, warm breath fanning over your skin making you shiver for a whole different reason. His large hand finding yours as he held it, letting you cradle it against your chest.

"and here I thought you wanted me dead" you snort with amusement, referring to how you've basically annoyed him through this whole trip. He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest.

"it would make this hunt far easier, but unfortunately it would also make it dull" he whispers, this time his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. Sending chills over your skin. He noticed and smirks, "besides you still haven't earned the privilege to see my face..." he lightly nibbles at your ear making you gasp at the abrupt action, heart pounding.

Damn boba sure knew how to warm a woman up, you was instantly feeling a warmth spread over your cheeks painting them red. "but I've seen you're face -

Your words was cut short as boba chuckles and takes his hand from yours making you nearly pout until he cups your cheek turning your head to look at him, dark eyes seemed darker as he leans down, lips ghosting over your lips now.

"yes... But now you gotta earn it" he pressed his lips to yours, your eyes shutting as you relish in the kiss.

Boba fett wasn't that bad after all. In fact, you hoped that you two would be going on more hunts together in the future.....

___________________________________________

A/n: and I oOp.

[letshaikyuu]

Can I request the shiratorizawa boys with a foreign s/o

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧 𝐬/𝐨 // 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚

𝐚/𝐧: honestly, this would be such a circus cause if one member has a foreign s/o, everyone would want one lol

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: none

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

× midnight writes with Kat ×

⚘݄ 𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢

Not necessarily opposed to the idea of having a foreign partner, but his mindset is something similar to: 'Japan isn't a small country, why would I have a partner who isn't Japanese?' Also, I don't think he'd like to deal with a partner who isn't the best at Japanese or fluent. That comes right back to bite his ass once you come in the picture and Ushijima is jus O.o

Casually mentions this to his fellow team members during a break and, really, doesn't understand why they're screaming and looking so shocked because it's not something groundbreaking, right?

When you speak in your native language, Ushijima doesn't showcase any different facial expression, but damn does it sound cool af. He's used to hearing Japanese and occasional English whenever he has it in school, but this takes the cake

Whisper something seductively in your own language and he's yours.

⚘݄ 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢

He acts as if he has just won the lottery because he does feel like he scored, big time. Unlike some of his other teammates, Tendou loves the idea of having a partner who isn't from Japan. Hearing a language other than Japanese is something he always wanted to experience as well! He likes the idea of having someone who's from another country and why not gloat about it?

The whole school knows he has a partner who's a foreigner and if someone were to say something rude, Tendou is there to karate chop them into oblivion cause - you're perfect. And, the rest of the team can agree that you are cool

There's no way he doesn't ask you to teach him something in your native tongue. It's just rwally interesting and he loves just listening to you talk because a) it sounds hot and b) it sounds hot. There's no reason why you wouldn't talk (dirty talk) in your native tongue

Even if you don't speak Japanese, Tendou will find a way to communicate, no worries

⚘݄ 𝐫𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐨𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚

Reon is okay with having someone who's a foreigner as his partner. It's nothing he has thought about thoroughly because that never came up, but he would be lying if he said it didn't sound cool or fun - I mean, that sounds like a new experience, so why not see how it is! Now, he didn't expect to fall in love, but oh well, the universe works wonders

Depending on your knowledge of Japanese - and, I do think he's one of the members who can speak English decently - he'll work more to properly understand you and make it easier for you to fit in

Very, very intrigued when you start speaking your language because Reon is not used to it and it sounds so exotic and pleasant to the ears that he wishes that you never return to speaking Japanese. Watch Reon and try to learn the basics so he can speak cooly too

He's a sweetheart and I have no doubt in my mind that you'd be taken care of tbh

⚘݄ 𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐭𝐨

Like Tendou, totally into that idea and I feel like he'd be the first one to actually have a foreign partner because he's very extroverted and I think he'd have some decent English under his belt to communicate with you if your knowledge of Japanese is rather slim. He's like those people you adore when they approach you first in a new school or something

He feels so cool and fresh, that every break they have during practice and he gets asked about you, there's nothing but compliments and talks about your country spilling out of his mouth. They tease him about how in love he is

He doesn't seem like someone who wouldn't learn languages rather easily, so it wouldn't be surprising if he picked up a few phrases and words while dating you. Definitely a romantic that learns how to say 'i love you' in your native language

dirty talk to him in your native language and he's a goner.

⚘݄ 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐚

Semi and English don't go well together, let alone Semi and another language that isn't English. The idea of having a foreign partner probably scares him, so when he does end up with one, he makes sure to touch up on his English and not make a complete fool of himself. Some basic knowledge of Japanese would be very much appreciated

Gets jealous if his friends were to ask him what you sound like when speaking your native language because that's for his ears and his ears only. And, then he sees you talking to his teammates in your own language lol

Oh, he definitely tries to teach you Japanese or enhance your skills more because it'd get overwhelming if you were to speak only in English and the other language he doesn't know shit about, and Semi doesn't like it when he's overwhelmed

he doesn't mind you talking in your language tho because it's really cool uwu

⚘݄ 𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢

Kawanishi finds you extremely cool even though he won't bombard you and ask you a bunch of questions or make you speak in your native tongue. It's more of a 'oh, you're a foreigner? That's cool.' and that's all there is to it. Not that hung up on the fact, especially if you can speak Japanese because it would be rare to actually hear your own language

Now, he does want you to speak in your own language and whenever you're on the phone with someone back home, he always listens intently to what you're saying, even though he doesn't understand anything

Asks you afterwards what you were talking about and what some words mean because they sounded cool. When you're not with others, he definitely calls you 'love' the way it's said in your country, but he's too embarrassed to use that in public, so he sticks with 'babe'

he does find you very cool and he likes to gloat, he just doesn't want to admit it

⚘݄ 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐮 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮

Ok, so, English is not the problem - he knows it well enough to have a conversation - it's just that he has always pictured himself with someone who's Japanese and now you came in - someone who's the polar opposite - and Shirabu doesn't know what to do. So, he just panics. He also prays that you actually speak Japanese or he really does want to cry

Once settled, he does find the beauty in having a foreign partner. It's new, it's different and it's cool to learn about a whole new country with someone who's actually a native to it and not just a traveller; shirabu likes listening to stories

He has too much on his plate to start learning another language, but it sounds so nice that Shirabu could listen to you speak nonstop. It's nice hearing something other than Japanese once in a while, and Shirabu is very lucky to experience that

'can you talk a bit more? It's really calming and nice when you do that."

⚘݄ 𝐠𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐮

Baby is so astonished and excited because you're like the coolest human being ever??? Like, he's so shocked to have found someone who is not Japanese and to have them as his partner?? Goshiki feels like he's sipping martinis on cloud nine. Even though he's too young for alcohol ���🏻. Also, if you don't know Japanese, then we have a problem

English is not his forte, really. It's a class he usually sleeps off and has to cram to actually pass his exams, so he can just hope that you speak Japanese to an extent. But, physical touch and mimicking would have to do

He love, love, loves listening to you talk because it's refreshing and Goshiki has stars glistening in his eyes because you're so damn cool and he can't believe his ears. Give him a cute pet name in your native language and he blushes every time you call him that ❤️

you just love making him flustered whenever you speak because it's fun ;3

[ranmanjuu]

Hello! I really enjoy you Gen Z MC headcanons a lot! Can you make headcanons for Non-Native/American MC? Like, Japanese isn’t her first language and while she got some words and phrases down, she still struggles a lot. Especially with saying names correctly. So, she give our warlords silly nicknames or just completely pronounces it word. Just with the Oda Forces right now. Thank you!

thanks for the request! as someone who's bilingual and Fluent in None, i'll try my best lol. and iirc sengoku japan has some differences in their writing than modern japan, but i'm Not sure to what extent because i'm no Expert™. and this is from my personal experience, so not everything may apply (aha i'm no american)

—oda forces with non-native/american mc

—nobunaga:

consider him intrigued! he’s met a few portugese men and a few other nationalities from the west trading, but he didn’t expect his fireball to be one!

pre-learning you came from the future, he was a bit confused on why some of your words sound different than what the others were speaking. it’s still japanese, he knows that for a fact, but it’s slightly different.

your responses in conversation come slowly, and sometimes not even correctly. he sees the way you kind of falter each time someone corrects you, then steel your eyes in resolve in speaking correctly. he’ll wait for them patiently all the same.

if you’re ever to use a phrase wrong or say a word you didn’t mea nto say, he’ll let out a loud guffaw. he doesn’t correct you (most times), it’s a bit entertaining how a sentence can sound funny to him while you remain clueless.

if it’s of any need, or perhaps you asked for it (because japanese was already hard, the fact that it has differences from the one you were learning adds to the weigh), he will order to have someone tutor you.

as time passes, you become more and more fluent. and by then, nobunaga will invite you to his tenshu on sleepless nights, and demands that you tell him how your country is. it’s land, the culture, anything and everything. and he’ll listen in very carefully—he really is interested.

when the two of you are alone, he often encourages you to “do it how you do in your land.” it’s a way of learning more outside japan, and learning more about you! in a time when you’re stressed with all the shocks, he wants his fireball to be comfortable at least.

sometimes he goes above and beyond once you’re in a relationship. you can’t use chopsticks and prefer to use cutlery? well, the portugese had a supply, so he got ‘em. you want a specific fabric that isn’t available in the market and maybe even the country in general? trades, baby!

he’s a bit interested in some of your words, even if he can’t exactly use them in japanese. (we talkin things like “y’all”, etc.)

you call him “naga”, mostly due to the “nobu” part heavily influenced by your accent. you’re the only one who he’ll allow to call him that.

and if anyone, even another daimyo, comments about your foreignity, they’ll have to face with him personally.

—hideyoshi:

as any other time, he still suspects you. hideyoshi doesn’t doubt that you’re a foreigner—the clothes you wore and lack of knowledge of most things seems to prove it. but that doesn’t mean you’re not dangerous.

so, for the first few days, he tailed you everywhere. and he got to be a witness of your struggles in mostly language. even talking to the maids become a challenge as you stumble across your sentences and still make mistakes. he saw how, when you don’t manage to get what you want to say across, you just shook your head dejectedly with a small, “sorry, nevermind.”

his suspicion picked away slowly from that point. but it wasn’t gone; he just felt immensely guilty for tailing you now.

until, one day, you walked into a soldier harshly scolding a maid. what’s the matter? something about...sword training...’not supposed to do that, you’re a woman’...? the longer you listen and try to decipher it, the more you hear some sexist bullshit. and you were not tolerating.

“hey, stop that!” the two looked at you now, and only after you said that did you realize you’re gonna have to make your argument in japanese,”what if she want to.. sword... practice...”

as you went on, your voice died and your grasp of the language seems to fade away. the soldier took advantage, and swept in like an eagle, “hah, what do you know about fighting, huh?! much less speaking japanese!”

you stopped right there, your heart stung and twisting. the air became suffocating, shrinking down your body and blurring the world. thankfully, hideyoshi, who’s seen everything, stepped in. your vision only regained once the soldier and maid were gone, with hide speaking as soft as he’s ever been, “are you okay?”

with reassurance from you, he apologizes, and so comes to an agreement to start over. from then on, he became the overbearing mother he is.

he’s always looking after you whenever he can. aiding you in speaking, teaching you some basic customs, all that jazz. worry plagues him 24/7 about you, what if you got kidnapped, or what if a ronin attacked you because of accidental provoking?!

you had to spend a long, long time convinving him you were fine.

he always reinforces the, “say the t word instead of sorry” principle if you apologize because of your lack of knowledge.

you often call him “yoshi” now (same pronounciation as yoshi from mario lol) since you spent,, so long calling the ‘hide” part like hide in hide n’ seek.

and while he doesn’t tolerate people who make any bad remarks about you, if it’s someone like a daimyo, he’ll hold it in and curse them to hell afterwards.

—mitsuhide:

a little mouse from another land, hm? this’ll be interesting.

he often teases you at first. it’s a bit inviting, how you keep mixing up words and he could make you think it’s correct, delivering a message that was misspelled, and even telling you to write something (the japanese writing system,,,, shudders)

but if it genuinely upsets you, he will tone it down.

ntb cruel, but he finds it a bit charming of how helpless you are at times. a jittery little mouse, walking around the castle.

he’s quite baffled at the lack of knowledge you have. he understands it a bit, but even so, the teasings don’t stop. “my my, we have a long way to go ahead, don’t we little mouse?”

the princess lessons he gives include learning japanese, the customs (using chopsticks, bowing, etc.), and everything you should at least know. it’s often very taxing, and mitsuhide is a very strict teacher, but sometimes you wouldn’t change it for the world.

when he congratulates you at something, it feels weirdly fulfilling. he doesn’t give them often, only if you’ve done a wonderful job, but his words make your heart flutter and encourage you to do better.

man would definitely know what you’re talking about if you speak your language. he’s the mvp spy for the oda, i’d wager he knows some other languages. so if you’re muttering to yourself, be prepared to have a mitsuhide appear out of thin air and make a comment about it

and he doesn’t,, really help you at times. like when you know a word in your mother tongue, but you just can’t think about what the japanese is—all the he says is, “my, i wonder what it is.”

you just glare at him half-heartedly.

that being said, secret conversations that (most of the time) only you two know about happens here and there. maybe during a mission, he’ll whisper something into your ear with your mother language (mitsuhide is totally the type to pretend to be shit talking someone while he’s actually having a normal conversation, so)

as you two become closer, he becomes painfully aware of how vulnerable you can be, especially with someone in his position. if you were kidnapped or anything of the sorts, you can have more trouble with your captors,,

in short, he’s often very Protective of you if he needs to.

if anyone scrutinizes you in any way because of the whole foreign thing? well,, they won’t be seen ever again :)

you pronounce hide the same way like in hideyoshi’s. you called him like that,, for the longest time,,, and he still hasn’t lived it down.

despite there being two mitsus, you call mitsuhide “mitsu” (sometimes as ‘mizu’ if your tongue slips)

—ieyasu:

he’s very ice cold (as anytime at first) to you, the whole “useless waif” thing  multiplying in his salt.

you did bear with it during the first few days, but if it starts getting to you and making you visibly upset, ieyasu will slowly notice. he feels a bit bad, and the ‘avoiding people’ part of him told him to just leave it be and avoid you. but after seeing some instances of you trying your absolute best and looking so crestfallen if you’ve done the slightest bit wrong, his hearts feels obligated to apologize.

well,, apologize in his term. in his own roundabout way, he invited you to feed wasabi. most of the time it was silence, but somehow, it felt nice. comfortable.

in the end, both of you finally said something, and at the same time. “uhm, ’yasu—”  /  “look—”

you two paused, and ieyasu looked away while you held back a chuckle. “i really enjoy this. thank you.”

your  enunciation was still slipping, but the smile you sent left him almost speechless. only after you tilt your head in confusion did he go back to reality, scoffing to the side, “whatever. i don’t care what you think about this.”

it’s a bit maddening at times; you were like another mitsunari, but instead of misprocessing what he said, you often just didn’t understand. all the insults flew over your head because you didn’t know any of them. it’s like, a part of the reason why you’re so hard-headed to spend time with him.

if he were honest, he felt a bit bad seeing your state. as someone who spent time being vulnerable and having to force the world to give him a space of his own, seeing you reminded him or himself. maybe that’s part of the reason he agreed to teach you some medicine,, he wanted to give you a place. even if that place was him.

he’s very often protective of you, in his own, indirect way. he walks with you to the market even if you insist you can do it yourself, he jumps in each time you look like you need help with language—it’s a bit adorable.

you call him “yasu” or “yass” (more often the latter). the “ie” part really confused you, and while the warlord himself couldn’t care less of what you call him, you’re the only one who can nickname him like that.

—masamune:

just like mitsuhide, the man’s quite excited to see what would come from you. while you couldn’t really tell anyone off in japanese, you definitely did that in your language. and while masamune didn’t know what you said, but by the expressions you made, it was enough.

ngl, that part of you made him take you less seriously.

i’d imagine it’d be quite hard for you to keep up with him, even in just a normal conversation

he doesn’t mind the slip-ups (which can make your sentences range from bizzare to just absolute rude) and it actually fishes out a loud laugh from him. but if you happen to talk to anyone from his clan like that, even unintentionally, you’ll be in a lot of a pickle.

and by pickle i mean near death experience.

first time he saw you fumble around with your chopsticks cluelessly (and using them in less efficient ways), he didn’t understand at first, but was quick to teach you. how else were you supposed to eat and savor the flavor?

speaking of that,, since you aren’t really familiar with japanese food, you kinda dined blindly without knowing which part of the food tastes like what. masamune thought he was facing another mitsu and almost had a heart attack.

he’d gladly tell you what tastes good with what, how you should eat it, etc. etc. man would definitely feed it to you and tease you heavily while he’s at it

you’d often ask him what some foods were, even the most common. masamune gaped at you when you innocently asked him what a ‘dango’ is. and most times, you’d find the same thing on the dinner table later.

still on the topic of food, you can absolutely tell him the food from your country! actually, given the ingredients and basic instructions, he’ll absolutely make it for you if you feel homesick.

you call him “moon”, coming from how you said the “mune” part like you would in english rules (like in commune, etc.) he really liked the nickname, and it eventually stuck.

(irrelevant but you also said “date” like,, y’know, the english words date.)

(^ some puns came from that)

—mitsunari:

the first time you came to the senoku era, you were confused, but most of all, panicked. when mitsunari raised the hypothesis that you were a foreigner, you managed to catch on that one word. in a response, you pointed at him and just nodded, hoping the others would get what you were saying.

from then on, he was the first to start talking to you slowly and use basic words he’d hope you understood. in discussions where you were left in the dark, mitsunari would take the time to turn to you and explain it slowly.

you felt absolutely grateful and indebted to him. as such, no objections were raised as you were appointed as his caretaker.

through the,, trial and tribulations (him mistaking you for kitty, the almost impossible reading-trance he had), you kept patience over it all. he made you feel the most welcome, this was a way to repay him.

mitsunari himself saw you as a saint; you didn’t have to be so nice to him. he knows how unbearable he can be in terms of taking care of, it’d be way easier for you to just get it done in the fastest way possible. you absolutely objected to that, he helped you, you’d help him now.

his admiration just grew. he saw you as so, so strong and brave, held in a castle with a language you didn’t know much with customs you were a stranger to. on top of that, you were so kind and patient with those who needed help, despite your own troubles. it wasn’t love yet, but a deep-seeded admiration.

i’d like to think he knows enough of your language to hold a normal conversation in it, maybe from the books shipped from the portugese and the likes. other than sasuke, he was the one who you could just let go the worries and stress of language in talking.

to repay your repayment (which is,,,,.. nvm) he offered to help you learn japanese and the common customs. the tiny “really...?” you said, along with the slightly widened eyes littered with stars; it was something mitsunari’d never forget.

he’d always be supportive and understanding, explaining things over and over again until you understood. he’s the best teacher you could ask for.

when he started avoiding you so he could focus on work (and figure out why he feels so weird around you,,), you felt the most devastated you’ve been through your stay. he felt like the someone who you could feel the most close and safe with.

even as some people started secretly scrutinizing you as a foreigner princess, dear oblivious mitsunari kept respecting your appointed title. if someone made a rude comment about it, he’d strictly (which to him is just say it with a straight face and serious tone) remind that you rightly held the position.

you call him “navi”. at first, it was “nari” but the dull R slipped into a v somehow, and the nickname sounded  pleasant to you and him. and so it stuck

—ranmaru:

the first time you met him, it was when he hid behind you to avoid being killed. you gained just enough knowledge to understand what the guard was saying, and without much thought, jumped in. in a moment of panic from the thought of ‘this man’s life is kind of in my hands’, the stuttering and incorrect japanese switched into your fluent mother language. your mind flowed clearly by using words you were familiar with.

and while the guards didn’t understand (or anything, really), someone stepped in and deescalated the situation.

next time you saw him, you were glad to know that he was alive. he dismissed your apology of a poor defense for him considering it was in a foreign language with a gigantic hug, to which you just melted and laughed for the first time since coming.

he quickly understood that you had trouble understanding japanese, and tried to speak slower and clearer. tried. in moments of excitement, his speech would become faster and faster—to which you’d have to stop and ask him to repeat.

as your knowledge of japanese grew and grew, your conversations turned more and more fun. while you had small slip-ups, both of you would often stay in your room discussing whatever topic came to mind.

i think ranmaru would be interested in your country—what’s it like, how’s the food? are they delicious? you just laughed at his fascination and explained (more of you ranting on) many things. you missed the place, you very much do. seeing your slightly nostalgic face, ranmaru pulled you in a hug. stunned silence, your voice only came back as a weak chuckle.

“your country sounds great, my lady! i wish we can visit it someday!” he’d then say. and despite how different it’d be now than modern day, you still humored it together. “i promise.”

he’d also be gaping at how you don’t know some foods—but as opposed to masamune, he’d drag you out to town and dine at a teahouse. you’re working? it can be done later, come on!

he introduced you to many things, and you were immensely grateful for it. you couldn’t ask for a better, hyperactive friend.

due to your tongue used to the dull R, rather than a sharp R, you often just,, slurred his name into unintelligible mumbles. but now, from his own suggestion, you call him an-kun. (though more an-chan. it sounds cuter is all)

as the reveal of him being a traitor eventually came, you didn’t know what to do. you’ve known for a while; but never how to approach it. ranmaru was already prepared to take out his own life, but never in your life can you accept it.

“an-chan, weren’t we going to visit my country together,,?!” the begging, desperate voice from you made him stop in his tracks, spilling the tears from his wide eyes. they scrunch up; softer than ever.

“.... yeah. our promise, wasn’t it?” after some thought, he steeled himself up and looked you in the eyes with a new resolve, “... i’ll make sure it can be fulfilled, my lady. just—please wait for me, alright?”

[justanotherblonde23]

The Silvertongue and the Professor - Chapter 2

Author’s Note: Hello my internet buddies! Here’s the next installment of my Loki story. I was on vacation for a week, so it took me an extra little bit to put this up, but I think it’ll be worth it. Igna and Loki finally meet! Please let me know what you think. Your feedback is super helpful to me and gives me a chance to know if you all like where the story is going. Enjoy, friends!

Warnings: Maybe some language, definitely some violence

Chapter One                                   Chapter Three

The God of Mischief looked up as he heard the door open and close. His eyes tracked the woman that entered. Well, this was different. The woman walked towards him; there was no fear in her eyes, no wariness. It looked as if she was almost...excited? She stopped in front of his cell, sizing him up. Loki did the same to her.

This woman was obviously mortal that he could be sure of. She had a petite build, with extremely pale skin; he thought she might even be as pale as he was. Her hair was, well, strange, to say the least. It was pink. He had never witnessed anyone of the Midgardian realm with pink hair before. He assumed that it must be some sort of enchantment to make it thus. Her hair was long, hitting just above her elbows in soft curls. That pale skin was covered in tattoos, all different, and yet all somehow seemed to meld together, turning her into a piece of living art. Her face was beautiful with her large deep grey eyes, the color of the sea before a raging storm. Those eyes were following his every move, taking in all he did. She had a button nose, plump lips, and high cheekbones. Her expression was serene yet intense. His eyes roved over the rest of her body, feminine curves encased in a grey professional dress, topped off with red heels that added about three inches to her petite frame. His eyes stopped midthigh; she was armed. He could at least see the slight shape of a gun, maybe a knife as well. My, my, he mused, this one is feisty. This should be at least mildly enjoyable. His eyes bored into hers, the vivid green meeting her stormy grey. He quirked a brow, waiting for her to begin.

“Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies,” the woman began. 

Loki tilted his head as he listened to her words; she was speaking to him in Swedish, remarkably similar to his native tongue. She spoke like a native Swedish speaker, yet something was off. He couldn’t quite put words to it, maybe something in the accent, which confused him greatly. Perhaps she had learned it at a young age but was from elsewhere?

“Where are you from, mortal?” he queried with a sly smile. 

“Sigtuna and Igna is fine; it’s a little more specific than calling me mortal,” the woman replied. 

“Ah, Sigtuna, Sweden’s very first town from the last age of the Vikings, how fitting that they send you here to me. You speak like a native, but your accent is ever so slightly off. Where are you truly from?” he pressed. 

“I was born and raised in Sigtuna, as I have said. I may sound different than the others, but I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been able to hear myself speak since I was five, or anyone else for that matter.” 

The God of Mischief paused, he had heard rumors of such a thing, but it was a Midgardian ailment, not one of Asgard. He wondered what it was like, living in the silence. It occurred to him to ask, but he didn’t want to seem too interested in the woman standing before him. He would refrain from his line of questioning; there was a reason that she was here, after all. 

“Interesting,” he murmured, studying her face. “Well, Igna, I suppose Fury has sent you here for some reason or another; best get on with it.” 

Igna walked closer to him, stopping only a foot or so away, still watchful as ever. 

“You let them catch you; you let them put you in this cage. It’s all too easy, far too easy. Three against one? Even with the enhanced strength of Captain America and the Ironman suit, you still could have easily won without breaking so much as a sweat. I’ve read about your kind, the Aesir; you possess far many more abilities than humanity. We used to worship you as gods, yet you are still flesh and blood as I see you standing here. Made of sturdier stock, of course, but still flesh and blood. I wonder why you let them take you, why you allowed them to throw you into a cage not designed for you. And I think you’re going to tell me.” 

Mischief sparkled in his eyes as she talked. He was only killing time talking with her, staving off boredom until it was time for him to go. 

“Clever girl, you see things that the others have missed. You do not underestimate me, and I wonder why. Did they send you from the lab to take a look at their newest experiment? Did they pluck you from an office to manipulate my mind? What good can you do here, mortal? At what do they think you can best me, Igna?” he hissed. 

“I know more about you than anyone on this planet. I specialize in all things of the Aesir; I am a scholar that shares my knowledge with others. I do not simply see you, Silvertongue; I observe where others miss. There is a reason you chose to be here on this ship, and you are the reason that I chose to be here. As long as you are here, as I am I,” Igna replied. 

“And what happens when I depart this ship, as you say I shall?”

“Then I will do everything in my power to find you once more. If you’re here, you’re up to no good. Not that I won’t be the first to admit your actions intrigue me. Have you come to rule humanity? To force us all on our knees?”

Loki smiled, almost like she was his prey, “Precisely, darling. I have come to give you the gift of subjugation. I will eliminate your needless wars, your manipulations of each other, your senseless slaughter in the name of freedom. I shall bring you all together, regardless of race, religion, or creed, and rule you. You, Doctor Andersson, will kneel before me, just as everyone else. Your mind isn’t too hard to skim, you know. I will admit that your mind is stronger than the others, but it can still be read.” 

He smacked the glass close to her face, causing her to startle a bit. 

“Oh, how I’ll enjoy seeing you kneel in front of me to watch you break and crumble. And once you’re broken, you shall come to me. You will come; you and I both know you will.” 

“I think you may be mistaken; I have no desire to kneel, to submit, not to you, not to anyone. Enjoy the thought, though.” 

A dark chuckle reverberated in his chest, oh how truly wrong she was. 

“ Your defiance is amusing, my dear, but it’ll pass. In the end, there is no escaping me, you’ll see.” 

Igna nodded, her eyes brightening as something flew into her mind. 

“Well, I do believe I have all I need at present. I know who’s coming for you, and I know it’s soon. You’re simply wasting the clock with me. As such, I’ll be going now and see if we can’t modify and improve security around here. I’m sure Agent Barton will be here soon enough. Possibly with reinforcements too? Yes, I thought as much. It’s been a pleasure to encounter you in the flesh, truly.” 

As she turned and began to walk away, a voice, an actual voice, something that she had not experienced since childhood, reverberated in her mind, filling her with icy foreboding. 

“Do not fret, Igna Andersson; this will be far from our last encounter. You have my word.” 

Loki watched her stop short as the words filled her mind. He saw the shiver run down her spine; he could practically feel her emotions coming off of her in waves. He would come for her; she was far too interesting to slip through his fingers. As she began to walk away, the ship shook. Igna grabbed onto the railing, attempting not to fall as the world moved around her. She turned back, catching the Prince’s eye, he smiled wickedly. 

“Don’t worry, darling; I’ll be coming for you.” 

The professor pulled herself forward, up the stairs, and out the door. She barreled into Steve, who caught her before she could bounce right off of him. He stooped down a bit, getting her eye contact. 

“Ma’am, I’ve got to go suit up; something isn’t right here. I have to see where I can help. I don’t feel right leaving you here, though.” 

She nodded, understanding his predicament. 

“Captain, go, I’ll be fine; I know how to handle myself. I’ll make my way up and see where I can help, as well.”

Steve squeezed her arm gratefully before running off to do his part. Igna paused for a moment; she knew what her part was, for now. She kicked off her heels, abandoning them next to her purse; she needed to be fully able to run if necessary. Her gun came out of her holster, securely in her hands as she walked back into the room containing the god. She stood steady, careful of her step as everything shook. She looked around, scanning the area for any threats while she made her way down the stairs towards Loki. He was still in the cell, smiling delightedly, fully aware of the chaos and havoc that was happening around them. 

She warily watched him; she knew someone would be here for him at any moment. Something moved in the corner of her eye, but before she could fully react, a hand shot out over her mouth, and a powerful arm snaked its way behind her arms, pulling her tight. The gun fell from her hands; the more she struggled, the harder the hold became. Fuck, she was trapped. 

Loki smiled mischievously while he put a finger to his lips, motioning for her to hush. She watched as men clothed in SHIELD defensive armor made their way into the room. Her eyes widened as the God of Mischief duplicated himself, strolling out of the cage, leaving a part of himself still in there. Then it dawned on her whose ice-cold fingers were solidly clamped over her lips. It was the god himself, or at least a piece of the god. Fuck magic, fuck the spells he had woven so precisely to make all of this fall into place. This would not end well. She felt herself being backed into a corner, the world shimmering ever so slightly around her. It was transparent but felt different; there was clearly magic surrounding her. She could see out; everything was somewhat hazy, though she realized there was a distinct possibility that others were unable to see her. 

Igna could do nothing but watch in horror as Thor was deceived by Loki’s apparition, effectively trapping him inside of the glass cell. Her horror overflowed as the scepter the Trickster wielded made its way through Agent Coulson, impaling him. She fought harder against her captor, utter despair rushing over her in waves as the man fell, blood making a steady stream down his mouth. She knew, in her heart of hearts, that he would not survive that wound. She was sure the scepter was woven with dark magic, dooming the one that was unfortunate enough to be at the receiving end of that weapon. Even as he gave his last hurrah by blowing Loki through the wall with that huge gun-like contraption, she knew it was the end. There were men littered around the floor, dead. Thor was blown out of the helicarrier in a prison not designed for him. Everywhere she looked, the professor saw death and destruction. Her legs began to buckle, but the presence behind her forced her to remain standing against her will. 

Before she had a moment to register it, she was partially carried, partially dragged through the ship. Her bare feet repeatedly stumbled, leaving her to be dragged on her knees. She could feel the burning pain from each scrape as she was pulled along and then hoisted back up again. She kicked, bit, screamed, and struggled with everything in her, but it was no use. The god that had her in his clutches was far stronger than her mortal self. She was destined to lose this game before it had even started. As they reached the deck, Igna tried harder to fight back, struggling against his hold. He gripped her harder, those freezing hands digging into her skin. She turned with her shoulder, trying to regain some type of control, but it was as if Loki could see what she would do before she did it. He yanked her arm in the other direction, she could feel the shoulder dislocate, and her bones crack in half like a twig. She let out a scream of utter agony as the edges of her vision became fuzzy. The last thing she saw before she blacked out was Tony Stark suited up with his mask off, looking in her direction in a complete panic as she lost consciousness and was hauled onto the waiting quinjet.

Let me know if you’d like me to add you to the tags list for this story!

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog @silverwolf319 @themarcusmoreno @moonlight-prose @flightlessangelwings @steeeeeeeviebb @maharani-radha-writes @ladyblogger-margie @the-purity-pen @cinewhore @recklessfangirl-blog @phoenixhalliwell @rae-gar-targaryen @justpedropascal

[ask2pnordics-archive]

Uh hey Valtteri, why did you call Wilhelm, Hani? Is it just a nickname or do you jave some juice for us?

Valtteri: Oh! It’s just a nickname, haha! I have a lot of those for him.

Valtteri: I’m not sure what you mean by “juice” though? So, sorry about that!

Valtteri: Is that all there is question wise…? Oh! Valtteri: It looks like we got a surplus of them out of the blue! Valtteri: Okay, let’s see… Valtteri: Oooh, These are interesting!

Valtteri: Well, I’m more than happy to share! I love telling this story. Or… stories.

Valtteri: Gods… It was a long, long time ago. I remember hearing word from a local settlement that strangers had breached their boats on the shoreline of what is now known as the Åland islands. So, I set off on a journey to find these strangers. I had to determine if they were friend or foe, after all; and way back then I was quite… skittish. I needed to confirm for myself that these so-called “newcomers” both A) existed, and B) were not a threat.

Valtteri: I found- well, more-so stumbled- upon their encampment set up on the municipality now known as Föglö. Given that there were at least a hundred men and women near the shoreline alone, however, I deemed it safest to watch on from the treeline and try to gauge their threat-level.

Valtteri: That, dear anon, is when I saw Wilhelm.

Valtteri: He was impossible to miss, given his gigantic stature; let alone his good looks. Never before had I see anyone so tall in my entire life! And I’d been around for quite some time by that point. 

Valtteri: I was intrigued instantly, yet I didn’t attempt to make any move to befriend these foreigners just yet. Their native-tongue wasn’t one I understood, and they were quite intimidating; what with the dark paint on their face, along with their weaponry. While they looked friendly enough, I couldn’t be certain.

Valtteri: I was able to tell that Wilhelm was someone that was like me, someone not mortal. Who he was, however, I had no clue. By this point Kalev was the only other being I had met that shared my predicament; and by that i mean someone who wasn’t a representative of Suomi.

Valterri: So… I tailed him. I wanted to know who he was; why he was here, where he came from! I don’t know exactly what I hoped to achieve, given the humongous language barrier between the both of us and all. But, back then this was the most rational course of action my frazzled mind could come up with.

Valtteri: For the entire day I stuck to the treeline, not once taking my eyes off of the strangers- who I would eventually learn were called the Gutes- as I tried to understand their mannerisms. 

Valtteri: Later that evening, I saw Wilhelm slip out from his tent and into the woods; passing me as he did so. Both curiosity and a territorial sense took over me, so I chose to follow him. 

Valtteri: We walked for what must have been an hour, me doing my absolute best to remain stealthy and undetected, before he finally came to a stop at a pond. I watched, shielded by shrubs, as he proceeded to strip and wade into the water.

Valtteri: … I’ll admit, I was staring. It wasn’t as if I’d never seen anyone bathe, or that I expected for him to somehow do it differently. I just liked what I was looking at.

Valtteri: … Remember how I mentioned I was trying to be stealthy? Well, I had utterly failed at it. I would learn later that he’d known of my presence ever since I had found them on the beach... Nothing gets past Kuninkaani, Ha!

Valtteri: When he called out to me I wasn’t sure how to react. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I assumed he must have been talking to me. Either that, or he was talking to himself.

Valtteri: I remember freezing in place and trying to decide whether or not I should run off, wondering if he had truly been speaking to me. That’s when he turned to me, and beckoned me to join him. And, against every instinct I had screaming at me to do the opposite, I joined him.

Valtteri: Now that I think about it, Willy, you handled my creepy stalking really well! I wouldn’t blame you if you’d tried to stab me or something! Valtteri: We got together relatively shortly after our first encounter. He taught me old norse, and I taught him finno-ugric. The rest is history, really!

Valtteri: Although, we did “seal the deal” back in 1362 whenever I was called along with my representatives to participate in the election for the king of Sweden! But that’s a whole other story, anons.

Valtteri: Now… Did I miss anything, Willy? I don’t think I did…

Wilhelm: Yes, hjärtat, I believe you covered it all quite well. We've made it quite a long time, haven't we?

Valtteri: Yes we have! Jag älskar dig, Wilhelm.

Wilhelm: Jag älskar dig också, Valtteri.

[ / the tapping is now more frantic, the choppy sound accompanied by rhythmic humming in attempts of covering up his secret conversation from the other man. ]

[ / -- .- - .... .. .- … ]

[ / -.-. .- .-.. .-.. / -- .- - .... .. .- … ]

Valtteri: … What are you doing, Willy? 

Wilhelm: Hmm? Nothing, Kära. Just drumming. I have a lot of pent up energy, you know?

Valtteri: Ahh, hehe! My bad. You should go for a jog, Willy. Maybe that’ll help?

Wilhelm: Perhaps I will.

[satinechristian]

Enchanted + dimya? :)

have a little modern cinderella au

Anastasia Romanov’s face was beginning to ache and she was genuinely concerned that this expression, rather than the others her mother had warned her about, was the one her face was going to freeze as. A permanent, creepy smile on her face. She looked around for one of her sisters. They had to be around here somewhere, though truthfully one could slip out and no one would be able to tell the difference. She had been called Olga twice, Tatiana once, and Maria four times already. And one of the Romanov daughters, countless other times. 

She loved her sisters but wasn’t enamored with the concept that they were all interchangeable. Even though it was a masquerade and she was forced the admit that it did make it a little harder to tell them apart. 

Although...what if she were the sister that disappeared? It was a masquerade and technically no one was supposed to recognize her. 

Those Romanov eyes! People would exclaim after they guessed wrong which sister she was but correctly that she was a Romanov. Next masquerade she’d wear colored contacts. 

She slipped out onto the terrace, the secret one where guests weren’t supposed to know about. However, someone obviously did because she bumped into an unfamiliar man as soon as she did so. 

He wore a dark suit, maybe black or maybe a deep blue. The shadows of the terrace made it hard to see clearly. His dark hair was slicked back, and he had nearly a foot on her. 

“Sorry!” She immediately exclaimed, though he was the one trespassing on her family’s terrace. “I didn’t realize anyone else was out here.”

“My apologies,” he returned, and he spoke in Russian unlike the French of most of the other guests. “It’s hard to get a moment alone in that ballroom.”

She was intrigued, though most of the guests could and did speak Russian in there. They just choose to show off in French. 

Her parents hated when she spoke the native tongue. It made her too careless, too informal, they claimed. 

But tonight, she switched back to Russian. 

“I know,” she said, and his eyes lit up when she spoke Russian. She wanted to demand what he was doing out here on her parents private terrace but something held her back. 

“I thought everyone in St Petersburg had forgotten how to speak Russian,” he teased, and took a step closer to her. His suit was of dark blue, she could see that now. His eyes were either green or brown. 

“She’s too beautiful to ever forget,” Anastasia signed. 

“I agree,” he said looking right at her. 

Something about his tone made her blush. 

She opened her mouth to ask who he was, but he beat her to the punch. 

“What is your name?”

“An-“ she cleared her throat. Could it be he did t recognize her as Anastasia or a Romanov? “Anya. I’m Anya.”

He smiled at that and dimples appeared by his jaw. She wondered who he was because no suitor her family had parades in front of her had looked like him. 

“Anya,” he repeated and she liked the way he said this name that wasn’t actually her own. “I think it suits you.”

“How so?” She was moved to ask, given it wasn’t actually her name. 

Maybe she was Anya in another life. Where she wasn’t so restricted by who her family was and how much she loved them. 

He shrugged, “Just a feeling. But it’s short, and a bit spunky.”

She smiled at that, because she had just the slightest reputation as the family trouble maker. 

“I see I’ve hit the mark.”

“At least close to it,” she said. Then, feeling bold and informal, took a step closer to him. “Would you like to dance.”

He looked like he was going to refuse her, and she deflated slightly. Maybe she had been quick to read into things when he didn’t immediately lump her in with her family. 

“Would like to and am able to are two entirely different things,” he admitted, sheepishly. 

“You don’t know how to dance?” Even more intriguing. He spoke Russian and didn’t know how to dance. She wondered who he was and what family he belonged to. But also realized in this moment it didn’t really matter who either of them were. 

“Not a single step,” he said. “I’m a bit ungraceful.”

“Then we will just stay out here,” she decided, “And I will just have to teach you.”

He looked over his shoulder but there was no one around to bother them. “And if we get caught?”

She arranged his hands in position before stepped into the embrace, “Isn’t half the fun in not knowing if you’ll get caught or not?”

Anastasia-no, right now she was Anya- could feel his laughter, in the way his shoulder shook. “I think you are exactly the right person to spend this party with, Anya.” 

She grinned at that, a natural one this time. “Can you hear the music?”

He tilted his head, “A little bit.”

“A little bit is all we need,” Anya told him. “And we do counts of four.”

It was a little awkward and uncoordinated at first. With her leading him to teach him to lead, and there were a few stepped on toes (hers) and one kicked shin (his). But eventually they were swept up into a waltz on the terrace. 

She felt breathless and giddy and she was wondering if this was the way her sisters felt with all the boys that came to court them and the feeling they kept pushing her towards. 

Her companion got a devilish look on his face, at least the lower half of his face and she felt her self being lifted up and spin around. He placed her back on the ground, as she laughed. 

She should hide away more at her parents parties if this was the company she would find there. 

Anya looked up at him to find him staring at her with an intense expression on his face. She knew what Anastasia was supposed to do in such a situation, but she also instinctively knew what Anya would do. 

She raised up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his. Hoping she wasn’t about to face rejection or that she wasn’t overstepping boundaries. 

There was a slight hesitation on his part but then his hands were on her hips and he was kissing her back. 

Her first kiss and she didn’t even know his name. Oh God, she still didn’t even know his name. She kept getting distracted from asking him about it. 

She pulled away to ask, and got distracted by the bell signaling that it was midnight. 

“Oh! The unmasking!” She exclaimed. Her parents would kill her if she wasn’t in the ballroom, right up at the front with her sisters in the next few seconds. 

He looked equally distracted, looking over his shoulder again. “I have to go, I’m late.”

Her attention snapped back to him, “What?”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Anya,” he said and sounded sincere. With a light kiss pressed to her lips, he climbed over the railing of the terrace and disappeared. 

She could hear her name- her real name- being called from the hall and she slipped back into the house. Back towards her sisters and her family. 

Her lips still felt the sensation of being kissed and she looked back over her shoulder but the shadows of the night had taken him. She could see something on the terrace- maybe a glove? Not a white dress glove like some men wore tonight, but like a workers glove or a winters one. She slipped back on the terrace and tucked it into her dress. She could examine it later. 

Anastasia fell back into the crowd of her family. 

Who was he?

[vyctoyr]

My Grandfather

When I was a kid I lived in a faraway place, outskirts of Beijing, at the foot of an anonymous mountain. I would play with my grandpa who took anywhere I wanted. My grandpa was a loving man, who despite the toughness of life endured early on in life, still manages to keep the tenderness at heart. I remember that we would go out at night to look for crickets in the dark crevice under the kerb, or the excessive amount of ice cream he would feed me, with a world of firework every New Year. He was not only a parent but a friend to me, and as friends we would take these insanely long walks around the neighborhood at night, and we would talk about everything, as everything for the child was simple. It could easily just be the three solemn owls who perched silently on the Chinese mahogany in our backyard, or an exotic-looking tropical fish. I used to be very sensitive towards animals. Not dogs and cats, like most people who take for granted the prevalence of the two mammals. All that intrigued me were insects, reptiles, fish and dinosaurs. To me they were interesting, as they beat such morphological difference to human, the only organism of which we have lived experience. Their lives I didn’t understand. It was almost like that I wanted to turn into one of them, to escape farther from reality.

My grandpa used to have a big aquarium in his living room. It came as a surprise one weekend, and when I saw that giant thing standing there, I was overcome by thrill. It was a thrill that would only come back to me ten years later, when I got admitted to the University of Chicago early decision, only in a more disguised and tamed adult way, and evidently so much less intense. That thrill I felt as kid was biological. It was the best gift in human genitive, if not the worst punishment as society would eventually snatch it away without you knowing. Though it was advised to wait for at least a week to actually put fish into the big guy, I gave in completely to that temptation within one afternoon. Quickly transferring all the fish I had from the smaller tank, I felt content seeing all of them swimming less melancholically in what is nothing more than a bigger glass prison. It was only later, after I learnt what the chore it was to install such a massive device in your home, that I realized how much my grandpa had loved me.

I remember going back in grade nine. It was an intense year, as everybody was cramming for the high school entrance examination, and leisure was deemed more than a privilege to a bunch of sixteen-year-olds. I was all over the test. It was hard, but it was one thing that I thought I might be good at, only to get away from the socially toxic environment of my middle school. It was the year that I didn’t have to listen to my classmates blathering about games and athletes I didn’t give the slightest damn about, not did I have to play the sports I hated, and pretend to be someone I was not. I didn’t talk to anybody for my problems, although I was constantly on guard, trying to fit in, trying to shed whatever identity of me that remained, which seemed to me shameful and needed immediate rectification. I felt like an outsider. It was only later that I realized the the suicide I was committing on a daily basis for the entirety of my middle school life, and that though nothing could be done, it’s not too late for me to fight. I refused to talk about school with my grandparents, partly because I don’t want to taint that purity with whatever filthy people flung at me, partly, if not more so, because I thought these two worlds are not only separate and but actually largely incompatible. I vaguely realized that this might be a juncture in life.

High school felt much better, though I suppose I was simply better at hiding myself to blend in. Like an wounded animal I took on a tougher appearance, thinking it would ward off things lurching around to get me. It did, at least for a while, but it also costed me dearly, and I felt vulnerable and lost. I come home less frequently, still once a week, but my parents and I wouldn’t sleep over anymore, and my heart was always elsewhere. One day I suddenly came to the horrifying revelation that I don’t talk to my grandpa that often anymore. The walks were gone, no more ice cream or bicycle ride, and of course crickets and firework were only stupid games for kids. Even the aquarium, at the time still standing like a fortress in the living room, lost all of its luster and life. The fish were dying. They were physically disappearing, succumbing to the mystique of my maturation. All the time I spent with my grandpa, all the intimacy was gone, and it all happened almost overnight, and all those memories felt so real, yet so distant, like I was still the same child sleeping next to my grandpa, pestering him to look at me before I fall asleep, and now, out off the blue, I was a different person, an aloof stranger who I almost despised.

Last time I saw my grandpa was summer 2019. He was smaller than I remembered, still strong and spirited but haggard, showing more traits of people from his generation. Age seemed to have getting the better of him. His hearing had gone worse, and he told me that he had almost abandoned his personal enclave in the mountain cause he couldn’t climb that much anymore. I remember those enclaves, with winter melons and wild jujubes. One of them is on the cliff, from where you can see almost all the neighborhood. We used to sit there for hours, doing things I can’t recall anymore. Similarly gone was the content of our conversation, what we talked about tirelessly during our long walks at night when I rejected the idea of going back to school. It is because that we were speaking in a different language, a language that was once native to me, that was me, but was lost unwittingly to the hours. The spot where the aquarium stood was empty, like nothing was ever there, except for the old armchair on which rest everybody’s overcoat. It what at that moment I realized that I had killed him, along with a precious part of me.

Camus says that it’s only through seeing through the illusion can we grasps the truth, and Maugham has tells the story of Charles Strickland whose inhuman callousness has made him a genius artist. But what is the truth at all? What is life and being human when there’s nothing and no one to care for? Is it possible to only have a ideal so detached from what we feel that we zealously follow and loose every bit of our soul? Looking at my grandpa, though our interaction has reduced to a niggardly minimum, and it became painfully awkward trying to find topics with each other, I cannot believe that it’s possible for any non-sociopathic human to live like that. The illusion and emotion are the reality, and the only reality we know. We are the actor, who knows the fake and farcical nature of his career, yet still pours his heart out on stage. The only solace that I seek in all that’s lost to me forever is that creation has not escaped me. What I fail to comprehend, those innate feelings conversed in the secret tongue of the past, I speak now, hopefully, through words and music, cause I know that despite how irrevocably things happened, what my grandpa gave me was so strong that it shall forever remain a part of me. Just like the biological instinct of a kid that prompted me to tears whenever I thought of the possibility of loosing him to death, the care and love has become me. I don’t believe that you can be a non-sentient artist pursuing only that haughty, hollow ideal, since that’s just no way to be human, and I don’t want to, and I can’t, not be human.

April 4, 2020

[jhsbrat]

titan descending | myg

genre: star trek/space au, fwb au?

word count: 8.7k 

warnings: major character death, violence, scientific inaccuracies

a/n: I did absolutely zero research while writing this, so don’t come for me lmao

Pants and groans filled your dimly lit room. Through the small porthole, the two moons outside cast silvery light on your moving bodies. There was the sound of people walking by in the hallway right outside your door, so the two of you spoke in hushed tones.   

“Raise your hips up a little bit more.”

“I’m trying! Move to the left.” 

“I can’t really will my dick to move in any direction,” Yoongi replied drily, nevertheless shifting the way you asked. He starts slamming into you right at the spot you needed the most and your eyes squeeze tight in pleasure. Trying to will yourself closer to the edge, you focus on the impending heat in your belly and-

“Are you going to come any time soon? I’m getting a cramp.” 

You huff in frustration and look back at the man. “It would happen sooner if someone stopped talking.”

He rolls his eyes and leans over you, fingers slithering to rub insistently over your clit. You gasp and the heat returns, building up faster than before. The man quickens his pace, your tightness pushing him along to his own end. Only a few more minutes of frantic thrusting passed before you both found your pleasure. 

Pulling off of Yoongi, you collapse on the bed out of breath. He remains kneeling for a moment, panting, before tugging off and tying up the condom, tossing it in the general direction of the wastebasket. Then he flops down next to you, propping his arm behind his head, chest still moving up and down. “You’re so high maintenance, I can’t believe it takes you this long to get off.”

You turn to look at him, his auburn hair turned dark with sweat and falling in strands over his face. A stark difference from the buttoned-up, slicked back man everyone on board knows. 

“I could always just go to Aj’es or Nozos for my needs. I know Klingons wouldn’t talk as much as you.”      

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t be fucking a red-blooded, human male.” He says, wagging his eyebrows. 

You roll your eyes. “Ugh, you’re such a speciest, Min Yoongi.”

“Hey, I’m sorry I prefer my sexual partners to have the number of limbs that I’m accustomed to.” 

“If I’m really that much of a problem in bed, then why don’t you just go holler at Seokjin?”

“Fortunately for you, I don’t swing that way. Although now I’m starting to wish that I did.”

“More like fortunately for him,” you mutter under your breath. 

“What was that, Officer?”

You gather his uniform discarded on the floor beside you and toss it at him. “Goodnight, Commander.”

You push your tray down the line, scrunching your nose up at the smell in the mess hall. The ship has been going on a couple months without stopping at nearby planets to reload materials, so the food for the past few weeks has been…subpar. The red shirt officer in front of you recoiled at the brown sludge the Cardassian dining staff plopped onto his plate, moving onward in line reluctantly. You grimace and step forward to receive your own helping when you feel yourself being pulled out of line.

“Taehyung! I’m hungry!” You exclaim, trying to tug back your hand.

“Don’t be so loud, Officer.” He shoots a boxy smile back over his shoulder, leading you to a table towards the rear of the mess hall. He sits down and you mimic him, keeping your tongue in check. Mouth still stretched in a grin, he sets down a sandwich and an apple in front of you on the table.

Your eyes flit between the food and the man, widened in shock. “Is this-is this real food?”

“Yes,” Taehyung beams at you, ripping the sandwich in half, “And you’re the lucky one who gets to split it with me.”

You reach out to grab your portion and stuff it in your mouth, as if it would disappear if you didn’t consume it as quickly as possible. Through a mouthful of ham and cheese, you ask him where he managed to find it. Before the engineer could respond, however, a pale hand snatches up the apple between the two of you.

Looking up, you see Yoongi, face impassive as he regards you and Taehyung.

“I was just wondering the same thing,” he said, bouncing the apple in his hand, “Where did a Research Officer and a Propulsion Engineer get their hands on contraband like this?”

“Commander!” Taehyung stutters, standing up to salute him. You move to do the same after remembering that you were in public.

“At ease.” Yoongi replies, waving his hand. You and Taehyung relax, but remain standing. “I know that we’ve been off planet for a while now, so I’m willing to overlook this indiscretion. But understand I won’t be so kind in the future.”

“Yes, sir,” both of you say back. He tips his head in recognition and walks off, taking a bite of the apple as he exits the mess hall.

“Asshole,” Taehyung mutters, sitting back down. You nod in agreement, but chuckle nonetheless.

You’re walking back to your own quarters when Yoongi steps out from the bridge to stand in front of you.

“Officer, can I speak to you for a moment.” He states, rather than asks, not waiting for your reply as he leads you into a turbolift entrance. You follow him wordlessly, hands back your back and eyes straight ahead, the spitting image of an attentive subordinate. Once you’re both inside and the doors close, he reaches behind you to hit the emergency stop button on the control panel.

“You’re going to get in trouble one of these days if you continue to hang around that engineer,” he drawled, slipping into his native accent.

You scrutinize him for a moment, ignoring the flashing red lights of the lift. Yoongi always interested you, in the same way a mathematician is fascinated with an equation she just can’t solve. Over the years you shared on the U.S.S. Vanguard with him, there were bits and pieces he slowly revealed of himself. Like the way his gums showed when he smiled, really smiled. Or how his interest in space exploration was an inheritance from his father, who disappeared while serving in Starfleet himself when Yoongi was still a kid. Everyone knows he can speak more languages than any person on board, but only you were privy to the fact that he became the Federation’s foremost Communications Commander because, in some small part of his heart, he still held onto hope of finding his dad.

Nevertheless, the man still managed to surprise you. Just when you think you’ve understood every aspect of his stoic, punctilious nature, he begins to treat your relationship a little differently and you’re thrown for a loop. You suppose you’re lucky for it, however, since any other man would have bored you these many years into being stuck together on a metal vessel hurtling through space.

“Taehyung is just my friend,” you finally reply, folding your arms over your chest.

He snorts. “When did I imply differently? He’s still going to get you in trouble. You don’t know how often I find him doing anything but his job. It’s a miracle the ship moves at all.”

“So, what? I can’t have friends now? Jealously isn’t a good look on you, Yoongi.”

His eyes flash. “Contrary to what you may think, I’m not some caveman who wants to throw you over my shoulder and beat on the walls with a stick. And it’s Commander, to you.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Since the beginning of whatever the two of you had together, he had never insisted on using public formalities in private. In fact, it was just the opposite, admitting after one of your nights together that he didn’t want to play his authoritative role all the time. So him pulling rank now was just that, a ploy to end this conversation because you were approaching sensitive territory.

“Yes, Commander.” You respond acidly, unfolding your arms and turning to open the doors of the lift again.

He sighs and follows you out. “Wait, I—“

“Commander Min, please report to the bridge.” A disembodied voice relays over the ship’s speaker. He catches up to you before you can round the corner, moving to block your way.

“We’re not finished with this conversation,” he asserts, pointing behind you, “Come on. We’re both going to the bridge.”

Once you cross the threshold of the bridge, you part from Yoongi’s side and move to sit next to the ship’s First Pilot, Seokjin. The man nods at you in greeting and turns back to face front.

Namjoon turns in his chair to welcome the two of you. “Commander, thanks for returning to us. I see you brought us a Research Officer. Excellent, we actually might need her for this.”

Yoongi glances at you for a quick second before returning his gaze forward. “Captain. Is something the matter?”

“Indeed. Officer Kumari, would you care to fill them in?”

The Andorian nodded, still adjusting dials with her blue fingers. “While you were out, Commander, I was moved to man the comms and we received a distress signal from a nearby minor planet. B-612. I will replay it for you now.”

Black envelops the view screen of the bridge. Then there was a flash of light and noise, a male face filling the screen. With a short, flat nose and oval jaw, you would have called his features close to cherubic in any other situation. But his eyes were wide with fear and there was a streak of red smudged on his cheek. You lean forward, intrigued.

“If anyone can hear me, I need help! There are people here, I don’t know who they are or where they’re from, but-“ he chokes up, pausing for a moment to look away. When he turns back to the screen, tears have filled his eyes. “They’ve killed everyone. And I’m afraid they’re going to kill me next. I’m afraid-“

The video cuts out abruptly and view screen returns to show the environment in front of the ship. The bridge is quiet.

“What do you think, Commander?” Namjoon breaks the silence, swiveling in his command chair to look at Yoongi. The man in question stands still, rigidly facing ahead, lost in thought.

“Captain, with all due respect,” Seokjin interjects after a moment, “We’re wasting time. For all we know, whoever sent that signal could be dead or dying, and we’re just sitting here.”

“Duly noted, Seokjin. However, I would still like to hear what my First Officer has to say.” Namjoon responds without turning to the pilot.

Suddenly, Yoongi pivots to face you. “What do you know about B-612?”

You blink in surprise at the question. “Not much. It’s one in many strings of minor planets near us. It’s so small it might as well be considered an asteroid. There’s no record of contact between Starfleet and any living being around here.”    

He nods, still thinking. “I wonder how he was able to send that distress signal.”

Seokjin huffs in frustration. “Never mind that, we need to save him!”

“Technically, he’s right,” Namjoon stands up and starts moving towards the door, “If you have no further objections or thoughts on the matter, I think we should start heading to the transporter room.”

Yoongi’s mouth is set in a straight line but he nods anyway.

Namjoon is almost out the exit before he stops and looks to you. “Officer, I think you should come too. If this is officially Starfleet’s first contact with someone from this area, it needs to be recorded.”

“Of course, Captain.” You stand up and follow him, brushing past the still surly Commander.    

An hour later, the three of you are huddled in the medical bay. Sitting next to you on one of the examination tables, shivering under a shock blanket, is the boy from the video. You regard him carefully, curious about the stranger from the untouched planet.

“Taeyeon,” Namjoon murmurs, catching the ship’s Chief Medical Officer as she walked past, “Can you tell me about what happened to him?”

“Dr. Kim, Captain,” the woman corrected him firmly. His cheeks heat up in embarrassment as she continues speaking. “Physically, he’s fine. No injuries, not even a cut or scratch. He’s just exhibiting signs of shock post-trauma.”

“What about the blood on his face?” Yoongi asks, stepping forward.    

“All I can tell you is that it isn’t his, Commander,” she responds, “I’ll leave you alone with him for questioning now. Afterward, I’d like to do a psych eval, with your permission.”

The pair nod and the doctor exits, leaving you alone with the stranger from B-612.

“Hello,” Namjoon spoke gently, treading closer to the boy, “My name is Namjoon. I am the captain of this starship. What is your name?”

“Jimin,” he enunciates clearly, voice soft and sweet.

“Nice to meet you Jimin. Can you tell us what happened to you?”

Jimin’s eyes dart over to where you and Yoongi were standing silently in the back. “Who are they?”

Namjoon waves both of you over to introduce yourselves. The two of you stride closer to where Jimin sat and state your name and position on the ship.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” the boy admitted, eyes only getting wider. His smaller frame was still quivering under the blanket and your fingers twitched to get him another one. He reminded you of a baby blue jay you had once nursed when you were a child, frail and in need of protection. It took everything in you to stop yourself from cradling Jimin in your arms like the bird all those years ago.

“That’s okay,” Namjoon continued, “It’s a lot to learn. Why don’t you tell us why you sent that distress signal to our ship.”

Jimin took a breath, and then rushed out his next words, as though he had been keeping them inside for too long. “Some people came. I don’t know from where, but they came and they weren’t from my planet. They came and they killed everything that takes breath. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life, I’ve never-“

He falters and looks down at his lap. You finally take a step forward to grip his shoulder, a small sign of comfort. He looks up and smiles weakly at you, proving definitively that in the right situation, his features were angelic.

“Jimin, there has been no record of Federation contact with your planet. Where did you learn to speak our language?” Yoongi inquires. You shoot him a disapproving look.

“A man taught it to me. He came to live with us years ago.” The boy replies, taking another shaky breath.

Namjoon raises his brows at that. “A man? Jimin, could this man have been part of the attack?”

Confusion colored the boy’s face. “No, of course not. He is-he was my father. He was also killed.”

You glance at the two other men, hesitant to ask the next question. “Jimin. Is your father human?”  

A few days had passed and you found yourself sitting in the back of the mess hall with Taehyung again. Only this time, Jimin was beside you. Your friend couldn’t take his eyes off the stranger, engrossed in watching him try to figure out the utensils on the table. When the boy attempted to spear the orange slop on his plate with a knife, Taehyung cooed and handed him a spoon instead. It was safe to say that everyone on board had become equally infatuated with the visitor and it was easy to see why. His delicate features and bright smiles made him easy to love. And the story of how he came to board the ship made him just as easy to pity.

The boy had lived on planet B-612 all his life, known only to him as his home. Years ago, a human man had crash-landed there and was the first to make contact with the indigenous species. The stranded man had tried and failed to repair his ship, but he ultimately accepted his new life on the planet. Eventually, he fathered a child with a native female and from that union came Jimin. The community there lived together in peace, never again coming into contact with another species. Until the day the invaders struck.

Jimin still hesitates to explain what happened, growing anxious every time he’s questioned about it. All anyone’s been able to put together is that some shadowy figures came and killed just about everyone that lived there, their motive unknown.  Dr. Kim suggested that he’s just afraid of reliving the trauma of the attack, insisting he’ll reveal the details on his own time. Yoongi, however, remained wary.

“I don’t trust him.”

“Trust who?” You asked, sitting up on your bed and tying up your unruly hair.

“Jimin,” Yoongi explained, reaching up to release your curls from their knot again, then trailing his hand down your naked back. Frustrated, you snatch the clip from him and start the process over again.

“What do you not trust him about?”

“Just…his story. It doesn’t make sense. There are holes.” He leaned back on your pillows, watching you walk to the closet to begin dressing. Although there was only dark space outside, your sunlight clock glowed bright to let you know it was 0700 hours. The beams illuminated Yoongi’s lithe body as he got up to follow you, circling his arms around your middle.

“Don’t go,” he murmured softly, placing his chin on your shoulder, “Stay.”

“Not all of us are commanders of a starship and can afford to show up whenever they like,” you counter, twisting around in his hold to face him.

He smiled and tugged one of your curls loose. “Just give it a few years, Officer. Soon enough, you’ll be moving on to command a ship of your own.”

You knew his confidence in you should have boosted your pride, but all you felt was your heart-wrenching at the idea of leaving behind the U.S.S. Vanguard. Leaving behind him.

“It’s normal for trauma victims to not remember some of what happened to them,” you stated logically, returning to the topic of your ship’s visitor, and turned back around to find a clean uniform for the day.

Yoongi hummed noncommittally and moved to do the same.

“Hello, blue shirt? You in there?” A voice calls out to you. Startled out of your thoughts, you focus your attention back on the two boys in front of you. Taehyung was waving his hand in front of your face, apparently trying to get you to respond.

“Yes, Tae, what is it?” You sigh, resting your cheek on your hand.

“I’m trying to explain to Jimin what the Prime Directive is, but you were always better at memorizing that stuff.”

Your forehead creased and you look at the other boy. “Where did you hear about that?”

“I’m trying to learn more about Starfleet. Someone mentioned it the other day, but I didn’t know what it was.” He shrugs.

“Well, it’s pretty simple, really. The first principle of our organization is that we are not to interfere with the progress of alien civilizations. So if a planet is not fully developed yet, then we are not allowed to interact with them as to avoid accidentally imposing our own values on them.” You explain, trying to cut out as much jargon as possible. As excellent as his language skills were, he still got confused by complex sentences and unfamiliar words.  

He nods slowly, taking in your words. “So, is that why you weren’t allowed to visit us?”

“Partially. You also just weren’t a mission priority.” Taehyung adds, cutting his spoon through the goop on his plate to draw figures.

A security agent stopped beside you and taps on your shoulder. “Officer, I’ve been told by Captain to tell you to report to the transporter room, with the visitor.” The gruff red shirt clad Klingon relayed, looking down at the two of you.

“Oh, shit. Thanks, Aj’es.” You rush to stand up, straightening your skirt. “C’mon, Jimin, follow me.”

In the transporter room, you’re met with Yoongi and Namjoon. They were speaking to Nozos, the officer manning the controls. They pause at the sight of you two, Namjoon waving you forward.

“Officer. Jimin,” he said by way of a greeting, “Commander Min and I have decided it’s time to visit B-612 for ourselves and investigate what has happened. If there are groups of people murdering others, we need to report it to Starfleet.”

“Jimin, what are your mother’s species called?” Yoongi inquired.

“Uh, I don’t know,” the boy stuttered, looking to you, “She’s always just been my mother.”

“Fair enough,” Yoongi responds, although his eyes are narrowed, “As the Federation’s representatives on the first visit to your planet, the Captain will lead this mission. I will accompany to provide my communication skills, in case I speak the same language as the invaders. Our Research Officer here will join us in order to record as much information about B-612 as possible. And you, Jimin, will escort us as our guide.”    

“But I’m not ready to go back!” He stammers, eyes widening.

Yoongi just nods. “That’s understandable. Since you are not a member of our ship, you are not expected to follow my orders. Please feel free to return to your quarters. The rest of us will beam down without you.”

At that, Jimin pauses, eyes beginning to dart again between the three of you. “It’s not-it’s not safe down there.”

“We’re aware of the dangers,” Namjoon intones, stepping into the transport chamber, “It’s part of our job.”

Yoongi follows him up and after a moment’s hesitation when you look back at the trembling boy, so do you.

“Captain, we only have one working communicator right now,” Nozos informed him, walking forward to hand off the device, “The others are in need of parts for when we make our next reload stop.”

“Thank you, officer. Please beam us down to the same coordinates from where we picked up Jimin.”

Nozos grunted an affirmative and began hitting buttons on the control console. The boy watched, biting his lip nervously.

“Wait, hold on,” he called, walking uncertainly forward to also step into the transport chamber, “I can’t let you go alone.”    

Namjoon smiled and nodded, clapping Jimin on the back. “I’m glad to hear you say so.”

And with that, the four of you disappears in a whirl of light and particles.

B-612 was hot. Not like the dry, scorching heat of Vulcan or the bright sunlight of your hometown in the summer. No, B-612 was damp, humid, wet. Although there wasn’t a rain cloud in sight, the air felt filled with water, turning you sluggish and slowing down your group’s pace through the thick jungle considerably.

“Jimin,” Yoongi wheezes, not one for physical exertion, “Please tell me we’re near where we need to be.”

The boy looks back over his shoulder, yards ahead of you all, lungs accustomed to the unusual atmosphere. “Yes, we’re nearly there.”

Jimin had been uncharacteristically quiet for most of the journey, though you almost don’t mind since talking would require extra effort in this heat. Namjoon has already taken off his shirt, choosing to use it as a rag to mop up his sweat. You have removed the utility belt hung around your hips, preferring to hold the items it contained in your hands rather than weighing down your legs with its weight. Only Yoongi has remained stubbornly unchanged, save for the rings of sweat around his underarms.

A few miles more and your group finally breaks through the thicket of trees to arrive in a clearing. From your vantage point, you can see signs of a community below you. Scattered collections of makeshift homes and well-worn walking paths scatter the landscape. In the far distance, you swear you can almost see the curve of the planet.

“It really is essentially an asteroid,” Namjoon mutters to you, following Jimin down the hill. You nod, only half listening as you start snapping photos of everything you see. Walking up to the homes and fire pits left by the people that lived there, you scribble down as many notes as you can. Yoongi stays by your side, cautiously taking in the environment around you, while Namjoon and Jimin head off in a different direction.

“Jimin’s father must have been miserable here,” Yoongi says under his breath, almost to himself.

“Why do you say that,” you ask, walking forward to investigate a plant you’ve never seen before growing from the ground.

He shrugs and kicks up some loose red dirt. “To be so far from home, surrounded by a people and a language you don’t know. He must have been lonely.”

You turn to face him. “He had Jimin and Jimin’s mother. He must have loved them.”

Yoongi looks up to meet your eyes. “Maybe.”

There’s a crash and you startle awake. You reach under your pillow and grab your phaser, a habit pounded into you from the Academy. Pointing it steadily at the intruder, you slowly stand up.

“Who are you?”

The figure steps out of the shadows into the light streaming through the window from the flashing neon lights outside. Raising his hands up, he grins crookedly at you.

“Just me,” Yoongi says, words slurring a bit, “Put your weapon down, Officer.”

You let out a shaky breath, collapsing back onto the bed. “Fuck, Yoongi, you scared me.”

“I told you not to get a room in this district,” the man says, moving forward to flop down next you. “It’s full of bars and brothels.”

“Yeah, and you smell like both, Commander.” You complain, snatching your pillow from him and settling back into the bed.

He frowns. “Don’t call me that.”

“Yeah? Then what would you like me to call you?” Smiling in amusement, you watch him rest his head on your chest.

“Mm. Baby.”

You’re almost sure he can hear your heart stutter through all the bones and sinew of your body, it pounds that hard. Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves, you open your mouth to say the next part.    

“I have…I have something to tell you.”  

“Sounds serious,” he grumbles, drawing his arms tighter around you, “Let’s save serious for tomorrow, yeah?”

You blink, unsure of what to do. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight. Love you.”

In shock at his words, your heartbeat picks up again, but you look down at him sadly nonetheless. Because in the morning he would remember none of his drunken words and what the two of you had would always remain a secret for the night.

You and Yoongi are still staring at each other in silence when Namjoon calls you both in the distance. Shaking yourself out of your reprieve, you step around the man in front of you. Following the sound of his voice, you find your captain and Jimin standing before a gruesome sight.

Bodies upon bodies are piled on top of each other, emanating a rotten stench that’s only exacerbated by the heat. Through your shock, you pick out the aliens almost humanoid features, save for their pale orange skin and magenta hair. Though you can’t immediately recognize the sex of any particular one, you notice there are smaller bodies littered among the group. Bile rises up your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth.

“They didn’t even bury them,” Yoongi whispers softly.

Jimin moves to stand in front of you all, spreading his arms as if he was trying to block your view. His eyes are inhumanly wider than ever before and you wonder if it’s a characteristic inherited from his mother’s species. “There, you’ve seen it. You have proof. Can we leave now?”

“No, Jimin, we can’t,” Namjoon responds calmly, though you can tell he’s shaken up by the way his hands tremble behind his back.

“This…this was a massacre,” you finally breath out, “Jimin, we have to find who did this.”

The boy is biting his lips, clearly worried about the prospect of staying on the planet for any longer.

“What is that?”

The three of you look over in the direction of where Yoongi is pointing. Though you can’t make it out clearly, there is a visible glint coming off of something large and metal in the distance. He takes off towards it, Namjoon quickly following in his stead. You move to do the same when Jimin grabs onto your hand.

“Please,” he choked, “Please don’t.”

Your brows furrow. “Jimin, just stay here if you’re afraid.”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth to continue pleading, but you’ve already started running after your leaders.

The closer you get to the metal structure, the more you can make out what it is. An escape pod. Albeit an old one, from decades ago, with rust corroding its outside. Stepping into the small space, you find Namjoon tapping away at its computer.

“This is what Jimin must have used to send his distress signal,” he reasons, struggling with its outdated interface.

You nod and turn slowly, looking around. On the interior wall opposite the computer, you can make out the words U.S.S. Icarus stamped there. Papers and photos are taped alongside it, many detailing engineering and mechanical notes.

“He must have tried to repair it a million times,” you wonder quietly. Your eyes slide over a photo of a group of people, most likely the crew of the starship Jimin’s father ejected from. Moving closer to look at their faces, your breath hitches when you recognize a familiar gummy smile.

Ripping it down from the wall, you shove the photo in Namjoon’s face. He focuses on it for a moment, and then looks back at you in shock.

“Do you think it’s-“

“Captain, I’m almost certain. Where is he?”

Namjoon gets up and heads back outside into the sweltering heat. Spinning around, he yells out his second-in-command’s name.

“Over here.” You hear Jimin call and the two of you follow the voice to the other side of the escape pod. There, Yoongi and Jimin are standing over another body. However, this one looks different from the rest.

Coming closer, you see the man lying lifeless on the ground; throat cut and caked blood dried in a puddle around him. What makes you choke out a breath, however, is the man’s face, the spitting image of the one currently standing next to you.

Namjoon steps forward slowly. “Commander. Is this your father?”

Yoongi gives a brusque nod, still not speaking.

You glance over at the other boy, standing a ways apart from the three of you. “Did you know the two of you…shared a parent?”

He shrugs casually. “I find that’s such a human thing to care about.”

A few moments pass while you try to connect everything that’s occurred so far. Finding the piles of slaughtered bodies, discovering the fate of Yoongi’s lost father, Jimin’s sudden cavalier attitude. It’s almost as if-  

“Jimin,” Yoongi exhales slowly, face paler than you’ve ever seen, “There were never really any invaders, were there?”

The boy’s features are blank, giving nothing away. Namjoon stiffens and your heart pounds. All three of you turn to face the alien in question.

He smiles slowly, mouth splitting open like a wound. It’s different, unnatural, making your hairs stand up on end.  

“I knew of all the people to figure me out, it would be you, brother.”

Time begins to race faster than your brain is able to process, seconds melting into each other.

“Explain yourself.” Namjoon demands, voice still even though his hands shake harder behind his back.

“I killed them, Captain,” Jimin smirks, “I killed them all.”

You stare at the boy in front of you, innocent features still twisted in an ugly sneer. Trying to imagine this Jimin, the one that reminded you of that baby blue jay from your childhood, as a killer makes your knees want to buckle. Although your training prevents you from collapsing in shock, you still struggle to breathe.

“Why?” You croak out.

He shrugged again, as if you had asked him about his choice of shirt color. “They were in my way.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Yoongi finally speaks, words dripping with fury.    

“You wouldn’t understand!” Jimin roars back, “None of you would! You weren’t left to rot on a rock like me!”

He stops, turning around to run his hands through his hair, back heaving with heavy breaths. When he faces you all again, his voice is steady and clear once more.

“My father was the first outsider to ever step foot on our planet. My people were fascinated by him, thought he and his odd ship were an interesting oddity. They learned that they were not the only ones to exist in this world, but did nothing about it. They accepted him and continued with their lives, as if they hadn’t discovered a life-changing fact.

But imagine what I felt when I learned the same fact for the first time. I don’t think any of you could, aren’t capable of it. I was in shock. Suddenly, my world had expanded and I wanted to explore it. Wanted to see for myself what life elsewhere looks like.

But my people were against it. Scolded and yelled at me for it, called me the strange half-breed. They thought I would bring calamity upon them by messing with the cosmos and shunned me. My mother died from the shame. Even my father was content with staying here, discouraged by his failed attempts at fixing his ship.

I worked on it anyways, read every manual and tried everything I could to get the damn thing to work. Eventually, I got the comms control to turn on. I told my father, thinking that out of everyone here, he would understand me. But he was angry, insistent that I drop it. I think the coward was afraid of having hope again, couldn’t bear if it failed.”

His eyes slide over to Yoongi, who was staring at the alien with a hard gaze.

“So I killed him. I killed our father. I always knew we shared blood, you know. As soon as I saw your face. The two of you look so alike, any other explanation was impossible.”

“Why did you kill the rest?” Namjoon asks, making Jimin turn his attention to him.

“I had to make the story believable, of course.”

“Jimin, what was the purpose in all this?” You implore, desperate to find some reason to explain away the murderous rage the boy in front of you held.

“I was abandoned by the rest of the galaxy,” he spits out, venomous, “I was passed over and told I wasn’t a mission priority. I wasn’t civilized or developed enough to know of more than the heat and dirt of the rock on which we stand. And I refuse to accept that fate.”

There’s a flash of inhumanly fast movement, a glint of silver, and a yell. Then the boy is running back in the direction you came from, nimble body moving quicker than you’ve ever seen someone go. Confused at the speed with which it all happened, you spin around to look at your leaders behind you.

Kneeling below you on the ground, Yoongi is cradling Namjoon. Red streams from your captain’s side and his eyes flutter shut. Panicking, you fall to the dirt and put pressure on the gash, trying to stem the flow. You look to Yoongi, struggling to understand what just occurred.

“He stabbed Namjoon.” the Commander grits, “Stabbed him and snatched the communicator.”

Seokjin leans back in the command chair, toggling the buttons on the side. Pressing each one at random, he marvels at their functions.

“You shouldn’t play around with the controls,” Officer Kumari states, coming to his side.

Seokjin flinches, spooked at the silence with which the Andorian crept up next to him. He grins sheepishly at her and she rolls her bright yellow eyes, moving away.

“Can someone inform me why I’m on the comms?” Taehyung calls out from his seat.

Seokjin swivels to face the engineer. “Because I’ve been left in charge of this spacecraft and I say that you’re on the comms. Don’t make me write you up for insubordination.”

Before Taehyung has the chance to retort that the pilot doesn’t even have the authority to censure him, his communicator beeps urgently. He flashes Seokjin a look to say that this argument wasn’t over and flips open the device.

“Vanguard here, go ahead Captain.”

“Hello? Can you hear me?” A shaky voice calls out.

Standing up in surprise, Seokjin comes closer to listen. “Jimin? Is that you?”

“Yes! I need help, beam me up now!”

Confused, Taehyung looks up at Seokjin. “Jimin, where are the others? Where’s the Captain?”

“The others betrayed us!” The disembodied voice rushes out, sounding strained, “They decided to join with the invaders and when the Captain objected, they stabbed him! I barely got away!”

At that, everyone on the bridge stands up in alarm. There’s an exchange of shocked whispers and murmurs as they look to the pair speaking into the communicator.

Brow furrowed, Seokjin straightens up and begins walking to the transporter room. The others follow him, intent on seeing firsthand what was happening. Only Taehyung remains behind, still speaking into the device.

“Jimin, are you-are you absolutely sure that’s what happened?”

“Yes!” The boy cries out, sounding close to tears, “And I need you to save me before-“  

His voice cuts off as he’s beamed up. Taehyung drops the communicator to his lap, head shaking in disbelief.

“I don’t believe it,” he mutters to himself quietly.

“Keep pressing down here. I’ll tie it off.” You direct Yoongi, reaching to loop together the sleeves of Namjoon’s shirt into a knot. You’re using it as a makeshift bandage, trying to prevent him from losing any more blood. The injured man winces in pain as Yoongi leans against him.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I just-“

“I know, Commander.” Namjoon shuddered, resting his head back into the other man’s lap.

A moment passes and then Yoongi continues. “I’ll kill him for this, I swear.”

Namjoon shakes his head and smiles faintly. “You know, in a way, I kind of admire him.”

Both of you look at him in shock, prompting him to further explain.

“I mean, he’s really no different from us. Each officer up there on our ship has dedicated their lives to boldly go. Much like them, he just wants to be a part of that mission. He might be a psychopath, but he has the determination to see it through.”

“You’re delirious.” You mutter, finishing up the knot and looking to Yoongi. “What are we going to do? Jimin took the communicator.”

“He used the escape pod’s comms panel once,” he gestures towards the vessel a few yards away, “I bet we can do it again.”

You nod and stand up, leaning down to grab Namjoon’s legs. Yoongi gets your idea and clutches the man’s arms. Together, you try lifting him, but he yowls in agony.

“Leave me here,” he pants out, squinting his eyes shut from the pain, “I won’t be going anywhere.”

Reluctantly, you and the other man hurry to the escape pod and step in. Letting Yoongi experiment with the dials, you rummage through the piles of notes, trying to see if anything useful was left behind. Both of you are sweating heavily, beads of perspiration sliding down your neck. It’s not so much from the sweltering heat, but from the urgency of your situation.

“Did you fix it?” You spin to look at Yoongi, unable to find any documents relevant to the communications system.    

“If this took Jimin years to work, I doubt I’m going to figure it out in a minute.” He snaps, fiddling with the controls.

Your shoulders fall and you squat next to the man sitting in the seat, gently placing your hand on his thigh.

“Yoongi. Are you okay?”

“You can’t keep doing this to me, Yoongi.” You sigh, blocking the door to your room with your body.

“C’mon,” the man drawls, voice dripping with tequila, “I just wanna sleep next to you.”

You shake your head, intent on turning him away. He wasn’t going to slither into your bed tonight.

“I have to wake up early tomorrow.”

“Then we should hurry and go to sleep,” he sidles closer to you, smirking.

You squeeze your eyes shut and look up, taking a breath.

“Yoongi, I know you drink because you have your own demons to deal with. But I can’t let you come here every time when you’re boozed up and use me as some way to forget it all. I’m not a container for your pain.”

“Ooh, how you wound me,” he grins at you, though the spark has gone from his eyes. “What if I order you to let me in?”

“Goodnight, Commander.” You reply, slamming the door in his face.

Yoongi stares at you, taking in the current moment. “No. But I will be.”

You nod and let him return to the controls. The air in the pod has shifted and his breath evens out, moving to adjust the dials more methodically. In a few minutes, he gets the archaic machine to give a weak beep. Quickly, he punches in the requisite channel code and waits.

“Can it record video?” You ask, referring to how Jimin sent his own distress signal.

He shakes his head in response, pointing to the webcam that had been smashed in. “He must have tried destroying it to prevent anyone else from using it.”

There’s a tinge of static, then the crackling sound of a connection.

“Vanguard here, with who am I speaking?”

“Taehyung?” You exclaim in surprise, grabbing the microphone from Yoongi, “Beam us up!”  

“Wait-what? What are you guys doing?”

“Officer, beam us up right the fuck now.” The man next to you barks.

“Jesus, okay! Hold on!” The line goes dead.

You look at Yoongi, nervous. “Do you think he’ll be able to locate us without our coordinates?”

He shrugs, unsure. “He can probably track-“

Then the two of you disappear in a whirl of light and particles.

With a thud, you land on your ass in the transport chamber back aboard the ship. There’s a grunt of pain beside you and you turn to see Yoongi, rubbing his back.

“Oh my god.”

Taehyung is sitting at the control panel, staring at both of you in shock. Leaping up, you race over to him and he gathers you in his arms.

“I thought you joined the invaders,” he hums into your hair. Your forehead creases in confusion and you lean back to peer at him.  

“What are you talking about?”

“Jimin.” he states by way of explaining, “He came back and said you betrayed us and stabbed Namjoon.”

Yoongi joins the two of you, still massaging his back. “He’s full of shit. And speaking of our captain, where is he?”

“What do you mean?” The engineer questions, looking between both you. “I located you guys using your heat signals. Yours were the only two I found.”

“Incompetent,” Yoongi mutters.

You hurry to the controls and set about on the task of finding Namjoon. However, try as you might, the sensors don’t pick anything up. You hit the buttons again and again, afraid to accept the only possible explanation.

“Do you think he already got back somehow?” Taehyung asks, unaware.

“Maybe-maybe it’s the temperature of the environment, maybe it’s blocking the sensors from recognizing him,” Yoongi stammers out, truly shaken for the first time the whole day.  

You sit back in defeat, shaking your head. “No.”

The commander falls to his knees, hands covering his face. “We were too late.”

The silence in the room is broken by a gruff voice from behind you.

“What’s happening here?”

All of you spin to see the transport officer standing at the entrance, eyes widened in surprise at the sight of you and Yoongi.

“Nozos, buddy, wait-“ Taehyung tries to plead. But it’s too late.

“Sir,” the Klingon hits the speaker button beside the door and barks into it, “The traitors are here.”

Yoongi is pacing back and forth; restless from the hours the three of you have been locked in the holding bay. You’re standing at one of the portholes, gazing down at the planet where you knew your captain’s body lay.

“Commander, how do we know if this is going to work? What if he doesn’t even-“

“It’s going to work, Taehyung!” Yoongi snaps at the boy. “We have no other options.”

You lean against the window and look at the man. “How are you so sure he’ll come?”

He snorts. “Call it a sibling’s intuition.”

Taehyung glances at you, confusion coloring his face. You shake your head and begin pacing yourself, anxious for what’s to come.

A few minutes pass, then the doors to the bay slide open. A red shirt security agent marches through. And accompanying him is Jimin. It takes everything in you not to dive at the boy, anger crawling over you at the nervous look plastered across his face.

“The visitor wanted to see you all.” The agent explains standing off to the side. Jimin nods, then turns to him to ask if they could be alone, just for a moment. The agent hesitates for a moment, then acquiesces, clearly taken in by the boy’s innocent demeanor.      

Jimin’s mouth stretches into a smirk as soon as the man exits. “I really didn’t think you would make it back.”

“Lucky we’re smarter than you.” Yoongi retorts.

“What do you want from us, Jimin?” You inquire, eager to get this over with, “Why did you come here?”

He gazes at you, an almost melancholy look crossing his face. “You know I tried warning you. Really, you were the last person I wanted to be tied up in this.”

“I don’t believe you’re capable of emotions.” Yoongi spits, stepping in front of you to block the alien’s stare.

The boy chuckles and shakes his head. “I just came to say goodbye. I know I did this to you, but I’ll still miss you all the same, brother.”

“Don’t call me that. You’re no blood of mine.” The man accused.

Jimin’s eyes glowered. “Do you still think you’re better than me, Yoongi? Being daddy’s full human son won’t save you now. I won and soon, you’ll be as dead as your precious father and captain.”

Yoongi twitches forward and you grab at his arm, holding him back. Silence falls over the space for a second. Then Taehyung lifts the communicator from behind his back up to his mouth.

“Did you get that, Seokjin?”

The doors to the bay slide open and the pilot steps through, followed by a horde of security agents. “Oh, I got it.” He announces.    

Jimin whips around to look at the entrance, then turns back to the three of you, realization slowly dawning on his face.

“Who won now?” You smirk at him. His features are blank for a moment, then twist into a look of rage. Suddenly, he lunges and you see a glint of sharpened silver. Yoongi leaps in front of you and tackles the boy, both thumping hard on the ground, locked in a scuffle. There’s a spurt of red and then a scream.

The sunlight is blinding, making you squint to see through its beams. Beside you is Taehyung, both of you dressed in the standard red uniform of Starfleet Academy. The director stands in front of a crowd of you and your fellow classmates, reading off the names of the graduates and their new starship assignments.

“Yar, Tasha. U.S.S. Atlas.”

Polite applause and cheers follow. Taehyung looks at you and pouts, despite the momentous occasion.

“Tae, what could you possibly be upset about?” You whisper at him, clapping at the next name announced.

“What if we’re not on the same ship together?”

You smile fondly and hold his hand. “I’ll beam over to wherever you are every chance I get.”

His pout lessens. “Promise?”

You open your mouth to respond right as your name is called. Straightening up quickly, you walk over to accept your diploma and assignment from your director. Then you move to the side, opening one of the documents to run your eyes over the name of the starship you’ll be stationed on. The U.S.S. Vanguard.

Looking back up to avoid appearing rude, you watch as the rest of the names are called in succession.

“Laren, Ro. U.S.S. Falcon.”

“Celes, Toi. U.S.S. Navigator.”

“Kim, Taehyung. U.S.S. Vanguard.”

You jump in shock, clapping louder than anyone in the audience. Your friend bounds up the stage to shake the director’s hand, then races down to envelop you in a hug. You grip him tightly, astonished at your luck in receiving the same post. Although you played it off earlier, you knew you would have been miserable without him around.

Holding onto each other, you watch as the ceremony concludes with the usual pomp and circumstance. Then there’s the sound of someone politely clearing their throat behind you. The pair of you rotates to see a tall, lanky man dressed in the ceremonial garb of a Starfleet captain.    

“I wanted to introduce myself. My name is Namjoon and I am the captain of the ship to which you are both assigned.” He sticks out his hand to shake.

Both of you introduce yourselves, smiling nervously at your new commanding officer. He looks around, as if searching for someone.

“My second-in-command is somewhere around here-“

“Right here, captain.” A shorter man replies, walking up to Namjoon’s side. “Commander Yoongi, reporting for duty.”

Taehyung shakes his hand first and then the Commander turns to face you, hand outstretched. You smile softly, reaching out towards him. He blinks, then smiles in return, lips drawing up to reveal his gums.

“Good to meet you.”

“We are gathered here today to commemorate a fallen officer.”

You reflect on that memory, sunlight shining just as bright today as it was then. Around you is a crowd of people, all dressed in black.

“Though we may feel a sense of loss, of despair, it is all a testament to the powerful impact he’s had on all our lives.”

A sniffle is heard in the audience. You close your eyes, irritated. No one here knew him, no one here watched him take his last few shuddering breaths like you did.

“Today, our comrade has returned to the stars from which he came. We gather to honor him.”  

A lump rises in your throat, but you don’t shed a tear, eyes having been dried out days ago from sobbing. Instead, you open them and look to the man officiating the funeral service.

“He was a brother, a son, a friend.” Yoongi recites, meeting your eyes, “But most of all, Kim Namjoon was our captain.”

You let out a shaky breath and turn your head to the sky, allowing yourself to be blinded by the sunlight.

Eventually, the service ends. You remain in your seat, ignoring the people getting up and walking by you. A body fills the seat to your right.

“How was it?” Yoongi asks, voice gentle.

“Beautiful,” you reply sincerely, gazing ahead at the casket in front.

He nods, taking your hand in his. “Do you want to know how I plan to honor Namjoon?”

You keep your eyes forward. “How’s that?”

“He always said what was on his mind. Even if he got mocked for it, even if he got called delirious for it.”

You feel your heart squeeze in its rib cage.

“He was determined never to leave this earth without saying what his heart felt, no matter the consequences. I think it’s something I should start doing myself.”

You finally turn to face Yoongi, a mix of emotions welling up within you. “Yeah?”

He smiles softly and leans in to kiss you, his most tender one yet. Against your lips, he murmurs.

“Yeah.”

end note: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  

[samwpmarleau]

If it pleased your muses, would a Rhaella Doran fic be possible? With maybe Aunt Rhaelle, Uncle Ormund, and Granma Beth's to the charge.

It had been Grandmother’s idea in the beginning, but it had taken Auntie and Uncle Ormund to turn it from an idea into a plan. Father’s proclamation to marry her to Aerys and Grandfather’s failure to stop it had resulted in a rift between him and Grandmother, she knows, and so Black Betha had taken things into her own hands.

Aegon may be king, she had whispered as she shuffled Rhaella onto a ship, but I am queen and a Blackwood besides. We do not suffer our women to be playthings, and nor will I.

Where am I going? Rhaella had asked, equal parts terrified and excited. She’d never traveled before, but if it meant she wouldn’t marry her brother, she would agree to anything.

Far away. Your aunt is making the arrangements. The people dislike me enough without hearing that I orchestrated your escape, but Rhaelle is protected by her marriage, and Ormund is supplying the coin. You needn’t worry anymore, my darling.

That had been a week ago. Now, Rhaella looks around her at her new room in a Volantene manse, still unable to believe this is real, that she’ll wake up back in King’s Landing betrothed to Aerys. Her caretaker is a knight in service to House Baratheon, someone she doesn’t know but has been assured is as loyal as a brother to Uncle Ormund. Both Grandmother and Auntie had promised to send regular letters, and to visit when they could. Her ladies had had to be kept in the dark, and Rhaella doesn’t know what they’ve been told as an excuse, what anyone has been told.

Well, most of her ladies.

Loreza had been apprised of the situation, for Rhaella knows she would have hounded anyone in the Keep she could get her hands on for information, and she will forever cherish the look of triumph on the princess’s face.

Make your life what you will, she had said. It is yours. Yours and yours alone. You are stronger than you know, dear Ella.

Loree had told her she would help in any way she could, should Rhaella require it, that she would not suffer Rhaella to lack for anything. She had agreed to secrecy, too, though they both regretted not being able to bring Joanna in on it all. Rhaella had considered it, but with Joanna would come Tywin, and Rhaella doesn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. She can’t risk this. She can’t risk herself, and she can’t risk Grandmother or Auntie; they would face enough censure as it is, once the news got out. She wonders what Father had done about the news; he couldn’t do much, surely, what with the perpetrators being his own family.

And Aerys!

He’s the one who will have to marry elsewhere. For as much as Father droned on about the witch’s prophecy, Aerys is the heir to the throne, and he would have to secure it–secure it with someone who is not her. The thought makes her giddy, and she flops down on the featherbed with a girlish giggle.

You are stronger than you know, dear Ella, Loree had said.

Yes, I am.

Volantis had taken some getting used to, in the beginning, its oppressive wet heat tangling her hair and the slavery making her fume, but even so, she is happy. No Aerys, no forced marriage, no “you are a princess, Rhaella, you must act like one,” no obsequious courtiers to appease. Oh, there are customs here she has to conform to, but they are not so chafing.

The sun has only just risen as she wanders the docks and passes the merchants selling their wares, like she has taken to doing every day since she arrived. It’s peaceful, despite the yelling of prices and the sailors’ cursing in a dozen different languages, and most recognize her by now.

She had been warned at first about setting off alone–men are men no matter where you go, she had been told–but she has made enough friends amongst these men, primarily through the coin she gives them, that she knows if someone were to approach her with nefarious intentions, they would mysteriously vanish within the hour. No one even glances at what she looks like, either; they are accustomed to the purple eyes and silver-gold hair of Valyria, and so she is nothing special. It is yet another freedom that she treasures.

She does miss her family, especially Grandmother and Auntie, but every time she considers whether she wants to go back–whether she even could go back–she remembers what Father had wanted and the way Aerys would yank on her hair, and that fleeting consideration disappears. Father is dead now, and though she’d heard something about Grandfather trying to hatch dragon eggs, but Grandmother had assured her it was a mere fancy.

She had received a letter from Mother once through Auntie, after Father had passed. It had begged her to leave Volantis, that she regretted every day she hadn’t dissuaded Father from his obsessions, but Rhaella was unmoved. Maybe it was sincere, maybe she does regret it, but Rhaella can’t forget how Mother would have been perfectly content to see her wed to Aerys at only three-and-ten, simply because of a riddle from Aunt Jenny’s witch.

No, Rhaella would not abide. She is no longer bound to Mother’s whims. Not Mother’s, not anyone’s, no one’s except her own.

Almost none of the ships does she recognize in the docks. Volantis sees more vessels in one day than Rhaella had seen in a lifetime back in King’s Landing, ships of all kinds, sizes, and crews. She doesn’t stop at any of them, until she gets to one near the end. It’s unremarkable on the outside, but what catches her attention is that she overhears its occupants speaking the Common Tongue. Though she’s learned several languages during her time here, none had quite felt so familiar as her native one, and it is pleasant to hear it again.

Smiling, she approaches the tie-off and calls out, “From where do you hail, sers?”

“Dorne,” calls back the man nearest the platform. He’s carrying only a single bag, and her intrigue deepens when he turns around. She’s seen that coloring before.

He says something to another crew member she can’t hear, and then disembarks. He’s taller than her, though is certainly no Ser Duncan, and although she wouldn’t say he’s handsome necessarily, she knows all too well that beauty often masks the ugliness within.

“I have a friend from there,” she says excitedly. “What is your name?”

He hesitates, though she can’t fathom why. “What is yours?”

It is her turn to pause. She has a different name here, the better to conceal her identity, but something about this man’s gentle dark eyes has her telling the truth. “Rhaella.”

Instantly his wariness turns to incredulity. “Rhaella Targaryen? The lost princess?”

Lost princess? “What do you mean by that?”

“No one knows where you went,” he answers. “Rumors abound, but Volantis has never been one of them. To think I’ve met you by accident, of all things.”

It occurs to her only then that perhaps this man would not have her best interests in mind. “Please, won’t you tell me who you are?”

“I suppose there’s no harm in it now. Doran Martell, my lady, son of Princess Loreza. She was your lady-in-waiting many years ago.”

“Loree!” she exclaims. “Oh, what fortune! Is she well, I hope?”

“Quite. She and His Grace have been putting together plans for better irrigation across all of Dorne. The other lords may take ill to his reforms, but Dorne has prospered for it.”

“It pleases me to hear it,” she says. She glances up at his ship and apologizes, “I should let you tend to your affairs. I did not mean to interrupt.”

“It’s no interruption, princess. I am here to tour the Free Cities, and as it happens this is one of them.”

“I can show you around,” she offers, “if you’d like.”

He smiles. “If it’s no trouble.”

Doran had told her he only meant to stay in Volantis for a fortnight, but two moons have waxed and waned and yet still he joins her every morning for her walk along the harbor. He is quiet, preferring to listen rather than to talk, but every now and then he has a quip or a comment that makes her sides ache with laughter, and she’s discovered that she likes it most when he smiles, for it lights up his face and shows that for all his intelligence is that of a man far older, he still very much has his youth.

She’s also noticed that sometimes when she looks at him her stomach swoops, a strange feeling that is at once terrifying, confounding, and exhilarating. She’s too scared to put a name to it—she hardly knows him!—but nevertheless the thought of him leaving disappoints her much more than she know it ought.

He tells her of his family and of hers, and in turn she tells him of the Free Cities and teaches him as much as she can of the bastard Valyrian spoken here. He picks it up quickly, and she’s grateful for it; she likes the way his voice deepens as he trips over the harsh syllables, how he watches her to get the intonations right.

She gets up the courage one day to ask him why he hadn’t wed, why Loreza hadn’t forced him to the way Rhaella’s parents had intended.

“I think she hoped Lord Gargalen’s daughter would catch my eye,” he says, “but when that didn’t happen, she focused on Elia and Oberyn instead,” he’d answered. “And you? Not marrying your brother, that I understand, but after all this time you’ve still not found anyone?”

“There was someone, once.” She has never forgotten him, a man scarcely older than her who had lightened her heart and even taken her maidenhead, but then his father had ordered him to undertake a voyage to Slaver’s Bay–for what, Rhaella hadn’t asked–and he’d never returned. She doesn’t know if he’d been killed or if he had made a home there, but he had been years ago and ever since, she’s never felt any particular desire for another man.

At least, not until…

No. She won’t go there. What would the heir to Dorne want with a disgraced princess in exile? He is a friend, nothing more.

She knows it’s all too good to last, though, and indeed one day he receives a letter from his mother. With a grin, he explains, “My sister is to be wed.”

“To whom?” He had told her of the abortive betrothal trip that both of his siblings had taken not long ago, and that Joanna’s death had severed any hopes of a match being made.

“A boy my uncle squired,” he answers. “Ser Arthur of House Dayne. I can’t imagine Mother is too happy about it–she’s always had high ambitions for Elia–but it seems she has been convinced. His being named the Sword of the Morning probably helped. I am glad of it. Elia’s life has not been easy.”

She is glad as well, for she knows better than most the freedom that comes with not marrying against your will, but she also knows what this means. “I suppose you shall be leaving soon, then. It would not due to miss your sister’s wedding.”

Doran looks up at her with a frown. “Oh…yes, I should find a ship.”

“There should be plenty willing to take you to Dorne, but if you should have any troubles, I know my way around these men,” she says. She feels guilty for being upset at the prospect of no longer having his company, and so plasters on an extra-bright smile. “You’ll give my best to your mother, won’t you? I miss her so.”

“Of course.” He opens his mouth to say more, but then decides against it. “Take care, princess.”

He’s at her door the next morning looking a way she hasn’t seen before: nervous. “My prince? Has something happened?”

“Come with me,” he says in a rush. “Mother will shelter you, you’ll have nothing to fear. You shouldn’t have to waste away your whole life here in Volantis.”

“I can’t,” she says. “It’s too dangerous. For me, and for your family. And I don’t want to cast a pall on your sister’s day.”

“It would be no pall.”

“Doran, I…I don’t know.”

“Think about it, at least,” he says. “The ship’s captain will not set out until the morrow. Meet me at the furthest pier at sunrise.”

That night, she packs and unpacks a dozen times, going over the ramifications in her head until she doesn’t know one thought from another. She can’t sleep a wink, and it’s only when she sees the sky begin to lighten that her head clears.

Home.

Does she even know what that is? She’s been here since she was only a girl, and now she is long since a woman. What does she know of Westeros anymore? Grandmother and Auntie are always with her in spirit, yet she does long to see them. They’d visited less than a handful of times apiece, and though their letters have been wonders to receive, she yearns to once again hear her aunt’s sharp tongue and feel her grandmother’s warm embrace. And if it means all of that and seeing Loree again?

If it means seeing Doran every day?

With a spontaneity she’s never known, she hastily scrawls a note to the caretaker, shoves whatever she can reach into a bag and races out the door. Habit has her calling to the merchants she passes, and she all but skids to a stop at the end of the pier.

“Doran!” At first she thinks somehow she’d missed him, that he’d already left, but then she sees him emerge from the hold, just as he’d done that first day, and she feels a rush of something new, something she can’t describe.

Make your life what you will. It is yours.