#please note how intensely Kim is staring Harry down

[osmoticeel]

rules: pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. then tag ten people.

I wasn’t tagged and I don’t tag people but if anyone does this because of me please @ me in it! I wanna see what you have to share ✨

All of these are WIPs to varying degrees. Also very few of my WIPs have names 😅 I'm posting this in the hope that it encourages me to work on more than just the ultralong ones.

Twilight (the Enterprise episode) (Hoshi/T’pol)

T'pol's reflection in the mirror above the dresser is unfamiliar - her hair is long, and while she slept hairs have come loose and frizzy from the braid down her back. The defined edges of her face and body have softened ever so slightly, though she doesn't feel weak. Her eyes look wider, maybe a little unfocused - or a little crazed.

She's aged – not much, but a noticeable amount. Last night, she was sixty-four years old, first officer of the Enterprise. She was on her way to engineering, taking short, measured steps on unsteady feet, deep breaths, vertigo making the walls close in. The floor lurched – a spatial anomaly or her own perception? – she fell, and— and— nothing.

She steps closer to the mirror, trying to make sense of the gap between her image of herself and the woman in the mirror, and notices a note on the dresser. The paper is beginning to yellow with age, but the formal Vulcan handwriting is undeniably hers.

T'pol, daughter of T'les, know that I am you, though you have forgotten me.

Emergent Properties (Hoshi/T’pol, Vox Sola)

Hoshi knew her vices all too well, and she never considered pride to be one of them.

She took pride in her work, yes, because she was hardworking and focused and believed nothing was worth doing that wasn’t worth doing right. But she was also (consciously, willfully) friendly, and helpful, and humble. She didn’t like being wrong, but she was happy to accept it as something she could learn from. She knew what she didn’t know.

And yet none of that seemed to matter.

The Vulcan Word for Love (Hoshi/T’pol)

“How do you say I love you in Vulcan?”

T’pol’s mouth is dry, and she freezes, unable to do anything but stare, feeling like an ambushed gormagander. She is not prepared for that question. But it is not the Vulcan way to lie, and so she tells the truth as she knows it:

“We don’t.”

She feels Hoshi sag in her arms. There’s a part of her that wants to draw Hoshi in closely, to say T’pol can try to be human for her. There’s a part of her that can feel, intensely, how those words hurt, not for the explicit meaning itself, but for everything implied by it. And what those words imply is equally clear, echoed across the bond they share, etching itself into T’pol’s mind like acid.

Vulcans do not love to begin with.

It is extremely fortunate that Vulcans require little sleep, because even as she tries to meditate in Hoshi’s arms, she finds herself drawn back to that thought. It haunts her with the fiery intensity of all Vulcan emotions, until morning.

These Are the Voyages (gen, Voy/Ent crossover)

“It’s not educational, it’s an adventure that just happens to be based in historical fact.” Harry paused to smile knowingly. “And besides, I think you’ll find you like history a lot better when you’re a part of it.”

Tom raised his eyebrows and went back to eating.

B’elanna slid in between them and, without asking, picked up the padd and started reading it. “These Are The Voyages: A Holographic Window Into History.” Harry tried to grab the padd out of her hand, but she held it up in the air away from him and continued reading the description with a dramatic flourish. “Relive the thrill of battle, the intrigue of diplomacy, and the awe of exploration. Join the crew of the NX-01 Enterprise, Starfleet’s first warp 5 vessel,” she let out a small snort, “on humanity’s first steps into deep space.”

Time After Time (Paris/Kim)

It was a formulaic sort of conversation, a lecture Harry could have heard from his own father. Start with flattery – “You’re such a promising young officer,” – then veiled threats – “I’d hate to see you ruin your career,” – then actually get to the heart of the matter – “but that Tom Paris is bad news.”

Figures. Harry never had good taste in men. Luckily his common sense was usually stronger than his heart. His mother raised him right, he might say. It still smarts every time.

Harry was so distracted that he almost didn’t notice when the very object of his frankly juvenile brooding slid into the seat across from him, sloshing a bowl of slightly pink tomato soup as he set it down.

“There, you see? I told you it wouldn’t take long.”

Tom was bitter, even more bitter than the Starfleet replicators’ impression of tomato flavor. Apparently Tom never had a replicated tomato before, because, while Harry gripped the edge of the table at a loss for words, Tom took a sip and grimaced.

“Fourteen varieties, and they can’t even get plain tomato soup right.”

Harry might have told him there’s a reason for the fourteen varieties, that next time he should try the Bolian style, but Tom’s spoon clinked as he dropped it into the bowl, and Harry hated these conversations.

A Secondhand Truth (Paris/Kim)

“He misses you, you know.”

Harry was stunned, had been completely thrown off from his mental calculations of nebular dust decay. “Who?”

“Tom.”

“Oh. What do you mean?”

“He tells me you just canceled Captain Proton on him again, and now I see you here, hard at work on a problem that even I agreed is completely irrelevant. You didn’t have a fight, you’re just avoiding him.”

“He’s better off without me.”

“I beg to differ, he was much less insufferable when you still talked to him.”

Harry hadn’t seen that smile of Tom’s in a long time, the one he’d thought could burn out stars. He’d just imagined he saved it for B’elanna behind closed doors.

Fission (B’Elanna/Seven)

Janeway insisted, in her narrow scope, that human collectives and connections were no different. Humans were interdependent, she said; just look at the crew of Voyager.

Short-sightedness was an obvious result of living a single life, isolated from contradictory viewpoints.

Seven of Nine knew this much: the crew of Voyager was cacophonous. There was dissent. Members identified with two factions that warred with each other and only cooperated due to necessity. The captain had to command her crew and compel them to serve the needs of the whole, and punish those who didn’t, Seven of Nine included. It was intolerable. To be Borg was to know harmony.

Shuttlecraft 13 (Troi/Yar)

But she pitied Armus, as well. It was a heartless blob of hatred and anguish – negative emotions, but not pointless ones. They ought to be red flags the mind raises to alert itself to danger, that calm down when the situation passes. But there was no danger. Armus was trapped in a dark tunnel without an exit in sight. She wondered if anyone had ever tried to take it seriously. If she was going to die here, maybe she could talk it down.

“You want to play that game? That wasn’t meaningless at all. I know what you really want. Misery always wants to be shared. If you make someone else suffer, you think it’ll be worth something. It might at least mean you’re right. Well, that’s not how it works. It won’t ever make you feel any better. But if you let Will go, I’ll cry with you.”

Between Unforgiving Stars (Troi/Yar, someday)

“How deep does the rabbit hole go?”

T’ven frowned. “How is a small mammal relevant?”

“It’s an allusion to an old Earth story – Alice in Wonderland, in which a young girl falls into a rabbit’s burrow and discovers a world where everyone and everything is illogical. I was referring to its use in an old Earth movie, which asks ‘how deep the rabbit hole goes’ to refer to discovering concealed layers of confusing or incomprehensible truth.”

T’ven nodded, but she was obviously baffled.

“Perhaps a better way to say it would be, how many layers of deception are there?”

“Only the Tal Shiar can be said to know, though I doubt their left hand knows what the right hand is doing, to use one of your Earth expressions.”

Deanna smiled graciously. “You’ve studied human mythology.”

Waiting Game (Troi/Yar)

“Deanna,” Will said, and she could hear the unspoken, don’t. But he knew that if she’d visited his quarters, if she was so serious when she was so plainly uncomfortable, it must be important enough that she needed to say it for herself, no matter what.

“I don’t want you to think,” Deanna began, then swallowed, realized the way she was going to end that sentence – that I still have feelings for you – wasn’t fair, because her own feelings were out of her control, and the truth is she had no idea how she felt, not after the other day threw her off, but she wasn’t going to pressure herself to get her own feelings in order until she was well and ready. Instead she took a deep breath, steeled herself, and said the simplest truth she could manage: “I don’t want to pick up where we left off.”

Will sighed, crumpled slightly, but he almost seemed relieved. “I knew it was a matter of time before I had to hear it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m happy to have you as a friend, Deanna.”

[dmggctrl]

Another scene inspired by @trr3rr‘s amazing writing.

[dovechim]

tongue tied

19 “can I hold your hand?” and 37 “can I kiss you? + namjoon + harry potter au

part of a request from anon for the 100 ways to say ily drabble game!

➾ Summary: Namjoon is down with a very unique curse, but it turns out to be a blessing in disguise. 

➾ word count: 2.6k, fluff

“_____, it’s Namjoon, again.” Jimin’s frantic voice lights up your fireplace, and you stop in the middle of your essay, quill poised in the air. You really, really have to finish this last sentence before getting distracted, but the growing heat of the flames emanating from the fireplace draws your attention insistently.

“I swear, what is it this time?” You turn to face the brief outline of Jimin’s face in the flames, and even though it’s blurry due to each and every leap of the embers, concern is etched deeply into the Hufflepuff’s features.

“There’s no time, we’re in Potions now! Hurry, please!!!” The flames die down before you have a chance to protest, to ask if this is really a life or death issue. Instead you heave a sigh and gather your blue robe around your shoulders, already having an inkling of the disaster that lay ahead. Namjoon and Potions is not a good combination, you’d learned over the past 4 years. He may be the brightest wizard of his age, excelling in topics like Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but throw him an intensive hands on subject like Potions and Kim Namjoon is equivalent to a troll in a china shop.

In fact, he’s so bad at Potions that he got held back a year, so he’s the only fifth year student taking Potions at fourth year level. As you start to near the dungeons where the Potions classrooms are, you hear a boisterous voice vehemently protest against a chorus of accusations, and you already know even before entering that Jeon Jeongguk has a part to play in this mess. Bracing yourself for the ordeal ahead, you fling open the heavy wooden doors and immediately duck for cover. 

Instead, four confused pairs of eyes land on you, and you open your eyes cautiously from your position on the floor.

“Are you gonna help us or what?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow in disapproval at your cowering form. Stupid Gryffindors and their leap first, think later mentality.

“Last time you called me, I got attacked by a projectile of green slime, courtesy of Jeon Jeongguk over here,” you send him a brief glare.

“That was one time noona!” Jeongguk pipes up in protest, his dark brows furrowing in indignance as he shrugs his emerald robes onto his broad shoulders. 

“Wait, I think we’re forgetting what’s at stake here,” Jimin places a hand on Jeongguk’s chest. “Namjoon-“ 

Oh right. Something happened to Namjoon, which is why you’re here. You whip your head around to survey the tall, blonde who has remained silent so far, only to see him sitting calmly on his bench, his dark blue robes pulled close around him. Other than his slightly ruffled blonde hair, and glasses askew on his face, there seems to be nothing wrong with him. His expression is slightly dazed, and he’s staring straight ahead at the blackboard with the intensity he reserves for books and notes, except there’s nothing written on the blackboard in front of him. You reach for him cautiously, adjusting his horn rimmed glasses on his nose bridge, brushing his bangs from his eyes and casting a brief glance over him. “Joon, you okay?”

“He’s alright,” Jeongguk snickers from the side. “Or should I say, he’s fine.”

“What? I don’t get it, why isn’t he saying anything? Merlin’s beard, you didn’t accidentally mute him did you??” You turn round to face Jeongguk with a vengeance, grasping his collar. “I swear if you did something irreversible to him I’ll hex your balls off…”

“No I didn’t I swear!” Jeongguk’s eyes grow wide and all traces of laughter on his face immediately disappear in the face of your anger. Which is a joke really, since he’s almost a head and a half taller than you and built on pure muscle, and while even the sixth years are scared to death by him, a single glare from you is enough to send Jeongguk slithering back into his slimy hole. “I just left him alone stirring the pot for a second while I was practicing the incantation, and then…” 

“And then?”

“Then… here he is.”

“Merlin, how could you even leave Namjoon alone for a second in Potions? I thought you were supposed to be the one overlooking everything, is that not why you were moved up a year?” You relinquish your grip on him, and instead run a hand through your hair in frustration. These incidents, though not uncommon, have never been as puzzling as it is now. In the past it was relatively easy to identify what went wrong and the relevant counter spell, but now there seems to be nothing wrong with Namjoon. At least, not as far as you can see.

“Um, the thing is,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, finally breaking his staring contest with the blackboard. He fiddles with the buttons on his robe awkwardly. 

“What is it Joon?” You’ve never seen him this embarrassed before, and you automatically feel the need to comfort him. He’s not the most charming person, and he can be kind of awkward and shy at times, but his fumbling ways are adorable and an utter contrast to how incredibly intelligent he is. Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, putting pressure where you know he often gets sore because of how much he studies.

“He can only talk in monosyllables,” Jimin finally blurts out, and you see the blush reignite on Namjoon’s cheeks.

“Wait, pardon?” You blink in confusion.

“Wait, yes, pardon, no,” Jeongguk clarifies helpfully. “So instead of pardon, he would have to say ‘what?’ instead. Y’know, like normal people.”

“I know what monosyllables means you idiot,” you huff in his direction. “What I meant is, how did this happen? What kind of potion was that? I’ve never even heard about it before.”

“Um, it wasn’t really in the textbook...”

“Jeon Jeongguk!!!”

“Noona, calm down,” Jimin has to physically restrain you to keep you from lunging at the raven haired boy. “The important thing now is to figure out how to help Namjoon-hyung.”

And he’s right. Namjoon has never been very confident or outspoken before, but now it seems like it’s even worse as he won’t even look you in the eye anymore. You swallow back a lump in your throat as you watch him avoid eye contact with the four of you. 

“Come on Joon, let’s get back to the dormitories, you should get some rest,” you place an arm around his shoulders, encouraging him to stand. As he slowly gets back onto his feet, your arms slide down around his waist, and you urge him toward the exits of the classroom. “It’s okay Joonie, I’ll figure it out somehow. Leave it to me.”

He gives you a strained smile, but the feeling of your arm around his waist like this makes his heart skip a beat, and he has even more trouble articulating his words, never mind the stupid curse Jeongguk’s struck him with. “Thanks, I appre-“

Fuck. He’s just choked on his words like an absolute moron, and he wants to run off and bury his head into the sand like those ostriches do whenever they’re in trouble. But you only grace him with your angelic smile, as you mumble the password (fuck, he’s gonna have trouble getting in and out of the dormitories too isn’t he?) to the portrait guarding the Ravenclaw quarters. You walk him all the way to the base of the stairs leading up into the boys’ dorms, and tiptoe to press a kiss to his cheek.

He’s never been so glad to be tongue-tied before.

*

“So, can anyone solve this problem for me?” Your Ancient Runes teacher gives a half-hearted glance towards the rows and rows of sleepy students, a name already on the tip of her tongue. But when her wizened gaze falls upon the first row and fails to see Kim Namjoon’s hand waving in the air, she does a double take at the class.

Beside you, Namjoon is literally trying not to die in his seat. You watch as he has the problem all worked out on the piece of parchment paper in front of him, and as he struggles to tame the instinct to shoot his hand straight in the air. The rest of the class seems a little perturbed that an answer hasn’t been volunteered by now, and some of the students turn to survey Namjoon with a look of surprise. Namjoon bites his lip in an effort to remain calm.

You okay? You mouth to him, but he’s obviously not.

A tense moment passes before the professor shrugs and writes down the answer on the board, and Namjoon visibly relaxes in his seat. This won’t do, he decides. He needs to do something to physically restrain himself, or he’ll end up making a fool out of himself in front of the whole class, especially you. With a deep breath, he taps you gingerly on the arm to get your attention.

“Hey I know this is weird but… caniholdyourhand?” His words come out in a rush of anxiety and mortification, fully expecting you to scoff at him and change tables. Namjoon realises that he didn’t make himself clear, that it sounds like he’s trying to hit on you, which to be honest, he is, but he doesn’t want to come off as a creep. You look a little confused, and he prays to Merlin that it’s because of the utter strangeness of the sudden request, and not because the thought of holding hands with him physically puts you off.

“So that I won’t raise my hand. When she asks…” His voice trails off, struggling to make his explanation logical given the damn curse. Understanding dawns on your face and you reach to grab his hand, and only then does he realise how small your hands are as compared to his. How is it that he’s been friends with you for almost his whole life and has never noticed this? Maybe from now on he should stop studying books and study you instead.

Your touch alone is enough to make him forget about the anxiety of being called on in class, and when you start absently rubbing circles into his palm, his heartrate speeds up as if he’s a seeker who’s just spotted the snitch in the last 10 minutes of a game. Not that he’s the sporty type, but that’s how he imagines how it would feel like. 

Maybe this curse isn’t so bad after all.

*

“Where are you going? I thought you didn’t have patrols on Wednesdays,” your roommate Nayeon says absently as she reclines on her bunk, twirling her wand in one hand and a strand of hair in the other. 

“Oh, I switched last minute with one of the other Prefects,” you shrug on your robe nonchalantly, thankful for the excuse. “Don’t wait up, I’ll be back late!”

The corridors are deserted, with the occasional stir of the portraits that line it as the light from the tip of your wand illuminates the way. Hastily muttering an apology, you extinguish the light at the sight of the Library, relying solely on memory to guide you the rest of the way. The doors are locked, of course, since it’s after hours now, but that doesn’t stop you as you unlock it with a swish and flick of your wand, and soon you’re making your way to the Restricted Section.

The bookshelves tower over you, and accompanied with the darkness and silence of the Library, it’s enough to instil a sense of urgency in you as you light up your wand again and start searching the section about verbal curses. Just as you pull out the appropriate book and leaf through its dusty pages, struggling with the numerous vines that are entangled over the book’s cover and spine, there’s a faint sound of footsteps from a few rows down.

Your heart is in your throat as you frantically try to flip the pages as quietly as possible until you chance upon the counter-spell that you need, and even more as you try to memorise the complicated incantation even as the footsteps grow nearer and nearer. A vision of getting caught by Filch and his cat spurs you on, and you close the book gently to slide it back into its place on the shelf, but-

“Hey.” It’s an awkward, monosyllabled whisper that can only come from one person.

“For the love of Merlin, Namjoon,” you breathe out, exhaling panic as you bring your lighted wand in between the two of you to make sure that it’s really him. You realise that he can’t even light his wand because of the curse. “How did you get all the way here?” 

His face illuminated by the gentle light of your wand, he shakes his head in answer. Noticing the book in your arms, he gestures towards it. “I was here to… find a cure too. Is this it?”

Up close like this you can see every single feature of his, from the warm caramel of his eyes to the dimples in his cheeks that become more prominent every time he smiles, and even when he speaks. In the narrow aisle of the Restricted Section with him almost pressed up against you, you suddenly become hyperaware of how tall he is, and the way you come up to his chest makes him exude a sense of security you’ve never felt before.

“Yeah, want to do it now? I memorised the incantation already,” you tell him, trying your best not to be distracted by his messy hair that looks as if he just rolled out of bed, and the warmth of his body that chases away the chill of the library. He nods in answer, and you end the illumination spell on your wand, placing a hand on his chest and closing your eyes to help you concentrate.

“Loquela restituet.” There’s a brief, evergreen glow that lights up the tip of your wand for a few seconds, and then it’s gone. You open your eyes to find Namjoon staring at you intensely, his eyes fixed onto yours and you can’t find the strength to look away.

“Did it work?” You whisper breathlessly as his gaze travels down to your lips, and he’s never looked at you like this before. 

“Can I kiss you?” Your heart sinks at his monosyllable answer- it must not have worked, maybe you pronounced something wrongly, maybe it was the wrong spell- but then he moves in closer, and you just want to feel his lips against your own, so you nod.

Namjoon’s lips are soft, and he may seem shy and awkward, but damn does he know how to kiss. He cradles the back of your neck gently with a large hand, and his lips glide over yours in a way that makes your knees weak. There’s a faint taste of pumpkin juice that lingers upon his lips, but it’s the taste of Namjoon himself, that lures you in further and further until you have to pull apart for a gasp of air.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” Namjoon bites his lip as he studies your expression, his hands around your waist holding you close to him. Your eyes widen in shock at his admission, before realising that it worked.

“Namjoon, me too, but wait the spell worked!” You grasp the front of his robes to pull him in closer. “Say something else.”

“Something else,” a smirk plays upon his lips, lips that you just kissed, and you smack him on the chest. Trust Namjoon to be a dork at a moment like this, but a sense of relief pervades you and you relax in his arms.

“You’re a dork.”

“Dork? I prefer idiot, stupid, or bumbling fool,” he whispers into your ear. “Or even better, boyfriend.”